Behind the Curtain: The Other Story

My previous post was an exercise in acknowledging all of the space I'm in. The fact that I have some consistent themes to my internal (and external) struggles is just that - a fact. I often hide it, because there's this bizarre misconception (that I share) that if you're doing things right then you shouldn't be struggling.

Years ago I was blessed to watch firsthand as strong women opened up about their very real, very normal struggles, and be met with love and support. It was a huge turning point in starting to understand that it's okay to not be perfect. You're not supposed to be. And it's okay to ask for help. That's why we have loved ones - so they can lend us their strengths and we can lend them ours.

In more recent years, my social media feeds have consistently sported multiple memes, infographics, posts, and everything else to encourage and promote being open about not being perfect. Open about the emotional spectrum that goes beyond the "happy/motivated" warm fuzzy feelings.

My previous post might have hit some folks in an unexpected way. Either because they haven't seen me be that open before (at least not at that length), or because it struck a chord in their own hearts, or because that kind of sharing is just not done very much.

This post will look much like the last one, with a key difference. This time, I will be emphasizing the truths, challenges, and belief changes that pushed me forward. It was important to me to lay the groundwork of the struggle first, because it was never one or the other, either wrestling with shame or growing into boldness. They happened at the same time.

You do not have to have it all together to take the next step. And it doesn't matter if that step is a tactical retreat or an advance. 

If this helps even one person navigate their circumstances, it will be worth it.

A brief summary from my last post:

• I seek comfort in stability, predictability, and conformity.
• I have previously been uncomfortable to the point of distress if I felt that I could not attain these.
• When I am distressed, I run away; usually this is entirely mental/emotional, but at times it has manifested in "quitting" whatever endeavor I perceived to be the source. There's usually somewhere else to run to that's equally as acceptable, so I got away with this for a long time.
• Every time I ran, the belief that I'm a failure sent its roots a little deeper. This corroborated with (or maybe caused) an equally deep sense of shame.

The year of 2021 was the year my struggles finally refused to be ignored. I was going to have to start dealing with that constant companion of deeply rooted shame.

Briefly looking back on this journey, there were times during PT school when I would be so overwhelmed and stressed that I would literally call in sick, just to give myself some breathing room and mentally recover. This mostly happened during our clinical rotations, which were full-time clinic hours.

And I would be so ashamed. Ashamed! Why should I need to take that space, take the extra time? I don't have any mental illness or disorder, and all my peers were struggling too, but they didn't ever have to run away for a day. So it was something wrong with me.

But I was confident that I was where I was meant to be. I would breathe, prepare myself, and come back determined to learn and to persevere. I tried to give myself grace for needing a mental health day, and talked to my classmates to reassure myself that we all felt like we were floundering. We helped hold each other up, until we could each swim on our own.

As a new grad physical therapist, there was an expected learning curve and expected adjustment phase. Thank God my professors and clinical instructors all made this clear, because it would have been so much worse otherwise.

Adjusting to my first job as a physical therapist was chaos. I hated feeling like I didn't know what I was doing, but I had an incredible support system at that clinic. They reminded me so often to ask my questions that I finally started to believe that it really was okay.

I started to truly believe that it was okay if I didn't have all the answers.
That it was okay to ask.

Despite that incredible support system in my ideal clinic setting, I still had some dark days. Probably had a few "sick days." I am a firm believer in counseling, and sought it out, which helped a little bit. The person I worked with wasn't a great match for me, so it wasn't as effective as it could've been.

I recognized that I was not handling my stress well and reached out for professional help.

The height of the pandemic saw a significant drop in everyone's caseloads. The slower pace was so sustainable and calming for me. I was finally able to be the therapist I wanted to be, because my tangled ball of survival/identity stress had made way for creativity and problem solving.

I tasted what I could be, and it filled me with joy and hope.

I started to believe that maybe I really might be a good therapist.

As things began to open back up, the visit numbers in a day increased. They weren't as high as they had been, but it was bittersweet all the same. I was loyal to my clinic because of my coworkers, and I wanted to do my part. But I knew the recovering caseloads would bring the tangled ball back, sooner or later.

I wound up getting let go from that position, due to insufficient funding in the wake of the pandemic shutdowns. I didn't hold it against them. After all, the goal had never been to settle in the city where I was located. So, this was the opportunity I needed to keep moving forward.

This was the summer of 2020. New city, new job, new house, all in the span of about 3 weeks. I couldn't have done it without the support of my church family, my blood family, and God himself paving the way for me.

And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.

Isaiah 30:21-22 (ESV)

I'd already been through some major adjustment phases before this, so I expected there to be some growing pains. And there definitely were. But again, I was surrounded by genuinely helpful people and working in a setting I legitimately enjoyed. Each season of stress before this, I'd gotten just a little bit more skilled at navigating through those waters and staying afloat. This time, I tried to plan out how I was going to use my PTO and down time in order to give myself the rest days I knew I would need. I didn't want to take last-second mental health days.

I was learning myself, and preparing to manage my stressors and stress responses.

I still took last-second "sick days" sometimes. I used them to catch up on notes, but at my own pace. It was almost enjoyable, doing it that way.

Even on the "bad days," I was learning what constitutes a "good day" for me. For Kaitlin.

My stress management efforts were effective, but not as effective as they needed to be. The notes always piled back up, and the lateness of my completion of those notes was a constant presence in emails and staff meetings. I very literally was not measuring up.

I asked for help.

I asked for help from my clinic director, who I believed could and would help me.

I asked for help from an authority who could've judged me negatively, but I asked anyway, because I needed help.

This was unfolding early in 2021, maybe February or January. My request was received with the grace and support of a true leader. My clinic director was the kind that legitimately wanted everyone to do well, and he would move mountains to help make that happen. After talking things over, he connected me with resources that helped me not overthink my documentation quite as much. And it really did help!

But the problem persisted. I hated that it was still a problem, that something about me was still a problem. Why was this fundamental component of being a physical therapist so difficult for me?

But I had asked for help, and received it, and it had helped. I had put it into practice. I was capable of acting on feedback and critique and suggestions, and capable of improving.

Maybe it wasn't enough, but at least I was capable.

I had decided to just keep pushing forward, and hope that eventually I would reach the point that every other clinician seemed to arrive at. Eventually I would only be annoyed by documentation, like everyone else; I wouldn't be crippled by undermanaged stress over it.

In late January 2021, I also took a weekend virtual certification course to use Parkinson's Wellness Recovery (PWR!) in the clinic setting. I absolutely loved every second of it. Learning is one of my favorite things, and the more it highlights the connection between the brain and the body, the better. This was all that and more. My passion for physical therapy was at bonfire status.

This same optimism and passion threw into sharp contrast where I was. This was the first real break in the glass.

I had tasted what I wanted to provide.

I didn't know how in the world I was going to make it happen, but it was officially in my plans.

I would endure clinic life for maybe 3-5 more years, networking and maturing as a clinician, and then I would create my own gift to the community. I would be myself as a clinician and help others be themselves.

In the Spring of 2021 (maybe April?), I broke almost completely. Coming to work 2-3 hours early was normal for me by that point; it was the only way I could stay even remotely on top of my notes. After doing that for several weeks, pulling into the parking lot started to become a constant reminder of my failings as a staff physical therapist. For about a month leading up to this particular day, it wasn't uncommon for me to pull in, stare at the business sign, and cry, pray for strength, sigh in resignation, or all three.

But, by this point, I knew I was a good clinician. I knew it was just this aspect of the job that I was struggling with. But Kaitlin Cordova was a good physical therapist.

One day I pulled into the parking lot. I hadn't come early that day. I think it had already been a difficult morning for me. (A difficult few months, honestly.) It was a crying response that time, and the thought "what if I just turned around and went home" was back again. It was stronger this time, though. Less of an errant thought and more like a survival instinct to run.

