Why I Would Clean Dishes Forever.

So much of my life is full of this ministry. Young Life is an incarnational ministry that focuses on youth. We go to where kids are and walk with them in hope that one day our efforts will allow them to hear and live the gospel. Young Life is composed of people who volunteer, volunteer to go to football games, to listen to kids, to drive around for hours, to care, and people who use their passion for Christ to overflow His love into sin-filled schools around the nation.

In high school I was befriended by my Young Life leaders. And I enjoyed and grew from their presence in my life. Once I graduated high school I confidently knew that Young Life would no longer play a role in my life. Going in to college I wanted something that would push me and allow me to grow in ways that I didn't in high school. I wanted a new community and a fresh start, and I had no room for YL in my new life.

The summer after I graduated high school I was accepted to do work crew. Work crew is when high school kids go to a YL property for a month and serve campers that come every week. Some of the jobs include: washing dishes, housekeeping, cleaning bathrooms and showers, laundry, cooks, bakers, servers, and people who maintain the landscape of the property.

YL Work Crew/Summer Staff  This shows a little bit about what work crew is.

It is hard work, and it is every day from early in the morning until relatively late. Not necessarily the most conventional way to spend a summer. I had only applied because my leaders had continued to ask me to. I figured once the application was complete, then work crew could be something that I could forget about forever. 

But once I found out that I had received a spot, I knew that I would end up going. I had a sense of obligation. That feeling, I now realize, was not my own, but the Lord pressing upon me. I went into work crew completely opposed to befriending new people. I saw that month as a month of service. My role was to serve well and nothing more. I would perform my job exceptionally well, and then at the end of the month I would return home. No new friends. That was my plan. Clearly I was optimistic.

The bridge that campers cross from cabins into the main camp. 

I had made arrangements to ride up to Lake Champion, New York with two other people also serving on work crew. Two other strangers. Two strangers that I judged. Severely. Oops, #didn'tmeantodothat. What I found from closely scrutinizing their lives (facebook pictures, same thing right?) only served to confirm my ill sentiment toward work crew. Some of my most damning evidence included pictures from a hookah bar and the presence of various solo cups. I named my road trip partner hookah boy. I took hookah boy to be the poster child for a majority of people who do work crew/young life/all Christians but me (small category right?). The other portion of participants were just overzealous and overwhelming.

The first day of work crew, after the car ride with my new best friends, we were put straight to work. Cleaning the dining hall that we would be working in for a month. My first interaction with these people is a story that Kelly John still loves to bring up. We were sitting at a table folding napkins into fancy shapes for the next day's meal. Every once in a while we would run out of napkins to fold and someone would run into a closet to replenish our stock. After the third time we ran out, I decided that I would be the one to go grab more napkins. I came back with table cloths and everyone laughed. Jerks. Hate them all. To this day. But really I just brought back the table cloths and then Kelly went back and got napkins. That's where our friendship started.

                                                                     Isn't that right Kelly?

                                                                           
Throughout the rest of the month I would meet lots of interesting characters. And when I say interesting, I mean freaks. Freaks and geeks. The first week of work crew was a little rough. I wanted to go home and spend time with my mom and my sisters and my friends before I left for college. Forever. I couldn't shake the feeling that Champion wasn't the place where I needed to be, where I was supposed to be. I knew that I didn't want to be friends with any of these people.

But it wasn't long before I began to question my strong conviction to be friendless. I mean when you live with people and see them every single moment of every single day, it's hard not to learn about each other. And to... care.

The second night we were at Champion all the girls in our cabin sat on the floor and ate puppy chow. The dog food. Kidding. The cereal snack. It was that night that Shelby Phelps/Morris gave us silly bands. She said that her mom gave her the silly bands so she could make friends. I got a light blue wand silly band. Taking one of those was like signing a contract. If you take a silly band you are friends. Those things are serious, you can't break them. In reality it was just a natural human reaction to crave friends and company. I was fighting my nature when I made a vow with myself to not make friends. Does that make sense?

The silly band Shelby gave me. Since it's broken, does that mean we don't have to be friends anymore?

Young Life camps have a lot of themed nights. The first one that we got to experience as a group was western night/hoedown throw-down/rodeo/everybody wears plaid night. And you know in middle school at the end of the year when there's the formal dance? And awkward pre-teens show up in clothes they wouldn't normally wear. And they all dance ten feet away because there are a ton of parent chaperones. And the chocolate fountain is the biggest attraction. You know what I'm talking about? That's what our hoedownthrowdown/western/southern/everybody wears pigtails night felt like to me. 

