You ask me what it is that I love?

You ask me what it is that I love? I love the sunshine and the temperature of a perfect October day. I love the mornings that make me feel alive - crisp leaves, brisk air that chills my body without stinging my lungs. I love the feeling of falling into bed at night, dead tired after a busy day, knowing that I need not do a thing for the next eight hours, yet they will pass in just a blink. 

What is it that I love? I love the warmth of a pile of blankets, the weight of security and ease of mind. I love time spent with a blanket and a cup of hot tea. I love tea in its many forms and flavors - the tastes, the warmth, the cleansing properties - physically and emotionally. I love anything down, down pillows and blankets and coats - the tiny feathers conforming to the shape of my body, their tiny shafts holding the heat of my own heart. I love the blankness of an unscheduled day, and the expectant busyness of a packed one. I love glass drinkware: the proof of substance and fragility. I love the satisfaction dwelling within a filled notebook or page, painstakingly written by my own dear hand. I love foot. All of it. I love driving at high speeds - the one vice of my not-yet-fully-developed teenage brain. I love driving on a cool night with the windows down, the brisk and rushing air reminding me that I am so very alive.

What do I love? I love sending letters, my love neatly wrapped up and addressed. I love that infrequent email when it arrives: "You have a package" and the joy of spinning the tiny dial to reveal a not-so-empty tomb filled with neatly wrapped love for my enjoyment. I love loving people and being loved. I love sharing the warmth of my body with another precious beating heart. I love that my arms can hold both sweet dear babes and grown persons. I love the feeling of lean muscles beneath my touch. I love the wonder of watching a sweet little one fall asleep, and that magical snugliness of a damp, towel encased toddler.

I love words. I love nature. I love God. 

I love Skyping my beautiful little nephew and the way "I love you Bethy" closes our every conversation, never sounding sweeter than when said by his not yet two self. I love truth and compassion and all-suffering love. I love forgiveness and redemption. I love my Mennonites and the way that they get it right most of the time when it comes to faith. I love God, I really do. Despite the confusion and mystery and pain, I believe in and love this great God of mine. You ask me what it is that I love? I love life and its many beautiful, perfect moments, glimpses of something pure and holy and beyond us.

Letter to the Bullied

Here in college, I babysit all the time. I help many families, helping to take care of kids from 5 weeks to 14 years. This week I started a new job with a local family who has two teenagers who need transportation and somebody to cook and really just hang out with them. 

Their 14 year old son, as I've noticed from these past two weeks, is a sweet, considerate, reserved young man. He has recently been dealing with some bullying at school, and last night as I finished up folding laundry, I listened to his father talk to him, and it just broke my heart. 

You know friends, our words have power. They can absolutely destroy a person, or they can nurture and build a person up. Last night I heard this father destroy his son. I heard him blame his son, criticize his son, tell his son what to do to fix the situation. I didn't hear him love his son though - and my heart hurts for this poor young man who can never please his father, never live up to his expectations. It makes my heart hurt for the young people everywhere being isolated and hurt, and not having the the support they need. 

Our school systems, our books, our approach is all wrong. They all function in theory, but as somebody who just recently made it out of high school, let me tell you, they don't often apply to the real social situations in schools. Bullying situations are never as clear cut as guidance counselors and principals like to make them seem. We can't try to eradicate the problem by addressing the issue of bullying alone, we have to teach kids to love each other, to recognize the beauty and holiness in one another, to carry each other through life. Many of our issues in society stem from a lack of these actions, and if we could just teach our kids this, maybe we could overcome this issue of "bullying". 

This whole situation has got me thinking about the issue, and if I were to write a letter to this boy, this is what I would say.

Dear F,

Life is hard, it really is. You haven't done anything wrong, anything to deserve this treatment, but you aren't powerless either. We control how others treat us by accepting or rejecting the behaviors of others. You can't control how other people act, but you can control what you accept and internalize.

You should accept the things that delight your soul. Accept the things that recognize  and celebrate your inherent worth and goodness. Accept those things that build you up, the things of truth. 

