Monday, January 2, 2017

Trust Me

   I have asked that you have faith.

   And listen. I did not ask you to do what was easy. I didn't ask what you had the strength to do. I didn't ask what you had the energy for or what you wanted to do. I asked if you trusted me. I asked if you trusted me as much now as you did this summer.

   I want to know if you trust me in your weaknesses as well as in your strength. I want to know if you trust me even when you don't know the answers.

   I did not ask you how much courage you possess or for how long you wanted this to last.
I did not ask how much it hurt or if you're okay.

   I asked if you trusted me.

   I know how much it hurts. I know you have not been okay for a long time. I know this pain has made you weak and how much you want it to end. I know the exact measure of strength in your bones and how much courage is in your veins. I know the exact amount of bravery needed to get through this. I know how broken you are and that you are ill equipped for this task. I  know you feel like you can't make it another day. But I did not ask that you dig up this courage from the depths of your heart or to summon energy from your weary flesh. I didn't ask you to be brave or to even have strength at all. I know I could not ask that of you. I don't require you to be okay or to smile through the pain. I didn't ask you to stand.

   I asked you to kneel.

   I asked you to trust me.

   I asked you to trust that I am still God when there is no end in sight. And I asked that you believe in me when you have lost the ability to believe in anything at all. I asked you to be still and know that I am God.

   I have asked the impossible thing.

   I have asked that you stop fighting and stop trying to make it through this. I have asked that you not measure the time in between now and then. I have asked that you give up on the idea that you can do this on your own. I have asked you to remain in your pain.

   I have asked that you have faith even when the silence is loud and I asked that you would continue to breathe when your lungs are burning. And I ask that you would trust that I did not bring you this far just to leave you here.

   I have asked that you stop trying to be God.

   I have asked that you let me carry you when your trust has run out and that you would hand over the remnants of your shattered heart. I ask that you would not be anxious and that you would stop trying so hard to fix yourself.

   I want you to let me fix you.

   I want you to trust me.

   I do not need you to have a large amount of faith. You don't need much. You need to simply acknowledge me.

   Turn to me.

   Believe that the God who created your very soul knows damn well what it needs and when it needs it and stop striving to make the pain stop and learn how to live with the pain instead.

   3 times you have come at my feet and you said "Take it away." "Take it away." "Take it away."
   And I'm so sorry love, but to you I have to say that my grace is enough.

   And whether I decide to take this burden from you or not I ask you to trust me. I ask you to believe in the words to claim to believe in. I ask that you would choose to believe that I love you and that my heart breaks along with yours. I ask that you would have faith that my compassions will never fail and that my goodness is enough to carry you through your sea of sorrows. Trust that I know what I'm doing even when you can't find the willpower to take another step. Trust that my faithfulness is greater than the extent of your suffering and that I have not forgotten about you. Not even for a moment.

   My love, I'm asking you to trust me.






   Disclaimer? i have never liked letters from God.  i would never claim to put words in His mouth. but this is something that was on my heart today and i wrote it. And i could re-write it as me saying it to you. because that's all it is. mere words i wish for you to read. things to consider. opinions, really. nothing more. but i hope you were encouraged. see, God never meant for us to have the strength in of ourselves. and im learning that He is made perfect in our weakness. and i just keep thinking of Him saying "my grace is sufficient for you." and i know that sometimes He allows us to be in pain and sometimes when we pray and ask him to take it away he says no. and sometimes you just feel like you're going to die because its too much and i also know that in these times, he is with us. i can't promise that your pain will go away because you might be in pain until you die. but i dont think the length of our trials is the point. that maybe we rush through experiences that were meant to be taken slow. pain is just pain. we can drink it away or numb it or ignore it but its still there and sometimes it doesnt get easier. and if this pain is lasting longer than you thought it would i ask you to consider Christ. and i ask you to trust him. you dont need to find strength in yourself because you and i both know you will find nothing sometimes. i only ask you to have faith. 

thats what im trying to do.

