looking back, and looking ahead

I have felt for a long time that I have things I need to say publicly, mostly for my own processing, but for so long, the words have not come. Maybe my mind has been too full of other things.

Today, January 1, 2021, somehow still feels hopeful, and it makes me a little annoyed. It doesn't seem like it should feel hopeful. In many ways, 2020 was truly revolting. Put aside the typical, "Covid, quarantine, wearing masks all the time" that all of us faced, and I still see so much hurt and brokenness when I look back on our year. For probably a few weeks now, I've been thinking, "I don't have anything to celebrate from 2020." Quite melancholy of me, but when you have two family members die within a month of each other at the end of the year, those thoughts come easily.

This morning as I spent some much-needed time adoring the Father, I finally allowed Him to reach my heart with truth. There is so much beauty that can come, and will come, from this pain. Though Casey and I are deep in grief, and will be for quite some time, that does not mean there cannot be beauty and life and hope and peace. 

I must admit, it is occasionally really difficult for me as an Enneagram 4 to keep myself from wallowing in the depth of my emotions. It feels nice to wallow and be really, really sad sometimes. It feels relieving, somehow, to find myself "in the depths of despair", as our dear Anne-girl says... Just to fully embrace it and live in it. And while I think there is a time and place for that, I must remind myself that most of my emotions are (at least) two-sided. While I am hurt, I hope. While I am sad, I have joy. While I am afraid, I love. Not allowing myself to feel the sunny side of those deep, dark emotions is robbing myself of the gifts God has for me in the valley. 

While I grieve Mrs. Leigh Ann, I think of how hilariously she would react if she had seen what we made her Christmas tree look like this year, and I have to celebrate how special she made Christmas. While I miss her, I have to reminisce on our final Disney trip together last year and how we belted Disney songs in the car on the way there, and how we took turns pushing her wheelchair through the crowds and took advantage of how they would always send us to the front of the line on rides with her. While I wonder what our future will look like without her, I have to remember how much hope she had for our future- our careers, our future kids, our family vacations. 

While I grieve Mamaw Scitzs, I remember baking and decorating Christmas cookies with her last year, and that she gave me recipe cards in her handwriting of her cookie and icing recipes, and how that will be my favorite gift she ever gave me. While I miss her, I recall our many nights playing cards and trivia around the kitchen table, and how warm and loving her hugs were. While I wonder what parts of her I am carrying on in our family, I think about how she loved singing and serving and cooking and we all adored her for it.

All these things, every memory of them that swirls around in my head, reminds me of the complexity of life and emotion, and what a gift it is to loved by someone for every minute they know you. 

I told God recently that I knew there were gifts to be found in the darkness, but I did not feel like searching for them, so He would have to show them to me if He wanted me to find them... and I think He is. When I look back over this year of isolation, I think about the many phone calls and facetimes and virtual family game nights we would never have had without it. When I look back on a year of change, I think of the gift that was a beautiful church and city and friend group that I treasure now more than I did when I lived with them. When I look back to my hopes and goals for 2020, I slowly realize that I can check off every single box. 

I didn't know then the darkness and hurt that the year would bring, but God did. In our year of uncertainty, I became more certain of Him and His care for me. In our year of scary things, I said yes to Him and found He took the fear away every time. Sara Hagerty says, "The fight against fear is a lifetime commitment to growth in communing with God. Trust is birthed and grows as we face our fears and turn to Him... Fear wants to steal what God gives. Fear can be a barrier to communion, or our communion can dispel our fear". It's difficult to face many of my fears coming to realization, and to somehow keep hoping for the next step. It would be easier to give in to the fear and harbor it. However, every time I have harbored my fear this year, it has become a barrier in my life. But when I turned to look at Him in the midst of my fear? "The things of earth {grew} strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace."

If you, too, have had a year of loss and hurt and fear, I hope you turn to Him. He is the best at holding it, not dismissing your emotion, but showing you the other side of it-- the excitement, peace, and stability it can bring when you process it and trust His leading. Today, I am celebrating some small things despite the darkness that is lurking:

- I memorized my first chapter of the Bible this year and God has buried it in my heart and used it time and again to minister to me.

- I read some really good books this year even though I did not meet my meager goal of 20 books

- I spent a lot of time with Casey and have never liked/loved him more than I do now

- I built up some friendships and maintained some friendships and lost some friendships, and all of those things feel right

- God gave us a new city, new home, and new jobs in the middle of a pandemic, and we love it more than we hoped we might

- I discovered the longwalks app and have been mindfully journalling with friends and it's been lovely

There is good around the corner, friends. Even in the pain. Even in darkness. Even in death. God is holding 2021 and leading us along.

_________________________________________

some song lyrics that keep coming to mind:

"God leads his dear children along- some through the waters, some through the flood, some through the fire, but all through the blood. Some through great sorrow, but God gives a song in the night season and all the day long."

"after all this has passed, I still will remain. after I've cried my last, there'll be beauty from pain. though it won't be today, someday I'll hope again, and there'll be beauty from pain. You will bring beauty from my pain."

"Be still, my soul, when dearest friends depart, and all is darkened in the vale of tears- then shall you better know His love, His heart, who comes to soothe your sorrow and your fears. Be still, my soul, your Jesus can repay from His own fullness all He takes away."

"I will build my life upon Your love, it is a firm foundation. I will put my trust in You alone, and I will not be shaken."

bittersweet eighteen

Today marks 18 years with Jesus. I've been looking forward to this day for a long time, thinking it would feel glowy and resplendent. Strangely, it is much less dazzling than I thought it would be. Maybe if life were a bit different, it would feel more exciting and like the coming-of-age party I thought it would be. However, life is heavy right now. A lot of things feel hopeless. It feels like every day there's something new to discourage us. The world is shut down. No one is hiring anyone, at the exact time that Casey and I are looking for jobs. We have to consider the possibility of moving during a worldwide pandemic and quarantine. Casey's mom is sick and we can't visit her, just have to watch updates of hospital visits and scans and bad nights.
I probably shouldn't be writing while feeling so melancholy, but here it is. Life feels too heavy for me right now. There is too much to grieve and not enough to hope for. And these aren't even "real" trials for us yet. I feel wimpy for being so affected by so little; however, I know this is how He works my faith muscles and the only way to gain strength is to experience His power in my weakness.

For most of these past two years, we have felt unstable. Don't get me wrong, we are incredibly blessed to have wonderful jobs and friends and Church family and the best relationship as friends and spouses, but we frequently feel like a hard circumstance will be un-handle-able. I keep going back to a verse that struck me last summer, Isaiah 33:6- "He will be the stability of your times, a wealth of salvation, wisdom, and knowledge." That solidifies me again every time I get wobbly, offers my heart a strong hand to grasp hold of.

We are in a season of even more wobble, I think. Out on the end of the limb, as my parents often say. Waiting for God to come through. I know He will. I know it won't be in the way I expect or probably want Him to. I know He is always only ever good, and faithful, and steadfast.

Today, in reading Sara Hagerty's book Every Bitter Thing is Sweet (I fully embrace the perfection of reading such an aptly-titled book at this specific time), a line struck me- "As with any calling, we dip our toes in the water of yes and hope to God that this is the biggest yes we'll have to utter, the biggest move our hearts will have to make with such trust, only to find ourselves submerged years later." I have been hoping that saying yes to moving and changing jobs was enough, but I'm afraid that it isn't. The yeses only get bigger so as to deepen our trust and submerge our hearts in Him. That scares me, but I want it. In the same chapter, Sara also writes, "Instead of letting all that I lacked consume me, I was being made ready to delve into unknown frontiers of Him." If I'm honest, it's been five years since my last 'growth spurt' with God. It feels like a new one is beginning. It's always in those dark, scary times that we grow the most, isn't it? Maybe someday I will be mature enough to "delve into the unknown frontiers of Him" without a deep, scary thing in front of me... but I'm not there yet. Right now, it takes the terrifying to push me there.