This is the attire one wears to western/BBQ/everybody rides bulls night. 

The rodeo/cornbread/everybody chew hay night goes like this. Kids come to a big field and play games that the cowboys used to play way back when. Like dizzy bat and shovel racing. Work crew is there to serve an authentic version of a western meal. This was the first meal that we could all sit not at tables. And where ever we wanted. Watch out world. 

Here's a little secret, an insight to the life that I live. I'm not good at making friends. I hate going through the process of making friends. It's probably a hidden emotional scarring from my preschool years. But the fact remains that I get extremely uncomfortable, extremely quickly. So I sat with Kelly (she just wanted to make fun of me again) and Aly, my side bunkmate. And you know in middle school when you get silent lunch because your forgot to get your test signed? When you sit at a table silently while everybody else laughs and eats? You know what I mean? That's a little bit how that meal felt. I know I made this whole thing up in my head, but it seemed like all the girls were sitting together and laughing and becoming best friends, while I kept dropping corn bread in my lap. So even though I wanted to not make friends, I really, really did want to. 

Here's the thing. Being at Champion was a combination of time going by really quickly and really slowly at the same time. So I can't pinpoint when it happened exactly, but we all became invested in each other. Maybe it was the night that everyone laid on the pavement and star gazed. Or the night that we all played fugitive. Maybe it was when everybody would chant Jessica! Jessica! and jazzercize at the same time. Or maybe it was the day that we were all saying good bye that we realized how important we had become to each other. And maybe some of us already had a loving heart and came to work crew ready to be invested in each other (not me). But what matters is, by the middle/end/beginning of our time together we became more than friends and more than family. We knew more about each other than most other people in our lives do. We became brothers and sisters in Christ, and we lived that out. So I don't know when I realized that I liked these people, even hookah boy. But it happened. When your hearts are set on Christ, Christ becomes the strongest bond. Stronger than silly bands. 

So basically after pistol shooting/western/everybody line dances night these people became my best friends. Just like that. Really. 

These are my friends. See what I mean by freaks?

Now that I had all these new friends, I also had all of these new stories/memories. Some of my favorite memories:

The best meal: The best meal I ever had at work crew had nothing to do with the food. But if you must know, it was chicken patty day. Chicken patties with waffle fries. The reason that meal was so great was because of the people. There was this kid from North Carolina (South? Not important). His name was Kurt. He had no friends. Kidding. Kurt had a strong character. What I mean by that is that he had a quiet, firm demeanor. He seemed calm and in control. But he never laughed at my jokes. So he had no sense of humor. And he wasn't funny. That is what I had gathered. And we all know how great I am at being a judge of character. 

Then there was another kid. He had his ears gauged. His name was Wes. Fun fact, at work crew Wes's ears got infected. At first Wes was a little intimidating. But in reality he was fun and funny and great. 

Then there was Kelly. She was extremely sassy. 

This is a picture of Wes. Taken yesterday. Or in middle school 

This is Kurt. He has bad eyesight.

And you know Kelly already. 

So we all happened to randomly sit next to each other during this meal. Just from the pictures can't you tell this is a hilarious bunch? I don't remember what was said, or what insults may have been thrown out by all parties, but this lunch was the hardest that I laughed. That day. Or maybe to this day. The great thing about this lunch, aside from the fact that it was a comedy show, was the realization that I belonged among these people who are pouring their hearts out into everyone around them, because they can't contain the love they have for Jesus. So maybe work crew was what God wanted me to do. And these people helped me realize that. 

Favorite activity: Another great memory was when Katy and I destroyed public property. 

This is Katy. She was the homecoming queen!

Katy and I were both servers. After we had finished setting tables for dinner everyone had some free time. Katy and I stayed back. She was taking pictures of the process for setting a table, and since my hands are so perfect in every way, she was using them. Then Katy came up with an idea. Wouldn't it be cool if the plate was broken and then the pieces were put back together? So we snuck back into the kitchen. (We opened the door and walked in). We took a plate and we went out to the woods behind the gym. There we attempted to break a plate multiple times. Who knew those plates were so durable? Finally we threw the plate against a rock and then it broke. We went back in the dining hall and took pictures. Then Nina, our dining hall intern, walked out. Nina could be a little bit scary. She wanted us to serve and serve well. She held us accountable. So is breaking a plate in the woods serving well? Nope, it sure is not. So we had a few options. My idea was to run to the boys bathroom and hide. Katy's idea was to tell Nina what we were doing. It turns out that Nina was fine our vandalizing activitites. Anything for art right? 

