Someone For You to Meet

I must say that I am a little overwhelmed by the response I have gotten the last few days.

To those of you who told your friends and even for those who are continuing to read, thank you. 

All of the views made me even look over the last post, which is odd because I rarely read over my posts, even for editing purpose (much to the dismay of my mother), and I discovered that I forgot to talk about one very important person. (Well there are a lot of important people I left out but there is one in particular)

I've kind of talked about her before, but I realized that I never really told you who she was to me.

Her name is Annie and she is the epitome of her namesake: Gracious. 

This is Annie and I when she was six years old. Her eyes stayed that bright until the end.

Annie got diagnosed with a very rare and aggressive form of cancer at the age of two.

The doctors predicted she wouldn't make it to three, she got to seven.

But this story is not about her death, for it is her life that holds so much meaning.

She was the epitome of faith in a beautiful, blond, blue-eyed little girl. 

Although she wasn't really that little.

Annie went through several rounds of cancer.

When they thought it was gone,  it came back. When the cancer-free party was planned the results returned positive.

I remember she was four years old when I heard the cancer had returned, she wiped my tears, and told me that she was going to be ok because God loved her. And as I continued to cry, she started to laugh, called me silly and then walked away to go play. At four years old she had a faith I can’t muster at nineteen, and in spite of all of her struggles and pain still has an ability to unconditionally love that I aspire to.   

Her brilliant blue eyes always shined hope throughout the pain,.

Her faith was strong enough to shake mountains, to paralyze oceans and to change lives.

In the face of tumors, surgery and chemo she kept her head raised toward Heaven and was always grateful for the things she had, and was always full of assurance that her God will save her. 

And he did time and time again. Even when saving her meant taking her "home-home"

When I was struggling with all of my medical issues I thought of her, and I suddenly felt strong enough to push through. 

She had a strength I envy and trust I try to emulate.  She embodied all I yearn to be, and she did so as a child.

Annie and I had a rule; a rule that I am grateful to say was never broken. Every time she saw me, she had to give me a hug. In spite of the bad days and the even worse ones she came. Whenever she spotted me, from no matter how long of a distance, she would come running from her mother’s side, into my open arms. Her mother will search for only a second for her daughter, but then would smile at the two of us.

If the only thing important I do in my life was to love that little girl, it will be enough.

If I had given her anything in return, my soul could rise happily to Heaven.

Because she gave me so much.

Annie never gave up. 

Her strength never faltered and that she never lost her ability to hope for the best.

Her eyes stayed bright and never faded as the world beat her down. She fought with every last breath, but when the time came, and her family was all near, she finally found peace. 

She was finally healed. She “rose on eagles wings” to her home, her true home. And her suffering is finally over.

C.S. Lewis once said, 

"My own eyes are not enough for me; I will see through those of others"

I aspire to view the world through Annie’s eyes.

In her eyes there was always a silver lining, a rainbow at the end of the storm. In her eyes there was a world full of possibilities, and good. 

And even as she ascended to join the angels her inspiration lives on.

 She ran to her Father with open arms. 

She has the ability to dance and sing like she never could in her body here on earth.

And I am sure that Annie’s eyes still contain all of the love they always have.

In fact I am positive her eyes contain much, much more. 

A Coming of Age Story

I was lying in bed the other night trying to fall asleep when I realized something: not all of you know me.

I pour my heart out to you and you could know nothing about me, except where my heart is at that moment.

So I think it is time for a little story. Time to make yourself a big cup of tea, and sit down in a comfy chair, for this story will probably not be that little, although I will attempt to make it as brief as possible while still doing it justice.

Have you got your tea? Mine is a nice apple chamomile. Snuggled in a nice fuzzy blanket? Good.

 And for those of you have already heard this, or even better have lived through it with me, I thank you, for you have undoubtedly have had a bigger role in my life than I may be able to credit accurately.

Here it goes.

My name is Susie. I grew up in a loving family of five in Denver, Colorado. I have two sisters, wonderful parents, and fairly recently a brother-in-law.

Growing up I always knew who God was, I was a pastor's daughter who was taught the gospel every night and every day. I grew up knowing of God, and loving Him, but it was not until I was older that I experienced Him, that I felt His Presence.