Like every other time, I pulled myself together and went inside. Didn't last long. After pulling up my schedule for the day, I made the call that I couldn't be there. Not that day, anyway. It was certainly the most drastic last-second mental health day I ever took.

I hated that I was still struggling so much. Hadn't I done the right things? Wasn't I trying hard enough? Was it really just a question of time or was there something wrong with me? How could it possibly be true that I was so weak and selfish and slow that I had to leave my coworkers to manage their caseload, plus the patients I abandoned for the day? How could I possibly be such a failure? Why couldn't I do this normal thing like everyone else? Why did I have to be so needy?

But I would've hurt myself and others more if I had stayed.
On that day, I did what I needed to do, for me and for them.
I did not run away. I retreated.

I connected with a new counselor that day and was able to get on her schedule really quickly. I needed help beyond the practicalities of fulfilling my job description. Whatever was inside me that triggered that reaction had to be dealt with. This could not happen again, not if I wanted to stay gainfully employed and reasonably content. Even if I gave up PT and became a tradesperson, whatever was inside me would just follow me to the next thing, just like it had been following me through everything all my life up to then.

I recognized that something had to change, and quickly. Regardless of how I felt about it, I owned up to this fact. And I took action.

In addition to starting with a counselor, I met with my boss and discussed job practicalities, including a reduced workload. Obviously he was not in a position to be an emotional/mental support, but he supported me in every professional way possible. His kind heart and incredible servant-leadership was a blessing. Still is a blessing.

I learned to expect good leaders to care about the ones they're responsible for.

I learned that a good leader will gladly work with you to help you be well as you go about your job.

I learned that if I want the answer to a question, I can ask it straight out. It is their choice how to respond.

And I finally started to consider that my boss truly meant it when he said that I had something special. Something worth fighting for.

We waited two months to see if the counseling and the practical changes would have enough promise that I would feel confident in staying on as a staff PT. And I did feel better with the reduced workload, of course. That was my happy place, I already knew that much about myself.

I was so conflicted during that waiting period. I was happier, but I knew it was temporary. I knew the tangled ball of survival stress was just going to come right back once we started trying to increase my caseload again. Something inside was refusing to heal, and it refused to be rushed. Damn me for having something broken inside. Damn them all for trying to help.

But there were people willing to help, and I didn't have to go it alone.

But there was a way for me to be happy as a staff PT, even if it might not be sustainable.

But I was actively seeking help, something I had always struggled with in the past.

The internal conflict was intense. I still remembered my five-year plan from back in February. I knew what made me happy working as a PT. But those things looked increasingly unattainable. I had tried so hard to make it work, and had amazing support beyond what I ever would have thought to ask for. Yet even so, it gradually became clear that Kaitlin Cordova could not work as a traditional staff PT.

I wasn't sure what to do. Physical therapy was all I wanted. Outpatient orthopedic, to be specific. How could I have that, though? I'd had two incredible jobs in that exact setting with more support than I ever thought I could have, and it very clearly was not working out.

Conflict needs at least two sides. Sometimes they can compromise and coexist. Sometimes one has to surrender to the other. But the two sides always have to address each other.

During that two-month waiting period, I was consistent with my counseling sessions, and I did the homework she gave me. I needed this to work. I could not stay as I was.

And I started to learn to value myself for just being me. Not for whatever mold I could fit into.

I started to admit to myself the specifics of what makes me special. The gifts and talents and uniqueness that God created me to have. The ways Kaitlin bears the image of God himself for the world to see.

I started to learn about boundaries, and how there were some that I consistently ignored with myself. I've told numerous friends, especially women, to stand firm on their boundaries. But here I was, completely ignoring my own on a shockingly regular basis.

I started to learn that boundaries are good, that protecting them protects me, and that I am more of who I was made to be when I protect them.

Emotions are difficult for me to express and articulate. Often I let music do it for me. The music I was listening to during the first half of 2021 echoed my fierce determination to keep fighting. Sometimes it gave words and movement to my angst. Unbeknownst to me, it was also nurturing the roots of my self-assuredness and self-worth. That music was vital during that time of intense internal conflict and processing.

The conflict between what I dreamed of being and what I thought I needed to be started to shift. I researched other ways I could use my Physical Therapy degree aside from being in a clinic. None of them looked very appealing, but I was open to the possibility.

I researched other lines of work altogether, and buckled down on my budget to figure out how much I actually needed to earn in a month to make ends meet and have a little fun now and then. (And to keep dancing. Ballroom dance was another major lifeline during all this, where I could practice being more of myself than I even knew I had. And where I could forget about my worries for a little while. And smile. And dance.)

I hated that I hadn't been able to fit into the box I thought I was supposed to be in.

But I refused to lay down and die. I would find something meaningful and keep going.

Or I would find something unfulfilling, but temporary.

Regardless, I would keep going.

I accepted that any path I chose would be hard. If I chose to stay at the clinic, it would be hard. If I chose to leave, it would be hard. But I could choose my hard.

While I had been researching ways to earn money outside the clinic, at some point it occurred to me to check if there was a way to do what I truly wanted to do in the first place. That would be the ideal scenario.

I don't even know what search terms I used, but I found what I needed. I found a group on Facebook called Uncaged Clinician, and it was full of clinicians just like me who wanted to give their best, but doing so didn't fit in the traditional model.

I kept searching until I found likeminded people. And I bonded myself to them, and learned as much as I could as quickly as I could.

I sought counsel from friends, family, and my counselor.

And I decided to choose myself over the box I had been trying to put myself in.

Still, I had spent so much time committing myself to the box of "normal" employment, that it was very hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I had forsaken it. It felt like I had failed at what I had set out to do. Like I had failed at being a normal member of society.

But I didn't fail.
I acknowledged the conflict. I considered both sides. I sought counsel.
And I changed course.

In all honesty, I still have those "I'm a failure" thoughts sometimes. I spent a long time cultivating those thought patterns, though, so really it's amazing that I've come as far as I have in such a short period of time, to where I can more consistently receive those thoughts with curiosity rather than shame. "Well now that's a mean thing to say about myself. What about this makes makes me think that way?"

Internal conflicts of this magnitude don't resolve nice and neat and clean. For a long time, I didn't broadcast that I had voluntarily left stable employment to become an entrepreneur. After all, it wasn't what I was "supposed" to do, and based on my thought patterns up to that point, that made me less-than.

That broken belief was strong enough that it didn't matter to me that I'd left in order to pursue my dreams of helping people feel better, move better, and stay better so that they not only recovered from their injuries, but became better versions of themselves. It didn't matter, because ultimately I believed I had failed to do what I was "supposed to." (I feel compelled to add that becoming a better version of yourself isn't always an improvement in physical function. Sometimes it is just learning how to work with your body instead of against it.)

Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit"—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, "If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.'"

James 4:13-15 (ESV)

The same God who gave me my dreams and passions intended for me to see them through in ways I hadn't anticipated. And that's okay! (It took me so long to be able to say that sincerely, y'all.)

This past Summer, when I chose to leave the box, I also chose to continue a positive trend of asking for help instead of trying to do it all on my own. The Facebook group I had found had a coaching program available to help people like me get started and have a fighting chance. I'd had enough of "failure," and I needed this to succeed. Even better, I knew that I could succeed, as long as I had the right people in my corner.

I chose my hard.

I chose my people.

I chose to start taking up space instead of contorting into a box.

And even though it is hard, I have never felt so free.

Behind the Curtain: Growth Doesn't Happen in a Vacuum

Something I noticed over the past couple months is that my Facebook comments, Messenger replies, and text threads were increasingly turning into novels. Even my Instagram Stories started to sport large chunks of text. "Guess this means I need to start blogging again," I would say.

Well, I'm here now. And I accidentally wrote a novella.

The purpose of this post is to show a more complete picture of what goes on behind the scenes when there's obvious growth. Social media can only show so much. And not much is shared in the first place, because it's just not the place for it. So, here's my novella on the struggles that have prompted any growth you may have seen on my socials.