Saturday, December 24, 2016

What Does Christmas Mean? (For People Like Me)

   Christmas. 
The time of joy and carols and of peace. The time where those who are recipients of God's grace rejoice in hallelujah's and songs of praise. 
Christmas is a time of laughter and happiness.
But what does Christmas mean for people like me?
What does it mean for me in the midst of my depression 
and my doubt?
What is it for my heavy heart
that breaks more and more every day?
What is it's significance during my bouts of insomnia
where my tears don't stop falling
and my fears don't stop growing?
What is Christmas about for those who have lost loved ones?
For those who are struggling to keep their head
above the rising waters?
For those who are sick?
For those who are being oppressed and persecuted?
 What is the point of the birth of a baby to those who 's only desire
is death?
Where does Christmas fit in our hearts?
Is it next to the idols?
To the addictions?
To the alcohol?
Would Christmas fit in the space that once held the piece of my heart that I gave away?
We celebrate God incarnate but where is God now?
What the hell does Christmas mean for people like me
whose pain is so significant 
they can barely breathe?
Whose prayers aren't answered
whose trials keep continuing? 
During Christmas we say rejoice! We say hallelujah! 
But what about those whose hurt runs so deep
they can't offer a single utterance
of praise  to the King?
If Christmas is for the joyous, than where do the exhausted fit in the equation?
What does Christmas mean in the midst of suffering?



Saturday, December 17, 2016

5 Things I Learned About Life From Dying My Hair

    I dye my hair therapeutically. I like to dye it when I change seasons in my life or when I need a change. I dye it for a million reasons. I've been doing it since I got purple streaks when I was 11. Ever since that time I just fell in love. I was going to do a post on the evolution of my hair, just as a cool off from all the really heavy posts I've been doing lately, but that wasn't working. I can't find enough pictures of all the hair colors I've had. But today I got my hair dyed again and for the first time I'm feeling uneasy about it. I actually miss my blonde hair. I'm worried that I'll never be blonde again. That my hair won't be able to bounce back the same. But alas, it always does, one way or another. So without further ado, I wanted to tell you some things I've learned about life from dying my hair.

   1. Change is good
   I hate change. Which is weird for someone who is constantly changing how they look. I actually panic right before I dye my hair. Every. Single. Time. I get scared and worried and overthink. But I always love it when it's finished. It's always refreshing and I feel so much better. Change doesn't have to be something we fight against. I'm learning to accept it.


   2. Don't be afraid to be bold
   Cheesy, but true.
   I've done a lot of crazy colors. Teal, pink/purple, red. And it makes me stand out. Sometimes I look weird among "normal" people. But I actually like that now. I'm not scared to be the odd one out. In life I think we should make bold decisions and be comfortable doing the uncomfortable.

   3. You can grow
   I've had haircuts I despised. I have gotten uncomfortable because my hair is too short and I think I look weird. But hair grows back. As a person, I've had setbacks. I've experienced things that knocked me down and hurt me. In so many ways, I've felt like I've regressed backwards. I find myself back in old habits and old ways of thinking, and it's easy to start feeling like I'm never going to grow. But I will. Slowly, but I will and I can. Hair grows back the way people grow back from pain.


   4. Nothing is permanent
   I use semi permanent dye for my hair. And every time I wash it, some of it goes away. That's a silly little reminder that nothing stays the same. Things change. Your circumstances fade out and things get better. Sometimes its painfully slow and other times it goes way faster than you want. But there are seasons for everything. If you're having a hard time and find yourself stuck, just know that it won't always be like this.


   5. You can always start again
   I shaved my head once, and it gave my hair a brand new start. It grew back healthier and stronger and the same color it used to be. In a way, I was giving myself a fresh start too. I can do that. I can start again. I can forget who I used to be. I can get rid of things that are holding me back. It's never too late to begin again. If you don't like who you are; change. I think that's the best advice I can give.



(Wow this post was cheesy but y'all needed a break. I hope everyone is having a great week.)

Sunday, December 11, 2016

Something Great

   "Yet this I call to mind and therefore have hope; because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed. For his compassions never fail. They are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness."-Lamentations 3:21-24

   A couple blog posts ago I mentioned that God was teaching me to be soft. I wrote about it in 2014 in my novel. I felt that phrase come up time and time again. I feel it in me. I wanted to focus solely on that. Today I opened my journal to find notes for a bible study I'm leading next week, and I ended up looking at entries from back in August. The passage from Lamentations I included above was written in red pen. It caught my attention because just last night, I journaled about the exact same verse. I had no idea that it was a continuous theme.

