That Time I Got Engaged...

Have you ever gotten the feeling that there are people scheming all around you, but you just can't figure out what they're up to? I didn't get that feeling. At all.

So, I mentioned my boyfriend in passing on here in my "You know you're a writer when..." post back in November. I don't usually post about personal stuff on here (like "relationshippy" stuff) because I just don't have a whole lot to say about it. Lol. I love my boyfriend and we don't have drama and we don't take selfies, so there's just not much to post, really. Anyway, that being said, this is my first relationship post in this blog's history.

This Christmas, my boyfriend and I celebrated our one year anniversary. If you ask him, he'd probably tell you that I "trapped" him last Christmas by inviting him to Christmas dinner with my family because he couldn't go home for the holidays due to work scheduling. Well, last Christmas, I got a boyfriend. This year, he became my fiancé. :)

I'll keep the story short and sweet. Promise.

Everyone knew about this except me -and I mean EVERYONE. Get this. My friends from my former college (who have never met Nick) knew because his grandmother's best friend told MY friend's dorm supervisor who told her who told our other friend. So really. Everyone. Except me. I didn't even suspect anything.

It started with a joke. He'd told me he was going to get me Froot Loops for Christmas because I love them and he thinks that's funny because I'm 21. I don't get it, but he's mature and all so whatever. Maybe I'll understand when I grow up. Well, sure enough... My first present from my boyfriend on our on year Christmas anniversary was a box of Froot Loops. Sweet. Literally... but... well...?

"I have something else for you, of course," he said, handing me a gift bag. When I opened it, I was happy to find a BEAUTIFUL journal. I'm a writer, so I love journals more than coffee... which is a lot.

I was happy with that, of course, but then he said, "I wrote something for you on the inside." Again. I'm a writer. I love letters more than coffee... which is a lot.



This little note, however, is the absolute best one I've ever been given -and I really didn't see it coming. Lol. All I know is I read it, looked up, and saw Nick on his knee.

Naturally, I said "Yes" because... well... I love that boy. :)

My mother bought this a couple of weeks ago on a shopping trip while I was WITH. Well played, Mama. Well Played. :)

 

But seriously? Is that not a romantic way to propose to a writer? I'm blessed. :)

The Trouble with Being Human (Part 3)

“You’ve lost about half your blood,” my doctor said calmly. “That’s why your heart rate was so high. There’s not enough blood in your body for your heart to beat properly –it’s kind of like a fire hose with low water pressure- so it’s having to work overtime. As a result, you’re not getting enough oxygen, hence the trouble breathing.” He told me I was going to have to have a blood transfusion -2 units at least. 

As with anything, blood transfusions have certain risks associated with them such as allergic reactions and rejection, even between matched blood types. As the nurses explained this to me, I felt like I was just going through the motions of life. I’d reached a point where I just didn’t care anymore. I’m not saying I wanted to die or anything, but there was no way of getting around the blood transfusion, so there was no point in worrying about the potential reactions. So, I signed the paper and sent them off to get the ball rolling.

It was then that God brought to mind my favorite words from the book of Esther, from when she decides to go before the king. “If I perish, I perish.” That’s just all there was to it. I’d long since come to terms with the sovereignty of God, even though I hadn’t been praying or reading my Bible very much lately, I knew God was going to do with me whatever he willed and I was okay with whatever that may be.

I ended up spending four miserable days in the hospital and received three units of blood and countless bags of steroids. I felt much better when I got home, but I knew it wouldn’t last if we couldn’t get the colitis flare under control. After being informed about my condition by my doctor, my gastroenterologist concluded that the biologic they’d put me on wasn’t working because I wouldn’t have been in such bad shape if it had been. It was time to take the next step, and I was wondering just how high those stupid stairs went.

The next step was another biologic immunosuppressant given by IV infusion every two months (after a series of progressive starter doses). We’d discussed it before, but I’d opted to try the other medicine first because this one sounded so horrible. Left with no other option, I held to my “If I perish…” philosophy and agreed to give this one a try.

Because I’d missed a week of school and my health was in such a precarious state, my family and I decided it might be best for me to withdraw from college for the semester in order to get some rest and work on lowering my stress level (since UC seems to be worsened by stress). Reluctantly, I did so, and it’s been one of the best decisions I ever made for my health. It’s given me time to rest, meditate on God’s Word and seek his will for my life without the distraction of school, and just sort of rebuild my life in general.  I’ve fallen back in love with writing and discovered that my calling lies in teaching rather than medicine. I’ve also come to understand the value in living every day like it’s your last day –even if that doesn’t mean adventuring and completing a “bucket list” or something like that. For me, it just means remembering to serve God, love others, pray faithfully, seek wisdom, acquire knowledge, and savor the moments that make you feel alive.

