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

this is a jumble and I don't like it.

Well, it's been a year. Every time I've come here to write, I closed the tab. The words just wouldn't come. There was a time in my life, about four years ago (actually exactly four years ago), when I had nothing but words to type. Everything was pent up inside me and the only way to process was to write. I suppose I should be thankful that it's not that way anymore, but I developed an attachment back then, and I still haven't let go.
When I think about it, a little voice inside me says, "Bec, you're still a writer," but I've always had trouble claiming that title. It seems so lofty. However, I cannot deny that there are always words inside me, winding themselves around in my head, attempting to find clever ways out. Is that all it takes to call oneself a writer?
Anyway, I'm a good bit ashamed of this post, because it jumps around and isn't very coherent and is NOT the type of writing a TRUE WRITER would produce, I tell myself. But I'm really not here to prove myself as a writer. I'm here to share my heart, to be open and honest, and to hope that God uses it to speak to someone. I'm pretty sure this post will end up being a big jumble of thoughts and emotions, and I dread that, but I know I need to just DO THE THING. Please bear with me.

Life lately has been... different. Kinda funky. It's a lot of self-discovery and avoiding listening to the news and trying to not be so hard on myself.
Here, I must admit that I'm a basic white girl and am VERY into enneagram numbers right now. Which, I believe, is leading to some really beneficial learning-about-myself time.
For a long time, I thought I was a Two- caring, people-pleasing, helper. Then I started seeing a lot of Four tendencies in myself.
Then I listened to Annie Downs' That Sounds Fun podcast on Enneagram Fours and I spent the entire hour going, "WAIT, THIS IS ME! IT'S ME, I'M A FOUR!" and crying along with the speakers.
It's been so beautiful and refreshing and rewarding to hear my tendencies and personality traits explained through the lens of the Gospel, and how those traits can be used to serve and love well. I can't tell you how many times I've cried about that.

And I must say, it tastes so sweet and feels so freeing to realize that part of my Four-ness and Individualist-ness and highly-sensitive-person-ness is a TOOL that God has given me to encourage and empathize and spread words of Truth. My ability to cry at the drop of a baby squirrel is not a weakness, not something I should apologize for, or hide, or feel ashamed of. My ability to cry while listening to any slightly emotional story is a TOOL that God has given me to be able to relate to people and to love them viscerally (tbh, not sure if viscerally is the right word there, but it's the best I've got).

So, needless to say, that made me fall in love with the That Sounds Fun podcast all over again-- I already liked it, but now I have feelings for it. Naturally, I then consumed it like crazy for about a week. I listened to some of my favorite authors and musicians being interviewed- they all made me cry. I learned a lot from all of them, but my favorites were Robin Jones Gunn, Mandisa, and Priscilla Shirer (you should go listen). Robin Jones Gunn reminded me of the importance of friends and of God's sovereignty in all our disappointments. Mandisa spoke about learning to stop hiding from the parts of us we are ashamed of, and instead to speak truth to ourselves and those around us. Priscilla Shirer really got me- she said she was in a season of "holy unrest", and that resonated deeply in me.

I feel like all of me is in that state of holy unrest right now. I'm uncomfortable, almost itchy, and I know there's a reason for it. He's making me uncomfortable for some reason that I can't see yet. I feel the need to get up and do something new in this season... but I can't tell what season this even is. It doesn't feel like any of them. Maybe Winter? I can't tell yet. I just know I'm transitioning to a new season and He's preparing me for something.

(I must remind myself that it isn't a coincidence that these podcasts that I listened to months after they aired, out of order, spoke to me. Every one of them was provided to me by my Father. That makes me weepy, thinking about the fact that He cares enough about me and my worries and my heart to give me some truth in the form of PODCASTS.)

I don't know about you, but I find myself most frequently battling one emotion: fear. I think, if we're honest, that's true for all of us. I'm terrified of what He's preparing me for, of the season He's introducing. I feel very certain that it will be hard and He will require some things of me that I don't think I can do. I'm scared of that.
That's why it is so touching that God's perfect love drives out fear. His ability to show us love in these insane, earthy, human ways is meant to drive the fear out of our hearts and lead us to Him.

As much of my writing does, this will circle back to Casey, so if that annoys you, just skip this bit. When Casey and I first broke up in August 2014, I was terrified. I realized that I loved him and I was terrified that losing him would scar me, or he would never come back to my life. I remember many days of waking up scared that I'd lost this guy who had quickly become one of my best friends, asking God, "Do I have to give him all the way up?"
The answer, of course, was yes.
At that time, I stumbled upon the perfect song- All We Are is Yours, by Daylight Worship. I cannot tell you how many times I listened to that song in the fall of 2014. The lyrics say,

"Whatever you say, whatever the cost, all we are is Yours

Wherever we go, whenever You call, we give all our strength that Your name would be known."

That resonated so perfectly in my heart. As much as I wanted to still be Casey's girl, to still be friends, to hold onto what we had, I knew the only way to move forward was to offer "us" up to God. To open my heart to the possibility of a call that I didn't like, or a cost that felt very unaffordable. To prioritize my relationship with Him over Casey.
I'll finish the story quickly by telling you what many of you already know- Casey came back in my life eight months later with all the beautiful timing and truth only God could orchestrate. We dated for 3 more years, and when planning our wedding, the one song we knew we had to have included was All We Are is Yours. This time we had many of the same feelings I'd had years before: fear, trepidation, nervous excitement. I think every time you fully place your trust in God, those emotions are to be expected. We knew that we would do what He said, go where He called us, whatever the cost. But that's scary and our human minds had a hard time wrapping around the idea of His ability to provide for us at every twist and turn.