   For context, back in August, I was euphoric. I was high on life. I was working at Wrigley Field. I had just recently started talking to my best guy friend. I was doing well in school. I was living the dream. And this is what I wrote:

   "I am so thankful. When I really stop and think about my life and how much crap God has dragged me through, I really have to stand in awe. Because there were so many trials I didn't think I would make it through and too many times I just wanted it to be over. But I wanted to write this so that when the darkness and fear inevitably come back, I will feel strengthened. (I probably won't listen but it's worth a shot.)
I'm so thankful for all the trials that made me strong and the boy that broke my heart and the fear that almost consumed me. I pray that these things don't make me isolated. I pray that they would make me soft. I pray that they would make me compassionate. That they would keep molding me."



   It's funny that I had no idea what I was asking for when I prayed that for myself.

   I didn't know that in order to be soft, I would have to be hurt.
   I didn't know that in order to be filled with compassion, I had to become empty.
   I didn't know that in order to be molded, I would first need to fall apart.

   I had no idea what I was asking God to do to me. But I am starting to understand that now. Shusaku Endo says it well in the conclusion of his novel, Silence. "Everything that had taken place until now had been necessary to bring him to this love."

   I think all the pain in my life was necessary. All this pain that I'm currently feeling is necessary. Yeah, it doesn't make it hurt any less, but I think it has a purpose. We like to think we want these things, but we just want God to wake us up one morning with a new heart and a new outlook. We oftentimes forget that these lessons have to be learned the hard way. That passage in Lamentations that I mentioned earlier? Yeah, it goes on to say "Let him sit alone in silence for the Lord has laid it on him. Let him bury his face in the dust." That's where I've been lately. Face to ground; biting the dirt. God is faithful, but it is hardly ever in the way we want Him to be.

   I was told recently that my little brother asked his Awana group to pray for me. His exact words were, "Pray that God would do something great in Faith's life." It was so beautiful I want to cry every time I think of that. But even then, I think about the implications of that. I think God is answering that prayer, but I don't think it was in the way I thought it would be answered. When I heard that prayer about a month ago, I thought the answer would be healing. I thought it would be that God would make me okay again. I thought that I would be soft and that once I understood how to love again, God would save the day and make all things right. I foolishly thought the "something great" would happen in the changing of my circumstances.


  But God chose to answer that prayer in a different way.

   He chose to let something great stem from the ashes of my broken heart. He didn't want to change my circumstances because He wanted to change me. He wanted me to give up the false idea of control that I had. He wanted me to let go of my independence and my self righteousness and my hero complex. He wanted me to be at a place where I was ready to listen. "Maybe the state of having nothing and feeling so used up, maybe that's sort of the state God wants me in." He is faithful to me in the good times and bad. Whether or not He decides to change my situation, He is still good and His compassions will still never fail.

   I have come to the painful conclusion that God must be about to do something great in my life. Because my suffering is too significant to just be suffering. And the place where my heart is at has made me so weak that the only strength I'm running on is not from myself. It can't be. That sounds really over dramatic considering my situation really isn't that bad, but nonetheless; these are the things I think about.

   I am at such a crazy time. I feel like every second I am changing and growing and learning. All I want to do is talk about it and create art about it and think and journal. I want to show people this mess of a life that I have and the beauty that God can make of it.

   The last quote I'll drop is from a song called "There May Be Tears." The chorus says "Children, don't worry, take my hand. I'm taking you down this road you don't understand yet. There may be tears while you're waiting for these answers. You can see the picture but I can see the future."

   I don't understand yet. And God never promises that there won't be tears down the road He leads you. I've had many of tears. Actually, I've cried every day this week and last week. Every day. That's so many tears. But that's okay. Because my heavy heart is making me soft. Because all this pain is going to turn into something great. I don't know what it is yet, but I feel it coming. I feel it in my bones. I don't think I'm going to be the same person ever again.





Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Rate Your Pain

   "Rate your pain on a scale from 1-10."