If this helps even one person navigate their circumstances, it will be worth it.

A lot of growth happened for me during 2021. I did not seek out these growth opportunities. I did not decide "I'm going to work on this aspect of how I view myself and the world!" and go after it. It was practically forced upon me - I would have been quite content to stay as I was and continue on with my comfortable life. Ha.

Some personal context: I'm the type of person that seeks comfort through routines, familiarity, and (relatively) conforming to norms.

When those things are disrupted or I feel as though I cannot attain them, there is distress. My first inclination is always to assume there is something wrong with me, because whatever it is I'm struggling with just shouldn't be that hard. That is my typical thought process, but over the course of this past year I have started to give myself options other than "it's because you're a failure."

The way I have typically dealt with this discord is to mentally run away, to ignore it and just keep trying to fit myself into whatever box I think I need to fit into. Believe it or not, this usually works out fine for me. (Probably because most of my problems up to recent years have been school related, and I'm actually really good at "doing school.")

Well, this year my struggles finally refused to be ignored. I was going to have to start dealing with the lingering sense of deeply rooted shame.

There had been warning signs during PT school. Times when I would be so overwhelmed and stressed that I would literally call in sick, just to give myself some breathing room and mentally recover.

And I would be so ashamed. Ashamed! Why should I need to take that space, take the extra time? I don't have any mental illness or disorder, and all my peers were struggling too, but they didn't ever have to run away for a day. So it was something wrong with me.

As a new grad physical therapist, there was an expected learning curve and expected adjustment phase. Thank God my professors and clinical instructors all made this clear, because it would have been so much worse otherwise.

I had amazing support at my first job, which was with a relatively small organization serving rural communities in Eastern Kentucky. (I grew up in Alabama, but I have never been more in the South than when I moved north for this job.) My clinical director was wonderful. My co-workers were great people who always welcomed my questions. They all actively, repeatedly encouraged me to actually ask my questions instead of trying to do it all on my own.

Despite that incredible support system in my ideal clinic setting, I still had some dark days. Probably had a few "sick days." I am a firm believer in counseling, and sought it out, which helped a little bit. The person I worked with wasn't a great match for me, so it wasn't as effective as it could've been.

We were all laid off for about 5 weeks during the COVID-19 outbreak in 2020. When we returned, it was slow going to get people back in the door.

During that time, if I saw 6 people in a day, it was a "busy" day. For reference, in an outpatient orthopedic setting, seeing less than 10 patients in an 8 hour day will get you some unwanted attention regarding productivity levels.

I'm not a fast-paced person by nature, and I have a lot of difficulty revving myself up for extra bursts of energy, focus, and critical thought. I crammed for tests in school like anyone else, but those were always short-lived with plenty of slower days in between to recover. I was in physical therapist heaven seeing so few patients during the pandemic.

Like I said earlier, the company I was working for was relatively small. The numbers did pick up (which was bittersweet for me), but they'd taken a hard hit and had to let people go. I'd only been on for a year, so I was one of the ones let go. It became the opportunity I needed to finally move up to Lexington, which had been my goal from the start. I moved out of my place, got a job with a larger organization that didn't make me feel like a cog in a machine, and found a house to rent. In that order. It was a whirlwind summer.

New job means new documentation system, new patient cases, new coworkers, and new organizational infrastructure to learn. (Living in a new city in a new house wasn't as much of a stressor; I'd already moved plenty of times before, and I'd made several trips up to Lexington while living in my previous place.) I expected it to be hard, because I'd been through similar adjustment phases already with grad school and my first job. And it was definitely hard. But again, I was surrounded by genuinely helpful people and working in a setting I legitimately enjoyed.

I took it for fact that the dark days would come eventually. I tried to be proactive with taking PTO this time, and my clinic director actively encouraged this for all his staff therapists.

I still took "sick days" sometimes, and used them to catch up on notes.

It felt like I never could stay caught up. The notes always piled back up. I asked for help in managing how I was doing them, which helped me not overthink them quite as much. But the problem persisted.

Again, I was ashamed. Why was this fundamental component of being a physical therapist so difficult for me?  The paperwork struggle is a common theme in the PT world, and we all joke about it. But it caused me so much anguish to know that I literally was not measuring up. I hated our staff meetings, because numbers were always discussed, and I knew I would always be lacking. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be able to do enough.

One day in the Spring, I pulled into the parking lot. Stared at the employee entrance. And cried.

It wasn't the first time I'd had that response. So, like every other time, I pulled myself together. Mostly. There was still a tension in my chest, an urge to run. But, I'd ignored it every other time prior, and told myself that if I could just get rolling with my patients for the day, I could ignore it and get through the day and that tomorrow wouldn't be as bad.

I walked inside. Opened my computer. Checked the schedule. And decided.

I sent an email to my boss and to our patient service specialist at the front desk to tell them I would not be in that day.

I gathered my things (including my laptop, because I still had notes to do) and went home.

That was the deepest hurt and shame I'd ever felt.

How could it possibly be true that I was so weak and selfish and slow that I had to leave my coworkers to manage their caseload, plus the patients I abandoned for the day? How could I possibly be such a failure? Why couldn't I do this normal thing like everyone else? Why did I have to be so needy?

I connected with a new counselor that day and was able to get on her schedule really quickly. I needed help. Running away has been a theme throughout my life (though evidently I must hide it well), and things had finally come to a point where that method was hurting instead of helping. Whatever is inside me that triggers that reaction had to be dealt with. This could not happen again, not if I wanted to stay gainfully employed and reasonably content. Even if I gave up PT and became a tradesperson, whatever was inside me would just follow me to the next thing.

My boss, who I will never stop applauding for being the kind of leader I hope to be some day, worked with me. We adjusted my schedule and talked practicalities. Obviously he was not in a position to be an emotional/mental support, but he supported me in every professional way possible. His kind heart and incredible servant-leadership was a blessing. Still is a blessing.

We waited two months to see if the counseling and the practical changes would have enough promise that I would feel confident in staying on as a staff PT. And I did feel better with the reduced workload, of course.

And somehow I was more ashamed than before. I knew it was just going to come right back. Something inside was refusing to heal, and it refused to be rushed. Damn me for having something broken inside. Damn them all for trying to help.

I was ashamed. I was about to become a stereotypical Millennial who can't hold a job because it's not a good fit. "Sorry, everyone, I know y'all were really excited for me to become a Doctor of Physical Therapy, but looks like I can't hack it after all. Don't mind me, just going to go quietly disappear."

What a shame, that I had been able to attend the program I felt so weirdly called to, work the perfect job for me right out of school, and work in another fantastic and supportive setting in the city I was called to - what a shame that I'd gotten all that and would have to throw it all away. What a shame that good things had happened to me. Shame.

During those two months of "wait and see," I was in a very lonely place. I researched other ways I could use my very expensive doctorate. I looked at other career paths that could pay at least enough to cover my living expenses and impressive student loan debt. Somewhere in there, I decided that if I chose to continue in the traditional outpatient ortho setting, that I would end up in the same lonely, desperate place again. It would only be a matter of time. Taking that off the table broke my heart. After all, I had been so sure that God had called me to physical therapy. I didn't want to be anything else.

And during those same months, while I had some breathing room at work and some good, difficult discussions with my counselor, I found a Facebook group. It was almost an accident, really. During one of my many internet expeditions for alternative work, I searched another physical therapy group I was already part of to see if something like what I wanted even existed. If there was any way I could still be a PT without wrecking myself, that was what I wanted.

I wound up clinging to that new group like the lifeline that it was. Excited and hopeful as I was, I tried to consider my options as objectively as I could. Big decisions shouldn't be made from a place of deep hurt or ecstatic joy.

After what I hoped was careful enough consideration, I wound up leaving my job and starting my own mobile private practice.

And y'all, I WAS STILL ASHAMED.