That's most of why I wrote the waiting and believing post, about our marriage, life in Hattiesburg, and all that God has brought about here: because I had been terrified, and my little heart relied on His love to get us through. And it did. We waited. We believed. He loved us. We survived. He drove out our fear. We grew. That was enough.

And it still is enough.
Sometimes I feel like life is happening so fast, there will never be enough time to soak up all the lovely moments that go flying past me every day. I fear forgetting these days. I will never be able to memorize every detail of Casey's face, but I need to have it memorized because there is a 50/50 chance that I will have to live without him at some point. There is not enough time in this future of beautiful things blazing past me. It literally makes my throat get tight, the fear of missing all the good stuff. It paralyzes me sometimes and lays in my chest, heavy and dark. Ironically, the fear of missing all the good stuff leads me to missing stuff, because I'm letting fear settle in me. I'm giving it a place to live. And I'm tired of doing that.

In those moments over over-awareness, I feel every little moment so deeply. Kids smiles. Tears. The sound of dragonfly wings. The silliest things. I want to use that over-awareness to cherish life, not to fear missing things. Since it's January 1, I strongly feel the need to have succinct resolutions, or a word for my year, or some sort of vision... but I don't have any of that.

I have things I feel God has spoken into my heart:
I will see salvation this year.
He will provide for the scary unknown that is the months of 2020 after May.
I can trust Him.

That's all I've got. No cute picture. I don't even have a verse yet. But I think His voice is enough.

songs that have been resonating lately:
-Barter (SSA arr. by Clausen)
-High Flight (SSA arr. by Karen Linford Robinson)
-Embracing Accusation (Shane and Shane)
-All We Are is Yours (Daylight Worship)
-Music of My Heart (Nicole C. Mullen-- man I miss her)

everything. perhaps we should call it The Big Remodel.

Somewhere along my way here, something told me that I had no right to talk about my pain. I started believing I shouldn’t acknowledge or talk about the things that hurt me and the season of death I’m encountering (leaving?), because mine is so ‘easy’. Which, I guess, is true.
In comparison-- ground gets shaky and dangerous once that word enters the picture-- to much of the world, my pain and sorrow is negligible and laughable.
But believing that I have no right to be open about sorrow I experience is just SATAN.

Let me back up.
Over the past three weeks that I've been blog-less, God has been whispering so much I can hardly hold on to one thing long enough to sketch the most vague idea of it down before another wafts my way. Living in a community of God-lovers (which I love so much, don't get me wrong!) is exhausting in times like these because I am CONSTANTLY being asked, "What is God teaching you lately?" and I always want to respond, "EVERYTHING."

He's teaching me to die to self every day, pick up my cross, and follow Him.
He's teaching me to dwell on things of God and not on the things on man. (Romans 8:5)
He's teaching me that losing my life & dreams is the only way to find life & come alive.
He's teaching me how critical it is for me to surround myself with words of Life, people who speak Truth, and music that breathes Hope.
He's teaching me to hide His Word in my heart, and how greatly it affects my desire/lack of desire to sin against Him.
He's teaching me to see people and listen to them, even to things they don't say.
He's teaching me redundancy is okay.
He's teaching me to live a messy life reeking of redemption and splashing on passersby.

He's teaching me to pray.
He's teaching me to cry.
He's teaching me not to hide.
He's teaching me to stop trying to be tough and sassy.

He's teaching me to be honest with myself.
He's teaching me to love myself AND others.
He's teaching me to rely on Him and abide in Him.
He's teaching me to bear fruit.

He's teaching me to do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but to humbly consider others better than myself.
He's teaching me to look out for others' interests and heartbreaks.

He's teaching me to stop comparing.
He's teaching me to replace, "How am I better? How am I worse?" with "How can I bless them? What can I learn from them?"

He's teaching me to stay.
He's teaching me to speak.
He's teaching me to be renewed.
He's teaching me to leave shame behind.
He's teaching me how to study a living, breathing Word that reads me even as I read it.

He's teaching me to see His patterns.
He's teaching me to hear His voice.
He's teaching me to read His signs.
He's teaching me to question.
He's teaching me to measure everything I see, say, hear, and do against His Word.

He's teaching me to empty myself.
He's teaching me how to be filled.
He's teaching me what to let fill me.

He's teaching me to be a cathedral.
He's teaching me what it means to be a cathedral.
He's teaching me to say, "OK," through the tears.

He's teaching me love.
He's teaching me to love.
He's teaching me how to love.
He's teaching me how to be Love.

((if you didn't stop and think about at least a few of those, please go back and do so. Let Him whisper to you, too.))

And you know, there are probably more things He's teaching me that I haven't thought to put words to yet. I am, at all times, as constantly as I have ever experienced in my nearly twenty-two years of life, being amazed by Him.

I would love to be able to wrap that in a pretty little box for you and tell you that all the things I am learning and being amazed by are so fun and lovely and painless.
HA.

The searing pain of spiritual discipline is deeper than any other pain I have ever known.
It's life-wrecking.

It's the kind of pain that leaves you
sitting in the big chair in your new apartment's living room,
a roommate on either side,
shaking and crying and attempting to breathe,
while the world passes by on the road outside our window
with no knowledge of the revolution going on
in the little girl's heart that lives in that old house.
No matter how hard I try to convey that spiritual pain to you, it's not one you can understand until you've experienced it.

I've said this many times in my recently-passed conversations about the God-things in 2015 so far:

I always thought I knew what self-sacrifice meant until now.

I thought I knew what it meant to undergo spiritual discipline.

I thought I knew what Love was and what Love did and what Love looked like.

I thought I knew what that pain felt like.

But I didn't.

I know now: I never knew. 

I still don't know.