And that’s where I am right now. There’s really nothing left to say…

The Trouble with Being Human (Part 2)

I’d been in remission for about a year and a half.  The miracle drug had worked and I had been physically “normal” for so long, I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be sick –almost- and then, sitting in the middle of my New Testament Survey class, I felt it. The only way I can describe it is to call it a “pang” in my lower left side. I have no idea what it is, the first “break” in the lining of you colon or what, but if you have colitis, I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. 

With my remission, my body had been okay for the most part, but my emotional and spiritual well-being had suffered more than I’d let on. As I said in my last post leaving sports medicine behind had been heartbreaking for me and, since then, I’d switched majors 3 times –the final switch involving the transfer to a private Christian college in hopes of pulling myself back together.

The fear that crept upon me the moment I felt that pang was maddening, but I tried not to panic. “You’re going to have flares,” my doctor had warned. “That’s just part of it. Sometimes, they’re triggered by stress or sickness. Sometime they just happen. This disease is one big wild card.”

With that in mind, I called the doctor and he temporarily upped my medication and told me to keep him updated over the next few days. I did. It didn’t help, though, so he put me on another medication that usually helps get flares under control. Didn’t help. He put me on another medication. Didn’t help. He put me on a steroid, which seemed to work for a week or so, and then it stopped. Finally, after a month or so, he told me something I really didn’t want to hear.

“Well, I was hoping this wasn’t the case, but I’m afraid it might be. Flares are normal, but because we can’t get this one under control, I think we’re going to have to try something different as far for the long-term goes because I believe your maintenance medication has stopped working. Sometimes that happens with the weaker drugs.”

Without going into a whole lot of explanation, the next step was to put me on a biologic immunosuppressant, which terrified me for three reasons: (1) The side effects can be really scary. (2) I was going to have to give it to myself via injection every two weeks (back to the needle and wimp problem again). (3) I’d recently decided to change my major to nursing because I missed the medical field so much.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I treat nurses who are on this medicine. They manage alright.” This assurance pacified me for a while, at least until we got closer to my actually starting the medication (getting it cleared and ordered is a bit of a long process) and everyone kept telling me how vital it was for me to avoid infections and stay away from people who were sick. However, every time I voiced my concerns, I was assured that there were nurses who were on this medication and they were okay. TO THIS DAY they tell me that, but the logic just doesn’t add up in my mind.

Anyway… I’d been in a flare since April and I started the biologic in August, I think. In the those three months, my case had been upgraded from “mildly moderate” to “moderately severe,” and I was in as bad or worse condition as I’d been in in the beginning. Again, I was starting school (having left the private school and returned to my original college) with an intense schedule and poor health. This time, however, I wasn’t able to handle it as well. By mid-September, things had really gotten bad. I was bleeding constantly and severely, I woke up tired every morning because I’d been up all night with unbearable stomachaches, and almost everything I ate made me sick. I was rapidly losing weight and found it harder and harder to get around every day. As a result, I was struggling to keep up with my classes and was exhausted beyond comprehension.

I’ll never forget the day I went to my regular physician to for my nursing school physical. I’d never felt so bad in all my life. When I got to the doctor’s office, I already felt like I’d reached some sort of breaking point. When the nurse led me back for my eye exam, I could barely read the chart through the tears welling in my eyes –tears of sheer exhaustion. I passed, though, and she took me on into the room to take my pulse and blood pressure. Upon taking them she informed me that both numbers were higher than usual and when she looked at my application, she told me I was missing an important sheet required for my physical. At this, I nearly lost it. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind that morning and neither was she, I don’t think, because when I asked her to explain what I needed, she was kind of rude about it.

As soon as she left, I felt myself start to come undone and no matter how hard I tried to get it together, I couldn’t. When the doctor walked in and asked how I was doing, I burst into tears and began sobbing uncontrollably. He hurriedly shut the door, grabbed some tissues, and asked me what was wrong. All I could get out was, “I feel so awful! I never cry.” 

“Okay,” he said, gently. “This is a safe place to cry.” Then, he just let me cry and patted my shoulder until I was able to tell him about how back my colitis had gotten. I’ll forever be grateful for the way my doctor treated me that day. *For anyone reading this who may be going into the medical profession, NEVER underestimate how your manner affects your patients and your coworkers. The nurse had upset me so much with her rudeness that I was in this state, and my doctor was having to deal with the mess she’d created.