Aside from informing my patients that I would be leaving and their care would be picked up by another member of the staff, I barely told a soul about my decision. Despite all my consideration, it still felt like a desperate, reckless move.

Everyone I did tell was happy for me. Several people have told me that they look up to me and they admire my bravery. And I honestly still can't wrap my head around it, because nothing I did was brave by my estimation. In my heart and in my mind, I was just another failure Millennial who couldn't bring herself to conform to what everyone else was doing, and then decided to become an entrepreneur. To me, it looked like the sketch of a storyline for some hokey, stupidly optimistic movie that completely ignores reality in favor of fantasy.

Except now I'm living that storyline. And I get to tell the whole of it, not just the pretty highlight reel.

~~~

This post was mostly to share the truth about what's been going on behind the scenes. It's hard to get a good grasp of these things through social media. Facebook and Instagram make it look like I'm put together and taking bold steps and generally being a badass. Some of that is true - I have taken some pretty bold steps! - but it's not the whole story.

I'm not all fixed up now. I've grown a lot, but I still struggle with shame pretty regularly. However, through the past several months of internal work, those thought habits are not as strong as they once were. The demeaning things I tell myself don't imbed themselves as deeply in my heart, and sometimes they barely stick at all.

Some of the things that have helped me the most during these past several months have been a couple challenges my counselor laid out for me, which helped me start to actually like myself. I even started to admit that I'm good at some things that others are not. It's still hard for me to say these out loud, because it's been such a habit to downplay everything about me. It's hard to start owning the space you occupy when all you've ever tried to do was stay out of the way. But I'm practicing, and as with anything you practice, I'm getting more comfortable with it.

Another thing that has been particularly helpful is to ask myself if I'm doing things well. Did I do everything I could to stay? Did I put in the work to start getting better? Did I research and prepare as best I could for a new step? Did I take action well? Did I choose my people well? When I've had to ask for help, did I do it well? Did I receive help well?

Sometimes the answer is no. But more often than not, the answer has been yes. To the extent of my limited capacity to predict possible paths, I have done as well as I could reasonably expect of myself.

Every path you choose in life is hard. There is no easy way through this life. But you can choose your hard.

You are capable of doing hard things. After all, you're already doing something that's hard.

Whatever you choose, do it well. Something I've learned is that doing something well doesn't mean doing it all by myself. It means being honest about my limitations and enlisting help from others so that I not only accomplish the task, but stay true to who I am throughout the entire process, so that when it is finished, I am still me and have made myself, my helpers, and my task better because of it.

Choose your hard. Do it as well as you reasonably can.

The True Joy of Easter

What a morning. I've had the incredible privilege to worship in song and teaching three times, including a sunrise service. Normally, that would feel like a burden, but today? Today I can't get enough.

Growing up in church, Easter was always just assumed to be a special day. But, I never really understood why. All the important work was done on the cross, right? It was cool and all that he rose from the dead, but so what? Every song that crescendoed at him rising from the grave perplexed me.

By the grace of God, I've been a Christian pretty much all my life. But, as any Christian who's been at this for long enough can tell you, there is always something you don't understand, and always some new facet of the gospel that God is teaching you. In many ways, my college years were not just for higher academic learning, but deeper theological growth. During that time, the Spirit of God started pulling weeds and nurturing seedlings that had been neglected. It's an ongoing process, and I'm so grateful for it.

Around that time is when I started getting serious about Easter. WHY did everyone make such a big deal about this Resurrection thing? (Remember, this event was, for me, simply a given fact. I grew up with it, and my intellectual familiarity with it meant that it did not feel all that strange to me.) I worked my way through the Gospel of Mark one Spring semester, and during Holy Week I read accounts of the respective day's events across all four gospels. With all that lead up beforehand, feeling like I was getting to know a beloved story character (and remembering that he was a real man with real friends and real family)--with all that, I finally began to feel the weight of the Last Supper on Maundy Thursday. The sting of his betrayal. The anger of his mistreatment while on "trial." The soul crushing grief and anguish of his death on Good Friday. And then the emptiness and loss and longing on Holy Saturday.

...

And then! Then!! HE WAS BACK!!! The best friend, the wisest teacher, the kindest heart, the purest soul, the Son of God, the promised salvation had come BACK!!! The joy was so overwhelming! He would never die again. Happiest day!!! I had asked and sought, and I praise God for that truth and inexpressible joy that I found.

That was one of a few events around that time in my life that I can point to as being truly pivotal in my understanding and love of God. Easter has never been the same, though it is usually not as intense an experience as that time in college. But I'm still learning, and the Spirit continues to nurture truths that I've known in my head for years, coaxing them to grow deeper into my heart.

Today, because of churches livestreaming during quarantine, I had the privilege to hear the resurrection story three times, each time presented by a different person with a slightly different perspective. I'd like to share what the Spirit showed me this year during today's Resurrection Sunday sermons.

• "Jesus didn't just die for us, he ROSE for us." The cross and Christ's death is crucial. But the story doesn't stop there. Everything Jesus does is to glorify God by making a people who worships the One True King in spirit and in truth. That applies to his resurrection, too.
• Because of Christ's resurrection, we have a living hope. That hope never fades or fails, and is never at risk of being taken from us. (1 Peter 1:3-9)
• The hope which is so secure is this: Jesus is the firstfruit of a new creation (1 Corinthians 15:20). Our hope is that we are, and are becoming, and will be part of that new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). Because of that, every aspect of our lives is being transformed, past, present, and future. And in the last day, the transformation of God's creation will be completed, down to the molecules (Philippians 1:6).
• Jesus died to settle our eternal debt. He rose to begin fulfilling the promise of salvation and new creation. He ascended to sit at the right hand of God, a place of honor, power, and favor; in his new place, he continually intercedes for us and grants us access to this place of unprecedented favor with God. Not only that, but at Pentecost following his resurrection, he sent the Spirit of *God Himself* to live inside of us, to give us power to be active participants in the glory of God's kingdom, and to make our lives full to the brim for the glory of God.

Wow! What a wonderful Savior!!

***

Brothers and sisters in Christ, I hope that some part of my story speaks to you. I hope you felt something new in your heart that increases your joy in our incredible Lord and Savior.

And to those of you who may not know what in the world I'm talking about, or understand why all these Christians make such a big deal over Easter, to you I say two things. First, wow, thank you for reading this far. Second, if you have questions, I've got ears. And, God willing, I might even have some answers.

Happy Resurrection Sunday, everyone! He is risen!!!

Single Doesn't Mean Alone

There's a lot to be said about the freedom of being single, especially in the Church. I get to save a good bit of my money, which means I can help support various endeavors from my local church. There's not much pulling on my time, which frees me up to volunteer. Need someone in the children's church last minute? On it. Somebody needs to stand guard at this door and say hi to people? Not my thing, but yeah, I can help with that. Invest in someone younger in the faith? Yep, I've got the time to do that, too.

Plus, I get the incredible opportunity to learn what love and service and "doing life together" looks like in a platonic way. I have the space to invest in deep friendships and learn what it means to live in community with others. I get to learn what that community paired with my singleness feels like, and be empathetic and supportive of my fellow brothers and sisters who for whatever reason are not married. Maybe they're still hoping and waiting, maybe they've chosen singleness for its own sake, or maybe they're attracted to the same sex and have chosen to live single in obedience to God's design for gospel marriage. (I realize that last bit may step on some people's toes, but it's my blog and that's what I believe.)

Married people do all this, too, of course, but from what I've observed it's a lot more challenging for them. There's the bills and the kids and the house and the marriage itself that they've got to keep pouring into. Marriage is a beautiful picture of Christ and his bride (the Church), but it sure looks hard to do. And it takes up a lot of resources, both tangible and intangible.