But F, don't accept the things that hurt your precious heart. Reject cruelty and stereotypes, reject insensitivity on the part of others, reject the things that objectify and belittle you. 

Your soul is too precious to ignore, know your worth and treat yourself in a way that reflects that.

Look for good friendships. Look for people who will stand by your side and stand up for you. Look for people who stand for truth, people who stand for loyalty. Find these people and keep them by your side. I'm sorry that your friends haven't been these people to you, but give them more chances to try again. People fail even when they mean well. Especially in middle school, kids are stupid. Everyone works so damn hard to be liked, but not for any of the right reasons. If you don't like this status quo, then change it. Like people for who they are, and not the things they do to please others.

And about the kid who treats you cruelly. Forgive him. It seems absurd and frustrating, but carrying around the burden of hate will only transform you, not him. He will still be cruel and ignorant, and now you will be too. Don't do it, instead work towards forgiving him. It's hard work, that forgiveness stuff, it really is. It's not an overnight thing. Hate him for awhile, you have my permission. Be bitter, but get over it and forgive him for it. Look for the good in him, the spirit of the divine within him. 

F, there's no such things as "bullies" and "victims" as portrayed in the media. Nobody is a perpetual bully or perpetually bullied. Rather, we all switch in and out of the roles in our lifetimes. Bullying in itself is a made up concept I believe. It's what our schools and culture try to name cruelty and hatred and brokenness. It lessens the severity and separates it from the realm of adulthood. The truth is though that bullying is just another manifestation of human brokenness. People act out with anger and malice because their needs are not met. 

The blessing of humanity, but also the curse of humanity, is that we are both goodness and evil. Both of these forces dwell within each of us. There is a Native American parable I heard once that went something like this: a young man told an elder that there was a fight within him between two wolves. One wolf is good - he is peace, love humility, kindness, generosity, etc. The other wolf is evil - anger, jealousy, hatred, arrogance etc. The elder told the young man that the same fight exists in every other person as well, and the young man asks him which wolf wins. The elder replies "Whichever one you feed."

F, you have good within you as well as evil, and this bully not only has evil within him, but also good. You are capable of the same actions as him. In your pain, as you find your way through, don't become like him. Feed the good wolf, F. You have to choose to confront hatred with love. Choose to be kind even when your heart is bursting with bitterness. It's not wrong to feel these negative things, that's just human. Accept all of your emotions for what they are, but recognize that they aren't in control, you are. You control how you react to and use these feelings. Even when you feel angry and hurt, choose to put good into the world. Though you reap sorrow, choose to sow seeds of love.

F, you are precious, loveable and loved. Don't lose sight of that. Things get better, I promise. Walk through this season with your eyes on the light ahead. The future is glorious!

With all the love I can possibly muster,

Beth

What About the Other Son?

My suite-mate and I were discussing the story of the prodigal son tonight, and it reminded me of my thoughts on the story as of late. People love this story, I used to love it too. At the moment I don't know quite how I feel about it. The story, from Luke 15, is pretty common knowledge. Christians love it. People read it and re-read it, viewing themselves as either the prodigal son, the older son, or the Father depending on their mood.

If we're honest, this story is great for screw ups, but what about the rest of us? I know, I know, we're all sinners, we all screw up... but really. Think about it more. I mean the image of God as our father running to us after we scorned him is breathtaking, but the more I think about the older son, the more perturbed I am by the story. I just don't know friends. Maybe it's because I feel so damn much like the older son, I don't know. It just doesn't seem fair for him. It doesn't seem like the Father's love for him is equal - his inheritance certainly isn't (rather than getting more than the younger brother as per custom, the prodigal son actually ends up with his own inheritance plus half of his brothers.)

So let's look at the latter part of this story. The father is celebrating his son's return, but meanwhile, his other son is out in the fields, hard at work. Nobody tells him about this development of events, nobody is sent to invite him to the celebration. He is completely ignored at his work. He comes home after a hard day of work only to find that his brother has returned.