I think I mentioned in my last blog that I felt a "holy unrest" in me (thank you for the PERFECT terminology, Priscilla Shirer). I realized I had grown stagnant with God, and knew He was preparing me for something, but I couldn't tell then. I still don't know what it specifically is, but I know it is this season we are walking into that He was beginning to stir up.

So, here I stand. On the cusp of something big, that I can't see or comprehend. Looking over the cliff, into the darkness, preaching to myself through song:
"In the valley of the shadow, I remember You are strong, God, You are strong."
"I put all my hope on the truth of Your promise, and I steady my heart on the ground of Your goodness."
"You don't give Your heart in pieces. You don't hide Yourself to tease us."
"You revive me, Lord, and all my deserts are rivers of joy."
"I will trust here in the mystery... You taught my feet to dance upon disappointment, and I will worship."
"There's no place I can go Your love won't find me, no place I can hide where You don't see, no place I can fall Your love wouldn't catch me."
"I am not alone- You will go before me, You will never leave me."
"Where there was death, You brought life, Lord. Where there was fear, You brought courage. When I was afraid, You were with me."
"When the night is holding on to me, God is holding on."
"I'm still in Your hands, this is my confidence: You've never failed me yet."

It doesn't feel much like an 18th birthday party. It feels dark and foreboding and like a lot of bad stuff is about to happen. Probably not the happiest bundle of thoughts to share publicly, but I know my God is a God of full-circle and completing what He starts, so I share this for the day when we can look back to the beginning and remember where it began. I share this to hopefully comfort someone else who also wonders what sort of vast unknown they are walking into, and how it will change them. I share this to reflect on these 18 years so far and remind myself that He has never failed me yet and He won't start now.

Finally, I can't get this quote out of my head. This season will certainly require all of these attributes of me, and all I can do is eek out my little "yes" to seeing how God makes me more like Him through this.

__________________ ____________ ____________ ____________ __________________
music for this season:
Good to Me- Audrey Assad
Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus- hymn
Pieces- Amanda Cook
Jesus, Rock of Ages- Christy Nockels
I Am Not Alone- Kari Jobe
King of My Heart- John Mark & Sarah McMillan
Do It Again- Elevation Worship
God With Us- Brian & Katie Torwalt

new shoes

A little over a year ago, I wrote a blog post about being in a weird phase of relationship with Casey- we were very emotionally and spiritually serious, but still "just" dating- which we called "outgrowing our shoes". If you missed it, this post will make a lot more sense if you go back and read it now.

That post was written in February 2017. Little did I know that 9 months later, we would get engaged, and 15 months later, Casey and I would be married. The outgrown shoes season was very difficult for me, especially as the months ticked by and we still weren't engaged. I was dead set on a Spring wedding and a 6-9 month engagement, so I felt we "had" to get engaged between June and November 2017. I loved dating Casey, and I loved being his girlfriend, but the longer we were together, the more I wanted to just marry him already. When each month ended and we got closer to winter, I started getting sad that my dreams of a Spring wedding would have to be put aside for a Summer or Fall wedding, or worse, put off for another year. I cannot tell you the multitude of times I begged Casey to give me some hope of an engagement-- and in true Casey fashion, he wiped my tears away and asked me to trust him, without giving me any details or surety.

Looking back now, that was a really sweet season. It was the beginning of me learning to trust my (now) husband more than my doubts, my fears, or my own plans. At the time, however, I resented it.
Finally one night, at the end of October/beginning of November, I sat on the couch beside him and said: "Look, I know we aren't getting engaged anytime soon. I'm trying to be fine with that, but it's really hard for me. The hard thing for me is I'm keeping my hopes up for a Spring wedding and I just need you to tell me we're not having one. I just need you to say a Spring wedding is out of the picture, just so I can get over it."
So he did.
I cried. A lot.

Thankfully, he was lying. He'd had the ring made for me, picked the diamonds himself, and was waiting to pick it up on a day I wasn't with him.
Less than a month later, he proposed to me on Thanksgiving at his grandparents' house. Their 60+ year marriage has been such a blessing and inspiration to us, and we've always talked about how much we want to be like them, so I'm sure you can imagine the tears, giddiness, and relief that came with starting our story there.

We were engaged for 6 months and 4 days (HA! God and His impeccable timing! He gave us a 6 month engagement AND a Spring wedding)- which I mean to write about sometime, but not today.

We've been married for 2 months. Just typing that makes me stop and go- WAIT. WE'RE MARRIED?!
Yep, it's cool.
Anyway, we've been married just a few days, and already I'm finding the 'new shoes', as perfect as they are, are much different than I imagined them to be.
Though they don't bring the pains of wearing shoes that don't fit, they do bring the pains of breaking in shoes that no one has worn yet.
Everything is new. Everything has a learning curve. Everything is a little bit fun and a little bit scary and a little bit "what if I totally mess this up?"

Please don't take this as ungrateful or unsure of my commitment- I couldn't be more thrilled to be Casey's wife. It's just different than I expected. My perfectionist tendencies REEEAAALLLYY don't like having to figure married life out and get some stuff wrong along the way- I liked knowing what I was doing dating Casey and having a pattern to our minutes and days. Right now, it's weird trying to figure out our new patterns. The shoes definitely need to be broken in.

I can't tell you how many miscommunications we have had. How many times I've taken offense at a tone I thought he was taking with me. How many moments we have been so frustrated with each other, only to talk it out and realize we're aren't good at being married yet. Not good at understanding each others tone's, reading between the lines, knowing what tools or words will help the other person feel more loved or calm down or feel settled. We just don't know how to be 'married people' yet.

I definitely didn't see that coming. We dated for 4 years, I felt I was pretty good at reading between his lines and not getting offended at his introversion but GUESS WHAT? I knew nothing.
I think marriage is really just Revisiting Every Discussion You Have Ever Had 2.0 (not in the rehashing old arguments way, but in the spiral curriculum way {sorry that I only know how to make teacher analogies}). It's deeper and sweeter, but the hard stuff is harder, and the ugly parts of us are uglier- it's like marriage just gave us magnifying glasses for each other.

Casey and I have frequently referred to our relationship as if it's a college degree we're working on. "I think you're a Senior in Becca Studies by now," and the like. If getting married was graduating undergrad, then being married is pursuing a Master's. However, there are no online classes for this- it's a 24/7 internship. As frustrating as it is to have magnifying glasses for each other, what a sweet gift it is to be able to study and know and understand Casey Key that deeply. Deeper than any other human ever will (eventually. I do not claim to be there yet.)

So yes, I'm working on my Master's of Knowing and Understanding Casey Key. The new shoes are hard to fill, the learning curves are trying, and every.little.thing. feels like an experience that grows me, which is awesome, but uncomfortable. I strongly recommend marrying your best friend, it's a lot of fun, and a dose of reality at the same time. However, let's not turn this into a Becca's-life-is-better-than-yours session. Don't think I am better off because of who I am, who I'm with, my relationship status, or any way my life appears to be in this post or on social media.
My life sucks sometimes too.
The other night I got irrationally mad because I fell asleep while Casey was playing Words With Friends.
go ahead, laugh at me.