For all these beautiful opportunities singleness affords me, I would be lying if I said I was fully content with it. I can think of a few reasons why contentedness eludes me, but the fact remains that there is a sense of loneliness that constantly threatens my sense of identity. It tells me I'm unlovable, that I wouldn't be worth a good relationship anyway, that no one should care how I'm doing, that I'm doing fine on my own. It tells me that alone and isolated is what I deserve and all I should ever expect. The pain of those whispered untruths makes me just want to curl into a ball and wrap my aloneness around me like a blanket, as if covering myself in it will somehow make it more comfortable.

Praise God that my walk the past 10 years has led me to local churches that so heavily emphasize being in community with other believers. Not just as a social club (though those are fun, too), but a group of diverse individuals who come from all walks and share a common faith in Jesus Christ, Son of God Almighty. There's a level of excitement when I meet someone who shares similar interests with me (where my Hufflepuffs at??), but there is something profoundly deep and joyful about meeting someone who loves my God for who he is. It's something holy, which means "set apart." It's the kind of deep connection with others that I crave as a single woman. And thank you God that I don't have to be married to experience that kind of connection and share in that kind of love and joy with someone else!

I have been blessed to be part of several such gospel centered communities, in multiple states. I have grown so much because of the love of Christ lived out in a variety of ways, from all kinds of people. The group that showed me how to bring corporate worship into a small group setting, and what it looks like to invest in a particular population in as many ways as possible with all devotion. The one that helped me raise money to go to grad school by donating yard sale items and helping me organize said yard sale. The one that showed me how to continuously and actively engage in the lives of my sisters in Christ. The one that even now encourages me to embrace the kingdom of God and follow wherever the Spirit has laid a path for me. And a hundred other friendships and blessings I'll never forget, but are too many to mention here. I thank God for all of you.

I am single. And when I am very honest with myself, I want to not be single - I would enjoy having someone to partner together with me to love God and for us to grow in our love for Him and for each other. But I also rejoice in my singleness! Because there is incredible treasure to be found here, and because single does not mean alone.

Getting Focused

I wanted to throw out some thoughts from the day. Twice, in completely different contexts, I heard the message, "don't get distracted"/"stay focused." There were other motifs surrounding that theme, but that was the gist of it both times. And the point both speakers were trying to make was to stay focused on what's actually important. Because let's be honest, we can all get laser-focused on the wrong thing and totally miss the point.

So what's that important thing? What do we stay focused on?

With very simple things, like skill acquisition, the focal point is whatever the purpose of the skill is. Not just performing like you would for a talent show -- performing with an understanding of each facet and the overarching context of why you are doing that skill in that particular way. Anyone can take a picture, but a photographer has the understanding to make it something excellent. Anybody can learn to shoot a basketball into a hoop, but true skill means you also know how to get around the opponent's defense and set up your team for continued successes. The focus is not just the skill itself, it's whatever the point of the skill is: art, athletic victory, music, etc.

Let's expand beyond the relatively simple. Skills and hobbies are great, but they are themselves subject to an even bigger focal point. Why are you taking pictures? Why are you playing basketball? Why do you play music? How you define that ultimate focus is up to you, but it will determine how you perceive everything in your life. It is the True North that you will be (and already are) navigating by.

For me, my True North, my focal point, is the kingdom of God. This means that Jesus is my King, and that I am one of his subjects, and I follow my King's orders and reflect who he is to those around me. The ultimate focus of my skills and hobbies are (ideally) centered on that. Maybe not always in a directly obvious way, but the "vibe" of how I do things and why I do them should always reflect that focus.

Tangent Time...
I know monarch language is a little out there for some of my readers, so think of it this way: Every nation has a "vibe" to it, if you will, and that vibe is set by its governing power and the response of its people to that governing power. Tyrannical dictator and frightened people? Scary vibes, not great for tourism, people escape if they can. Warlord who won a rigged election, with rebel factions in the populace? Danger and civil unrest vibes, no travel zone, lots of refugees. Group of bickering politicians ruling over populace with no greater enemy than themselves? Self-centered vibes, great for tourism and money-spending, people mostly settle for the way things are.

Then imagine this: A unified voice in leadership, with impossible wisdom to both exact justice and extend mercy, indescribable love for his people, unmatched power to protect his kingdom (and its citizens) from all who would harm it/them, and literally all the wealth (both material and immaterial) in all of creation to offer his citizens. His people know they're valued and loved and safe, and they show that to each other, and invite others in to experience it, too.

My Point Is
My point is that life has a point. All life does, not just mine. But since I can only speak about my experience of that, I'll reel it back in to first person. My focus for life is being a Kingdom Citizen. There are a lot of ways to get distracted while I'm about that purpose, because let's be honest, life is messy and it's really much easier to just focus on myself. But if I keep my eyes on the real goal, it colors how I view the messiness and even the tedium of boring everyday stuff. It's usually not easy, but if you're able to look at and through the thing in front of you to what lies beyond, it makes a world of difference. I think it's important to not ignore what's going on in front of you and around you, but if you allow yourself to focus only on them, you'll often find yourself going miles off course.

It's worth clarifying that losing focus and getting off track is never the end of the journey. Just because you drove for hundreds of miles to the west or slowed to a crawl doesn't mean you can't start going north again. It just means you'll have spent a lot of time and emotional and mental resources going the wrong way. It happens.

I tend to get pretty heady when I have time to think, and I had a lot of that today. Writing this post close to bedtime probably hasn't helped my coherency. Maybe some of this made sense to you and challenged you to stop getting distracted and renew your focus. Maybe it all only makes sense in my own head! But on the chance it helps someone else, I wanted to share my thoughts. I'd also like to share this encouragement: You can always renew your focus, no matter how distracted you got. And if you are my brother or sister in Christ, no matter what got you distracted and off course, no matter how long you wandered for, you can always come home.

20 Things for 2020

Catchy vision-casting post, engage.

While I may not be much of one for New Year's Resolutions, I do like to think ahead and fantasize about what might be accomplished in the coming year. Because coming up with 20 things was challenging, I decided to divide up my thinking across the 8 dimensions of wellness.

https://cpr.bu.edu/living-well/eight-dimensions-of-wellness/

1. Ask for help more.
   
2. Get a travel card. I want to go abroad, and racking up travel points is a great way to make that happen.
3. Read what I have. Definitely guilty of buying more books when I still have almost an entire shelf of unread books. Maybe this will be the year I read those books, instead of buying more.
4. Stay consistent with paying off student loans. It's a marathon, and slowing down just drags out the misery.
   
5. Make friends here. This looks to be a year of settling down somewhat, which means it's time to put down a few roots and make some friendships outside the workplace.
6. Host a game or movie night. Something I've wanted to do for a while, and just haven't done. (Not solo, anyway.)
   
7. Pray more. I've never done this consistently. But it makes a difference in me when I do it, so I'd like to actually, you know, do it.
8. Read my Bible more. And listen to what it's saying.
   
9. Get faster at documentation. I have a few ideas for how to speed up my process, they just require a little prep work. (Obviously the repetition goes a long way, but even faster would be even better.)
10. Get to work. Find something I truly care about in the profession, and put actual effort into making it better.
    
11. Cook more. I'd love to add 10 new recipes to my repertoire this year, so I can keep myself alive and in decent health.
12. Drink more water. It's not that I don't like water, I just really really struggle to make myself drink it regularly.
13. Explore nearby. There are some amazing sights around here, and I'd like to actually go see them at some point. Plus it gets me outside.
    
14. Take more pictures. I've got this great camera that I hardly ever use.
15. Learn how to take good DSLR pictures, manually. That fancy camera takes even better pictures when I set the parameters myself! Just gotta learn/remember how to do that...
16. Find a sewing class. Online or in-person, I am so tired of spending 90% of my time trying to figure out how to interpret patterns or instructions, and then making them happen.
17. Grow edible food this Spring/Summer. I've grown things before, but they weren't very good. Not gonna stop me from trying again, though!
    
18. Organize my craft closet. It's like a bomb went off...
19. Put up my wall art. They're just gathering dust, while my walls look so boring.
20. Display my knickknacks. We've all got them. Little trinkets that we collect from experiences, friendships, and hobbies. They may take up space, but they help me feel grounded.