This memory is one of my favorites because of the conversations that Katy and I were able to have while breaking the law (or maybe just breaking a plate). This is also the moment when I realized that I am someone who judges harshly and swiftly. And when I judge I am so self-righteous about the judgement. When I first met Katy I didn't think that I could ever be close with her, but she was one of the people that I felt I got the closest to during that month. And when I saw Nina coming toward u, I assumed that we would be lectured. Nina had high expectations of us while serving because she knew that we were not serving her, we were not serving the campers, but we were serving Christ.

The tables that we cleaned, served, and set three times a day.

Favorite Days Off: Once a week, on the day that campers would go home we would get a day off. There are two days off that I hold near and dear. On one day we drove to a mall to go watch a movie. The mall that we went to had a curfew. People under 18 could not be out after a certain time. Our group arrived at the mall well after that time. Kids who do work crew are in high school. So a lot of us weren't 18 yet. Babies. Thomas was one of these babies.

This is our little baby, Thomas.

When someone is under 18 and there is a curfew, the only reasonable thing to do is make fun of them, right? And here's the thing, Thomas is great to make fun of. He handles berating rather well, and can even play along. So Katy and I viewed his age as a golden mocking opportunity. And maybe Katy was being a little loud. And maybe a mall cop was walking by. And maybe we got carded. And maybe Thomas was almost kicked out. Another fun story about Thomas, he dove in the lake and split his head open. And then on the car ride home from the mall everyone got car sick. So serious. 

My second favorite day off was our last day off. At Lake Champion we are surrounded by perfection. That day, instead of packing, Katy and I decided to take advantage of the lake. We took a canoe and followed people that were kayaking to the other side of the lake. We canoed over a small dam and pulled up to land.

Where we lived for a month. 

We had kicked our shoes off. Everyone wanted to go exploring. So we went on a barefoot walk through the woods. On our way back I shared the story of how I learned to accept the love of Christ in my life with Jake. Before everyone came to work crew, we were supposed to write down our testimonies and give them to one of our work crew bosses. I knew the moment when I had become a Christian, I knew the moment when my burdens were no longer mine. But I had never shared that moment. So I didn't write mine down. I felt that my story was mine, and that I didn't have to share it. I mean that moment was  between me and my Savior, it wasn't a moment between me and my mom, or me and fifty kids that signed up to volunteer. 

One morning I began to write down my testimony. I knew the story, the place, the time and the moment in which the way I was focusing my life changed. But I hadn't realized that there were so many things that led me to that specific moment. Until I started to write, I hadn't acknowledged that my family was what drove literally every single thing I didn't. Until I started to write I hadn't comprehended how much I idolized volleyball, how much it wholly consumed me. So it turns out that I didn't understand my full testimony until one morning at work crew. Because this was the first time that I had been able to process, my testimony wasn't something that I was keen on sharing. Maybe part of that was because of my reluctance to make friends. I had no problem hearing other people's stories. They wanted to share. They had basically memorized what they were going to say. And I hate sharing. Anything. Toys, food, clothes, happiness, memories. But really this story was the most raw thing that I had to myself. It is such a personal thing to share. Personal as in seeing someone naked, that kind of personal. 

During that hike was the first time that I fully shared all of my story. I had done a good job of avoiding the when people asked. That moment was when my heart was ready. Throughout the month I had been learning that my story is not really my own. The story that I am a character in belongs to someone greater. I was learning how sharing can encourage growth and can heal others. This lesson hit its' pinnacle during that walk. After that I was able to truly connect with others because I could share how God had worked in my life with my fellow work crew friends.

Worst serving experience: On the last day we were all cleaning the camp, getting it ready for another cycle of campers and another set of work crew. On that day the new work crew kids started to come, and many of them were helping us out. As a server I set the tables every day. I handled the plates everyday. I had not unintentionally broken a single plate all month. Until the last day. When I broke eight. All at one time. So this was my worst memory. This moment served to show me that even though my goal was to be this excellent server and nothing more, I was far from that. And all of my fellow servers didn't yell or chastise me for breaking the plates, they helped me clean. Funny how things work out in the end right?