   I have been asked this question a million times this week. As some of you know, I have been in the hospital since Monday. I was supposed to be here for radioactive iodine treatment, but I ended up with shingles instead. Even before this week though, I asked myself that question every morning. The question was prompted by a still from Breaking Bad that got stuck in my head, along with a line from a twenty one pilots song, "Before You Start Your Day."

   Doctors and nurses always ask me to rate my pain. I have done this so many times. When I have a headache, I rate it. I rate all my physical pain. But I had never considered my emotional pain. At least, not until this last week. 

   I'm not sure how much of this will make sense. But my sister has a motto she shared with me, that she learned from a teacher in school. "If it's mentionable, it's manageable." It's the philosophy that says if you can find the strength in you to mention the pain, you are strong enough to deal with it. It means all you need is that initial strength to speak, then you can be free. You can get through it.

   "Look in the mirror and ask your soul if you're alright." That's the line from the twenty one pilots song. Some odd combination of all these things made me think about the way I view pain and how I label it. Recently I have been in pain and every morning I decided I would ask myself if I was okay. I have started every morning and ask myself to rate my pain. 1-10. Some days I would wake up and be a 2. Maybe a 5. Some terrible mornings it was a 10. But it varied. I could have a 10 every day for a few days but then it would go back down to a 1. It wouldn't stay the same. I sort of came up with my own philosophy that allows me to acknowledge how much pain I'm in on any given day. To put a number to it. I'm honest with myself about where I am. I can say "Yes, this is a 10." And that simple thing, it carries me. It lets me feel everything and to be upset. I'm not scared to cry or to admit that today is a bad day. I think that helps me appreciate the good days even more. It also helps me to see that pain is temporary. That things will change and how I'm feeling one minute might not be how I'm feeling the next. But I think it's important to allow yourself to feel pain and acknowledge it. That's what I've been doing.

   So I'm writing this from my hospital bed where my physical pain is a 1 and my emotion pain is a only a 3.

   But I don't want to write about my being sick. I wanted to write about art and how this has been what makes my pain level decrease significantly. I've been creating art like my life depends on it, because in so many ways, it does. My survival has hinged on my ability to write incredibly over dramatic poetry. I take photos like it's the last time I'll ever get to hold a camera. Much like Alexander Hamilton, I've been writing like I'm running out of time. It was so bad that the day after I won NaNoWriMo (just barely dragging myself across the finish line at 50,022 words.) I started the fourth draft of Forlorn Hope. There is just this need in my bones to make something. I have almost drawn through an entire sketchbook that, prior to this summer, I hadn't touched since 2014. My body has been waking me up at ungodly hours of the night to write poetry. I mean, I will jolt awake at 3am and impulsively grab my phone, and jot out an entire poem while I'm half asleep. In the morning when I read them, I actually love them. I feel like if I stop creating even for just one second, my heart will collapse. Art has been the one thing that has brought me relief.

   I think, for the first time, I'm starting to consider myself an artist. Because things inspire me and there are things I want to say with these pieces. I have a perspective that is unique to me and art to me is different than art to other people. But I am so thankful for all the people that have inspired me in these ways. Really, I'm thankful for my heartache, because it's when my heart is the most broken that I create the most beautiful works. But someone said something to me that has stuck with me. "I hope happiness makes you write. Not just your suffering."

   (Enjoy some of the art I have made in my pain. And soon I'll post the art I make in my joy.)

   (Also I blame to incoherence of this post on the pain killers.)

   "The Pain In The Heart."
The pain in my heart 
Feels like the pain in my head 
And the pain in my knees 
And the twisted feeling inside my stomach 
And the trembling of my hands
And the weakness in my legs
The pain in my soul
Burns like the hot tears 
Streaming down my feverish skin
And the bile coming up my throat 
And the acid reflux in my lungs 
The pain killers only touch The symptoms
But they can't touch the core
The pain killers do nothing 
But this pain is killing me 
Some days it's a 5 but others it's a 10 
Some days it's moderate 
But somedays it is the worst possible pain
My body lashes out against the tightness in my chest 
The pain in my heart 
Becomes the pain in my head 
And this sickness is controlling 
It's taking my life
But the physical problems are easier to manage
Because Tramadol takes the edge off of the throbbing
And ice eases the aches in my muscles 
But my heart is alone 
To deal with its pain 
The pain in my heart
And the pain in my head








Sunday, November 20, 2016

Empty (Psalm 34:1)

   Today has been the hardest day I've had in a very long time. This month has been hard. The past several weeks have been draining and I've been struggling and not feeling like myself. And today...well today took the cake. Today was brutal. The details are personal, but I am in a lot of pain. I cried all day. I wept, is actually a better word. I wish I had words adequate enough to express what I'm feeling. I'm not sure I have ever hurt so much. Today wrecked me.