I see a tiny, tiny, beautifully tragic fraction of what it looks and feels like.

When I get to this point in the thought process, I always try to boil it down to one big thing. And right now, it all comes down to this:

be His cathedral.

the commandment of my year. my heart.

I'm still not entirely sure what it means or should look like, but I know this:

without the presence of God in it, a cathedral is just a sad, old building.

The only thing that makes a cathedral beautiful, sacred, and holy is the Shekinah Glory of God- the very presence of the Lord- filling it. **side note: I still don't know or understand enough about Shekinah Glory, but if you know nothing about it, read up on it (a little). 

So my quest then becomes: find the presence of God. figure out how to let Him live in me.
Which is a funny thing, because with all that He's teaching me, He's doing the serious remodeling needed to make my sin-filled, self-inclined human heart a place where He can dwell.
I also know He inhabits the praises of His people; He lives in "our praises, filling up the spaces in between our frailty and everything [He is]." (Restless by Audrey Assad). We have a God who responds when we ask "as I sing to You, in my praises, make Your home!" (Audience of One by Big Daddy Weave).

I find it so beautiful that in Exodus when God outlined for Moses and the Israelites EXACTLY how the Tabernacle was to be designed and set up and consecrated (He spent CHAPTERS doing so!), He had a purpose in it. It was ornate and beautiful and sacred and holy- because it was His dwelling place.
Then, when Christ died, the veil, which separated the Holy of Holies from the rest of the Tabernacle-- literally the only place where redemption of sins could be found, and the only place where God's spirit could dwell (Exodus 26:33, 30:6)-- was torn in two (Matthew 27:51). There was no more separation.
We got to become His dwelling places. We got to be made holy because His glory could now fill us as it used to fill the Tabernacle (Exodus 40:14).
We got the chance to become His tabernacles, His cathedrals; We got the chance to become inhabited by the Spirit of the Living God as our hearts and minds fill with praise for Him.

What an undeserved blessing.
What glorious newness is there to be found amidst the searing pain of self-sacrifice.

In my learning to study His Word, I have found a new connection with several hearts that fill the Old Testament- one of which is Joseph. Mainly because he cried a lot.
In Genesis 41, shortly after Joseph has risen to a pretty significant position under Pharaoh, we see a little section about Joseph naming his kids. Verses 50-52 say:
"Before the year of famine came, two sons were born to Joseph. Asenath, the daughter of Potiphera priest of On, bore them to him. Joseph called the name of the firstborn Manasseh. "For," he said, "God has made me forget all my hardship and all my father's house." The name of the second he called Ephraim, "For God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction."

Now, I'm obviously not claiming to be on Joseph's level here. But I love finding a treasure like that in an odd place.
I love seeing it and clinging to the truth:
God will make me fruitful in this land of affliction.

{this blog and Becca's current heart-movements inspired by Mark 8, the book of Lamentations, Romans 6-8, and the following albums:

Majestic by Kari Jobe

Cathedrals by Tenth Avenue North

City of Black and White by Mat Kearney}

Christmas (plus a few days)

A few weeks ago, I remembered how He came like the winter snow. I love this song by Audrey Assad- she says all these ways our Savior could have come: like a fire, a hurricane, a mighty storm... but instead, He came like the snow- it perfectly depicts the peace Jesus brought to the chaos and muck of humanity when He came as a child.

As one of my favorites, J. Vernon McGee, put it: "Here comes God out of eternity, already the Ancient of Days; but He also came to Bethlehem, a little baby thing that made a woman cry." The least expected thing in the most needed way.

I can't help but remember waking up in the wee hours of the morning that February day, in the yellow guest bedroom at 14 Oakleigh Crescent in a London suburb. I was one of millions of Londoners who slept as the snow blanketed our houses and streets and sidewalks and cars, quiet and soft and slow. Something happened to wake me up, though, and I crept to the frosty window and peeked out into street and saw snow- SNOW!- everywhere. Inches and inches of snow, more than I'd ever seen fall at once, lit by the yellowed streetlights. Joy bubbled around within me, and I began tearing up.

IT CAME!- my one thought.
They had said it would, but I was skeptical.
Then it did. While I was sleeping, unaware. But something woke me up and all the sudden, there it was: five (or more) glorious inches of white, fluffy, frozen water making me cry.

Isn't that just how you imagine Christ coming? I'm not saying that night in the stable was quiet or soft or slow in the least-- I think it was probably the opposite. But I think about those hours after He had come, when He had finally stopped crying and finally fell asleep like the rest of the people in the Town of David. 
Maybe some young girl, who like me felt as though this town she was visiting was meant to be her hometown, awoke in the middle of the night and heard the word. 
He came. Maybe she always wondered whether He would or not; and then He did. 
"Already the Ancient of Days", but here in this tiny town in a tiny baby's helpless body, He just came and made another young girl, one who had no idea what she (or He) was doing with her life, cry. 

It turns out, this Jesus guy chose to come as something vulnerable and weak because He knew that was the only thing we could truly relate to: being helpless and desperate and reliant. 

For some reason, as Hark! The Herald Angels Sing says, this Savior-child was "pleased, as man, with men to dwell- JESUS, Our Emmanuel." He came to live with us so that we could live in Him and through Him.
I always get convicted by Christmas carol lyrics; it seems to be a different carol that strikes me each year. It seems like I'm continually hating O Come All Ye Faithful (because let's be real: if the invitation to 'come' is only to the 'joyful, faithful, and triumphant', then 90% of days I would not be invited). 
This year it was It Came Upon A Midnight Clear (specifically the third verse) that brought me to tears:

O ye beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.