Finally, he just point-blank asked me if I thought I needed to be hospitalized. Looking back, I probably should have, but I wasn’t processing everything well enough to realize it, so I told him I didn’t think so. So, he filled out what he could of my physical and told me how to get the paper I needed for him to finish it. “Just bring it back and I’ll sign it, but listen. If you get ANY worse, you’re probably going to need to be hospitalized. Okay.”

I remember simply nodding and then wandering out to my car, where I fell apart again.

A week later, I was back in the doctor’s office. This time, because I was unable to eat anything without vomiting, could hear my heart beating in my ears (at a much higher rate than normal), and could barely get out of bed. When I did get out of bed and try to walk around, it was hard to breathe. Five minutes into the visit, my doctor ordered a transfer to the hospital and told me he’d see me that evening when he did his rounds. When I got to the hospital, they drew some blood, and about two hours later, my doctor arrived with the results. As usual, they weren’t too great.

The Trouble with Being Human (Part 1)

Today I'm going to share something personal with you. Very personal. Something I probably wouldn't normally write about, but I feel like I need to because I know there are others out there who are struggling with similar situations. So, here goes...

I have an autoimmune disease known as ulcerative colitis and this is my story.

The summer after I graduated high school, I was on vacation in the Smoky Mountains when I began experiencing some unusual digestive issues (stomachaches, irregularity... forgive me for that one… and such). I didn’t think too much about it, though. I just credited to traveling or something weird like that. I figured everything would return to normal once we returned home. 

Unfortunately, I was wrong. Things didn’t return to normal; they started getting worse. I soon started experiencing more severe stomachaches and… forgive me again… bleeding. I should have gone to the doctor right away, but I was stupid and didn’t want to. It finally took me getting scared I might have cancer for me to go. *Free advice for stubborn people like me who don’t like going to the doctor: If you notice something really wrong with yourself (aka anything involving blood that doesn’t come from a cut or something like that) you NEED to go get checked out. Waiting it out usually just gives whatever it is that’s causing it time to get worse.

So, about a month after my symptoms became really noticeable, I finally broke down and went to the doctor. That’s when the tests began. Tests, tests, and more tests. Needles, needles, and more needles –which, by the way, are particularly awful when you’re a wimp like me.

Guess what they found: Nothing. It wasn’t this. It wasn’t that. So, they did more tests. In the meantime, my condition was slowly getting worse. On my first day of college, I was so drained and weak that my legs gave out while I was climbing a hill to get to my first class and I slid down the hill with my backpack and all. It was awful. I wasn’t about to let it get in the way of my life, though, and at that time, my life was wrapped up in my major: sports medicine.

My senior year, I’d served as the student athletic trainer for my high school’s varsity football team (to see if I wanted to go that route in college) and fell in love with sports medicine. I pretty much loved everything about it: the fast pace, the teamwork, the constant study of the human body, and the act of serving others every single day of your life. It’s one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever been a part of and even though I was in my first semester of college, I was blessed to be allowed to continue to work with the football team along with working in the training room alongside a great athletic trainer. As much as I loved the field I was in (pun totally intended), my schedule was pretty packed.

I was taking 16 hours’ worth of classes, a member of the honors club at school, spending my 2 hour lunch break in the athletic training room at college Monday-Thursday, then driving 30 minutes out to the football field to be at practiced as soon as I got out of class Monday-Wednesday. Friday mornings, since I didn’t have class, were spent working on the homework that generally piled up during the week because I was so tired by the time I got home around 5:30 or 6:00 I wasn’t able to focus on anything other than food and MAYBE a little TV. Then, around noon (if we had a home game, sometimes earlier if we had to travel to another school), I had to start getting ready to go out to the football field again at 2:30 and from 4:00 on, I was pretty much on my feet until 10:30-11:00 when I got home. Though, there were a couple of nights I got home closer to 1:00AM because we games 2 ½ - 3 hours away.

I don’t care who you are, that’s a pretty intense schedule for a college freshman, and when you’re as sick as I was, it almost feels like a death sentence. To make matters worse, by the second or third week of this, my condition was beginning to deteriorate more quickly than before. Soon, I was running on fumes all the time and in constant pain. Eventually, my doctor decided to give up on the tests and do a full upper and lower endoscopy. I had the procedure on a Thursday in September and the result was something I never would have seen coming because I’d never even heard of it before.

“You have ulcerative colitis,” the surgeon said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Okay?” I replied, still a little dazed from the anesthesia. 

Handing me an informational paper (gotta love those), he proceeded to explain “It’s an autoimmune disease in which your body attacks your colon, causing inflammation and ulcers. Naturally, the inflammations is painful and the ulcers bleed…”

“Yeah…”

“And, unfortunately, there’s no cure for it. Only lifelong treatment.”

