Growing Up Is Good

It’s been a whole year since I walked across the stage at my graduation ceremony. I wasn’t actually keeping track or planning to remember, but watching parts of the video of this year’s grad reminded me anyway. And so, here I am, contemplating away.

Growing up is such a funny thing. When you’re young, there is nothing that you want more than to grow up and do all the things you see grown ups doing. You know, drink coffee, stay up late, drive a car, have a job and your own money, get married and have your own children. At least, that was what I wanted. I thought that growing up would be so much fun.

I remember a girl, probably about 16 or 17 at the time, saying to me once that it “was better to be a kid.” I was around 7 then so she was saying it to me. Of course, I didn’t agree because growing up seemed so much more exciting to me.

But then, I soon learned, as you grow older, that there is nothing that you want more than to fall back into the “old days” of swing sets and finishing school before lunchtime. Back then, when birthday parties and surprise treats and neighbourhood friends were the highlights of our days. Back then, when we dreamed of playing Barbies or drawing a big chalk house on the road once Math was finished. Back then, when life was simple, free, and happy. And as soon as we grow up, it seems we desire the things of yesterday, just as much as we once wished for the life of tomorrow.

Today, I think back on my grad ceremony and the desires of that day. I remember the beautiful purple gown with the crazy hoop skirt, made by an amazing friend and finished that morning. I remember the curly half-up-do, the gorgeous French nails done by my friend, and my sister’s make-up on my face. The desire to look as beautiful as I could be. I remember my friends and how dashing they were and how we all took loads of pictures in the garden. The desire for relationship. I remember the dinner and the picture boards and the speeches and the prom that I was so nervous for. The desire to do well. I remember having to lift up my skirt whenever I walked and getting sore feet by the end of the night. I remember saying good-bye and taking my hoop skirt off to sit in the car and riding home thinking about how beautiful the night had been. The desire to go back and relive the good moments and forget the bad.

But you know, I don’t want to go back. Not to May 24th, 2012. Or to last year. Or to ten years before. No, I want to go forward.

Because I have gone forward this year. I am a very different person than I was a year ago when I walked across the stage with a purple hoop skirt peeking under my grad gown. I have new desires, hopes, and dreams. And that is OK. It is good, in fact.

And I can look at the 900 or so pictures that my sister snapped and smile. I can remember and laugh, reminisce and not cry. Because that is a memory, along with every other day beyond this moment. It is beautiful in its own way and I will remember the beauty. And I wouldn’t want to go back because like we all thought when we were little — “growing up is good.”

Love People

Almost a whole month ago, I completed my first year of university. It was a great year; I did well, I learned a lot about myself, God, and my craft, and I began the process of following my career dreams. Yes, it was a very good year indeed.

But still, I have regrets. Even though I managed my time well. Even though I studied for every test and handed each paper in on time. I still wish I could do something over again.

I didn’t love people. And I regret that.

Back in September, I arrived at university, fresh out of high school with all kinds of expectations for how I was going to make friends and be a great person. The first couple of days, I was very friendly, making small talk with every freshman I saw. But that’s all it was — just small talk. And I regret that.

I was one of about thirteen other first years in my program. I certainly wasn’t lacking in people who shared a common interest with me. And they are all, along with our entire theatre department, warm, interesting, and friendly. But still, I didn’t find myself at home there.

I think I did it on purpose. See, I’d run away from people. I remember eating lunch and even doing homework outside for the first couple of weeks of sunny school days. I told myself and others that I “wanted to take in the sun while it lasted” and perhaps that was partly true; but now I know that I also just wanted to avoid other people.

I didn’t arrange to go to see shows or do homework or just hang out with others because it “wasn’t convenient” or “we didn’t live close by” or “I really worked better alone.” I became obsessed with my schoolwork; I was worried that my grades would falter if I lent even a bit of time to my friendships.

I even let my older friendships go. Sure, I was really busy. But still, I just abandoned everyone. Stopped all communication, pretty much. All because I was afraid of my grades dropping.

But really, deep down inside, I was afraid to love people.

I was afraid to let myself go and allow people to see me for who I was, with all of my flaws and imperfections. And let them love me for that.

I was scared of the rejection that I thought that I “knew” would come of loving others.

But I’ve learned that this is not the way to live. In fact, not loving people without reserve was one of the biggest mistakes that I made this year. Because even though its rewarding to read a prof’s compliments or a glowing transcript, you’re alone. Praise is lovely, but it isn’t a friend. Accomplishments — no matter what form they are in — are always great, but success will never love you as much as you think you adore it.

So love people. It isn’t easy. I’m still learning how. I think it’s maybe even easier for me to write an English final than truly, really invest in people on a daily basis. But it’s really worth it.

Photo Credit

Love. Because it is lovely. And I don’t think you will ever regret it.

Love the Lord. Love people. Because Jesus said those were the greatest of the commandments.

Love others. Because God made us to love and be loved.