   When everything first happened, I ran and called my sister, and after sufficiently swearing her ear off, I played Ever Be by Bethel and I sobbed. I listened to worship music the rest of the day because it was the only thing keeping me from losing my mind entirely.

   I remembered my favorite quote from a monologue by Joanne Tucker.

"And I started thinking that maybe the state of having nothing and feeling just so used up, well maybe that's sort of the state God wants me in. You know, not so full of all my ideas about myself and how much of a rebel I am. But just sort of ready to listen."

   Today I screamed and swore and cried and worshiped and fell on my knees and threw up and thought I was going to have a heart attack. Even now as I write this I am in denial, I am afraid, I am aching, I am suffering. 

   I am empty.


   I realize that I have been pushing God away for far too long. I have done things the past couple months I know I should not have done. I have made huge mistakes. I have given my tiny heart away and now it's broken. I know a part of that is my fault. I wanted my own way and I didn't want to wait. I rejected a lot of boundaries that people in my life warned me about and of course, it's now I see how much those choices hurt me. How they are hurting me. 

   And I have nothing left to cling to. 

   There is so much aching in me and so much pain. 

   I know I had to come to a decision. I could either succumb to this pain and let it kill me. I could never get out of bed again. I could cry and not eat until I died. Or I could let this pain make me stronger.

   I'm not saying this to be poetic or cute. I'm saying that today as I was on my third hour of nonstop crying, I decided I didn't want to live this way. Because there has got to be a reason all this has happened. I did not go through all those terrible things in my past just so I could relive them. I was not made to be in this much pain.

   Really, its times like this where you can really see where your trust is in. 

   This time, I'm ready to put my trust in God.

   I think I'm finally ready to listen.

   There's one thing I haven't been able to get out of my head all day. It's that God is teaching me to be soft. I swear, that has come up so many times. My heart doesn't want to be open anymore. I don't want to love people anymore. I am not sure my body can take any more pain. I have been through too much. But God wants me to be soft. God wants me to be kind. To love. Love without fear. 

   At this point, I am too broken to object.

   And this is where God wants me. Humbled. Rid of myself and all the stupid notions and ideas that I have about how great of a person I am. Two months ago I had it all together and I didn't need God and I didn't need anyone and now I don't want to get out of bed and I can't lie to anyone and tell them I'm okay because I'm not okay. 

   But I will be.

   I will not become bitter. I will become soft. My pain will not distort my vision so I see a cruel world. Today I saw people and I loved them for the first time. Today I realized how empty I am. Today I craved church, I craved fellowship, I craved honest worship time. I wanted church to be every day because my soul is such a wreck I know that's the only thing that can give me rest. 

   "Your praise will ever be on my lips."

   I keep coming back to that lyric. I'm remembering all those things I learned in 2014 about needing God and having faith. I keep reminding myself that God is good no matter what. Whether or not I ever feel better. Even if my heart breaks a million and one more times. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

   I guess this is where God can finally use me. When I'm not so full of myself and can actually admit that I'm a mess. 

   I don't know what's going to happen. I probably won't feel okay for a very long time. I'll probably hurt more. I know I'm not strong enough to face this, but I don't have to face this alone and that makes is better. I think God is trying to teach me to trust in Him even when I'm in pain. His grace is sufficient. 

   I re-read the epilogue to the NaNoWriMo I wrote in 2014, the book that changed my life, and it spoke to me. 

   "On days like today I thank God, through clenched fists, for my suffering. Because all that pain made me soft."

   All this pain made me soft.

   I wrote those words like 8 months ago, before I knew what those words really meant. 