And there you have it… the dullest conversation ever that changed my life.

At that point, my regular physician put me on a low-residue diet (look it up and figure out how east THAT was to adhere to with a schedule like mine) and referred me to a gastroenterologist. 

That’s things got even more complicated. I learned more about what caused my problems: My colon just randomly decided to produce the cells that call in my immune system to attack foreign bodies. Except, in my case, my body. When that happens, inflammation and ulcers result, which impair the colon from absorbing water (causing dehydration). Furthermore, without enough water, your body can’t process food as well, so end up you malnourished, too. I also learned about flares (when your body starts attacking) and remission (when, with medication and diet, your body stops attacking and your colon heals). I was prescribed a medication that was supposedly a miracle drug for UC and was informed that “most people are able to live normal lives.” Yeah. Okay.

So, with this new medication, I was hopeful that things would get back to some sense of normalcy –and much to my surprise, they did. By late September, I noticed that my symptoms were no longer worsening, and by mid-October, they were improving and I was actually starting to feel better. I still had some healing to do, but by the end of October, my digestive system was no longer in turmoil.

And then it got cold in Florida –and my joints started hurting. As with my original symptoms, I didn’t think too much about it at first, but a week or so in, I started getting nervous.  During an appointment with my GI doctor, he causally asked if I was experiencing any more issues and I (thinking he was talking about digestion) told him “no.” His response was, “Nothing at all… no joint pain or anything?”

“Joint pain?” I asked. “Yeah, I’m having joint pain, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“You have an autoimmune disease. Your immune system is faulty. A common problem associated with ulcerative colitis is rheumatoid arthritis because it’s all the same concept –body attacks itself…”

Well, that explained a lot, but that’s not something you want to hear when you regularly spend hours on your feet, in cold weather, often having to bend down and lift things. I decided I was just going to have to suck it up, though, and just deal with it. I’d done it before. I could do it again, and this pain wasn’t nearly as bad as what I was experiencing before.

I ended up managing for the rest of the season, but that was about it, and by the time it was over. I was exhausted. It’s funny how you don’t realize just how tired and stressed you are until you get past whatever’s tiring and stressing you out and then it hits you all at once. It took me weeks to recover from football season, and I soon came to the realization that pained me more than ulcers or swollen joints ever could: A career in athletic training was no longer a feasible option for me.

When I returned to school in January, I changed my major to English Education.

I’ve had my heart broken twice in my twenty-one years. That was the second time.

Why I Write

I recently read a blog post on one of my favorite blogs, Christ is Write, about why she loves being an author. At the end, she prompted fellow writers to post their top reasons for writing. At first, I was really excited about it… until I started trying to list out some reasons why I write.

Honestly, I don’t know.

I tried to come up with some reasons like Tessa did, but none of them really captured the real reason why I write. At the end of the day, all I really know to say is that I write because I don’t like not writing. As I described in a previous post if I don’t write for a few days, I start going slightly crazy. I get to feeling depressed and utterly unproductive in life. It’s probably not even healthy what happens to my psyche when I neglect my writing. Journaling is sometimes good for inspiration, but it doesn’t always fix the problem.

 

My old Bible, new journal, and favorite pen. =)

Basically, I write because I have to, even when I don’t want to.

 

However, if I were to give a more glamorous reason for my writing, I'd have to say that I hope to inspire others through my words.

 

A few years ago, I was sitting in a British Literature class and--feeling a bit bolder than usual--asked the professor, "Why is all the 'great literature' so depressing? Why don't 'the greats' ever seem to write about the good things in life?"

 

"Well," she said. "Perhaps the good things just aren't noteworthy."

 

I'll never forget that moment. I was shocked that anyone would say such a thing. "I beg to differ," I replied quietly. "I believe the good things in live are very noteworthy."

 

To this day, that exchange haunts me every time I sit down to write. I decided that morning that I wanted my writing to focus primarily on the good things in life: Love, joy, hope, faith, family, friends... things that make us feel alive. Loss and grief are still part of my writing because they're part of life, but as Monica Wood puts it, my goal it to "write toward light."

I think that phrase sums up my purpose pretty well because I feel like it doesn't exclude the reality that pain and grief exist. So even though stories should feature real emotions, fears, and insecurities, at the end of the day, I hope to achieve something positive. 

I write because I have to, but I hope to inspire others. Not a glamorous manifesto, by any means, it's just the simple truth.

What are you waiting for?