Just imagine the emotions of the older brother... really really imagine. His brother left and it probably hurt him, and he was probably bitter because now he has to do all this work while his brother is off partying somewhere. He probably is a little jealous, but also angry because his father makes such a big deal about missing his brother that he doesn't feel loved by the Father. The his brother comes back and it's like "Great, second best again even though by every standard I should be the celebrated brother." Bitterness. Anger. Hurt. Rejection. Jealousy. Indignation. Of course he wouldn't join the party!

This is the part I find interesting. My Bible says that the father came out of the party and begged the son to join it. This reflects on the father's character again. He desperately wants for his two sons to be reconciled. He wants the family to be whole again. He is so happy that his youngest son has returned, but he doesn't want his older son to be bitter. He wants him to join in the celebration.

The older son says to his father "I have served you like a slave for many years and have always obeyed your commands. But you never gave me even a young goat to have at a feast with my friends. But your other son, who wasted all your money on prostitutes, comes home, and you kill the fat calf for him!"

Pause. I get this brother. He's so pissed. He's done everything right for all these years only to be overlooked by the brother that caused so much pain and strife in his family. Maybe all these years of work and service weren't spent with a bitter heart either. Maybe they were years of hard but happy work, but once the prodigal brother is rewarded, the bitterness floods in. It reminds him of all the work he has done, all for nothing. He's so angry he can't even refer to the prodigal as his brother. He says to the father "your other son." Ouch. Harsh words.

The father's answer doesn't exactly clear everything up and make this a feel good story either. The father says, "Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours. We had to celebrate and be happy because your brother was dead, but now he is alive. He was lost, but now he is found."

I can just imagine the older son. "Ok Dad. He wasn't exactly lost, he chose to leave us."

So many thoughts about this situation... nothing resolved to offer you my friends. Last year I was in a class called Faith Walk at school, and the main attraction of this class was that we all had a class period to share our testimony at some point, and we also spent a lot of time discussing faith and such. Sometimes I got frustrated because throughout high school, I made the right "big" decisions. I loved God and stayed faithful to following him throughout those four years. I didn't abuse or rely on drugs, sex or alcohol. I spent my time serving others, being involved in school, and achieving. I was like a poster child of Mennonite schooling, but yet I wasn't the one acknowledged and rewarded for my good decisions. It was the people who had strayed, who had claimed faith on Sunday but did whatever they wanted the rest of the time. It was the people who made the awful mistakes that impact the rest of one's life, those people, that were rewarded. It was they that somehow had a deeper grasp of faith, who were somehow closer to God.

And I'll tell you what - I didn't buy it. Why would God call us to faithfulness if he would only reveal himself to those who were unfaithful. Why would God call us to sanctified living if he was only going to deepen relationships with those who ignored his teachings? It just didn't makes sense. So I understand the older brother, I totally understand.

Yet, this story makes it clear that the younger brother is the one celebrated. Yet it was the older brother who faithfully did the work for his father, it was the older brother who did right. He made the good decisions. He was the poster child for filial relationships. Yet he isn't the one celebrated. WHY? As my dear friend Anna would jokingly shout to the sky, "Why God Why?!?!"

The Father in the story says, "You are always with me, and all that I have is yours."

What is God trying to say to us? Maybe His presence is reward enough. Maybe relationship with Him is the celebration. Maybe doing His work is supposed to be the prize. I just don't get it though. God's commands are here to protect us, so by following them we are living in God's shalom, his idea of perfect rightness in the world.

I don't know my friends. I don't understand, I haven't wrestled with God and emerged newly renamed and victorious yet - I don't hold an answer to explain away this story. But there is tension there. There is a disturbance to my spirit. Imagine that - the Bible disturbing us comfortable Americans, rather than comforting us. And maybe that's a good thing.