I suppose if I'm trying to boil all of this down to one thing, it's this:
you can be thrilled and terrified at the same time. you can be satisfied and frustrated at the same time. you can hate change, but also embrace it. Life is, for me currently, a lot of contradicting thoughts and feelings and events that happen at once. Most of the time I really like it, but sometimes I really hate it. That's okay, and normal, and part of this season of transition, and part of breaking in the new shoes I think.

all the things, part 2- Gilgal

I don't know about you, but for a long time it has been difficult for me to piece together the stories and meaningfulness of a lot of the Old Testament. Sadly, but thankfully, I am just beginning to really comprehend a lot of it. I've always LOVED the book of Joshua (maybe because it starts out with God telling him like 17 times not to be afraid and I've always felt like that must mean Joshua wasn't too different from me). So bear with me here as I wade through some huge truths in Joshua, and hopefully you'll grab some along the way!

A lot of Believing God (see first post) hangs on scriptures in Joshua, which has made it come alive for me and I am soaking in so much more than I ever have before. In Joshua 4, when the Israelites first crossed the Jordan River (from Egypt/wilderness) to Gilgal (the Promised Land), the Lord gave them some interesting directions:

"When all the nation had finished passing over the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua, “Take twelve men from the people, from each tribe a man, and command them, saying, ‘Take twelve stones from here out of the midst of the Jordan, from the very place where the priests' feet stood firmly, and bring them over with you and lay them down in the place where you lodge tonight.... The people came up out of the Jordan on the tenth day of the first month, and they encamped at Gilgal on the east border of Jericho. And those twelve stones, which they took out of the Jordan, Joshua set up at Gilgal. And he said to the people of Israel, “When your children ask their fathers in times to come, ‘What do these stones mean?’ then you shall let your children know, ‘Israel passed over this Jordan on dry ground.’ For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan for you until you passed over, as the Lord your God did to the Red Sea, which he dried up for us until we passed over, so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty, that you may fear the Lord your God forever."

I love this. I've always been a fan of setting up 'memorial stones' in my heart (I first got the concept from Hinds Feet on High Places), and I knew it was scriptural but hadn't done much research into instances of it. I think my favorite thing about this whole Joshua/Gilgal story is the meaning of the word Gilgal: it means 'circle' or 'rolling'. They set up their circle of memorial stones there, and God started bringing His work in them full circle. They had set out on this journey out of slavery, had doubted and stopped believing God, and then had to live in the wilderness for 40 years. Finally, the years have passed, they have Joshua in charge, they have made it to the Promised Land, and God can finally finish the work He started when he brought them up out of their slavery.

  
In Joshua 5:5-7, we find this: "Though all the people who came out [of Egypt] had been circumcised, yet all the people who were born on the way in the wilderness after they had come out of Egypt had not been circumcised. For the people of Israel walked forty years in the wilderness, until all the nation, the men of war who came out of Egypt, perished, because they did not obey the voice of the Lord; the Lord swore to them that he would not let them see the land that the Lord had sworn to their fathers to give to us, a land flowing with milk and honey. So it was their children, whom he raised up in their place, that Joshua circumcised. For they were uncircumcised, because they had not been circumcised on the way."

I don't want to give away too much, but bear with me here. The Israelites have just crossed the Jordan River into the Promised Land, and now, finally, they were where God had intended for them to be long ago. BUT since they'd lived in the desert so long, those who had been born while they were there had not been circumcised (as God had already commanded). At this point in the Israelites' cycle, they are no longer slaves, they have their own Promised Land, yet they still look like the people of the land they came from. God tells them to circumcise those who were born in the wilderness so that they can once again be consecrated to (set apart for) Him.

I love the way Beth related this to our life- she talks about wearing a label of reproach from your past (I'll get to this terminology later). Beth brings a few volunteers to the stage and has them wear some letters- think Scarlet Letter. There were several, but there are only a few I remember:

One is a D for Divorced.

One is a TP for Terrible Parent.

One is C for Crazy.

That's the one that hit me. 

Many many days, I find myself thinking, "I must be crazy". Or, in the darkest moments, "What if I am and always will be crazy?" First, I dislike that language because I have many friends with mental illnesses and "crazy" puts such a negative connotation on that. Second, I have never been diagnosed with any mental illness. I have always been an anxious person (much more so as a child/pre-salvation), and a very emotional person (thank you, ENFP tendencies and artistic temperament), and "crazy" has always been my fear. I know I am frequently irrational, illogical, and overemotional.

Somewhere along the way, I let myself label Rebecca Stovall as "CRAZY".
It was the shame I liked to pull out and put on when I felt low. Because how could any 'crazy' lady be used by God? (but like, how did I forget Ezekiel in those moments?? Ha!)

Anyway, as I got further into that session, I realized this was a real problem in my spiritual life, and was a way I was giving Satan victory in my life and, consequently, my relationships. It was a way that I was living like a slave, that I looked exactly like the world that I live in- whereas Jesus calls us to be IN this world, but not OF it. We are OF Him! We are consecrated to him and it should be visible to those around us that we are different because we are His. Our hearts are circumcised. Yet I was living in my anxiety and 'crazy' as if my heart was not circumcised.

"I must be crazy" ended right there. No longer would, or could, I wear that "Crazy" jacket. The only way for that to happen was to let God do what he did to the Israelites once they reached Gilgal- circumcise my heart. I understand that can be kind of a weird/freaky thing to see as spiritual, if you don't know much about God's purpose for it, etc. but I believe it is such an image of Christ's ongoing sanctification. He cut off the outer layer of me, cut off my jacket of shame and 'crazy', so that I could look more like Him. I realized this was no small thing. In my heart and mind, I did what the Israelites had done and set up some memorial stones.

I think my favorite thing about this whole Joshua/Gilgal story is that Gilgal means 'circle', 'rolling', or even 'to end'. They set up their circle of memorial stones there, and God started bringing His work in them full circle. Then he started rolling away their reproach, circumcising them, and healing them.

"When the circumcising of the whole nation was finished, they remained in their places in the camp until they were healed. And the Lord said to Joshua, “Today I have rolled away the reproach of Egypt from you.” And so the name of that place is called Gilgal to this day." Joshua 5:8-9

When I realized the reality of my 'crazy jacket' and allowed God to remove it, my cycle started over. No longer will I go from a promise, to miracles, to unbelief, to "crazy", to repentance, and back. Yes, I will still fall and still need to repent daily and hourly. But this lifelong cycle of letting Satan hold me back so strongly has ended. Now my cycle can be promise, belief, miracles, belief, and back- with repentance throughout. I'm done with disbelief and disobedience.

I know this because I've had opportunities to exercise it and I have already seen the miracles.

During the process of Casey looking for and accepting a job, there were some people who spoke doubt over him/us. I know they didn't do so maliciously, and for the most part they meant well. But no matter their intentions, the "Maybe you should just ___," and "Are you sure ____?" almost wore us down. Other people were pouring unbelief on us, simply because they wanted us to be safe or sure or whatever it was. There was one specific night, shortly after I listened to the Gilgal session, where we just sat on his couch and held each other and cried and prayed because it looked like nothing good was coming. It looked like God wasn't working, or hadn't heard us. I remember so vividly the moment that night when His Spirit whispered in me, "No. I'm believing God." I felt like one of those guys on American Ninja Warrior going up the Salmon Wall. Like everything was trying to push us back down, to keep us from getting to where God wanted us, and I just had to keep pushing upwards, saying "NO!" to the doubts. "NO, I'm believing God!"

Not 48 hours after that, Casey received a call from one of the dozens of schools he had emailed and applied with- one of only a couple to respond to him- and was offered an interview. A week later, he had the job. Not only is it *A* job, it is *THE* job. He will be in the Jackson area. At his new school, he is surrounded by other God-lovers, one of whom is the head coach he will be working closely with. And although it wasn't in the job description, he has been offered additional opportunities to assist in coaching high school in addition to junior high! It is truly our dream come true and prayer answered better than we knew how to ask for. It is nothing short of a miracle.