Well, folks. It's December. 2014 is officially coming to a close. It seems like just yesterday I was getting all geared up to attend a private Christian school (and live in the dorms... that was the big deal with it) and, in a sense, "get my life together."

 

So, basically, this time one year ago, I was planning a major life overhaul. At the risk of this post becoming a confessional of sorts, I'm going to give all of you young people a word of advice: Don't think transferring to a Christian college is the answer to "fixing your life" or strengthening faltering faith. It's not. *That was totally free. ;)

 

Anyway, the coming of a New Year is generally a time when people start trying to change things about their lives. It's almost like we need "landmarks" or something before we feel like we can do things. Or maybe that's just my OCD, but I have a feeling it's not. "I'm starting a diet Sunday." "I'm going to be more disciplined in 2015." "Once I start this new job, things are going to be different." We say things like this all the time, but I've noticed in the past year or so that when I try to operate like this, I usually end up NOT doing whatever I said I was going to do.

 

Maybe I just lose inspiration something. I don't know, but lately I've discovered that if I just go ahead and do whatever it is I know I need to do (like studying the Psalms or getting into a more regular writing routine) I tend to be more successful if I go ahead and do it when I get the idea, even if I get that idea on a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of December...

 

Another thing I've noticed about myself is that I sometimes say tend to say I'm just waiting for the circumstances to improve before starting something, like "I'll write that story when I get better at writing" or "I'll do that when I get to feeling better." Yet, the truth of the matter is that there will always be room for improvement when it comes to writing there are going to be thousands of other ideas to pursue as I improve my skills. Also, I have a chronic disease and there will always be ups and downs with how I'm feeling. If I spend all my time waiting, I'm never going to get anything done am I?

 

So, even though it's December and January 1st is right around the corner I encourage you to consider whether or not that "thing" you may have been planning to do with the coming of the New Year really needs to wait. Why wait to "start afresh" when you can just "finish strong" this year? Go ahead. Get on it. I honestly think it's better to do it that way.

 

What about you? Do you tend to wait for landmarks or better circumstances when starting things?

If so, what are you waiting for?

You know you're a writer when...

You know you're a writer when you STOP writing. 

Yeah. I said that. No, I didn't make a mistake. 

You know you're a writer when you stop writing... under the guise of a "mental health break"... and within three days of going on said break you think you're going to lose your mind. 

Because you're driving to meet your boyfriend for a coffee and a movie and this great first line of a short story comes to mind as you're getting onto the highway.

Then when you get to the coffee shop with your boyfriend, you whip out your nerdy little padfolio and write down that line -and a piece of a second line that came to mind when your boyfriend said something. 

Then, after you've had some coffee (which your boyfriend calls "syrup" because of the amount of cream, sugar, and... er... caramel you put into it) and your mind's now racing along with your heart, you start to the movie theater and pass the newspaper office. A setting! You have a setting! 

At this point, you're not sure what to do with your life because you are a writer and you are not writing -but you are writing in your head. You get to the theater and decide you're going to focus on the movie. Maybe analyze the main characters or something writerly like that. 

However, every single preview sparks a new idea. Some not even related to the story you've been writing in your head for the past hour. One idea would make a great idea for that one idea you had a week or so ago. 

Eventually, you settle down for the movie. You are going to focus. You must focus. Your boyfriend, who is also nerdy and dabbles in the writing craft, will want to discuss the "effectiveness of the plot" or something like that when the movie's over. 

So... Your watching the movie. You are. You have no other choice at this point because it's too dark in the theater to whip out your phone or nerdy little padfolio. 

Soon, some random minor character comes on screen and it hits you! That's exactly what the character from the story you're going to write starting from that first line you came up with when you got onto the highway looks like!!! Exactly. What's that actresses name? You need to look her up. 

As the movie progresses, the ideas keep coming. And coming. And coming. You're dying. You're going to forget all this great stuff if you don't write it down, but you can't. You get annoyed and restless. You hate movies. You hate life. You hate writing. 

The movie (a sci-fi) goes on forever with way too many "man floats around in space" scenes for your deprived-writer-brain-in-overdrive. 

By the time it FINALLY ends, you're in a terrible mood because you've managed to lose AT LEAST half the great ideas you had while watching the movie. 

You briefly discuss the plot with your boyfriend before saying goodbye and heading home. You realize the plot for your new story needs developing. 

Wait. What plot? You have a first line and a half, a character, and a setting. Dang it. 

You stew all the way home because you realize your productivity has again been impeded because you don't know what the pretty blonde with the killer opening line for her story set somewhere around a newspaper office is actually going to DO. 

You've long crashed from the syrup-coffee and the time spent in space (where there are stars and no sound) has made you kind of sleepy. 