Until we meet again.
Much love,
Beth

Low Points are Holy Points Too

Here I sit, the fourth Friday that I've been in Deerfield, Illinois, and I'm satisfied. I'm happy. I like who I am (mostly)... We have to make our own destiny friends, and coming to Trinity International University is part of my formation as a person. I've started on this great adventure called college a month ago, and already it has so quickly had its ups and its downs. The thing about college is that one day it's great and the next day it sucks, and I think it's ok to say that. I think it's ok to be honest and say that a day sucks.

For some reason, Christians have this idea that to be holy, we have to love every moment of life. God gave us this life and this time and this earth, so we have to rejoice in it every second of every day... right? I 'm not so sure. I think that living is about fully embracing every moment for exactly what it is. Living fully means allowing yourself to fully engage in the different seasons of life, however short or long they are, and choose to fully accept and feel the emotions of the seasons.

The last eight or so months have been a roller coaster of highs and lows, but I've learned how to embrace the ride. God is just as present in the low points, the points of frustration and desperation, as She is in the high points.

I was a counselor at a Christian wilderness camp this summer, and every day we would lead "Lifesearch" with the tent, a time of daily devotion and learning. Our theme for the summer was Hebrews 11:1, and every day we looked at the stories of different characters who made it into the "Hebrews Hall of Fame." There was one story that I only taught once or twice the whole summer, mostly because I was still wrestling with it myself, and didn't know how to resolve it with my belief of who God is. It's the story of Abraham and Isaac, a father who came so close to sacrificing his own child that Isaac felt the harsh bonds of the rope and the cool metal of the knife. There are so many questions I have about this story, but I don't want to delve into that too much now. I've heard many different explanations/interpretations of this story, and while many seem to hold truth, I just don't feel that any of them fully reflect the perfect nature of my God. One of these such explanations is that God was teaching Abraham to hold on to things with open hands, rather than clinging to them, even if this "thing" is his son.

My thought as of late is that this lesson applies to life as a whole too. We can't cling to one season, good or bad. We can't cleave to the good times, or wallow in the miserable ones. There is a time for everything, and we have to be willing to have our hearts moved daily by the Spirit of God. Each emotion, each situation serves a purpose, and we have to be open to that, but also open to the movement from one to the next. God will guide us from day to day, and the best thing that we can do is accept each sucky and precious day for what it is, being honest and speaking truth about life, asking for help and love when we need it, and giving it to others when we can.

One of my favorite author/blogger/humans, Glennon Melton, has created this mantra, one that we could all learn from.

Peace and love to you today friends.

Haiti update

In March, I traveled to beautiful Haiti... thoughts to follow. Here's a video of my experience (:

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Who are you created to be?

           I was recently invited to participate in a scholarship competition at North Park University in Chicago. On that blustery Friday morning, as I entered the chapel sipping my tea, I chose a seat next to a group of three girls and as I sat down, I struck up a conversation. "Hi I'm Beth," I said - though a small gesture, it seemed to be the action needed to break down the barriers between these girls sitting in silence. We began to chat, and I noticed that one of the girls seemed a little irritated at my efforts to be friendly. The conversation continued; one girl asked me what class I had signed up to attend that afternoon. I responded, and another girl said, "Oh, what building is that in?" "Hmmm... good question," I thought, "I'm not sure, I didn't write it down. I'm sure they'll tell us where to go when the time comes."

            This seemed to trigger something in that first girl who I had earlier noticed. She began to talk about how she was being careful to write down everything, and she even printed out a map online the night before so that the professors would see that she was responsible. One aspect of this scholarship competition was that various professors and recruiters would be observing our interactions in discussion and panel sessions. So this girl continued, mentioning how she carefully selected an outfit that was professional, yet appeared to be something she would wear on an average day, trying to convey that she dressed business casual on a day to day basis. I mentally laughed at her comments, sure that her mother or father had thoroughly prepared her for this day.

            A few minutes later, a stately older man approached us, and shook our hands while introducing himself by name. The girl's entire demeanor changed when the man entered the conversation. Suddenly she was enchanting, all smiles, and trying to dominate the conversation. She asked if he was a professor and he asked us to guess what his job was. "University president!" I guessed, then followed it by saying, "or at least a history professor." After all the girls threw around a couple of guesses, he told us that he was, in fact, the president of the University.