Now THIS one... this one gets me. 
"O YE BENEATH LIFE'S CRUSHING LOAD", it starts, and there I want to raise both my arms. 
ME ME ME, THAT IS ME, HELLO YES PLEASE PICK ME BECAUSE I AM WHO YOU ARE TALKING TO.
then it starts qualifying it, like those ads for COPD drugs ("do you struggle breathing? do you find yourself wheezing after walking?") and continues: 
"HEY YOU! YOUR FORM EVER BEND LOW?
YOU TOIL ALONG THE CLIMBING WAY SOMETIMES?
STEPS EVER FEEL PAINFUL? SLOW?" 
Yes, yes, yes. All of the above.
Have we got a cure for you!

Hannah Brencher  has kind of changed how I think about golden things. She mentions it a lot and it made me start thinking about it and noticing those gilded, glittering things, and realize that they're everywhere. God's Word talks about gold A LOT. 
Apparently it's a condition (not a thing) to be sought after. To be golden! What a thing to seek. 
And here, 'upon a midnight clear' we are offered it as the cure for our troubles: glad and golden hours.
They're coming swiftly! Get ready! Come rest with us and hear the angels sing so you don't miss the glad and golden hours we'll experience when we rest in Him together!
(I literally cried at this point in the song)

I'm convinced that I'm not the only one 2014 has been rough to. I'm sure that at least a few other people experienced bittersweet moments on Christmas week or cried on Christmas Eve or wished things were different. 
There have to be others of you who have toiled along some this year, who have climbed until you thought you couldn't climb any more, who have walked and walked and walked until there were blisters and scrapes and all you could do was drag yourself forward one small step at a time. 

But if you've been with Jesus for a while, or maybe if you've read Hinds' Feet on High Places, then you know that when He plants the Seed of Love in you and asks you to follow Him, the journey is far from easy. 
So many times you deviate and have to find your way back, or wish to turn around, or just cry your little eyeballs out because you're so tired of trying. But then once you become His and that Seed of Love blooms in you, one day you'll realize He's led you to the High Places. He's made your tired, dusty feet "like the deer's" so that you can "tread on high places."  (Habakkuk 3:17-19) 
And it's not so hard any more, and it's easier to see the golden sun, and it's more peaceful there beside His road. 

It makes me so very very glad He came. He became Emmanuel. God. WITH. Us.
To breathe with us
To live with us
To love with us
To cry with us
To walk with us
To see with us
To sing with us
To run with us
To fight with us
To talk with us
To rest with us.
Like snow. Not requiring or expecting anything but reverence. Making all our muck and chaos disappear and suddenly grow still under his weight and mercy and presence. Giving us a way to find our way to His High Places, so we could live those glad and golden hours with Him.

Holy is He, Blessed am I.

For some reason, I have come to really love all those quirky, never-heard-of chick flicks on Netflix that are somewhat deep and depressing and not really chick flicks at all (E.g. The Diary of Preston Plummer, Liberal Arts, Like Crazy, Girl Most Likely, One Day, The Giant Mechanical Man, The Pallbearer, etc.) I've watched an abundance of them over the past month; don't ask me why because I couldn't give a reason. They just appeal to me, probably because I don't know what my life is and the characters in the movies don't seem to either.
Today as I was watching Liberal Arts, the female lead, Zibby, said something that resonated with me.

"I sometimes feel like I'm looking down on myself. Like there's this older, wiser me watching over this 19-year-old rough draft, who's full of all this potential, but has to live more to catch up with that other self somehow. And, uh, I know I'll get there. It's just sometimes I think I want to rush the process, you know? "

And though I am quickly approaching 22 years, I still feel like a rough draft. I, too, feel like I have loads of potential that I don't know what to do with and don't know how to catch up to the older, wiser, finished-product Me. 
Maybe I never will. Maybe I'm not supposed to. 
Maybe I will always feel like Taylor Swift did at 22 years old: happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time. Miserable and magical. 
I don't know for sure, but I'm hoping with everything I've got that "fake it till you make it" is an acceptable mantra for an adult to sing repeatedly, and that it's ok for me to always be the emotional basketcase that I am.

Yesterday I went to my church's Christmas program. There were several times where I was brought to tears by the sheer beauty of it all- the music and instrumentalists combined with the drama and the dancers just cut right to my soul, right to the spot that recognizes beauty and alerts the rest of your self. I was overwhelmed with it all. 
Then the girl playing Mary sang this song.
And it kind of wrecked me. I was one big blubbery mess of tears and streaking eyeliner and it was like my soul was singing, desperately, back to God as I cried along with the song- "Be Born in Me" by Francesca Battistelli. 

The music video depicts Mary's heart through everything. 
Not that I am in any way to be compared with the mother of Jesus, but this song resonated with me so much.
God has been using Mary to teach me an abundance of things, over the long stretch of road that has been Our Journey since January 2012 (and if you want to hear about that I'd be glad to ramble to ya). But one thing that has been truly cemented this year is that He wraps himself in the unexpected. The song says:

"All this time we've waited for the promise
All this time You've waited for my arms
Did You wrap yourself inside the unexpected
So we might know that Love would go that far?

Be born in me, be born in me
Trembling heart, somehow I believe that You chose me
I'll hold You in the beginning, You will hold me in the end
Every moment in the middle, make my heart Your Bethlehem
Be born in me."


and, really, how perfect is that? How fitting is that to my life?! 
"It's INCREDIBLY FITTING, Becca!" is the correct answer.


I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I feel like I have so much in common with Mary. I feel like I have this unexplainable favor from the Lord resting on me and I have no idea why (Luke 1:30). All I know is that "I am not brave, I'll never be- the only thing my heart can offer is a vacancy. I'm just a girl, nothing more, but I am willing, I am Yours."