Do you see anything that's been on your mind to do this year? If not, what's something else you're hoping to accomplish in the next 12 months?

Do or Do Not

So, I've been trying to resume this blog for years, clearly to no avail. I wanted to have something worth saying to make writing a post worthwhile, but also wanted to be good at writing posts so I could say it well.

Guess what the problem with that is? You have to write posts to get good at writing posts. Mind blowing revelation.

Anyway, I'm here to write a post! And here's what I want to say (and no, it's not one of the many things I actually really want to talk about, I'll get to those later).

I. Hate. New Year's Resolutions.

There, I said it. That's what I wanted to say. You're welcome, for that bit of personal information about me that you never asked for. This is the magic of blogging, people!

...Okay, there's actually a little more to it than that. (Fooled ya!) I do hate New Year's Resolutions, because they never work out and it's just a lot of unnecessary effort to change something that I should probably just change. Kind of like the title of this blog post, "Do or Do Not" (there is no try). I get that sometimes making a change requires planning. And telling other people about it helps to hold yourself accountable. I'm just not motivated by those things - if I don't want to do it, then I'm just not going to.

That said, there is something I actually want to do, and because I actually want to do it, maybe posting about it will help keep me relatively accountable to myself. (Not because of you fine people, #sorrynotsorry, but because I can keep somewhat of a log of my progress.)

I want to be able to sit seiza for 2 minutes by May, with no increase in familiar leg pains afterward. For those of you who don't know, seiza is just the Japanese word for sitting down with your legs folded underneath you, basically sitting with the tops of your ankles against the floor. I have excellent range of motion going the OTHER way, and I can squat all the way down with my heels never coming up. But that pointed-foot motion is very difficult for me, for a variety of reasons.

Now, it's not a huge deal that I literally cannot sit this way right now. I don't really ever need to, except for a martial arts class I do during the week, and I just sit however I comfortably can for that. It is a symptom of a larger issue, though, that does interfere with my general ability to move in the ways that I want to. And now I'm signing up for a thing in May that I would love to be able to sit seiza for. Again, I don't need to, but I want to.

So that's my goal that happens to coincide with the onset of 2020. I want to be able to sit on top of my ankles without it hurting. Which means I need to do some specific stretching and some strengthening to back it up. Honestly, I dread it (long story), but it's such a simple thing to be able to do, and I just want to know that I can. So, I'm just going to do it. Maybe with whining and some trepidation at times, but I'm going to do it.

(But I'm also a notorious quitter, so feel free to ask about it and help me out.)

Do you do New Year's Resolutions? Tell me in the Comments!


Update: So, I made kind of a list of things I'd like to get done this year. You can call them resolutions. They're over here. (It's a good thing I like waffles, because I do a lot of it. Maybe another goal should be to stick to one thing??)

Women and Self Defense

This is the first of what I hope will be a short series of posts concerning women's self-defense. I've been in the mindset of self-defense for over a decade, and in recent years have been more focused on women getting the knowledge and training they need.

As with basically everything in life, I stand on the backs of giants. I will try to give credit where credit is due as consistently as possible, so you can track down sources for more information if you want to. Of course, I'll present my own thoughts, too (otherwise I wouldn't have a blog), and you're more than welcome to track ME down and ask further questions! That is, incidentally, what the comment section is for; but I can also be reached on Facebook.

Nothing presented here is, or will ever be, a substitute for a good instructor and practice. Hopefully, the knowledge presented will help you start thinking about ways you can defend yourself, but it cannot take the place of face-to-face instruction, practice, and scenarios.

Without further ado, I polled my friends for what they'd like to hear about, and here's what they came back with. This will serve as a basic outline of how the series will go:

• Small stature, but staying safe
• Pros and cons of mace
• Handgun advice
• Poll: Who do women prefer to teach them self-defense: men or women?
• Personal: My own attitudes toward women's self-defense, and why

Be on the lookout for the first installment in the next few days! And if you have more things you'd like to hear about, PLEASE let me know. What you want to read is what I want to write!!

God's Glory in Car Wrecks

So, I was in an automobile accident today. First major accident ever. I was fine, but the couple that clipped me didn't fare quite as well - the hospital here is pretty good, so if they had to get in an accident out of town, at least it was here where they're close to good care.

Actually, that's what this post is about. It was scary, and I was naturally freaked out and adrenalized, but it was so incredible to me how the situation unfolded. All I can say about it is that God is definitely present, and that he's looking out for me, but especially for the couple that hit me.

Let me set this up a little more for you. It's about 5:30 in the afternoon on a major artery for our city. Rush hour traffic is to be expected, and I've been in it enough times to have a decent feel for it. There's this one exit to get onto another major road, and it always gets a line that's backed up for a mile around this time of day. If that's the exit you want, be prepared to stop quickly, and then wait in the crawling queue for a bit until you can finally get off the interstate.

I'm driving a small, two-door truck, trying to get home to some dinner, and then to go meet with some friends. We've all got some place to go, right? Well, I'm watching the traffic ahead of me, and I see that the crawling line is coming up soon, but I must have misjudged how soon, because it came as a surprise when the car in front of me was braking, and then was stopped. So, I brake, and then I brake hard, trying to not hit the car in front of me. By God's great mercy, I did not. But, I was definitely going to hit it if I stayed in that lane, so I pulled a maneuver I've seen done before, and had to use once before: I swerved into the emergency lane.

Behind me is a couple riding one of those comfortable, trike motorcycles with an extra trunk trailing in the back. When I braked and swerved, I missed the car in front of me, but the couple behind me was just as surprised by the sudden change of events as I was, and they wound up still going too fast while I was halfway in the emergency lane, halfway in the travel lane. The wide rear of their trike hit the side of the truck and slid along the side a bit until they came to a stop ahead of me. (Here's a good visual of what their vehicle looks like. Picture.)

Here's where it gets awesome, in my looking back. The couple was older and from out of town, but praise God they were wearing good helmets, and they're in a city with a good hospital nearby.

The nature of the accident caused them to fall from their seats, but praise God they weren't thrown, and they didn't fall until their trike had reached a stop. Also, while their trike did tip, it didn't fall over and trap anyone.

I don't know how normal this is, but, praise God, a good number of people stopped to help - probably because of the nature of the accident (2 people visibly on the road), and also because we're all in close quarters at this time of day, so it's easier to see things unfold and quickly decide to pull over. Regardless, I needed them, and the couple definitely needed them. I learned a lot of things about the effects of adrenaline on me personally today, and one of them is that I can't think clearly or follow through very well. But within a couple minutes or less of the accident, a man came up and announced that he had called 911 already. Praise you, Jesus, because the number just kept ringing when I tried to call, once I had finally managed to get the call placed.

Among the others who stopped were some capable men, who, thank you God, were calm and level-headed, when I was barely able to think one step to the next. One was still in his military fatigues, coming from the Arsenal. One, for whatever reason, had medical equipment in the back of his van - EMS got to the scene before we needed him to use any of that, but he was prepared, and he probably brought even more calm and experience to the situation. A minute or two before EMS arrived, an ER nurse (wearing scrubs!) came up, announced her occupation, and took charge with evaluating the woman. She was able to quickly brief the EMS and paramedics once they arrived on scene.

Looking back, I'm amazed. I feel sad for this couple, that this happened to them while they were travelling, intending to just have a good trip. But I'm also really grateful that it wasn't any worse. They were wearing helmets, the accident was only about 5 minutes away (by ambulance) from one of the best hospitals in the region, they have people they're staying with near town (so there are others who can be with them), and their transportation was not irreparably damaged. For whatever reason, they are under special care, and I'm so glad.