            He continued to chat with us, asking each of us where we were from. When I told him outside of Philadelphia, his interest was piqued and he asked what town exactly. Lansdale, it turns out, was a familiar name to this man. He informed me that his son, daughter in law, and two grandchildren lived in Wayne. "Wayne!" I exclaimed, "I know exactly where that is! I've been lost there. Can't ever forget a place when you've driven around it aimlessly trying to find your way home." He laughed and offered me his son's phone number in case I should ever get lost again. I told him that I should probably take it because getting lost is not an entirely uncommon occurrence for me. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he moved on to greet other prospective students.

            The girl seemed quite sullen about the fact that I got more of the President's time, and shortly after he walked away she said, "Wow I never would've brought up the fact that I get lost a lot." She seemed even more bitter when he later mentioned in his opening address that he met a student who lived near his son!

            We were later split into groups of about 10-15 and each group was taken to a conference room with a professor who introduced a thought provoking topic, and sat back to observe our group discuss it. As I sat in my group, I noticed how hard so many people seemed to be trying. I could tell how hard some were trying to bring Jesus and faith into the conversation, and how hard others were trying to just say anything at all, even when they were speaking up just to say, "I agree with him." As we moved to another conference room for a new session, I was talking to a couple of kids, and one boy said, "I'm just more of a listener, you know? So I'm forcing myself to talk and to think of things to say, and it's just really hard."

            The world is filled with people like this - people who are experts at shape shifting. They can be whatever you want them to be: loud, quiet, demure, flirtatious. assertive, agreeable. They are experts at determining what you want, and being that person. We are a society of people pleasers, teaching our kids to manipulate and deceive, teaching that they must act a certain way to please certain people and they must act a different way to please other people, but it is absolutely essential that we please everyone.

            This leaves me wondering who the people I met that Friday really are. What does that girl actually wear on a day to day basis? How mature and prepared is she with her friends? How does that boy actually interact with people? What does he think of while he's listening to others? I met many facades that day, when what I really wanted to meet was other students. These kids were convinced that who they really are isn't good enough. They have to be what the recruiters want, because their authentic selves won't earn them a scholarship. Meanwhile, I'm sure the admissions counselors are tired of meeting student after student who are all the same.

            There are studies showing that one of the traits most valued by young people is authenticity. Kids want somebody who's real, because somebody who is real is somebody who can be trusted. They aren't going to be one person at school and a totally different person at church. You can rely on them to stay constant, and genuine. You can know what to expect from them because they are open about their flaws, and their good traits are real, not fabricated to impress somebody.

            It's not just kids who crave this realness, the whole world is searching for people who simply are. Saint Catherine of Sienna once said, "Be who you were created to be, and you will set the world on fire." There is something magnetic about genuine people: something both free and freeing. Their lights shine so brightly, others can't help but come to see, and somehow, one person being just who they are gives permission for others to do the same until slowly but surely, the world is lit by the flames of millions. The world needs these people and their radiance, unabashed honesty, and truth. Despite the lies that we are fed, the lies that say that our true self isn't good enough, attractive enough, smart enough, driven enough, we believe deep down that we are enough, but we are simply too afraid to be that person for fear that the lies will be true. To be who we were really created to be means living bravely, knowing that we will be criticized, and that some of the lies may be true, but that we are still entirely loveable and worthy regardless. We have to live in the light, and share the flame with others, rather than hiding who we are in the darkness.

Some things I love

Here are a few things just to share while I'm jumping back on the blog boat!

For some reason this really just connects with my heart. I relate to parts of the poem, and feel inspired by others. "If you can't see anything beautiful about yourself then get a better mirror, look a little closer, stare a little longer"

I need Jesus. (Found this gem via Pinterest... feel free to follow me http://pinterest.com/bcurtis97/pins/ )

Jesus we need you.