Oh, and a hilarious little tidbit- the apartment complex he will be living in is the one I lived in two and a half years ago, where he broke up with me. He will be in an identical apartment, just one building over from where I lived without him in that dark season. TALK ABOUT A GILGAL! What a hilarious, amazing full circle that has become!!

At the end of the Believing God study, Beth quotes Ephesians 3:17-19 in a cute little chant. I can't find the exact translation, but in the ESV, the verses say:  "that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."

As I listened to that chant at the end of all those sessions, tears filled my eyes. Not just at the goodness of God over the whole study, but at the particular chant. I learned it when I was 9 years old. You see, when I was 9 years old, everything happened in my life- I came to Christ, I started piano lessons {and am now a music teacher}, I started gymnastics {and coached for seven years}, I went to MC for the first time {where I obtained my undergrad degree and met Casey}, and I attended the Great Kingdom Caper VBS {which sparked my love for England, and led to me studying abroad there and falling in love with it and hopefully one day returning}. That year, my Sunday School teacher Ms. Cathy taught us that chant. I realized as I listened to it that she must have learned it from doing the Believing God study and that 15 years ago, she believed God for me. When I was so young and knew so little, she did what she could with what she had and prayed for a room full of fifth graders. And even if she did that whole study and learned the chant for no other purpose but to bring Becca Stovall's 24-year-old heart to its knees on a sunny Friday, it was worth it. It means so much to me that she, along with so many others, have believed God for me along the way, when I was unable or unwilling to. What a beautiful Gilgal that is, for someone else to believe God for me until I came full circle and was able to myself.

I've always loved the number 24 and believed that somehow God meant for it to mean big things in my life. He told me at the beginning of my 24th year that this would be a big one. That it would be full of miracles, and it certainly has been so far. If nothing else, I think God knew this whole time that this would be the year of my big Gilgal. That this would be the year that I clung to Him tightest and believed Him for the smallest and biggest and deepest things.
I cannot thank Him enough for that, for being a God who finishes the circle.

(go back to all the things, part 1)

(go forward to all the things, part 3)

the trauma of post-grad life

No one tells you that post-grad life is its own trauma. No one tells you that you'll spend nights wondering if the world would be better without you. No one warns about how hard you will be on yourself, the horrific things you will do when you feel bad- for some people, the terrible decisions you will make and awful ways you will treat others when you feel out of control. For me, the excruciating self-talk I engage in (I am meaner to myself than I would EVER be to another human) when I disappoint myself. No one even hints that post-grad life could traumatize you.

People say, "You did well in school, you'll be great," and you feel like a whiny baby when you realize you are not, in fact, great at this. You think you are probably doing the worst job anyone has ever done at this. You feel like you will never have spent enough time doing this to be at the top of your field. And to top it off, your friends don't talk to you anymore. Everyone gets busy, people move, people get married and have babies, and have weird work hours, and stay in school for a higher degree. They make new friends in their new circles, and you feel so replaceable. You feel out of touch. You feel like a bad friend, and like you're not worth keeping in touch with.

Older people rag on us millennials for being entitled and perfectionist. They write articles about how dumb it is that we are displeased with our lives if we don't daily find gratification in our jobs and studies and relationships. And please hear me out here- I see their point.
There is a very valuable trait that many young people my age (and younger) do not have: perseverance. I know the importance of continuing to push forward, even when I am displeased with myself or my job or my relationships with others. I know life won't always be rainbows and butterflies. Surely, plenty of young adults take their perfectionism too far and genuinely are socially hindered because of their entitlement issues. I get that.
But I also think the vast majority of us just want what we've been told we can have: something better than our parents had. If you're like me, you were raised hearing about the trials your parents and grandparents faced. You were probably told, "I work this hard because I want you to have it better than I did." We've been hyped up and encouraged and taught plenty of valuable life lessons and are, upon college graduation, dropped into the world with- best case scenario- a toolbox full of things we aren't entirely sure how to use.

For the first time in our two decades, we are not in school 8+ hours a day, 5 days a week. We suddenly have time to spend thinking about things. Things that aren't papers and reports and projects. All forms of media are telling us all kinds of different statements about ourselves and the people we see and hear about every day. Comparison is a natural thought process. We start worrying about things we had never even thought about before. We realize our world is in an awful state, and it's petrifying. We look around and feel like we had been calmly floating by the sand... but suddenly realize we have drifted so far into the dark beyond that we can no longer see the shore.
The shock of suddenly being alone on a float in the ocean is crippling. There is so much unknown. There are no others around; no one to call on should something happen, no island to paddle to if a danger arises. It's enough to send you into emotional shock.

One of my Psychology professors in college had a theory that every mental disorder was a product of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The more I consider that possibility, the more likely it seems. And when you look at it like that, I think it's impossible to escape 18 years of schooling, 22 years of LIFE, without even a little bit of PTSD. No matter how hard you try, no matter how good a childhood you had. Trauma accumulates, and maybe you don't even realize it until you graduate and have time to think about it.

The 20's are their own time of trauma that no one prepares you for. I wish I had someone in my life who had known to bring a box of tissues to graduation and say, "You'll need these more in two years than you do right now. It goes downhill for a little while here. You might hate it. It might make you stronger or it might make you crazy, who knows."

Some days I think it made me crazy.
I look at myself and wonder how I am such an emotional roller coaster, how I think such odd things, how I can be so dissatisfied with such a good life. I don't know how I am sometimes so lonely. Right now, I am in my 'normal' frame of mind- content, only slightly stressed, overall pleased at the general direction of my life.
But some nights when I lie down, I feel quite alone. I see people, and we have a good time and laugh and do fun and silly things. Then when I curl back up under my sheets, everything feels so heavy. I want someone breathing beside me. I want someone to hold my hand, or even just lay beside me and say, "it's not as bad as it seems."

Maybe all of this is just me. Maybe it's the combination of my artistic heart, my highly sensitive personality, my college experience, my current friendship and relationship status... the sum total of my life so far.
I really hope it isn't.
I hope I am not the only 23-year-old who sometimes listens to her own thoughts and realizes that she has moments she turns back into a 7-year-old. I hope I am not alone in feeling slightly traumatized from my realizations about life these past two years.

I do know one thing- if anyone else out there agrees with any of the above things, then you & I are together in this.
We are not crazy; we are growing.
I'm not always good at believing that, but today I'm trying to be. Today, I'm just reminding myself that my job is to 'keep my eyes on my own paper,' as I so often tell my students. I read this in an article today that greatly helped my mindset about this post-grad life.
It's difficult for me- more so on some days than on others- but that doesn't mean it is my job to judge my work and my progress in it. My job is just to keep going. To try. To show up at work every day and care, and teach, and maybe get a little bit better at it every day.

In this life that some days feels more like a tragedy than a beautiful thing, it is my job to put my thoughts out there when I feel alone- because surely I am not the only one.
It is my job to type out words that convey my thoughts and feelings and experiences- because certainly there is some other traumatized heart out there who can find hope here.

inspired by a new picture in an old frame

hello, virtual readers. it's been a pretty minute since I slipped some words into this space, but it felt like the right time. it's funny how for a season, a couple years ago, I felt like I had nothing but words. They poured out of my fingertips onto the keyboard- into emails and blips of google docs- and slipped from my pen in journal entries and letters and little jots here and there. They pulled me along as they flew out of me, I think.

and now they don't, not so much at least. not as easily. they drift around me a lot. maybe I just keep them to myself more now. maybe I finally learned how to store things up and ponder them in my heart. maybe it's good, maybe it's not.

so here I am, with some words. whether they are important or not is not up to me to say, but I'm glad you've kept reading this far. stay a little more, please.


I just did a tiny thing that felt really monumental, and I'm quite emotional about it.
I changed out a picture in a frame. I put the frame in a place I look every morning. (then cried.)

to explain why this is monumental, I have to backtrack a good bit, so please bear with me.

summer of 2014. specifically, the beginning of august. I had been dating Casey Key for nearly four blissful months.