That's kind of the theme of my life these past few years. Realizing I am not fully His yet, but I am on my way- I am becoming fully His (John 1:12). Realizing my feet are mangled and misshapen from the sin I have trod in time and time again, and that He offers to make my feet like hinds' feet and take me up on the High Places (Habakkuk 3:19). Realizing that He calls us to lay down so many things in the grave, that better things may be resurrected (Luke 9:23, John 10:17).


This year has been the Year of Death (I'll write more about that come New Years' Eve) and it has, quite literally (spiritually) killed me. It has been the Death of Becca and it has been so incredibly, painfully glorious. And as I cried along to that beautiful song and really paid attention to the lyrics, I realized what may be the final realization of this series/journey: I HAVE DIED THAT HE MAY LIVE IN ME. 
I know, I know; I'm slow to realize this point that probably EVERY other Christian has gotten to by now. Whatever. He teaches us different things at different times. 

BUT GUYS.
This year, He killed me.
So that I would be empty.
So that I wouldn't have to be the innkeeper that said, "No room."
So that I could say, "Well... I don't have much, but I DO have vacancy."
So that He could be born, here. In me.

So that my clinging to Him now and holding Him so very dear could eventually become Him holding me when I have not the strength to cling any more (I look forward to that day).
So that in between now and then, my heart could literally be His hometown.

He is making me His.
He is making me His home.

And knowing that makes me realize: it's ok to be a rough draft. I am His rough draft. I am being hewn and sharpened and purified and shaped and smoothed out, among my moments and years of seeming not to know anything but tears.
It's ok to watch a lot of sad movies because I don't know what my life is yet; He does.

"Everything inside me cries for order
Everything inside me wants to hide
Is this shadow of an angel or a warrior?
If God is pleased with me, why am I so terrified?
Someone tell me I am only dreaming
Somehow help me see with Heaven's eyes
And before my head agrees, my heart is on its knees
Holy is He;

blessed am I."

can I say that once more for my own heart's sake?

If you know nothing else, weary heart, know this:

Holy is He.

Blessed am I.

I have no life dreams, can I interest you in tears?

As you might expect if you know me much at all, I have been an emotional basketcase lately. typical, I know. However, it seems much more obvious to me now that it ever has before. I cry so much, and at the weirdest things, you'd think I was pregnant (but that's impossible; no worries, y'all). I EVEN LITERALLY CRAVED PICKLES AND ICE CREAM TODAY. so that was weird and I probably shouldn't publicly admit that, but there it is in the WWW.

Just a few minutes ago, I was reading a HelloGiggles article entitled "How to Feel Better When Everything is Just the Worst", and it made me cry. They say there's a first time for everything, and today was my first time to cry at a HelloGiggles article, so there's that. Anyway, I was reading it and attempting to take some of its advice and I got down to #8 and I almost lost it. It looks like this:

A while back, I was talking with a friend and we were discussing our "crazy stupid huge dreams"- those things you envisioned for your life when you were younger, or things you consider when you daydream, that you would love to see happen in your life in some weird ideal version of adulthood. And he told me all these grand ideas and hopes that he had, some of which were quite possible, and we discussed them for a while.
Then he asked to hear mine. and I conveniently changed the subject and avoided the topic because I realized this one devastating fact:

I have none.

literally, my "crazy stupid huge dreams" note on my phone looks like this:

and has since September 14, obviously. isn't that depressing? I thought so too.

I re-realized it tonight upon reading the article and got super depressed all over again.

I feel like I should know what I'm doing with my life and where I'm going and what my goals and dreams are, but all I really know is the general direction I'm headed and that I, in fact, do NOT know what my goals and dreams are.

I want to be astonishing and live a bright, vivacious life. I want to do things that matter and love people and see things and think and cry and love and dream and scream and hope and fly and listen. 

and that's all I've got. 

Vague, cliche hopes of being someone important and doing things that count. Every human has that.

Somewhere I long the way, I think, I certainly must have had big, specific dreams. I remember praying detailed prayers and begging for His desires to become mine, and to be granted. But I really don't know what those desires are. And I'm not entirely sure that they belong to me yet.

And, gosh, the LAST thing I want to be is The Girl Who Had No Dreams. 

one thing I want to never have to be said at my funeral is, "she lived a small life."

and it scares me that I currently am.

with no specific hopes or intentions or ideas for changing that.

A big heart and a big life and big love and big hopes and big dreams and big adventures and big words and big, fulfilled promises: that's what I want for my life. 

and I don't know how to get there or what to hope for or what to pray or what to dream of.

because really, honestly, the only 'big' things in my life right now are big weird plans I don't understand and big buckets full of my tears. 

on the real, y'all, I have full-out wept three times in the last three days, and teared up 8 times in the last three days. 

last night I read my favorite author's most recent blog post: Stop Sleeping with Liars (and it facilitated one of the weeping moments). At one point, she said:

"you’re human. That’s it. You’re not super human. You’re not subhuman. You’re just plain human. You make mistakes. You don’t scale walls. You hurt people without ever intending to. You get your heart ripped out of your chest. Some days the only language you can endure is tears and you’re like, “I’M SO FLUENTTT IN TEARSSSS. WHATTT ISSSS WRONNGGG WITHHH MEEE???” Like I said, you’re human. Go with it." -Hannah Brencher 

and that got me good. I'm INCREDIBLY fluent in tears, especially these days. I have no dreams for my life and that terrifies me and all I know to do is just keep plodding along through each day. 

when all that I can sing is a broken 'Hallelujah',

when my only offering is shattered praise,

still a song of adoration will rise up

from these ruins,

and I will worship You and

give You thanks... 

even when my only praise 

is a broken 'Hallelujah.'