Oh and one other thing - I've become a Monkee... Not gonna lie, it feels a little bit like a cult, but if you haven't read her yet, you have to start following Glennon Melton over at Momastary. She's the bomb, and she's legit. 
http://momastery.com/blog/


Until we meet again dear friends (I promise I'll be back sooner!)
Your dearest,
Beth

Who Am I?

This is a piece that I wrote for our school's student publication, the DockuNet. I really do love it though, and still fully believe these things!

Like many other theater fanatics, I packed into a large theater on Christmas evening to watch the beloved classic, Les Miserables. I loved it. It’s in situations such as these that I wish the English language had more versions of the word love so that I could express my enthusiasm accurately. I adored it. Warning: this article contains a number of spoilers!

Among the numerous themes in the movie, all equally meaningful, was the concept of identity and self. Jean Valjean, the story’s protagonist, served 19 years of hard labor as punishment for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his hungry sister and her child.  When his jail sentence is up, the inspector, Javert, comes to explain the conditions of his parole and, frankly, to intimidate and belittle him. Javert refers to Val Jean as 24601, his identity as a prisoner, and Valjean responds, “No! My name is Jean Valjean.”  It is the beginning of a long journey for Valjean to attempt to erase his identity of a dangerous convict and become a respected man once again.

Once released, Valjean finds it impossible to secure a job and a home because everyone knows he was a prisoner and shuns him. The only person who shows him trust and kindness, a priest, is the same person he steals from in order to survive. This priest shows him forgiveness and grants him amnesty on the conditions that he take the silver and use it to become an honest man.

This act of grace and kindness causes Valjean to reconsider everything that he is.  In his soliloquy, “What Have I Done,” he sings, “They gave me a number and murdered Valjean when they chained me and left me for dead, just for stealing a mouthful of bread. Yet why did I allow that man to touch my soul and teach me love? He treated me like any other. He gave me his trust, he called me his brother…  He told me that I have a soul…  And I stare into the void, to the whirlpool of my sin, I’ll escape now from the world, from the world of Jean Valjean. Jean Valjean is nothing now, another story must begin!” And with this song, he tears up his parole papers, and officially becomes a new man, making Jean Valjean, prisoner 24601, disappear, for what he thought was forever. He becomes a new man, an honest, benevolent, kind man.

Later though, his identity as 24601 returns to haunt him as he again comes face to face with Inspector Javert.  Valjean learns though that Javert has arrested another man who he thinks is 24061, and this innocent man will be sentenced to the hard labor that belongs to Valjean. Again, Valjean must confront the question, Who am I? Am I a man that can allow this to happen? Am I a man that deserves punishment for creating a better life? In the song, “Who am I,” he asks, “Who am I? Can I condemn this man to slavery, pretend I do not feel his agony? My soul belongs to God I know, I made that bargain long ago, he gave me hope when hope was gone, he gave me strength to carry on. Who am I? I’m Jean Valjean. Who am I? 24601.”

This is what was fresh in my mind as I listened to Robin Dean return to speak in Chapel the day we returned from winter break. One of her “epiphanies” after leaving this place was about the way that we allow ourselves and others to limit and define people, and especially how much this occurs in high school. She isso right, and I’ve been looking around lately and noticing all the labels and lies that we allow to define who we are and what we do.  Labels aren’t always negative though. Sometimes we think they help explain who we are: I’m a theater kid, I play sports, I sing, I’m good at school. These are all valid talents, but the problem in turning them into labels is that suddenly they become walls that keep us back. They separate us from one another. They keep us from discovering new gifts and talents.

When I was in elementary school, I played sports, numerous sports. I played soccer and softball and did gymnastics. For me, it was always more about the social aspect of the sports, not the love of the game or drive to win. When I reached middle school I discovered that at my large public school, I couldn’t dabble in everything. I had to pick an area and focus on it in order to thrive. I had to be the best at something to have a place. So I gave up sports quite willingly and became involved in organized theater and music. I found my love for singing, and discovered that I had a talent for it. I made the cut for various groups and enjoyed building relationships in these new groups of people. I willingly labeled myself as a “theater kid” and “choir kid” and that was that.