(somehow a lot of things come back to this. I want to go ahead and clarify that this is not because of Casey. I love that man dearly, and I love our story, but not because of him or me or us. things don't revolve around that because of us. 

things revolve around it because it's a turning point on my heart's journey to the Lord. 

Casey is a huge part of my life because Jesus is a huge part of Casey, and of my relationship with him.)

so after four months, I thought we were kinda serious- at least I was serious about it. in all honesty, I knew six days into dating him that he was the only person I ever wanted to date or kiss or love.
for him, figuring it out wasn't that fast. I'm glad it wasn't.
anyway, I fly with his mom to Houston to pick him up from working at PineCove for 6 weeks. this was during the season I had a lot of words, therefore I had written him 42 letters, one for every day. I had also mailed him a lock of my hair, but that's beside the point.
during this time in Houston, I met his mom's birth mother (this is important and you'll see why in a minute). we picked Casey up from camp; I was smitten, he was less than thrilled to see me. we drove back to his house, talking about his family and hearing stories of his parents dating and all that fun stuff. so many times on that trip, I thought, "I just want to be part of this family."

we get back, talk a bit, and all part ways to get some sleep. the next morning we all go to his parents' church together. once there, Casey doesn't talk to me, doesn't get very close to me, doesn't hold my hand or lay his arm across the back of the pew. we get Cane's for lunch and take it home. we eat with minimal talking. Casey seems very off, and i'm internally freaking out. I ask him if I should just go ahead and drive home, he says "yeah I think that would be good."

the alarms in my heart start blaring.
I knew. this was it.
he walks me to my car, muttering about dragonflies. he opens my door, I get in, he gives me a peck that I don't reciprocate.
I immediately regret it and give him a decent peck back. I close the door and drive away and cry most of the way home.
I try not to act like anything is wrong. I tell myself "he was just tired". I don't let myself cry at first.
a few days later I ask him if everything is okay with us; he won't answer me.
"can we just wait and talk about it in person when I get back in town sunday?"
I write a sad song, I say "fine."

I wait and wait and wait. the slowest week of my life.
I call my mom on sunday and cry for hours. I knew it was coming. I tried to tell myself, "we're not about to break up." I tried to suck up my tears and be happy and go to dinner with friends.
He texts me, "can I come over?" at 9 PM.
He comes over.
He's wearing yellow.
He gives me a sad smile and it takes so much of me to keep from crying.
Liv leaves us alone to talk downstairs.

He says a lot of things I don't remember.
I force myself to look him in the eyes the whole time.
I force myself to not say anything, not guessingly finish any of his thoughts, let him say what he means.
I don't cry.
he talks a lot and I remember none of it, just the look on his face. just seeing my refrigerator behind him. just shaky insides.
he ends with saying he guesses this means we are breaking up for good.
I ask a few questions, I still don't let myself cry, I sit and stare a bit. I try to breathe the thick, awkward air between us, but it hurts my chest.
he asks if he can pray for me.

he holds my hands. I want to pull them away but he holds them.
he utters a sentence and my shaky insides burst. I cry big alligator tears, bigger than I had cried in many years.
my tears fall on the backs of his hands, I remember that part so vividly.
when the first one drops he pauses his prayer and says "don't cry, please" so shakily, but I can't stop. he keeps praying. I think he cried some on the inside.

"Amen." we look at each other. I'm crying. he wells up. I sniffle my tears in a little. we stand up, awkward goodbye, i don't even want to hug him but I do.
he leaves me with a note on yellow paper, "don't read it until I leave."

he walks out. I walk to the kitchen table and sit. I open the letter.
it feels like I disintegrated in that moment.
heaving sobs and trying to read through my tears and wanting to hate him but having no reason to.
"it seems that our relationship may be coming to a halt..."
"I can't give you what you need right now as a boyfriend..."
"Please keep loving like you do. seriously, scare people by how evident your love is for them."

I call my mom and tell her. I'm surprised she could make out any words through the sobs. I walk upstairs and fall on liv's bed and tell her and cry and cry.
I cry myself to sleep. I wake myself up crying. I cry in the shower, I try to stop, I tell myself "you can cry now, but when you start blow drying your hair, you have to stop." I blow dry my hair. I cry some more.
I text close heart-friends and tell them, and I cry at their responses. So much love, and support, and loyalty.

For three days, I managed not to cry in public, but I would walk in my front door and sit on the piece of my couch he sat on, and cry and stare at the wall. for hours.
I would run to the bathroom at the school I was student teaching at, just so I could let a few tears slip out when they needed to.
I cried every day for months. I hated seeing him.
I wanted to hate him, I wanted to be mad, but I just kept loving him, and that was worse.
I vowed to myself that I would love people so much that it scared them, and I reminded myself of that every morning.
I started writing.
I wrote 30 pages of what will hopefully someday become a book.
I would always start out being sad, and it would turn into me realizing how much I loved him. how willing I was to be stabbed in the heart by God's will for our relationship.


That was the first time I had ever died to my self. You hear in church about "dying to self," and "denying self," and that kind of stuff. it was all just jargon before that. I thought I knew what it meant, but I didn't.
I finally, then, learned what it was. it wouldn't have happened if Casey had not been listening to God's heartbeat. I hate that part of the story. I hate that it had to happen, but I'm so thankful for what that season did to each of our hearts separately.

we were 'apart' for six months, but we stayed best friends. after the first week of silence, we texted daily. we met every couple of weeks for coffee and life-chats that still lasted a minimum of three hours. we still talked about the hard things, the deep things, the us things. we chose the hard and holy choices. we stayed close.

in a moment that was nothing short of miraculous, after six months apart, Casey told me he still cared about me. I shared my feelings too. We realized we didn't want to date other people. We talked and prayed about it for a couple weeks, just to make sure we weren't jumping back into something because it was easy. we sought wise counsel.
then we came back together and said, "Yep. this is it."

our story didn't stop there, but that chapter ended and another began. We're very different people now than we were two augusts ago, or than we were when we got back together, or than we were a month ago. God moves our relationship closer to Him a bit more each day, and some days I hate how difficult it is. But goodness, am I thankful for our season apart and our seasons since then.


NOW, here we are. two augusts later. two thousand sixteen. it feels like lifetimes have gone by.
and yet the other day, God gave us the strangest way for this part of our story to come full-circle.


it was saturday, we were at his house for his brother's graduation and going-away party. his mom's biological mom (the one I had met in Houston) came to town for it. It was the first time I had seen her since That Weekend in 2014. when we were alone, I commented to Casey "isn't it crazy that it's been almost exactly two years since I first met Sheila? the last time I saw her was That Weekend." he agreed, we talked about how glad we were for that season to have existed, and to be done. I thought that was the end of it.

later that night we sat at opposite ends of the table during a family card game. something ticked in me, and my heart started shaking again. it felt just like that time when we sat at the table after church and he wouldn't look into my eyes.
later that night, I got weird about it and we talked about it and I realized I'm just going to be a mess this August. last year I was consumed with first-year teaching prep, too much to realize anything else going on around me. this year, the memories of 2014 started drowning me.
I cried and he comforted me and we prayed together, and the next morning I assumed I was fine.

We went to church with his parents. I started being startlingly aware of the similarities in "this time in 2014" and now.
We sat on the same row.
But this time he looked at me. He said my name the way he does (he doesn't even know he says it a certain way), the way his eyes crinkle in the middle of it. He held my hand and squeezed it and saw my eyes fill with tears at the memories, and offered his shoulder to cry on. He stuck by my side and held my hand, even when I shrunk away and tried not to hold his because the memories hurt.