These are all the servers. After a long, hard day of work. 

Favorite cleaning memory: On that same last day Katy and I (I promise I made other friends) were cleaning the girls bathroom. We thought that the center of the bathroom had a drain, so we dumped water on the floor of the bathroom to clean it. Turns out it wasn't a drain. Oops. While we were busy mopping up the pond we had created, Gretchen walked in to the bathroom to help. She brought us cereal that we ate. In the bathroom. Healthy and clean right? 

Our friendship was meant to be. 

I hadn't really gotten a chance to know Gretchen that well through the month. But while we were hanging out in a flooded bathroom I realized how funny and genuine Gretchen was. And though we were leaving that day, and though we hadn't gotten to know each other extremely well, I knew that Gretchen was a true friend. The Lord is so good for putting these incredible people in my life!

Each person affected my life in such a special way. I think about my work crew family often. It was at this place that I learned what community was. It was at this place that I learned that walking with Christ is hardly ever easy, but alway fulfilling, always right, always the only way to live a life. It was at this place that I had the most real conversations. It was at this place where the Lord called me to put away my obsessions and into ministry. So I think about my work crew family all the time. Because they gave me the strength to go back into a secular and hurting world. Because they encouraged me and grew me. Because they love the Lord. 

Vision Boards

Happy Endings is such a hilarious show. It's about friends who are all hanging out. Some have jobs, some don't. Some have direction, most don't. It just helps me feel a little bit better about my life. 

I just finished watching the episode that this clip is from. Because that is the most productive way to spend my time. And though Jane is a crazy, anal psycho, her vision board idea may not be that crazy, or anal. Lately I've been wondering what the heck I'm paying thousands of dollars a semester for, if I hate school and hate the classes I'm taking. And if the things I am dedicating my time to (like watching Happy Endings) are what I had envisioned before I began this year. So I obviously need to get my life together and figure out if what I am doing is what I would have put on a vision board, if I had made one.

*Side note: I will never make a vision board. That is too much work. But is so inclined, feel free to make me one. 

Penny has things like friends and a cute bartender on her board. I'll keep the cute bartender and add a few other things of my own. Get ready, get pumped, get excited for my vision board. 

I've been taking Arabic this semester. I plan to continue learning the language. I feel a push to travel to arabic speaking countries. (no I can't read the arabic. I'm failing)

Northern Virginia is an ethnically diverse place. I live in nova. I am diverse. Kidding, I'm pretty white. But one of my biggest visions is to create a latino Young Life community at the school that I lead at. At first I thought that it was simply my calling to work with the latino community as a career, but now I realize that my passion for this is immediate, it's now. Fingers crossed for a vida joven camp trip in the future!

I just need to figure out how to find the passion in my goals again. School has worn and burned me out. I need to feel like what I am doing is having an impact on myself and my community. Maybe that means changing my goals, maybe that means changing my approach. It's on my to-do list to figure that out. 

That is my vision board. Or more list vision list. Maybe I'll keep adding to it. But it probs stops here. Thanks for your inspiration Jane. If the things on Max's vision board can come true, so can mine. 

 

Today I miss my sisters.

If Words Were Medicine

I use writing as a way to heal and to maintain sanity. Writing is an outlet which allows me to sort through the half formed thoughts in my head and decipher how it applies to my life or even just figuring out what emotions are coursing through my brain. The lessons I learn, I need to log, otherwise I quickly forget that which took me so long to learn.




Writing brings me close to the Lord and helps me discover His greatness more and more. I learn His word and His story through writing about it, I grow closer to His heart this way. I gain the most minimal insight into the greatest wonder of the world. Through words on paper I can almost begin to describe the awe of the one who saved my life and continues to give me life.

So many times all that I have to offer are words. Words that are at times promises or condolences, insults, jokes, and occasionally a little wisdom slips out (where does that come from?). Sometimes words are all I have. When lives are shaken, when joy is overwhelming, sometimes all I can offer is a mumble or mutter and other times a grunt is all that there is. At times I feel like the only armor I have to go out into the world are the words which I have spent my whole life learning and perfecting. And at times words are the only medicine I have. Medicine to heal my own wounds, medicine to give to others. Medicine that I wish would clean and mend. But these medicinal words do not alleviate a broken heart, resentment, these words that I have cannot nourish and replenish. But these are the words that I have to offer up. If my words were medicine I don't know if I could heal, if I could hurt. But isn't that such a beautiful concept? If words were medicine? But even if I can't pour my sentences onto a burn to soothe, I can use my words to placate the wars within my life. And even if my words can't bond tightly to my skin to provide support, my words are a gift. A gift and a medicine that I treasure. That I keep here. Like a diary. Like a medical journal.