As if God wasn't already doing enough by taking care of these strangers who happened to meet me today, he took care of me, too. I was already braking hard and getting off the road, so the shock of impact was somewhat diminished, and all I had to do was finish the action I had started. The airbags didn't go off, which prevented me from having injuries from that (it wasn't the type of accident that should trigger them anyway). By some miracle, I did the right thing by putting the truck in park, turning on the hazards, and then getting out of the car. I had my phone with me, so I was able to attempt calling 911, and I was able to get in touch with my emergency contacts. By God's grace, I had brought my driver's license with me - I'd just been out on a short errand, but brought my license instead of forgetting my whole wallet at home. The people who came to the aid of the couple were a comfort to me, because they had brains that were able to take more control of the situation, while I was still in the shock and adrenaline phase. The friends I'd been planning to meet up with happened to be driving down the same interstate, and one happened to look out the window at the wreck and saw me - so two of my best friends were able to be there with me and give me hugs and make sure I was okay and didn't need a ride. I even got a text from one of my friends and coworkers, who saw the accident and me, and asked if I was okay and if I needed a ride. Praise God, the truck was drivable, and praise God again that I wasn't so shaken up that I couldn't responsibly drive. Thank you Jesus, this isn't our only option for transportation, and it isn't a really expensive car, and it's insured, and I'm on the insurance.

Today definitely took a strange turn that I wouldn't want to repeat, but it had at least one positive outcome: God's glory. I'm praising God for his protection, his provision, and his plan! This all could have gone down so much worse, but it didn't. All glory to God!!

In Everything...

Philippians 4:6

Don't worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. (Holman Christian Standard)

Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. (New Living Translation)

***************************************************************************************************

A lot of people - myself included - tend to think of prayer as something reserved for big needs, for times of trouble. But it's not just big things that cause us to worry. We fret about all kinds of things, don't we? About whether we'll make it to our destination on time, what we'll make for dinner, how we're going to dress for that night out, and so on. All sorts of small, normal things that we just take in stride as part of everyday life.

They certainly are in our everyday, but does that mean we don't have to pray about them? Or that God doesn't care about those small details? A good leader values communication, and a good father loves to hear from his kids. If you're stressing out over what to make for dinner, don't you think he wants to be part of that? To help give you peace, and maybe even some unexpected ideas?

And for those of you who are like me and don't really understand the phenomenon of prayer, think of it this way. By bringing all your concerns, big or small, to God, you are at the very least reminding yourself of his constant involvement in your life. When those concerns are resolved, take time to thank him! Just because we don't understand what prayer is doesn't mean it isn't effective in at least helping us keep God involved in our lives. (I do believe prayer does something more than the obvious psychological effects, I just don't understand how or why. That's a separate topic.)

When I was closing up at work the other day, I could feel the sniffles I'd had the whole day not going away. Instead, they were turning into something more sinister: a cold. I hate being sick, but more than that, I hate the idea of having to call in sick, forcing my managers to find someone last-minute. So there I was, sweeping the floor, worrying about whether I was going to get sick or not. And it occurred to me that this was under God's purview. I felt kind of silly, praying about not getting sick, but I did it anyway. I got sick anyway, and called in sick to work. I prayed again, this time asking him to just make it go away. When the tide turned in my body and I could tell my immune system was winning out (and I could breathe easy again), I was relieved. Later, I remembered to thank him. Even though I did get sick, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, and it gave me a reason to take a true rest day.

This is my point with the story: Even if he had no hand in it other than creating my immune system, he still deserves the thanks. And this is my point with bringing everything to God in prayer, big and small: God wants to hear it like a loving parent wants to hear about their kid's day, and he wants you to realize that he's always there, in everything.

All is Well?

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,

The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;

The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,

Even so, it is well with my soul.

I went to a concert at a local church this evening, celebrating their hanging of the green for Christmas. It was lovely, and the music selection was great. But one of the songs' lyrics got me thinking: the song said not to fear and that all is well now that the Christ has been born. The way it was worded, I couldn't help but ask myself, "Really? All is well?"

I look around at this broken world, and I do not see that all is well. There is famine, slaughter, drought, corruption, theft, abject poverty, disease, and so on. Yes, there are many beautiful and wonderful things in the world, too, but clearly all is not well.

The lyrics at the top of this post are from one of my favorite hymns, "It is Well With My Soul." All is not well with the world, but it is well with my soul. Because of a call and my answer many years ago, the God who created the cosmos reigns as King in my heart. That's why it is well with my soul. The kingdom Jesus kept going on about in his parables? The King over it is working to make it a reality in and through me.

The world is not ruled by its true King yet - He allowed Satan a time of power, and that is where we are now. Jesus' birth is good news because his life, death, and resurrection means we have a chance to become citizens of the kingdom of heaven and help bring it to the world. Eventually, at a time only God the Father knows, the Lord will return in power and bring the kingdom with him.

All is well? No. All is not well. But it will be.


Revelation 19:15-20:3a, 21:1-7
I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and wages war. His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God. The armies of heaven were following him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean. Coming out of his mouth is a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. "He will rule them with an iron scepter." He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has this name written:

KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.

...Then I saw the beast and the kings of the earth and their armies gathered together to wage war against the rider on the horse and his army. But the beast was captured, and with it the false prophet who had performed the signs on its behalf. ...

And I saw an angel coming down out of heaven, having the key to the Abyss and holding in his hand a great chain. He seized the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil, or Satan, and bound him for a thousand years. He threw him into the Abyss, and locked and sealed it over him, to keep him from deceiving the nations anymore until the thousand years were ended. ...

Then I saw "a new heaven and a new earth," for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 'He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."

He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."

He said to me: "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children.

To Fathers

I reckon this would be more appropriate as a Father's Day post, but it's been on my mind and June is a long way away.

Fathers, love your daughters well. This is important, so I'm going to repeat that for you.

Fathers, love your daughters well.

Fathers, love your daughters well.

You will make mistakes, and she might think you're a doofus or a nuisance, but she needs you. So love her - she loves you.

I'm going to let you in on a secret, fathers; it's the reason why I wanted to charge you with this post. Fatherless daughters have a hole in their lives that never fully heals. At best, it's just an old scar they carry. How do I know? Because I'm one of them.

My parents divorced when I was very young, and I never knew my father. I have no memories of him, and I never saw more than a picture of him growing up. Learning the reasons why my parents split led me to gratitude for not growing up under a man wholly unprepared for fatherhood, but that didn't change the fact that I wanted someone to call "dad."

Now, I was incredibly blessed growing up. My mom is a Christian and raised both me and my sister to see God as our Father, and that was invaluable to me as I matured. Because of my firm foundation and essential relationship with the Father, I didn't become one of the statistics so often associated with fatherless children. All credit and glory to God! But that doesn't mean I was fine, or even that I am now. It just means that my "daddy issues" were covered by God's grace and I didn't act out anywhere near as severely as others in my situation might have. All through my adolescence, I wanted a father figure, someone to look up to. And I was indeed blessed with a number of godly men in my life that I could look up to. However, there was no one I could have seriously called "daddy."

God has been teaching me more about what it really means to have a dad, and what it means to call Him Abba ("daddy"). I got one more piece to the puzzle the other day when I was reading one of my friends' blog posts. At the end of the post, she invited her readers to stop a moment and ask God to tell them what His name is for them. I did, and you know what I heard, almost immediately? "My little girl." Hearing that was such a blessing; it was one of the few times I've been so happy that I cried.

Obviously, there is healing in hearing the Almighty God call me His little girl, but it's also important for me and daughters like me to see fathers loving their little girls. We didn't grow up with it, and you better believe we watch you. How else can we learn what fatherhood looks like with human men (as opposed to abstract concepts of God the Father)?