When The Ground Falls Beneath You

We spend our lives building ourselves. Subconsciously, we add a thousand pieces of life to our identity. Who we are is rooted in countless places and people.

The family we’re from or the friends that we have.The straight A’s in school. A boyfriend or a girlfriend. A hair style, a skinny body, or a tall figure. Designer clothes, achievement in sports, or the lead role in every play. The church that we go to, the Bible verses we know or even our entire faith.

And one day, all of that can fall apart and everything is gone. The ground falls beneath you and you’re the only one left. You. Just you. You’re naked, hunted down, ravished, alone.

I say this because it has happened to me. Maybe to you, too.

Until this week, I never knew how much I put my identity in things that would fade away. Relationships, who I was in high school, even dreams that I had that I knew would never come true, school, theatre, and my faith. I built them all up. I allowed them to fulfill me in ways they never could. But recently, as the weeks have gone by, one by one, each precious jewel has been taken from me. Torn. Ripped from my soul. Until now, in which I feel as though there is nothing left but me. Naked, empty, struggling, searching me. Alone and undone without all of those things that I thought made me who I was.

I used to think that faith was a good thing to root yourself in. Turns out that I was wrong.

I used to say, ”most of all, build your identity on your faith because you can’t trust anything or anyone else completely.”

I used to know that everything would be alright as long as I just had faith.

That is, until it all fell. Until I heard things I’d never heard before from someone I didn’t think would tell me these things in a place I never expected to hear them. Until I started to question, doubt, wonder things I’d never questioned, doubted, or wondered. Until everything around me was falling but I knew that I’d be fine and safe with my faith but then that went, too. Until it was all, all gone.

When the ground fell beneath me and I wound up in the pit. Naked, empty, alone. Identity-less.

I lost everything superficial about who I was. No, those things weren’t ”bad” particularly, but I’d let them define me and that was wrong. And of course, at one point they got the better of me and fell. Even my faith.

So now I’m building again. Crawling out of the hole and back up onto my faith. Building a new identity, a new faith. Trying to leave all of those old ideas of who I was behind. Trying not to do the same thing again.

This time, I’m putting my identity in God. Not faith.

The Quest For God

I remember asking, ”Who is God?” Again and again, I’ve pondered this; tonight I ask it again.

The little girl on her knees, four-years-old, folded hands and eyes closed, reciting a prayer on the floor of the church.

The child, feeling grown up, collecting money in an Easter egg basket, filling little cans full of quarters and dimes, bringing them to Sunday school for the missionaries’ fund.

The one whose braids almost met her waist, who prayed every night for her Dad to believe  and her friends’ parents not to get a divorce.

The ten-year-old girl, feeling displaced in a big old church, missing her friends from the old one, wondering if she could really feel at home here.

The girl-turning-woman, Sunday School helper, nursery attendant, GEMS leader, greeter, friendly smile, cookie-maker, role model.

The one in the dress as white as snow, up on the stage, lacy pink shrug covering her shoulders, long brown hair down about her, reciting her testimony in front of a crowded church, saying ‘I do,’ hugging people and receiving cards over Black Forest cake.

That crazy girl with messy braids and bright pink shorts, running with children on her back, hammering and painting, fumbling out Spanish and smiling a lot, learning that God loves her, learning to trust, believe, and love.

The teenager on the verge of what she thinks is love, spending her nights on the phone gabbing out issues of God, callings, and marriage; the heartbroken one, wondering how God could not give her the first love she wanted.

The one who has lost, the one who phones a number with only an answering machine falling along empty walls, who loses passion for everything; the one who is found, the one who grows through suffering, the one whom God has breathed life back into.

The girl who graduated with a pretty purple dress and friends by her side, whose speech was about God and ‘running the good race,’ who thought she was so strong in her faith, and thought she knew what ‘good’ Christians did and didn’t and knew she would do what it took, never guessing the lies she believed.

And now she sits in the Old Testament class, the same girl who prayed a simple prayer on her knees at four, the same girl who said she knew nothing but thought she knew everything just a year ago, listening, thinking, asking questions, wondering if she really knows God as well as she thought.

The quest for God does not end — in this life or the next.

Immersed In The Spirit

Recently, I found one of my many, old journals. Like most of my notebooks, it was unfinished with plenty of pages left for more words and ideas. Oh yes, I love to write, but the problem is, I often start things that I don’t finish. A lack of inspiration, I guess you could call it. Anyway, this notebook had verses in it. I think I was trying to memorize them at some point. I tore the filled pages out so that I could use the journal for something else, but they got me to thinking about my life and things I’ve done or tried to do. And all the sudden I thought to myself, remember when you used to read the Bible, Elizabeth?

So, a year of Christian education and I don’t read my Bible anymore? Is that it? No, not exactly. I do read my Bible. But to be honest, I’m not as religious about it as I used to be. The notebook I found was from a by-gone era of memory verses, Bible reading binges, and notebooks about how to be a good Christian woman. From a time when I was just a girl trying to be the best follower of Jesus that I could be. Honestly, I wasn’t immersed in the Spirit much at all. Oh yes, I tried to be. But that way of doing it just didn’t work too well.