Labels are sometimes like a safety blanket. We can wrap ourselves in them and feel secure and protected when in reality there is nothing standing between us and the things of which we are afraid. We think that labels equal belonging, but it’s not always true. We think that labels give us acceptance and confidence, but they don’t. Regardless of what we label ourselves, the fears are just as real. Labels aren’t strong enough to hold back our fears of rejection and loneliness and brokenness. Labeling yourself as perfect doesn’t mean you actually are.

When I transfered  to Dock as a sophomore, I found that things were a lot different socially. There was no group of “theater kids” for me to belong to. Being into choir didn’t grant me access into any special group – everybody sang around here. My labels didn’t do me any good, so I dropped them. During the last three years, I’ve picked up and dropped a number of labels, some I like; some I hate. I’ve watched others pick up the labels that I dropped and cling to them for dear life. It makes me jealous and sad that I chose to give up those labels, but ultimately I’m on a journey towards allowing myself the freedom to be who I am without limiting myself with these definitions of what I’m good at, what I can do, and who I can be friends with.

Because I haven’t done sports in so long, I’ve often allowed myself to take on the label of un-athletic.  For sure, I am out of practice at least, and when playing soccer for example, with people who have played all their lives, I certainly can’t compare, but I realized again recently that I’m far from being un-athletic.  On a recent youth retreat, we were playing volleyball, and one of my friends commented, “Wow, you’re actually not bad at this.” The year before I had allowed that label to define me so much and people to joke about me being so unskilled, that I chose not to play, or got anxious and played badly when I did jump in. Finally this year, with just me and a couple friends and a bunch of freshmen that I didn’t know, I just played and it turns out that I can play.  As I look back on my life I see, over and over again, opportunities where I chose to sit out and watch because I thought I couldn’t play. I see soccer games with Touring Choir, in Europe and in Ohio, where I chose to sit and watch. I see Staff In Training games at Spruce Lake where I chose not to play volleyball or compete with my tent of 12-year old girls in floor hockey because I thought I couldn’t play. I see sophomore gym where I would get so anxious because I didn’t know anybody and I was forced to bare my poor unathletic self to these strangers.  I see so much wasted energy and untapped joy. All this time, I could’ve played, but I allowed others to label me because I followed one path and not another.

I remember talking to my mom last year about a frustration with Advanced Math and just saying, “I am so not a math person!”  She pointed out to me that I’ve never done badly in math. I’ve always gotten A’s, always understood it – I just often don’t enjoy it. There’s a difference.  I labeled myself and it definitely affected the way that I acted. It affected the attitude that I brought to math and affected my reactions to frustration and not understanding something. 

We live in a world that is constantly trying to label us, define us, box us in, limit us. The world says, “This is who you are.  Now stand here, don’t change and don’t move.”  And what is  the worst part? The worst part is that we willingly agree and stand where we belong. Then we stay there, and we look around and see others standing in their corners, and somehow they just seem too far away… too far to talk to or laugh with or be friends with. We all spend our lives looking around at people we could and would be friends with, if we just had more in common, and we never make a move. Like obedient children, we stand in our corner and stay comfortable.  Meanwhile, the entire beautiful and precious world is happening just outside of our corner.

We miss all the important things by staying where we are.  Comfort zones are fatal. We just can’t allow this anymore. No more labels, no more definitions, no more walls between us. After all, we are all one in Christ Jesus! Jesus came to destroy these labels. He was very clear that we have to love one another to survive. We can’t spend the rest of our lives standing on the sidelines because we were told we “can’t play.”  The big secret is that you don’t have to be beautiful or smart or athletic or funny to play.  Playing the game will make you those things.  Come just as you are. Drop the labels that you cling to. Destroy the walls keeping you in. And run towards the game. Run!  We just don’t have the time to waste on wishing and wanting. The reality is that you aren’t safe. You may think it, you may feel it; you may think that you find acceptance and protection where you are, but you don’t. The only way to escape these fears of rejection and loneliness and brokenness is to be rejected, be lonely, be broken, and embrace these things in other people. We aren’t perfect people.  Rather, we are a people made perfect by the beautiful love and grace of our perfect God.