-Mandisa

the season of death

It's October.

I have shamelessly had potted purple mums sitting by my front door for a solid two weeks now-- even though the majority of those two weeks was 20 degrees too hot for mums.

I've been impatiently waiting until the day I could light my 'Autumn Leaves' scented candle that smells precisely like every good thing about fall. in wax form. And just so you know, I lit it the day before the calendar claims it's the "First Day of Fall".

I had my first cup of Hot Apple Cider three weeks ago.

And I of course have celebrated the start of football season, my first night 'needing' a hoodie, and the first few crunchy leaves to step on.

Fall isn't even my favorite season, and yet I'm ecstatic.

As I mentioned earlier, I have mums. And it's been too hot outside for mums.

Also, I'm a plant killer. Add these things together and what do you get?

Dead mums. Very dead mums.

HOWEVER, since I am a broke college student and could not let those $10 go to waste, I began watering that little mum plant like mad once I finally realized it was dying.

Assuming this act was "too little too late", I had internally given up hope of ever seeing green or blooms on the plant again, but I was too lazy to throw the plant away or stop watering it. Maybe there was a sliver of hope somewhere within me, too, that kept me watering it.

Either way, it came back to life, and, in so doing, shocked me.

the aforementioned semi-dead mums

After a week or so of watering it carefully and seeing it slowly come back to life, yet not rid itself of the dead brown bits, I sat down today with a pair of kitchen scissors. Pushing aside the green bits while I cut and tenderly pulling the blooms out from the tangle of the brittle, dead bits, I couldn't help but be reminded of the promise spoken in John 15, that God will be our vinedresser.

Those big kitchen scissors were probably not the best tool for the job, but they cut the tiny brown branches adequately so I stuck with them. I was careful not to let the big scissors open too far so they wouldn't accidentally snip off a green branch in the process of my pruning, but wouldn't you know that there was one little green branch with a perfectly lavender-colored mum bloom on the end of it that was too intertwined with the dead brown bits and too thin of its own accord to survive when freed from the dried twigs. I would have loved to save it, but even some things that live must die early when you know the outcome will be death anyway, I suppose. So I snipped it away, too.

I sat there, indian style, as the water droplets from where I'd just watered the plant, dripped onto the sidewalk. I sat there, scissors in hand, and I gingerly reached into the plant and cut away the parts that were only hindering it. I sat there, mind racing, as I saw so much of myself in that little purple mum plant.

This season has been one of dying. Some because of my own lack of discipline in watering that area of my life and seeking to help it flourish. Some because God touched the tip of his finger onto a branch and called it dead. Either way, he's been using his big kitchen scissors to cut away these dead parts of me-- some of which I'm not ready for Him to cut away, some of which aren't fully dead yet.

But He knows that very branch in me that does not bear fruit needs to be taken away. So He takes it away. And every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. He calls me then to abide in Him. Which I'm attempting. But I still don't really know what that looks like or feels like or is. So I'm just giving it my best shot right now (which is somewhat ironic, because the baseline fact of 'abiding' is that there is no 'going' or 'trying' in abiding. You just do it. It just happens. You just exist in it.) "As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing." 

He goes on to command us to live in this lifestyle, "that your joy may be full", then He commands us to love abundantly and overwhelmingly.

The simple fact that these tales of being pruned while abiding in The Vine come right alongside the commandments to live in joy and love seem to make the abiding that much more imperative. If one is to be able to live joyfully and lovingly, one must first abide in the Vine. 

Abiding gives the implication of living in. The simple fact that we ABIDE in the Vine says that we are alive. Though He may be killing things, we still live. Though He may be cutting off parts of us, we still live. Though He may be freeing us from dead parts that have entangled us by getting His scissors scary close to us, we still live. Though the autumn may be fast approaching, He is caring for us so closely and so tenderly and so purposefully that He will not allow any part of us to die that does not need to die. 
And sometimes, the branches in us that are already producing fruit, He cuts off and re-plants so that it may produce more and better fruit.

I cannot honestly say that I am settled in my spirit with all the death in my heart lately. I can't tell you that I'm absolutely positive of all the exquisite fruit these deaths and prunings will eventually bring forth. I wish I could.
But right now, all I have to give is, "Ok, God. Ok. Do it. Ok. Ok. Ok. I am weak. I want to be happy at this. I want to have joy in this. But I'm not there. All I can give you is 'ok, do it.' And hope that's enough. Make me Yours. Make me alive in You as I abide in You."

When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll: whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say "It is well, it is well with my soul."

weblog the fourth: in which she empathizes and quiets down

I've recently become obsessed with Colbie Caillat's new song "Try" (you should definitely go watch the video here and let your life be changed). Basically it's about all the things we do to try to make people like us, when in the end we really don't have to try, or throw ourselves at things that mean nothing. We find beauty in being human, being vulnerable, and being who we were created to be; that is enough. It's a message that I struggle so much with accepting, and one that I love seeing other people encourage, so of course I'm absolutely in love with the song.
The other day as I was driving to Mississippi, I was listening to one of my all-time favorite musical soundtracks: Matilda. (yes, it's a musical and it's so much better than the movie. if you don't know about it, educate yourself here and you're welcome for me introducing you to your new love). There's this song titled 'Loud', in which Matilda's mother tells her that being her weird, quiet self isn't good enough.
"Oh, no one's going to listen if you don't stand out!

No one's going to listen if you don't shout out!

No one's going to care if you don't care!

So go and put some highlights in your hair!
'Cause you've gotta highlight what you've got!
Even if what you've got is not a lot!
The less you have to sell, the harder you sell it!
The less you have to say, the louder you yell it!
The dumber the act, the bigger the confession!
The less you have to show, the larger you dress it!