And even if my words don't serve, those of my Father, my Creator do. Does that even make sense? Can I even understand what that means. That the words of my Father have literally healed the flesh. These words are my treasure. But they are too much for me to understand. They transcend me. These are the words that have moved me, the words that I will continue to seek healing from. The words that I keep here. To remember. To remind. That I never forget that even if my words aren't medicine, His words are.




These are my thoughts, this is my life, this is my journey with the one who loves me with His entire being, and how great that is.

I am sorry.

I remember the exact moment when my relationship with my brother changed.

For many  years we were buddies, we were trouble makers together. We had a system. If something was found broken or a picture was drawn on the wall we would always answer with an I don't know when asked who did it. We would share the punishment, even when we knew exactly who was the culprit. But one day I changed this all. My brother and I had been having an argument, the subject so insignificant that I can't remember it today. My dad had extreme mood swings, ranging from dissatisfied to angry. He heard all the noise and came into the room asking what was going on. My brother played his role and said nothing was going on. My father asked why we were arguing. My brother said he didn't know. Instead of playing my role and answering with our go to responses, I said that my brother had done something wrong. My brother took the punishment on his own.

Later that day he was hurting, in order to take care of the pain he did what most little kids do, he slept. As he was dozing off I had asked him if he knew about some money that I had been saving up for the bookfair. He was my prime suspect, but he had always said he didn't know.

As he was falling asleep I asked him again. I remember distinctly saying, "Just tell me the truth, I promise I won't be angry." I said it with some conviction that even I believed it at the moment.

He sleepily and wearily replied that he had indeed taken the money. I didn't ask what he had used it for, I didn't ask if he still had it. I remember being so angry, so angry. Anger like my father so often displayed is what I was feeling. And instead of keeping my promise, I began to yell at him. I probably hit him too. This noise caused my father to again come in the room, not yet cool from the last confrontation. At that moment I wanted revenge, I wanted to be paid back for what was taken from me. I told my father what my brother had done. My father then continued to thrust my brother around and leave. My money was not replaced and I was not satisfied. My anger was still seething and I made sure my brother was aware.

The next day I went to his teacher and told her that my brother had taken money from me that I was going to use to buy books from the book fair. They then went to his desks and found that he had used the money to buy books for himself. Books that my parents could never give him. Books that satisfied his inner child, books that he loved. And I watched while the teachers told him he had to return them. I was handed back my money and I purchased books for myself. Books that I don't remember, books that I probably didn't even read. I hurt my brother. I continued to be angry at him and remind him of his failures. I hurt my brother, I hurt him and I didn't feel any remorse at that moment. I haven't felt any remorse for a while. Until today.

I was doing a bible study about Jesus's sermon on the Mount. In chapter 5 verse 40, "and if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well." Later in the study we were asked to draw upon a situation where someone had sued us (stolen) from us, how we reacted and how we should have reacted. And I remembered this moment. And I took some time to reflect on it. And I realized what a bitch I was, and have been to him most of his life. And I feel like someone just called me and told me that my mom was in the hospital. And I have this sense of desperation, this I need to make this right feeling, because our broken relationship is all my fault. And most of all I am sorry. I am so so sorry. To have hurt him then, to have hurt him after that, to place my mistakes on him, to point fingers, to make his mistakes bigger, to put so much pressure on him that the only thing to do was fail. I am sorry for not being there. For not being a sister. For not giving advice and holding him when he was hurting, but for causing most of that hurt. I am so sorry. And I don't know to make him understand how much I feel this emotion of remorse. I don't know how to tell him that he is not a failure, that I have been wrong for so long. And I am scared that it may be too late to fix what I have spent years breaking. And I am writing this because I need to know what I am feeling. I am writing to heal. To heal my brother, to ease his hurt. Because I am sorry.

I am a Stupid, Silly Girl.