So, from a girl who knows how much it means to have a loving father, I charge all you men with daughters: Love her well! And make sure she knows she's your little girl.

I'd Like to Thank the Academy...

On October 20, 2012, I officially reached a level I have never gained anywhere else.

Click to enlarge. (Seriously. Do it.)

One thousand pageviews, y'all!! Thanks for clicking on those links I've been shamelessly posting on Facebook!

(Ein tausend, un mil, one thousand... Sorry, just testing out the sound of it.)

I know this milestone is small potatoes for a lot of bloggers, and I'm not writing this one to get my name out there or anything. But it's still a first for me, and therefore well worth the 5 minutes I spent making those pretty fireworks in Paint!

To those of you who have been following along since I first went public with Move Along, a special thank you to you. Your patience is laudable, your tolerance for sub-par writing commendable, and your support invaluable. So, thank you, loyal readers.

Here's to another thousand hits!

Peace.

Out on a Limb

"And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns." (Phil. 1:6, NLT)

Sometimes I'm just in awe of how true this verse is, how amazing it is that God continues to work in me, crafting me to be the person he designed me to be.

This past weekend was the Ladies Retreat at my church, and it was absolutely incredible. The Spirit was there, and he was moving each of us toward a more intimate relationship with him. The topic for the 2-day retreat was "A Call to True Community." Specifically, we talked about being vulnerable with each other and actually living with each other as we are. It seems like it's the default for people to put up walls and hide what they're struggling with, and when everyone does that, no one really knows anyone. That's not what community is supposed to be. And if we can't be honest with ourselves in the relatively safe environment of the church family, how are we going to be honest with the rest of the people in our city? The ones who need to see the hope of Christ through us?

The biggest issue I wound up dealing with during the retreat - and the one God has already been working on intensely for a few weeks now - was trust. Trusting other people to share the burdens I tend to carry by myself and trusting God to show up if I step out on a limb when he says to. There's a lot more work to be done in those areas, but that's not discouraging to me; trust is something I'd say at least 90% of all Christians struggle with their entire lives. So at least I'm in good company.

I do want to share a couple stories with you about what God started doing immediately to keep me from backing down once I plunked my life down on the table. Some brief background information so these make sense: The idea of getting up to speak in front of a group doesn't scare me until it's time to actually do it, and even when I am okay with it, my voice still shakes (and my hands and the rest of me) while I'm up in front of everyone. Also, I don't usually initiate conversations with people, especially not with strangers; I'm better about it when it's my friends, but it still takes a conscious effort most of the time.

Alright, so the first awesome thing God did was during our last session of the retreat. It was open mic for us to share with the group of ladies what God's been doing in our lives, where he's leading us next, or whatever. The woman who opened the session started us off, and while she was talking I was thinking of all these cool things I could talk about that God was doing with me. After a few plans of what I could say went through my head, I realized I was thinking about me and not God, and started trying to work out what he wanted me to say. My ideas kind of faded away with that gear shift, and when the woman opened the floor for the next person to come up, I had no idea what I would say. I didn't even know if I was supposed to go up to the mic - I've been in similar situations when I was told not to go up. And as the seconds dragged on and no one was making a move to get up, I struggled. My heart started beating faster, a knot started tying up my stomach, and I kept thinking, "Is it me? Am I supposed to go up?" In the midst of the silent chaos, I heard a "yes," and I stood (already starting to shake like a leaf). I still had no idea what to say.

That's what made that experience so incredible for me. Because I had no idea what I was going to say, I knew God would speak. I wound up talking about something I hadn't really considered all weekend, but that was tied up in my theme of trust, anyway. It was going out on limbs for God, and trusting him to not let me down when I did. I hope the words I spoke helped someone else there; even if they didn't do much, the act itself did a lot for me.

After the retreat ended and everything was cleaned up and put away, I had a brief break before working a night shift at Zoes. And wouldn't you know it? God had plans to put me to work there, too. All the Front of House employees were getting tasks, things they could do to improve areas they weren't as strong in. I found out later that one of my friends was tasked with selling at least 3 sports cups (big, refillable, Zoes cups) per shift for the week. But when the manager for the night called me aside when I came in for my shift, I didn't know what to expect. He told me about the task thing, and said I do really well with the physical aspect of the job - making sure tables are bused and cleaned, running food, etc. - but not so much with making connections and relationships with the customers. Of course not! Why would I start a conversation with a stranger when I had work to do?

I had to smile, though. This manager had hit the nail on the head. And the task he assigned me for the next 3 weeks, starting that Saturday? Start at least 3 conversations with customers, either over the counter or at their tables, for every shift I work. At the end of the shift, recap the conversations directly with the manager on hand or write them down and leave them. I found the whole thing extremely humorous and timely, since I'd just finished attending a seminar on building relationships and community AND talked about going out of my comfort zone when I'm called to do so. The task may have come from the mouth of a Zoes manager, but it was straight from God! And you know what I've found since I started that task? People are really cool. And I hope this assignment will give me the practice I need to do this kind of thing on a regular basis, no matter where I am.

Anyway, that's what God has been doing with me lately. I'm excited to see what he'll do next. :)

"For I know the plans I have for you," says the LORD. "They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope." (Jer. 29:11, NLT)

Warrior Dash Aftermath

My first Warrior Dash is complete. 3.2 miles and 11 obstacles of EPIC. Check it out. (You can click on the images to see them bigger and in theater mode.)

The full course. We were supposed to have 2 more
obstacles - not sure why those were cut.

These are the thumbnails and descriptions for the obstacles we had.
FYI, Hell's Hill consisted of a big, steep hill and ropes to help us get up.

My official time was 46:37, averaging a 14:34-minute mile. Considering all the hills, the obstacles, and my preexisting crummy endurance levels, I call this a win. It placed me in the top third of female participants in the 20-29 age bracket, and in the top 39% of all 3,589 participants. More importantly, it placed me 2nd in the little group of friends I was running with. Pride = satisfied. (Now I can turn my competitive mindset back on myself!)

My clothes got a healthy coating of mud, of which there was plenty. In addition to the mud-specific obstacles, the whole trail was damp from a thorough dousing over an hour before our noon race time. I still need to hose off my shoes (and probably wash them after), but I got the rest of my clothes and my towels clean. Well, sort of. Anything white is now dingy (lucky I don't care). I had to wash that load twice, wiping the dirt out of the washing machine between cycles.

These are officially stained with awesome. (Also known as mud.)

Race bib, mud-stained socks, and finisher's medal.

That medal, while awesome, is not a prize or anything. It's a finisher's medal - we all get one. But, as participation awards go, this one is pretty frikkin' cool.

I prefer "conquered."

Finishers were supposed to get a free turkey leg and a free beer - I promise that's what was advertised at first, despite what the website says now - but we soon found out the turkey leg wasn't free. Oh well. One of my friends bought one anyway, and we all enjoyed our free beers.

Turkey leg! Beer! Fuzzy viking hat!

It was absolutely frigid outside (low 60s). Middle of the day, and I could see my breath, which usually doesn't happen until winter is upon us. Now, before the race, I thought this was perfect. I wasn't too cold, and I knew that cooler weather meant a better run. And I was right - I didn't notice the cold at all while I was running and sloshing through mud, or even when I jumped into some water that, in retrospect, was very cold. But after I finished the race and had a couple minutes to cool down, the temperature hit me hard. Getting dry(er) helped, but I definitely should have brought a sweatshirt and some sweatpants. I'll remember next year, that's for sure! (I wound up wearing the jacket in the picture for a while.)

The Warrior Dash was a lot of fun, and I'm really glad I did it. I'm happy with my time, but I know I can do better. I remember from my Cross-Country days that if you've still got energy left at the end, you didn't give enough in the race, and I could've gone at least another obstacle-laden mile. I did a lot of walking, too, which I discovered I actually didn't need to do much of once I caught sight of my friendly competition (he was jogging along, which meant I had to jog, too). I think I can shave 5-10 minutes off my time next year.

Hopefully there will be a race in Warrior, AL again next year. If there is, I'll have a better idea of how to train for the course. (Lots and lots of hill runs. Bleh.) Until then, I'll keep building strength and endurance! Warrior lifestyle, right? :)