When you get home, you scribble down as many ideas as you can because you're just too tired to actually WRITE anything. You hate writing. 

But you don't. You love it. Really. You do. You know you do because you can't stop writing... even when you try to stop writing. It consumes you. 

Your mental health break from writing nearly broke you mentally, but it's over--thank goodness-- and you're happy again because you know you're a writer. 

You were starting to wonder... =)

Cultivating Desire (Part 3) - Seeking God Through Prayer

This post is part of a 3-part series to read Part 1, click here.

For Part 2, click here.

 

Once I developed a sincere hunger for God’s Word, it didn’t take long for that desire to spill over into my struggling prayer life. I found that the Scriptures God used to speak to me were excellent for praying back to Him at night and throughout the day. It was amazing. No longer was I sitting at my desk or on my bed staring blankly at my journal (I write out most of my prayers) trying to think of something to say to God. Where there had been many, many days of pitiful little half-hearted “notes” to God were now pages and pages of heartfelt praise and giving thanks and honest and humble supplication. A major portion of this supplication was focused on what I had been going through all this time. My desire for the Lord was returning, but I wanted more. So, I asked God for it.

 

It may seem strange asking God to place a desire in your heart for himself, but if we look in the Bible, we find that King David, the “man after God’s own heart” asked God for things like this quite often. My favorite example is Psalm 51:10-13:

 

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit.

 

Here, we see David asking God to renew a “right” spirit within him. Some translations use the term “steadfast” or “faithful” in the place of “right,” but regardless of the word used, I this was the cry of my heart -my plea just as much as David’s. I desired God and I wanted that desire to remain strong. I wanted to be faithful to him and I never wanted to experience that “cast away” feeling again, but I knew that none of this was possible without God’s intervening and changing my heart.

 

I also considered Matthew 7:7-8 during this time:

 

Ask, and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks, it will be opened.

 

So, there I was asking God to give me a pure heart and renew a faithful spirit within me. I was seeking God in a way I never had before, and do you know what was happening? God was opening the doors faster than I could walk through them. After months of wandering around in a spiritual desert, God had led me to an oasis in himself.

 

I believe God wants his children to desire him. He wants us to seek him. He wants us to walk closely with him. I also believe he’s more than happy to give us the sincere requests of our hearts when they are in alignment with his Word and will (which will never contradict each other, by the way). All we have to do is ask, seek and knock and come before him with honesty and humility.

 

As I attempt to bring this series to a close, I hope to encourage everyone to continually seek God even when you don’t feel a desire for him. Because our human hearts are SO incredibly flawed, we must not fall into the trap of letting our feelings manipulate whether or not we do what is right. As with any relationship, sometimes desire requires cultivation –and when it comes to our relationship with God, the way to do this is through the reading of his Word and coming before him in prayer. Make these things a habit and they will transform your life. If you’re going through a spiritual desert they will refresh your soul and lead to water. If you’re not in the desert, doing these things will help to keep you from wandering there.  

 

*Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. Copyright 2001, Crossway.

***

I hope this series encouraged you in reading it as it did me in writing it and I’d love to hear your thoughts on anything I presented.

 



Experimentation...

Let's just get this out of the way: I failed NaNoWriMo. I'm not even going to try and justify or explain, either. I just failed. 

Shall we move on?

Let's. 

I have decided to experiment, a little. For years, I've pretty much limited myself to one genre (romance) and two age ranges (YA and Contemporary adult) but I'm about to try something new. 

My new project (while my NaNo story cools) for the moment is a whole new genre and a whole new age range -and I have no idea what I'm doing. 

Why am I quitting NaNo and then jumping ship on my age group and genre? 

Sometimes you just have to step out into the unfamiliar to accomplish something awesome. 

My hope is that in doing this, I'll be able to get out of my head and get something onto the page. The fact that I don't know what I'm doing kind of excites me, actually. If I do it all wrong, so be it. 

So... Middle-grade fiction, here I come. As for the genre, I'm not even quite sure what you'd classify it as yet. Supernatural, maybe? 

Don't worry. There are no vampires or werewolves involved. Promise. =) 

Cultivating Desire (Part 2) - Returning to the Word

This post is part of a 3-part series. To read Part 1, click here.

Cultivating a desire for God when it's just not there may be one of the most difficult processes I've ever experienced. Why? Because, for me, it was just hard on every front. On one had, because I was a believer, knowing that I was not walking with God troubled me greatly. When I'd look at my untouched journal, I felt extremely guilty. Every time I'd look at my Bible (which was quite often at Bible college), conviction would fall all over me. Yet, when I'd sit down at my desk to read and journal/pray, there was just no desire there for the Lord. Those were the moments when I'd feel like the worst person in the world.