I despise girly girls. I despise girly feelings. Sometimes I just hate being a girl. Being an emotional wreck. And I hate, hate, hate, hate, abhor, detest the thoughts and questions that girls have. Sometimes I just wish that I was born in the Mayoruna Peruvian tribe in the Amazon. Or just a member of a not developed nation so that I could have concerns about real issues. Like where I should hunt for game to feed myself. Or experience the pain of hunger instead of guilt of gluttony. But growing up in a cushiony developed nation with the emphasis of technology and money, I have also grown up with the industry that makes money, human emotion of infatuation (some call if love, I call it dopamine). And sometimes I even get caught up in this silly, trivial, infuriating, unrealistic fairytale. Because I am a stupid silly girl. Who should trip and fall into a hole and slowly bleed to death.

Sometimes I just want someone to tell me that I am pretty. That I am smart. That I am great. That I am better than everything. Sometimes I just want to be that damsel in distress and play the princess. With princes and peasants swooning, yearning for my great mind and character.

But I don't have a great mind.
And lately my character may have been faltering.
And others are starting to notice.

So I can't help but think that I don't deserve that princess lifestyle which all girls have grown up on. Because I'm not qualified.
Because my heart isn't ready.

But then if I'm not ready, not for the princess thing because that whole thing is poop and unrealistic, but just ready.  If my heart isn't ready now, will it ever be? Will I ever be ready to accept those peasants and princes? Or will I always be in a halfway awkward weird point? Where I know there is a shit ton of things that I need to work on before I could ever welcome someone else into my heart. Will I ever feel close enough to myself and to my God to be able to be dependent but independent at the same time? Will there come a point when I don't freak out when someone says, hey I think we are a good match, or Hey I like you?

Will I ever stop going into that panic mode where my brain is screaming, tell him to stop, he doesn't know what you've done with who, or this is not right, you will get too caught up again and screw up. You've worked to hard to jeopardize it all with a relationship. You guys aren't going in the same direction. It would never work in the future so why bother now? He can't really like you. If he really got to know you then the attraction would fade, it's temporary so don't bother getting hurt.

I don't think I will ever be a grown up. I don't think my emotions have much room for growth. And I've taught myself to be stubborn. I've taught myself so well that I don't know how to undo it. And my way of 'flirting' is by sarcasm, which is no different than how I treat other people, but I add an extra cutting edge to it. Cutting as in let me slice your feelings to a slow bloody drip with my words. Oh wait did you get turned off by that? Well I wonder why.

I don't think that I will ever think that anyone is good enough. I have the fatal flaw of having a shopping list. A checklist of things that I want, things that I don't. Someone who reads, who understands news, is music and movie savvy, is athletic, is smart, has goals, has passions (not sex, not love, real passions - interests), has a huge vocabulary (because I obviously do, using adjectives like huge), is patient, is firm, can fix cars without a mechanic, if asked to can build a house, is a manly man, can work technology, doesn't smoke, doesn't do drugs, doesn't drink heavily, is close to my age, let's me be right - all the time, but not really, can speak another language, is romantic but not sappy, wants to change things, wants to make the world better, is so funny, but really that's important, but is serious, so someone light hearted, a touch of sarcasm, appreciates my sarcasm, will understand my disdain for the idea of parenthood but also wants kids, and loves Christ, which is actually the hardest of all it seems. Really is all of that so much to ask for?

So basically I want someone who will adjust to my moods and place me on a pedestal and can do all the things I can't. So I don't want an equal. But I do. But I don't know that I could ever really get rid of this list. I don't know that I could ever be grown up enough to realize how unrealistic it is to a apply this to an individual.

And oh wait, there's that one little thing of no one will ever want me because there will always be someone better. Someone fitter. Someone smarter. Someone more accomplished. Kinder. Funnier. Less bitterly sarcastic. More graceful. More open to compromise. There is a very likely possibility that I will never ever find someone. I mean even just casual dating is a no go because there is always someone better than.

And I keep telling myself that this should not be that big of an issue. There are real problems in the world. But at this moment this is consuming my thoughts. I can see myself being single for the rest of my life. I mean casual sex is not something that I would ever chose. So no love for me. But I don't think that I would be upset because I won't be in a relationship, I would just want someone to come home to and watch a movie with and hug and hold and kiss. So if I could have that without the relationship that would be ideal. So if that didn't go against every moral standard I have then, then all would be good.