You've gotta be loud!

Give yourself permission to shine,

Stand out from the crowd!..."

In the musical, that number is over-the-top and gaudy and, of course, loud. But it points out an invaluable truth: there is always going to be someone to tell you that you aren't enough. You have to yell, you have to always stand out, always be perfect, whatever it may be. Sometimes that voice is your own.

But I love how "Loud" is juxtaposed with another song, one that Matilda sings, called "Quiet".

"But I wonder if inside my head

I'm not just a bit different from some of my friends...

And when everyone shouts like they seem to like shouting

The noise in my head is incredibly loud!...
And it's burning inside me, but usually fades.
But it isn't today!
And the heat and the shouting. And my heart is pounding.
And my eyes are burning. And suddenly everything, everything is...
Like silence, but not really silent. Just that still sort of quiet.
Like the sound of a page being turned in a book.
Or a pause in a walk in the woods.
Like silence, but not really silent. Just that nice kind of quiet.
Like the sound when you lie upside down in your bed.
Just the sound of your heart in your head.

I'm sorry, I'm not quite explaining it right.

the noise becomes anger and the anger is light

Quiet

Quiet

And though the people around me, their mouths are still moving, the words they are forming cannot reach me anymore!

And it is quiet, and I am warm like I've sailed into the eye of the storm."

And it's at that point that Matilda realizes she is comfortable just being herself. Being quiet, thinking deep thoughts on her own, and being different from what people tell her she should be. 

I am so often the girl in the Colbie Caillat song trying too hard. 

I am Matilda's mother, telling others to be louder and flaunt it and be selfish. 

I am Matilda, succumbing to these commands that myself and others give me, then suddenly realizing I prefer the quiet. I prefer not wearing makeup. I prefer reading books. I prefer having mosquito-bitten legs from summer evening adventures. I like myself the way I am and don't feel the need to have a thigh gap or bigger boobs or better hair. 

And though the world's motto is often, "No one's gonna listen if you don't shout. No one's gonna care if you don't care," I have to disagree.

I think that people listen most when you whisper. When you empathize. When you're there. When you do life with them. 

I think that people care most when they know you care. When they see you constantly being the one who cares more, and they realize that you have some battle scars, but empathizing and caring has made your life gilded with so much more hope and bravery. When you make them realize that being who you were made to be, and not trying so hard, and not shouting so loudly is the most brilliant way to live, because then you can be the person YOU want to be, not the person everyone tells you that you should be. 

My hero, Hannah Brencher, founder of MoreLoveLetters, shared her thoughts on this in today's Monday Morning Mail: "I will naturally expect the best out of you. And maybe you'll let me down. But I will expect the best out of you again. That has nothing to do with how I hope you will show up for me, specifically. It has to do with how badly I want you to show up for your own life. That's where my expectations lie-- in the hope that you will see at the end of your longer days that you were made for so much more than an "okay" life...

People show up. And they eventually stop listening to their own fear. And they care too much. And they are willing to move heaven and earth for other people. And I don't think it is our job to step in and tell them to stop. Maybe it's just our job to watch, listen, follow, learn, and question: what makes a person do life like that? It might be great expectations, or it might just be a fear that is so big, it swallows all the other fears combined: if you don't step out into the life you want, no one else will ever do it for you. If you don't become the person you've always wanted to be, that person will never exist and the world will never know what it missed."

why I hate change... er, transitions.

Transitions are one of my least favorite things. I always thought it was change I didn't like, but I'm suddenly realizing it's the transition out of the old and into the new that makes things hard. The hardest part of a piece of music to memorize is the transition- because it bears similarities to things that happened earlier in the piece, but usually shifts tonal centers and introduces a new rhythm or pattern. The toughest part of managing a classroom is transition from different activities smoothly. Apparently I'm not the only one that finds transitions challenging.
And here I am in a season of transition. I'm getting ready to move off-campus (and basically be done with MC forever since I'll only be on campus for student teacher meetings), to hand over my position as Chaplain (and therefore an officer) for KT, to leave my friends and see many of them married off, to begin my life as a teacher, to start a big-kid job, to be done with college life as I know it. It's bittersweet of course, and some days I hate it more than others, but today, the thought frees me.
I can go anywhere. I can be anything.
Those cheesy lines from the Reading Rainbow theme song excite me to no end because I recognize their truth. This step into a new phase, as uncomfortable as it may be, brings me one step closer to my future, to London, to new adventures.
I want adventure in the great wide somewhere, I want it more than I can tell. And for once, it might be grand to have someone understand: I want so much more than they've got planned.
Yes, Belle, Yes.
I feel like surely someone in the Bible knew a thing or two about transitions, so I look it up.
Transition, I type into BibleGateway. Nothing.
Change, I try to vague-ify my search term. change of clothes... change of mind... change of name... change of course... change of behavior... change of countenance... change of color... "For I the Lord do not change".
And I stop. He's right, he doesn't change. If God doesn't change, why do we? Is that why transitions are so hard, because they don't exist or happen in God's character? Maybe God doesn't change because He doesn't need to, because He's already perfect.
Therefore, maybe we change because He is changing us to be perfect like Him. He calls us to be His imitators (Eph. 5:1-2). We know He also calls us to shed the things of this world, the old things, and live our lives for Him daily (Luke 9:23, 2 Cor. 5:17, Rom. 12:1-2) in "newness of life". So maybe this sacrifice of self (Gal. 5:20) demands that things change and that transitions, painful as they may be, happen in our life.
That is the byproduct of being refined by His fire (Zech. 13:9), this a little bit (or lotta bit) of pain for being a lot more worthy, valuable, and precious in His sight.