One of my new memory verses — in Spanish.

After about fifteen years of being a Christian, I’ve tried lots of things, swinging from rebel to saint, conservative to liberal as I’ve done so. The funny truth is that I never really find my place in either direction. I think I find it for a little while, but I never really do. And then I’m just stuck again, drifting back and forth. I feel like I’m constantly at a place where being a Christian just doesn’t make sense except for the fact that I’ve been one my whole life.

Changing directions this year (as in, going to school) has honestly changed my life. I’ve been forced to think about myself, the world, other people, my life, and God differently. I’ve learned to re-evaluate good and evil, faith and religion, life and love, and countless other things. But at the end of the day, I’m still asking the same question. What does it mean to live a life immersed in the Spirit of the living God?

Let’s be honest — even as the great Christians that we are, we don’t always “feel” God in us and through us or even in the distance somewhere kind of looking out for us. Yeah, He’s there, but sometimes He does feel pretty far away. How are we supposed to be immersed in that?

I don’t have the answers — I just have my experiences and the knowledge that I can gain from that. Praying is important. And I know that from not praying because I forgot and then from praying again and realizing how much I needed it. And I also know that from having people pray for me and from friends telling me that they were praying for me–even when I didn’t ask them, too. Reading is good, too. I’ve been reading little bits at a time — when I remember and when I feel the urge. I don’t like to say, “I know I should do this everyday” anymore because honestly, that takes the joy out of it. Letting the Holy Spirit live through and in you is very, very good. And I’ve learned that can come in a thousand different ways–they key is inviting Him in.

I’m reading two Bibles now — in Spanish and in English!

I don’t know it all yet and I’m not there the whole way. But these are my observations and my beginning for living a Spirit immersed life.

Hello, Again

Hello…

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? So much time has passed that I almost feel afraid to write and post again. I’m not really sure if I know what to say or how to say it. I didn’t mean to take a break or disappear–it just sort of happened. So I guess today I’ll just write and not worry too much about the time passed or the words not written. Yes, I shall just write. Write and tell and share my stories.

School ends on Monday and after the ensuing finals, my first year of university will be finished. This year has simply flown by. Sometimes, if I’m home all weekend I feel like a highschool student again. It’s hard to comprehend that I’m living all of the things I was only dreaming of and hoping for last year.

But I have been living my hopes and dreams as well as my worries and nightmares. University hasn’t been everything I imagined or dreamed, I’ll admit. But then, it has also been much more than I could have hoped for, in some ways.

This year has been so full that I feel like it has been years since my highschool graduation. I’ve grown in a thousand ways that when I reflect, I barely recognize my old self anymore. I feel like I’m transformed.

I believed so many lies back when I graduated. So many untruths, so many bad, bad things. And I thought that I didn’t; I thought I was done with all that. I’ve realized we’ll never really be able to comprehend the truth, though there are pieces of hope for it on this earth. And I’ve been blessed to glimspe some of these truths this year.

I’m not the same girl in the purple dress who told people she wanted to be a teacher at her graduation.

I am not the same person who plotted a map of perfection for university–planning to wear dresses to school at least twice a week, be the friendliest person in the world, always, always care about every assignment, and go to chapel everyday.

I’m not the one who cried after the second day of classes and wanted to change her major every other day for months.

I don’t believe the lie that a Christian cannot also be an actor anymore and I do believe in God’s love for me even more.

And all that is so good.

I’m learning to open myself up to people and to God. I’m learning to be myself, as cliche as it sounds. And I’m learning, perhaps very slowly but ever so, to be more like Christ.

This is me now–after almost eight months of early mornings and late nights, exams, papers, and readings, scenes, auditions, and monologues, missing the bus and walking across campus, seeing shows and hanging lights, crying and hating theatre and then falling back in love with it again and again, meeting new people and learning to love and trusting in God and learning to fail boldly. I can only imagine what the next three years will bring.

What has happened to you over these last few months?

Everyday: Take #1

Life can be stressful. I know that it is for me.  But sometimes I think it is because I only remember my problems and forget how very blessed that I am by the everyday things in my life.

This week, I’m giving thanks for…

Reading break and the chance to ‘read,’ reflect, and relax.

Catching up with friends, family, and special people.

Longer days and the first peak of sun.

These excellent books and actually being able to read them again.

Spanish music. I’m listening to it right now.

Being able to finish my last essay outline and rough draft of the semester.

Starbucks drinks with my sister.

Chocolate chips and the time and ability to create even more yummy-ness with them.

More than six hours of sleep every night.

Watching one of my all time favourite shows, The Waltons.

Sharing this pot of tea with a dear friend and knowing that the important things never change.

Breath and water and energy.

Restored hope. Health revived.

All of God’s many provisions.

This was my life this week. Some of it is simple; much is mundane.

But all is cherished; everyday is a blessing.

I am blessed. I am grateful.

What are you thankful for today?