I just want so much. I have a career that I know that I want. That I am so passionate about. There are people that need me, need my help, need the opportunities that I have been give. But what if I am not good enough, or smart enough for even them? I am not willing to sacrifice this dream, this calling, I am not even willing to compromise for anyone else. No one else. And I know that I don't need someone to make me happy. Because I already have all the happiness that I would ever need, knowing that I am going to heaven. And I just wish I knew if God has someone in mind for me. If only I knew then I could be patient and stop wasting my time with these stupid girly girl thoughts. I kind of disgust myself for letting this be something that is of concern.

The end. I mean I know the Lord is the author of my story. It's just that I wish I could read ahead a little, you know to have time to cope with what the big events will be. But that just ruins all the fun, doesn't it? Fun.

But I will always have the reassurance that these feelings are all a result of chemical in my mind going out of wack.

And knowing that helps to to remember. I am great. I have goals. Girls are stupid. Boys are stupid.

Moved by Grace

Last night my life was full of worship, prayer, praise, fellowship, the Holy Spirit. I was moved, I was in AWE of God's grace, I was humbled. I was fully satisfied, fully understanding. I was so small. He was so big, so LOVING.

And I wish you could have been there, I wish you could understand what happened last night. How the wonder and the glory were on fire, brought me literally to my knees, my Father, my Lord, how he loves me. And how He beckoned to me, made me realize how sweetly broken I am.

This is literally how it went: I have had some of the most wearing times lately. Not enough sleep, constant work, constant deadlines. But yesterday was Ash Wednesday. The first day that Jesus spent in prayer, in fasting, in resistance of temptation because of His undying love for us, for our Father.

And I was going to go to an Ash Wednesday service, to show my thankfulness, to show my gratitude. But I got off work late and I had overslept and looked rough. So instead I went to my room and napped. And I went to a worship service called the Gathering at nine last night. And the message was Powerful, Convicting, Convincing, Truth. And that alone was enough for me to realize the GRACE of God. We looked at Galatians chapters 1-3. How Paul was reprimanding first Peter, then the Galatians. And then the speaker told us that this is a letter to us. To us. To us. To me. To me.

The speaker had asked us to write down what we thought the perfect Christian looked like. He read them to us. Someone who is in the word daily, someone who lives like Christ, does not judge, proclaims the love of Christ, meditates on the word day and night, loves his neighbor.

This, the speaker said, is exactly what the Galatians were doing. This is what we are doing. This is what our great mistake is. We think that we have to fulfill certain criteria in order to be in God's favor. We set rules for ourselves. Have daily quiet time, to participate in service. We get caught up in the significance of these things. I have. I've been tired lately. I would wake up early to try to have quiet time, and end up falling asleep in the middle of it. Then it got to the point where I couldn't even wake up early anymore.

I felt like I was failing, flailing. But I am not guaranteed a spot in heaven because I do or do not have quiet time, it is solely because of God's Grace. Last night I was reminded to constantly be in awe of in the thing that saved my life.

That in itself is powerful enough. But God was so bountiful last night. He taught me so much. We wrapped up with this song,

The lyrics are so powerful. "Oh I am running to your arms, I'm running to your arms. The riches of your life will always be enough. Nothing compares to your embrace. Light of the world forever reign."

And I was brought to tears. And I was sweetly broken, wholly surrendered. And the Holy Spirit was alive and the passion was there. Perfection.

And if the night would have ended there I would have been filled. But after a few Younglife people said,  let's continue worship. So we went. Into a building, Into a lounge. Two guitars. Fifteen people. From different avenues, from different ministries and three Fathers, three men studying for the priesthood showed up on their last night.

And we sang.
And we prayed.
And we praised.
And we spilled out our hearts,
Held our arms open wide for our Lord.
We were overwhelmed.
We fell in love with Christ all over again.

It was the most emotional, most faith reassuring experience. It was so right, so spontaneous, so real, so in love. So in love. With God. With Christ. With Grace. For two straight hours we worshiped, we were in continuous prayer and our praise was said out loud, said within fellowship. We, some strangers, were brought together for our ardent, burning, consuming love of our Savior. And today all I can think about is the one who paid my debt. The one who has given it all, given His life, and loves me. These are a few of the songs we sang, I can't remember most of them:

How he loves us

Mighty to save

Sweetly broken

Mighty to save

You’re Beautiful

From the inside out

And this is literally what it was like to be in that room with brothers and sisters in Christ,