When I consider all this, all the things I have learned about God's heart and will for me, and see transitions that happen naturally in this world-- like the one I am experience now, the transition into adulthood-- I know there is good reason for the toughness and uncomfortability of it. The fact that this is hard to get through and hard to get the hang of and hard to do right makes it that much more valuable when I *do* do something right by Him. As difficult as it is to memorize how to transition and execute it smoothly and then implement that into my life, I know that I have grace waiting for me. I know I have freedom to mess up some and try again, that I have support and Love to help make this transition easier. He doesn't change, He isn't going to transition himself, but He is transitioning with me.
The power of Your love is changing me, Oh Lord. and I am so grateful.

/He came among us at Christmastide/

One thing I love but hate about the Christmas season is how emotional it makes me. Mix finals with a month-long family reunion, memories of the past, missing school friends, and all the Jesus stuff and it just gets really messy.
I feel like all the relational/familial emotion stuff explains itself so let's skip straight past that to the Jesus stuff that really gets me.
Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's just that I always drift away from Him while I'm at school. Maybe it's just that I let myself forget, outside of the Christmas season, that Jesus was actually a HUMAN PERSON.
Whatever it is, once this time of year comes and everything seems to hit me all at once, I'm continually a ball of tears.
Today, it finally began hitting.
I went to the Crossgates Christmas program and cried for about half of it. Granted, most of the tears were over how much I wish my family were there with me, or that I were at home watching my church's Christmas program. BUT, there were loads of tears and mascara streaks over the Jesus part.

He, the baby Messiah, was born into a sin-obsessed world. The ultimate Savior- fully God and fully man- came to a weary world clothed as "a little baby thing that made a woman cry" (eloquence courtesy of J. Vernon McGee). The Bible straight-up tells us that He was "a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief" and that we, the billions of people He came to seek and save, "esteemed Him not" (Isaiah 53).

JESUS DID NOT HAVE TO DIE.
He's fully God- He could easily have saved everyone from their sins by some awesome loophole and not have had to be crucified and resurrected and so on.
BUT HE DID ANYWAY.
Why? I'm sure there's some great theological answer to this.
My answer: because He's just that loving.
He knew these now-sin-obsessed people He had created to be obsessed with His glory would need something to grasp on to. Something that made Him like them. Something that was more convincing than "just because".
He died because he knew I, Becca Stovall, would be too emotional to handle life on my own. He knew I would need someone who had come before and been familiar with every pain, joy, and temptation that I've encountered, to rely on. He knew my heart before it existed.
That is why He came.

One of my favorite Christmas songs this year is I Wonder As I Wander. The lyrics say,
"I wonder, as I wander out under the sky, how Jesus the Savior did come for to die for poor ordinary* people like you and like I. I wonder, as I wander out under the sky.
If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing- a star in the sky, or a bird on the wing, or all of God's angels in Heaven for to sing- He surely could have them for He is the King."
*(sometimes I like to pretend she says "ornery" instead of "ordinary" here, because it's funny and because most days I'm more ornery than ordinary.)

This song basically lays out my heart's questions. If Jesus ever wanted anything, he could have it. So why did he come to die for poor, ornery/ordinary people like ME? Why did he want to do that?

I still haven't solidified the answer in my heart. I'm still kind of wrung up over the fact that He DIED for little selfish me.
Then He rose again to seek me out and save me.
What a good Shepherd He truly is!

As much as I hate the fact that I am so sinful/selfish/prideful/dirty and He came for me anyway, I can't help but beg Him to keep coming and reminding and redeeming and renewing and doing this nuts emotional thing each Christmas.
Because maybe it isn't just me. Maybe He's moving in other hearts for our good and His glory!

"O come, O come, Emmanuel, and random captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear. Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!

O come, Desire of Nations, bind in one the heart of all mankind. Bid thou our sad division cease, and be Thyself our King of Peace. Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!

O come, Thou Dayspring, come and cheer our spirits by Thine advent here. Disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death's dark shadows put to flight. Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!"

Maybe the more we beg Him to come, the closer He draws to each one of us.
I'm reminded of yet another Christmas song that states so simply how we should respond to His coming, His Emmanuel-ness, His being WITH US:
"He came among us at Christmastide- at Christmastide in Bethlehem. Men shall bring him, from far and wide, Love's diadem. JESUS, JESUS! Lo, He comes and loves and saves and frees us!…

Thou my lazy heart hast stirred, Thou, the Father's eternal Word. Greater than aught that ear has heard, Thou tiny bird of Love, Thou Son of Mary...

Little man and God indeed, Little and poor: Thou art all we need. We will follow where Thou dost lead, and we will heed our brother, born of Mary."

It sums everything up.
He came.
We worshipped.
He loves, saves, frees.
We responded.
We follow Him.
We love our brothers.

It's crazy to me how much sense it all makes. Despite its craziness, despite Jesus being UTTERLY NONSENSICAL…
It fits.
Mostly because my heart has a that-sized hole that it's constantly seeking to fill.

I pray (literally), this Christmastide that you, reader, remember and realize that He was a human.
He was a little boy who had to be taught to eat and walk and talk and read.
He was a young man who had to learn to obey and follow and trust.
He was a King who came to teach us to live his radical, nonsensical way.
He is still alive- remembering His human experiences and sorrows and being the best High Priest possible for us.
I pray that you catch a glimpse of His great goodness.
I pray that you cry a few tears over who He is and what He's done- or maybe more than a few.
I pray that you experience the realness of The Almighty God, creator of forever and stars and sunflowers and nucleotides, molding your life and blowing your mind and coming like the winter snow to wreck you in the best possible sense.