To illustrate the situation as my uncle might, "The ignition was turning over, but there just wasn't any gas in the tank..."

In talking to Christian friends, I've found that these feelings are not uncommon at all. We all go through points when we can't see or feel God moving and working in our lives. That doesn't change the fact that he IS always using us, of course. God is sovereign and every single thing is part of his plan whether we're aware of it or not.

 Your thoughts may reflect those of my classmate that day. "Okay... So, what are you do when you're like this? Just make yourself read the Bible and pray even though you're heart's just not in it?"

Let us return to my uncle's car analogy and consider for a moment what you generally do when "the ignition's turning over, but there just isn't any gas in the tank." Do we sit back and say, "Well, I guess I'm just gonna not go to work today because I don't feel like getting out the gas can and putting it in the tank." or do we try to do something about it? Well, if we desire to go to work (which we all should), then we're going to go get the gas can…

 When it comes to reading God’s Word, while I believe we gain the most from it when we approach it with a receptive heart, I’m not convinced that you have to “feel” like reading to get what you need. I’ve found that when it comes to getting his point across, God’s pretty good at it. I don’t necessarily have to be open to what I’m reading. It just tends to be less painful if I am.

Hebrews 4:12 tells us,

 

 

“For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”

 

 

That’s powerful --and it doesn’t sound to me like God’s Word something you can just casually shrug off upon reading. Even if you do manage to “ignore” (or rather repress) some of it, I know I always found that what I’d read would always come back to haunt me later. I’d say or do something and a convicting Scripture would come to mind. It was as if the Word was always in my heart, somehow, even when my heart wasn’t in my study. At first, I wasn’t too pleased with this. Conviction is seldom pleasing, but as my heart began to change, this recalling Scripture became a source of comfort to me and I slowly began to feel the gentle presence of God again.

Soon, waking up to read my Bible became less of a chore and more of a habit. One day, I was reading one of m and I slowly began to feel the gentle presence of God again.

Soon, waking up to read my Bible became less of a chore and more of a habit. One day, I was reading one of my favorite poems and stumbled across these lines:

“See him with his books:

Tree beside the brooks.

Drinking at the root

Till the branch bear fruit.”

From “The Calvinist” by John Piper

 

When I read it, I was struck by his words, “drinking at the root till the branch bear fruit.” Think about the implications of those two short lines. Sometimes we have to start in a low and just keep on striving until we begin to see results. By waking up and reading my Bible every morning, I truly was “drinking at the root” while waiting for the branch to bear fruit.

Now, this part of the process is where patience really comes in. I don’t know much about gardening, but I do know that fruit does not develop overnight and if you sit there and watch a tree grow every day, usually doesn’t seem like progress is being made. The same is true for one’s spiritual journey, or at least it was for me. On a daily basis, what I was doing merely seemed like a habit, until one day (about three weeks in) I overslept and missed my morning quiet time… I quickly discovered that my “habit” had become something pretty darn pivotal in setting the course of my day. All I could think about during my first two classes was the hour break I had afterward so I could go find somewhere quiet to sit down with my Bible, journal, and pen.

That, friends, was day the light came on…

 

*Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. Copyright 2001, Crossway.

***

Part 3 of this series will be posted on Tuesday, November 18th.





 

Cultivating Desire (Part 1)

Due to length, this article will be divided into a series three consecutive posts.

It was a conversation that some might say shouldn't be happening on a Christian college campus. A fellow counseling major and I had decided to get lunch together in the cafeteria after class one day before heading back to our dorms to write papers for our Christian Marriage and Christian Parenting classes. We didn't expect to be there very long, but being counseling majors and sharing four out of five classes that semester, the conversation grew from what we had due the next day to how we thought we'd handle the hypothetical situation our teacher had presented us with that day.

"Well, you'd definitely want to present them with Scripture..." my classmate said, taking a bite of his buffalo wrap.

"Maybe for you," I replied. "I want to counsel in a secular setting, though. You can't just toss non-Christians who come to you for marriage counseling a few verses from Ephesians and expect them to accept it."

"Yeah. You're right about that. Well, if you can't give them Scripture, what would you say?"

"Well, I mean, I'm not saying you can't feed them the Word, but you can't just direct them to examine Ephesians 5 like you could a struggling Christian couple. I guess you'd just have to use wisdom to kind of weave biblical truths into your counsel."

"Yeah... You've gotta have a really good grasp on it yourself before you can do that. Kind of intimidating, isn't it?"