After church, we were planning to return home and eat leftover pizza, but I asked his dad what the lunch plans were anyway.
"I think pizza, but we may stop by Cane's and pick up some chicken too."

I laughed out loud. I looked at Casey and said, "OF COURSE!"
Nothing else would make sense. God was flashing this in front of my face and I couldn't help but laugh. I was weird most of the afternoon though, and I tried to pull away from Casey, like I do when I want to be alone in my hurt and not bother him with my heaviness.
We finally had some time alone to talk, and I let out my big tears again, about how much it hurt to see this in front of my face again, about how scared I was that things would be too similar to 2014.

I kind of wish I could share Casey's heart in those moments. He is nothing but the most loving, tender, patient human in the face of my panic and worry. I love many things about him, but that part of him is one of my favorites. I am so glad God gives him the strength and patience and grace to love me well, especially in those times.
Casey always soothes me and helps me breathe again in places I never realize I have been gasping for air.

And to finish off that circle, I left my hug-pillow at Casey's house accidentally. My hug-pillow is the one I hug closer at night when I miss Casey and wish he could be beside me.
When I drove back from the Key house and realized I had left the hug-pillow behind, light-hearted laughter bubbled out of me and it felt like an agonizing leading-tone chord had finally resolved back to tonic.
How perfectly wonderful that this time, the only thing I left at Casey's house was a pillow, and not our relationship.

and now, back to the tiny thing that felt so monumental:
I rediscovered my favorite picture frame tonight; in it was a picture of my favorite day of the 2012 London semester program.
I took the frame from the dusty windowsill it hid on, and dusted it off. I opened up the back of it and took out the old picture, and put a new one in.

And then I remembered how much it hurt to leave London behind. To move on without something that I loved so dearly, with only a vague promise of returning someday.
So I whispered a "thank you" to my Jesus, who has heard my heart these many times over these many days.

"Thank you for taking some things away, for letting them die. Thank you for bringing them back to life and finishing the circle."

the place I know You well

I find You here in a familiar place. A soft, hollowed out piece of metaphorical earth.
Askew on my woolen picnic blanket. Well-worn flip flops. Dimpled thighs. Pages fluttering in the springy evening breeze.

This is a place I know You well.
This is a place I have met You so often.
This is the place I held my broken heart up to You daily, for a time, and hoped You were crafting gold. I wanted you to be blowing glass and planting bulbs and resurrecting dead hopes.
And You did all of that and more.

You always called me Little Bird in those days, and some afternoons spent in that hollowed and hallowed spiritual ground, I swore that if I held my ear to the ground long enough I heard Your heart beat for us. "Lub dub lub dub" became "love Me, love them". It seemed like if I stared at the wind moving the branches until I couldn't see them for the darkness of nightfall, that I could see the whispery hem of Your goodness moving around me. Only the fringes. But I could see them and hear echoes of Your grandness.
...
...

These days I hardly know what to call this season, this place. I guess it's one of those things that doesn't know its own name just yet. But I'm glad my Jesus is personal and close and whispers these little reminiscences to me when I wake in the dark more often than I wake to daylight. I'm glad He carries my heavy heart every day and is moving even in my inability to pick up my cross daily, even in my lack of words to pray.

Anne of Green Gables said, "If I really wanted to pray I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd go out into a great big field all alone or into the deep, deep, woods, and I'd look up into the sky- up, up, up- into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I'd just feel a prayer."
And most days in this season, I feel a lot of prayers. Frequently I even feel them without saying them. Maybe you theologians and superChristians have words on why this is not good or unhealthy- I'd love to hear them. But I'm going to keep on feeling my prayers, at least for now. I believe my God likes to lean his forehead against mine and feel my weights with me and help me breathe and forgive and carry on.

Like today. Today I received three letters of encouragement. THREE! All on the same day. (All from actual people but ultimately from Him. Ultimately yet another "be weak and carry on" because I am not yet good at refraining from relying on my own strength.)
I also witnessed the most gorgeous sunset tonight from my favorite view in Clinton AND
MY SUPER HOT INCREDIBLE LOVING, INTELLIGENT, MAN-AFTER-GOD'S-HEART BOYFRIEND was elected president of his service club at our school (which is kind of huge and I am so elated with him and proud of him so I had to brag!)

Life is dark and heavy most days this season. It's rarely light or simple or free of spiritual warfare. Satan just doesn't like the grace that God is pouring out over me & my sweet little school, honestly. But it is so rich and vibrant and good and I am beyond-words-BLESSED to have Casey and my incredible family and friends and love-letter-writers in my corner. To have seen the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living (and what felt like the land of the dying). To be serving a Lord who empathizes and intercedes and whispers. To be able to look into the sunset and know He isn't done with us yet. And maybe one day I will look back on this place as another one where I knew Him well.

heart stuff

I know I post a lot of sappy things about Casey, but bear with me for a second while I gush. I promise I have substantial things to say in just a second! My reasoning is that I'm only gonna fall in love once so I might as well be as obnoxiously sappy about it as I can while it's all so new and wonderful.

Gush: Casey far exceeds my grandest hopes of what I might someday end up with. Like many girls who were raised in a southern baptist church, I had my little list of expectations and hopes and he blows them all out of the water. He slow dances with me while in line for hot dogs at baseball games. He plays hide & seek with me in Target. He lets me walk down the laundry detergent aisle because he knows I like to just walk down it sniffing. He holds my hands and blesses our meals together. He always encourages me to "be a light" in the workplace, and his constant prayer is for us to keep finding ways to love each other and Christ better. He tells the lady at Baskin Robbins that I changed my mind and want two scoops instead of one, when I am too passive to ask for it. He hugs me tight when I cry, wipes away my tears, and always tells me to stop apologizing for myself. He listens to and cherishes my rambling opinions and thoughts. He kisses my tired eyelids after a long day of school. He takes me on roller coasters that terrify me- literal and metaphorical- because he knows in the end I'll be better off for it or enjoy it, or maybe both. He leans his forehead against mine and sings the boy part of Baby It's Cold Outside in perfect harmony to my girl part, in the middle of the bike section at Academy. He sits on the wooden benches of Barnes and Noble reading aloud poetry with me. He looks at me That Way and holds my face in his hands and LoveQuirks like mad. And these are just some of the things that I remember off the top of my head. Casey is too too good to me and I'm obviously just the most twitterpated little thing you ever did see.

Obviously there is a lot that Casey does and is that I love dearly.
Sometimes, though, people what to know what about Casey I most treasure, and that is a hard things to decide on. But I finally, over the past few months, have found my answer.

When people ask me what I love most about Casey or what most attracts me to him, I always tell them about how he embodies Christ as He is described in Zephaniah 3:17. "The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love; He will rejoice over you with singing."
If you want me to expound on that, ask me and I will, but this is not the time.

I love how Casey's heart reflects my Savior's. I love that he is a physical representation of Christ to me, that they way he cherishes me and bears burdens with me draws me closer to Christ. The problem is, Satan hates it. My flesh hates it.
It is excruciatingly difficult for someone you adore to just so tenderly and gently reveal your own heart-gunk to you. You might think that's dumb, it shouldn't be painful since they're being so gentle about it. But no. The simple loving manner used is almost 'burning coals'-esque. It somehow is worse when he's loving and humble about it (which he always is and UGH how annoyingly wonderful to have someone so freaking patient and meek pursue my heart daily) because it makes my gunk be revealed more realistically, and alllllllll the gunk comes out.

Sometimes for me the best way to clean out my gunk is to just announce it and share all the gruesome sin-details of it all so here goes.
My heart gets very proud, on both ends. It never sits stably in the middle, in selfless humility, but drastically wavers between arrogant pride and inadequate pride. Between "I am everything" and "I will never be anything". Really it just centers around Becca so dang much. Pride tricks me cause really any kind of thinking about me before/above others and Christ is pride, but that's not really how it's billed. We're led to believe that arrogant self-reliance is the only form of pride but my heart is the prime example of there being two sides to the coin.