Catharsis

I recently wrote a letter to a friend of sorts, and it felt good to write, and I feel like it explains so much of my heart and my life lately

I'm lost G. I don't know how I got here or how to get out. I don't see an end to this darkness, and I don't know how to get to daylight. I feel so alone, so achingly lonely, like it could actually crush me. I'm consumed with bitter jealousy - I just can't break out of this awful cycle of comparison with a friend, and it's destroying me. I know who I am, but I don't know how to be that person. I don't know how or when I stopped feeling satisfied that who I am and how I act were aligned. I am so tired. So completely and utterly exhausted. I can sleep for hours at any time and still feel tired. More than feeling tired, I feel drained and empty.

I just love everyone around me so much that it hurts sometimes, but I don't know how to express that anymore. I'm terrified that this is who I am now, and that this will be the rest of my life. I'm terrified that I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life, because as much as I love others, I don't feel like I can be loved in return. My mind tells me that I am loved, but my heart can't believe it. I know that others won't show me love the same way that I show them, but dammit I just want for once somebody to be as considerate of me as I always am of them. I want to be loved more. I want someone to realize that I'm not ok, and I don't know how to get "ok" again.

Last year I loved this guy, and I really mean loved. He was my very best, tell everything to, friend for two years, and I realize that it doesn't sound very long, but really that is 1/8 of my entire life, so it was pretty significant. Finally we dated for 8 beautiful and heartbreaking months, and it was just as good as all the songs said. My heart was full and I sang and danced and laughed and felt safe and loved and secure in who I was. He whispered all the things that my heart wanted to hear for so long, and I believed all these things. I believed him when he said that I was compassionate and Christ-like, loving and beautiful. I accepted these things and my heart opened so wide. And then he walked away and said it was all a mistake, he should've never said he loved me, he didn't know what love even is. All of those truths that I soaked up were actually lies? My heart knew that it wasn't true, but I believed it anyway and suddenly I could no longer be those things. I pulled away, I began letting people down, I hated myself. I just withdrew further and further into myself and nobody noticed. And then I realized that nobody noticed that anything was wrong, and I felt so very alone, and still do. There are a couple people who I've come so close to unloading everything to, but I always stop just short of sharing my pain. I don't want to burden anybody else, and in the grand scheme of things, my pain is so small and insignificant. My life is so privileged and blessed, and I feel stupid thinking that I have this big awful pain, but it sure feels like it.

I have so many wonderful friends surrounding me, but I am paralyzed with fear when it comes to asking any of them for help. I don't know how to ask, I don't want to bother them. I'm afraid to ask people to make time for me even though I make so much time for them. I'm afraid that I'm going to discover that I'm not worth it to them. In my head, I have these conversations over and over again, bits and pieces of conversations where I say exactly what I need to and they hold me while I cry, but I just can't do it in real life, and I want to in the worst way, but I'm just so afraid. I've always been the brave one, but I don't know how to do this. And I love God, don't get me wrong, but I never understand how people talk about handing their troubles over to God and it being all better. It sounds like a nice figurative statement, but in reality I need people. I need some people to love me, and share some of God's love with me. 

There's so much more I wanted to say in this, but I just can't remember everything. I guess I'll get through this by just continuing to get up every day and face life. It's so hard though, and I just hide this pain inside because it's so complicated to understand and the only one who it would be easy to talk about this too walked away last summer. I even hate how I'm coping. I am on Facebook so much, it's honestly ridiculous G, but when I'm feeling numb I just scroll through and see things from my friends and sometimes it makes me smile and sometimes it brings the pain back but either way I do it so much. And then I hate how I'm on it so much compared to my friends, the ones who have everything together, and despite confessing perfectionism, continue to strive for perfection in everything and hiding anything that's not perfect and positive. Well, and I also listen to Mumford and Sons music compulsively but who could blame me for that?

Much love,

Beth