I hadn't really thought about it that much, but now that he'd mentioned it I had to agree. That was pretty intimidating. It shouldn't be, but it was. "Sort of," I admitted. "I feel like it shouldn't be, though."

"I don't know," my classmate said, picking at his buffalo wrap. "I guess I'm just thinking about how things have been in my life lately and it scares me to think that I'm going to be working in a field where I'll be having to give others advice."

"What's going on?" I asked. "I mean, do you wanna' talk about it or...?"

My friend just shrugged. "Yeah. I guess I've just been going through a spiritual dry spot lately. It's like I don't even want to pray or read my Bible these days." Looking down at his plate, he sighed. "Wow. Sounds really bad when you actually say it out loud. Not that's it's not bad, anyway. I don't know."

I could tell he was uncomfortable, now, which bothered me. Like I said, some people might say that people attending Bible college shouldn't have problems that -much less admit to be dealing with them. I don't know how I feel about that, though. We all struggle from time to time and ignoring problems or just pretending they aren't there doesn't do anything to solve them, but perhaps that's another post for another time. Anyway, I really didn't want my classmate to feel uncomfortable telling me this because I'd been in that exact same place myself only a month or so before, and it was hard. I knew.

"That's rough." I said, "but I understand."

"Do you?" he said, giving me an incredulous look.

"Uhh... Yeah. I've definitely been there. It's like doing your quiet time is more of a chore than anything else."

I could tell by his expression that what I'd said was on point. "Well, what did you about it?"

"Honestly? For a long time I just didn't do anything. I quit praying like I should and started slacking on my Bible reading. It didn't seem like a big deal at first. Just felt kind of like I was procrastinating or something, but after a while I got to feeling pretty miserable. It was so crazy. I mean, I missed my quiet time and all, but when it came to doing it I just didn't want to."

"Yeah. That's pretty much where I am right now."

"Well," I continued. "After a few weeks of all that, I just decided enough was enough and I needed to get it together. So, I did."

Now, I'm sure everyone who just read that line probably shook their heads at me and said something to the effect of "Sorry, but that's not how that works. You can't just 'get it together' with God." To an extent, I agree, but  just hear me out.

"Go on..." my classmate said, skepticism flooding his expression.

"I just started making myself get up in the morning to do my quiet time so I could start my day right and making myself put everything away at night to pray before I went to bed -whether I wanted to or not. It was pretty awful at first, but eventually I just got used to the routine and it wasn't such a bid deal anymore."

"So, your telling me that your quiet time went from being a chore to just being part of your daily routine that you just do every day because it's what you do?"

"No. That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that's what happened in the beginning. After a week or so of just doing it, got to a place where I started enjoying it. Eventually, I even started looking forward to my quiet time in the evening and missing it if I didn't get to do it in the morning. It all started with my making myself read, journal, and pray every single day... Basically, just getting it together."

"Huh. I don't know, though. I'd feel really weird just going through the motions like that. I mean, I don't think you should go before God if you're not going to be sincere about it."

"That's true," I said. "But wouldn't it make sense that even if you start out just 'going through the motions,' but do it with the sincere intent of getting back to where you need to be with God, He'll honor that?"

My classmate looked thoughtful for a moment. "You know... I guess I hadn't thought about it that way."

Here's the thing. I hadn't really thought about it that way, either. I'd considered what happened with me to be a trial and error kind of thing. What I'd just said to him had seemingly come out of nowhere.

"Yeah..." I said, lamely, unable to add anything else.

Part 2 of this series will be posted on Thursday, November 13th, but before I  further share my thoughts on the matter, I'd like to hear yours.

NaNoWriMo

National Novel Writing Month... 

 

Affectionately knows as NaNoWriMo

(until everyone gets so tired and burnt out that they no longer feel affectionate toward it, that is)

 

It's this thing happens every year when crazy people... I mean... writers from all over the world attempt to write a full novel (50,000 words) during the month of November. In order to do this, one much write 1,667 words every day for 30 days -which is not an easy task for most.

 

This year, I am one of those crazy people... I mean... writers.

 

This year will be my third attempt.

 

I have never actually succeeded before. In fact, I have never made it past the first week before.

 

I'm already behind this year. Way behind. So behind that I'm not even going to tell you HOW behind.

 

I should probably be writing my novel right now, but instead I'm writing this virtually pointless post because I'm a procrastinator and I actually have internet access right now.

 

Actually, this post really isn't pointless. I'm writing it so I can post quick updates on my one-month- novel-writing jaunt without having to explain myself in the future.

 

Is anyone else doing NaNo this year?