Lately, there has been so much realizing how gunky and prideful my heart gets. I'm pretty sure that half the time Casey doesn't even realize he's being a vessel for God's conviction. He is so often a mirror-holder to me that helps me compare my heart to the Lord's and stop comparing myself to other humans.

This morning in church I was reminded of the deep truths of Proverbs 4. Most of us who were raised in church are familiar with Prov. 4:23, but how many of you know the verses that precede and follow it?

“My son, be attentive to my words; incline your ear to my sayings. Let them not escape from your sight; keep them within your heart. For they are life to those who find them, and healing to all their flesh. Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life. Put away from you crooked speech, and put devious talk far from you. Let your eyes look directly forward, and your gaze be straight before you. Ponder the path of your feet; then all your ways will be sure. Do not swerve to the right or to the left; turn your foot away from evil.” Proverbs‬ ‭4:20-27‬ ‭ESV‬‬

A while back I was struck, upon reading this passage, by the various parts of the body/life that this addresses. This morning, I was reminded of those realizations once again.
When Solomon tells us to pay attention to his WORDS, he tells us they are LIFE and HEALING to "all their flesh". These words that follow are directed at various parts of our flesh that can easily lead our HEART, or spirit, astray.

Crooked speech & devious talk: someone please explain to my why it is so much easier to engage in judgmental thoughts and words as an adult in the workplace. Is it just teachers? Is it just because I'm new to this and insecure and feel the need to judge others more harshly so that my failings don't seem so glaring? Or is it just humans in general, and I've been in such conservative circles I've avoided it this far? Either way I hate it. I hate feeling the drive to gossip or use less-classy language. But it's so present and it's such a struggle for me, which is weird and humiliating, cause it's never been much of a thing I dealt with before.
But sure enough, "crooked speech and devious talk" drag my heart down. However, when I let my mouth overflow kind and grace-filled words, my heart is refreshed constantly.

Eyes & gaze: this one is a no-brainer. Where your eyes focus, your heart focuses. If my eyes focus on others' strengths and weaknesses compared to my own, my heart sits stagnant in pools of self-love, pride, and comparison. If my eyes focus on others' achievements and things that I lack, my heart surges with jealousy and envy. If my eyes focus on my own inadequacy, my heart slumps into self-deprecation (which is also pride) and negativity. No matter what my eyes focus on, eventually my thoughts and heart will center there too. So I must be constantly asking myself: what are my eyes fixed on? What do I spend my time on? What do I invest mental and emotional energy in?
One of my all-time favorite verses, Philippians 4:8, gives us the key to centering our thoughts around Him.

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”
‭‭it's as if God knew Becca would need these recommendations and gave them to Paul back when he was writing to the Church in Philippi. He knew my eyes would focus on everything but Him. He knew my heart would get distracted by what I let fill my vision. So He said, "okay. Instead, here's a list of things you should think about and fill your mind with: true things. noble things. right things. pure things. lovely things. honorable things. just things. commendable things. excellent things. and things worthy of praise. dwell on those."
Because the only things that exemplify those traits are gifts He showers, so ultimately we are looking back to Him. We are fixing our eyes and hearts on His goodness. "I steady my heart on the grounds of Your goodness," says Audrey Assad in her song Good To Me. That is the only way to combat wandering, distracted gazes- steadying our hearts on His firm foundation of goodness and righteousness.

Feet & their ways: where I go and what I actively do has so much effect on my spirit. What am I walking toward? What am I actively doing? Do my feet walk to my bed (to watch more Netflix) more frequently than they walk to others' aid? Am I honoring the temple of the Lord that my soul lives in? Immediately after sharing with us what we should fill our minds with, Paul says in Philippians 4:9
“What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.”
Christ has taught and given and spoken and shown us everything we need to walk with Him and abide with him. It's now a matter of putting into practice what we have already learned and received and heard and seen.
It's not necessarily a matter of 'discipline' to follow Christ actively (though it often requires discipline to be effective and efficient as His ambassador). It's a matter of the heart. It's about setting my heart on the "Christ" setting and not letting my flesh distract me or delay me from that.

The great thing is, this is not a work I can do. It's a work I can invite and put into practice once it starts, but I cannot initiative a move of God. Only He can. Only the Spirit working in me and weeding the garden of my heart and filling me daily can change the direction of my eyes, thoughts, words, feet, and heart.

Someone once asked Charles Spurgeon, "Why do you have to be filled with the Spirit?" To which he responded:
"Because I leak."

I'm realizing that I leak a lot. And I rarely fill my heart back up with Him. And that's where all the problems start.
BUT I'm forever grateful to be surrounded by people who care to point out my leaks and hold up a mirror to me and fill me back up with His truth + grace.

and she's back!

greetings, my friends, from the lovely world of "Mith Nobaw". how are things out there?
for MONTHS now, I have been planning on returning to this little internet-canvas of mine and throwing some brightly colored paint on my world... then my laptop died.
so here I've been, holding my thoughts in until an innocent bystander asks how my day is or what I'm doing the next weekend. and then out trickle my observations and convictions and decisions and ponderings, with the force of something much fiercer than a trickle if I'm being honest.
there are many things that have changed semi-drastically since I last mentioned them out here in the blogosphere: I got a new car, I moved into a sweet rental house with my sister, I obtained and began a job as an elementary music teacher in a lovely little school in a heart-wrenching school district, the seester and I got a puppy (he's mostly hers), Casey and I got back together (which happened a while back but I don't think I've mentioned it here), I began and ended work at Bath & Body for the summer, and my Mee-Maw died.
-----> all of that happened in an order very different from how I listed it but who cares.

so life has looked like a lot of things lately:
it's looked like wet hair being slung around on the 7 AM drive to school (leisurely late-morning, compared to Spring semester!)
it's looked like being terrified of/for my achey-breaky old car and thrilled for/over my new one.
it's looked like my first ever panic attack the week before I started school because 1) I loved these babies before I met them and 2) Satan uses that against me.
it's looked like falling asleep at 6 PM because I was working two jobs for a while there-- and I have a whole new respect for anyone who has a full-time job AND another job on top of it.
it's looked like forgetting, for probably the first time in my life, that skin color is an actual thing that affects some people's views of others, and often finding myself having this sudden, shocking realization that I am not, in fact, African-American too.
it's looked like sitting in 'my' house being absolutely mind-blown at how God has worked and provided in just one year.
it's looked like renting five movies from the library at once because that's the max, and watching them all as fast as possible.
it's looked like eating out too much.
it's looked like being really unsure about all the grey areas in my relationship with God.
it's looked like trying to learn how to rest.
it's looked like occasionally hating myself for being so empathetic.
it's looked like getting to hold a loving, bearded face in my hands, and realize that the kind of relationship we have is one of rare vulnerability and depth [and it's wonderful that we get it but so sad that some humans forsake this for their own comfortability] and cry-laughing the happiest tears out of my eyes because Casey Key is a living, breathing, hugging answer to prayer.
{the kind of prayers that aren't happy and pretty and well-formulated. the kind of prayers that contained the occasional curse word and a good bit of yelling and a lot more crying and all kinds of groans from my heart. the kind of prayers that I had never prayed until I suddenly woke up on August 25th, and every morning after that, needing to grab the door handles of God's heart and shake them and scream and pour out bitter tears because He had wrecked me in an awful, beautiful new way that brought about so much dependance.}

and, of course, being a teacher now, it's looked like doing a lot of things that "aren't my job".
Translating as much of his class as I can for a 4th grader who can't speak English "isn't my job".
Teaching a 5th grader to read because no one took the time to when she was younger "isn't my job".
Helping administer pre-testing so that students who need reading intervention can get it early on "isn't my job".
Squatting down to tie the shoes of a 3rd grader who can't tie his own "isn't my job".
But yet... all of those things are my job.

and one day, amidst sharpening a few score pencils, I started pondering. on pencils, and what 'is' and 'isn't' my job.