   What I'm trying to say is that pain is inevitable. But when we're in pain we have two choices: let it break us or let it grow us. And I think the misconception about that is what we think it looks like to let pain grow us. We think it looks like smiles and being Okay all the time and not letting our suffering effect us. I don't think it looks that way at all. I think it looks like screaming and sometimes cussing and admitting you feel like you're dying; but holding on to Christ all the more during that process. It's being willing to be vulnerable and let Him mold you. 

   "I will extol the Lord at all times. His praise will ever be on my lips."-Psalm 34:1





Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Making A Monster

   This is an essay I wrote for a Hispanic Heritage Month essay contest at my school. I won an honorable mention for it. It isn't my best piece, but I did want to share it with you. I have been thinking about this topic a lot and I realized it was not something I speak about often. However, I do hope you find this essay thought provoking. I've been very caught up this week in a mass amount of homework + NaNoWriMo so writing new content will not happen this week, so I leave you with this essay about diversity and representation instead.


   Growing up as a white, middle class, mostly privileged girl, I was never made
aware of the challenges that people of other races face in regards to diversity. I walked through
life mostly ignorant of their struggle. I didn’t know what it was like to not be able to identify
with people in movies or characters in video games when all the protagonists were a carbon copy
of me. They had the same blonde hair and light skin. I didn’t appreciate the features I had that
would, by the world’s warped standards, consider me beautiful.

   “It's that if you want to make a human being into a monster, deny them, at the cultural
level, any reflection of themselves.” Junot Diaz said this quote in a speech and it opened my eyes
to a reality beyond my own experience. See, in my life, all I ever saw was my reflection. Girls of
color struggled without a voice and without representation. They were isolated from seeing
themselves. If they were without a mirror, than I was the opposite; I was locked inside a room
full of them. I was forced, day in and day out to stare at this reflection of myself until I despised
what I saw.

   Everywhere I turned there was a reflection of me. There was another movie about a white
girl and white girl problems. There were advertisements catering to me. There were books about
me. There were products and clothes all designed with me in mind. It’s suffocating. It’s
exhausting. Seeing so much of myself leaves me sick in the stomach. Nothing is ever different or
new. I am stripped of my individuality as our culture continues to send messages that tell me I
am merely one voice in a sea of others. I am nothing.

   There is nothing interesting about one blonde girl in a crowd full of them. People looked
just like me. The characters in the novels I read were so much like me I was forced to deal with
the fact that I may not be as great as I like to think I am. Self hatred is always rooted in pride.
Self hatred comes when the illusion of who we thought we were gets shattered by reality.
Not only that, but the complete whitewashing of our society leaves me ignorant and in
some cases, naive. I lack the ability to connect with people of color because I am so obsessed
with the image of myself. We have created a system that thrives off of our lack of knowledge.
We know nothing of the struggles that other people face because we are so hyperfocused on us.
We live to please ourselves. We work to take care of ourselves. How many times in our day do
we take to think about someone else? Do we even know what it’s like to consider a point of view
that isn’t our own?

   That’s the worst part though. I can claim to hate myself and be sick of the obsession with
white people, but I do not know who I would be without it. I would not be able to live in a world
where I was not constantly romanticized. People like me have been privileged for so long it’s
embedded into who we are. If people like me were not on the pedestal of the American dream, I
would be utterly lost. When I stop to think about this idea, it occurs to me that this is what people
of color feel like every day of their lives. They live without any indication in our society that
they are here.

   Yet I will go about my day and feel pity for myself and the so called struggles I go
through of being just like everyone else. I will pretend that I know what it’s like to feel
misrepresented in media or culture. Even after I come to understand that there are other people in
the world who have it worse than me, I will continue to feel sorry for myself. Maybe I’ll shed a
tear as I stare at the TV full of commercials with thin, white, females. I’ll read another young
adult novel about a white girl and her dramatic love life. In any sense, I will forget about the
world around me once again and feed into the notion that I am the only person that matters.
You can make a monster of a person by denying them a reflection. You can leave them
worthless and feeling alone. You can refuse to give them the basic human right of
acknowledging their existence. The second way to create a monster is by making them believe
they are nothing special. We are all the same.