I'm weird about the kind of pencils I buy for my students. I only buy Ticonderoga #2, even though they cost a bit more, because the lead doesn't break as easily as off-brand or even Dixon pencils. Now Dixon pencils, I swear, were made by Satan himself. Just when you ease them into the sharpener to bring them to perfect sharpness, they come out with the lead at an awkward angle. You touch it with the tip of your forefinger to see if it's sturdy enough to write with, and the lead falls out. So you slide it back in the sharpener, and out it comes: the wood rounded around the end of the lead to the point that it can't be used to write at all anymore.
It's one of the more infuriating things I experience in a given day.


and it makes me think: I don't want to be a Dixon pencil. I don't want to break off when people need me and say "that isn't my job today" or "not feeling like it, sorry." I don't want to be the kind of person that when Christ draws me in to sharpen me, I pull my shell up around me and protect myself to the point that I'm not even a tool worth utilizing anymore.

I want to be the kind of writing utensil that is the worn-out, tried-and-true, tiny little knub of a pencil because it has given every bit of itself being sharpened and used and sharpened and used and broken and sharpened and used. It has loved others by simply making itself available and sharpen-able.

which reminds me.
Someone needs to tell Taylor Swift that love is NOT
"a fragile little flame that could burn out."
On June 2nd I wrote:

I'm learning that love is not 

some "fragile little" thing that I have to keep 

hidden away and protected.

I'm learning that love is fierce and strong

and a weapon for the battle to find

and create joy every moment.

I'm learning that love is gorilla tape that 

binds and corrects and sticks and stays.

I'm learning that love is 

misunderstood by everyone,

most of all me.

I'm learning that love is the heart-wrenching

waiting and staying. It is the

sitting-in-the-silence-and-not-fearing-it.

I'm learning that love can be found 

in absolutely any situation,

circumstance, or emotional ecosystem.

and today I'm adding:

I'm learning that love doesn't ask me for 

anything but my SELF.

I'm learning that love doesn't ask me where I'm going,

it asks me where I am and knows

that I sometimes just need to be held there.

I'm learning that love doesn't ask me

to always be energetic or enthusiastic or positive, 

but simply to be real.

I'm learning that love isn't always painful,

isn't always perceived as beautiful, and 

isn't always noticeable to eyes unfamiliar.

I'm learning that love's motto is just:
"wow. you."


I guess I say all that to say I'd rather be a knobby pencil and Gorilla tape than a Dixon pencil or a Taylor Swift song. and I really want to hear what you're learning, whether it's about love or not, because I want to know if I'm kinda close to the target or if I'm just really far off. share your hearts, friends, I look forward to it.

the one where she is sad

It's been over a month now that I've been out of words and I'm not going to pretend I'm okay with that. So many times I've tried to force myself to write, to blog, to journal, ANYTHING. And it just hasn't really worked. Tonight, however, there's a heaviness in me, that kind that I think brings wordiness, though I am currently completely unsure of what words will spill out.

Today I finished my last official day subbing. It's been an incredible three months, full of tears and laughter (the only way to spend the months), and my heart will, I think, forever be attached to some of these students. Seems like that's the way this teacher-heart of mine works-- getting too attached to people that rarely/never know how deeply my heart buried their name. It's made me do a lot of reflecting and a lot of note-writing and a lot of thanking.

It makes me wonder if my teachers ever felt about me the way I feel about my students. I wonder if they searched for the joy or pain in my eyes and sometimes put their hands on my shoulders because they knew how much I just wanted to be seen. I wonder if they ever cried when I left them or they left me or whatever our 'goodbye' looked like. I wonder if they ever got frustrated because I didn't listen to them the way I needed to. I wonder if they ever sat alone at night and prayed their hearts out for me until the tears stung the backs of their eyes.

I've been doing a lot of job applying and interviewing lately and these boss people always want me to "tell [them] about [myself]". And every time I've started with, "Well. I love loving people." because some days that's all I really know about myself. Some days I say vague things after that or spout of facts that other people have told me, because I'm supposed to know who I am beyond just knowing I'm a bucket of love that's got an unfixable hole in the bottom of it.
But most days, that's all I really know.
There's a hole in my bucket and I don't plan on trying to fix it, cause I like splashing around and at least helping turn the dusty parts to muddy parts. Everyone needs their dusty parts to be splashed on, even if it makes mud, because that's when you can really finally muck it away.

As you can see from the past four paragraphs, I've been really into me lately. And I'm very tired of it, but I need training on how to stop using "I". Because I'm selfish and talk about myself a lot and sometimes it literally nauseates me. CAN YOU PLEASE JUST START BEING LESS ABOUT YOU, BECCA?

Guys, my mind is such a jumble lately and it's so frustrating. I can hardly string coherent thoughts together a lot of times, and I'm not sure what to blame it on besides just busyness (which is a lame excuse). A little bit back, I had coffee with a friend and we talked about this whole being a "writer" thing. I try to tell myself, "you're not a writer, Bec. you didn't even get a minor in it. stop posing and give it up."
However, it's a thing God uses to minister to me. Writing is and always has been a way for me to figure out my own thoughts and feelings. When I was seven, I would get so bogged down in my own thoughts I couldn't get them out enough to tell my mom that I wanted to eat dinner at a specific place or get my ears pierced, so she bought us a mother-daughter journal and I would write her little notes.

Thinking about that makes me cry. Y'all my mom is (and was) superwoman.
Who even thinks of that?

Anyway, it's always been an outlet and a method of dealing, for me. so who the heck do I think I am to tell God, "No, you can't use me in that way," although I hate being used in this way because I am so small and inadequate.
For such a big God, He deserves a writer that is also big and talented and popular and at least has a degree in it or something. I just write because I like words and think too much.

In the end, I guess I should boil it down to: I never have enough/the right words to say, and that drives me crazy. Maybe, hopefully, someday I'll find that I have exactly the words I want to use at exactly the moment I want to use them and there will be just enough but not too many and they will have a perfect audience and response.
For now I'll just sit here and claim to be a writer until I feel like one.
Sidenote: to all you real writers, please don't be offended that I'm trying to be one of you. Just let me in.


Also, here's a sobering bit: my grandmother just died.
I'm sorry to be so blunt about it; I hope it doesn't seem apathetic or disrespectful. However, it's a fact. She was in her late 80's (I can't remember if she was 87 or 88) and in the late stages of Parkinson's and it's just inevitable at that point. And I don't know how to process it- sometimes I'm a puddle of tears when I talk about it and sometimes I feel so far removed from it. Both of my other grandparents (dad's parents) have died during my lifetime and neither of them really struck me the way this has. They were sad affairs, to be certain, but I've been crying like a bipolar lady the past week or so.

Basically I'm probably going crazy, guys.
Welcome to my world.

I want to be less about me, but I also want 'me' to be better. I want to be more stable, less extremely wavering in my emotions, more adequate, less doubting, more talented, more sure... and the list goes on.
These days, Satan's doing a lot of tearing down and I don't really know how to stop it when I can barely stand up straight most days.
It's my own fault, I've failed to stand and fight for too many days in a row. But I just feel small, in the bad way. Like I've somehow lost my way, along the path to adulthood. Heck, maybe this is adulthood. I don't know.

There's just something wrong and off and I don't know what it is or how to fix it or how to tie it all up in a happy, pretty bow to display.
I'm just sad.