I was in middle school, a brat who thought she had all of answers. But then my youth group went to this Bible camp for a week and God forced me to my knees at the alter. Literally.

I can't recall the speaker, or even the name of the camp, but I remember his words. We spent the whole week unpacking Ephesians 5:1-2: "Therefore as Dearly loved children live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God."

He talked a lot about how when we surrender ourselves as Christ did it is pleasing to God, but those messages aren't the ones that really stuck with me.

One night however the speaker was talking about our sins. He referred to them as chains pulling us down when all we want is to rise up and meet the Lord. He told us that God held the key and all we needed to do was ask for it.

I felt the weight of the chains on my wrist, and my knees buckled underneath me, as if a wave had crashed into them. I was in the front row. Right in front of the alter.  Wordlessly I asked, and wordlessly my answer came. Sobs shook me as I felt the weight lifted. I was free.

And I reveled in that feeling. For a while.

The only problem with my first true encounter with the Holy Spirit being at a camp is that it seemed separate from my everyday life. I was gone, I wasn't in the midst of my typical routine and schedule and so when I returned to my house, my family, my typical life, that fire of God dimmed until all that was left was  embers. Glowing, but not nearly hot enough.

So the next time God came full calvary in tow. And He came to me.

I have chronic migraines. I have had them since I was 12 years old. In my 9th grade year they got worse than they ever had been. And I fell victim to something I talk a lot about: fear.

I feared that if I left the safety of my own bed, my head would hurt. I was afraid of the consuming pain. I was so worried that it might come that I assumed it always would. My only safety was my bed, the darkness of my room, away from light and noise and all of the triggers for the searing suffering.

In fact I barely left my room that year because of the fear. But eventually the fear morphed. I had realized how afraid I was, and the fear of the fear petrified me. I literally could not move due to my sheer terror.

My mind was filled with worse-case-scenarios. A brain tumor. Not long to live. Not being able to do something with the short amount of time I must have had left.

But what is worse than those scenarios, is that I accepted them to be real. I convinced myself I was about to die. And it is nearly impossible to get out of bed after admitting that to yourself.

But I had this thing called school. I had to go. I had loving parents who would not let me stay home everyday and wallow in my self-misery. I was so afraid however that I didn't make any friends. I would just be leaving them soon enough. I ate lunch in the library, in a study stall that separated me from the rest of the world. I had stopped trying.

But my parents had another rule. A rule that looking back now probably did more to save my life than anything else could have.

I had to go to youth group, every week. It was non-negotialble.

And so when the winter retreat came it was not a question of my attendance. And thank God for that.

I went and one night we were praying and one of my youth leaders came and started praying over me. He told me of a demon sitting on my shoulder, one whispering lies of fear into my ear.

And after he told me this, I felt the demons claws tearing into my flesh. I audibly heard his hiss. And I was more afraid than I had ever been.

But my leader kept going. He told me that I had the power to cast away the demon. That I was a daughter of God and that I was strong enough. He prayed for that strength.

It came. And for the first time in a long time I felt strong. I had hope. And I told the demon to go back to Hell where he belonged, I told him to never bother me again.

He left me. And then he started attacking my best friend. I saw him this time, swooping so quickly he was hard to distinguish, as if he was a puff of smoke blowing in a rapid wind. We prayed for her, and he left.

But not for forever.

He came back and he sat upon my shoulder. But this time I could see him, I could hear him and I could feel him.

Every morning he returned, telling me I had something to fear, until each morning the first thing I would do is to say "I am a daughter of God, therefore I am holy. Therefore no demon has the right to touch me or whisper their lies in my ear. I am a temple of God, the Holy Spirit lives in me, and therefore I have the power to send you back to whence you came."

And he always left. Until he became less frequent altogether.

And I had learned firsthand of the power God could give me to fight and how important it is to fight.

In fact since then my favorite verse is Joshua 1:9: "Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you shall go."

And He has been.

I have had my heart broken and I have had loss. I have stifled tears and I have let them flow freely, but God is my constant. He is the glue that holds me together when the world tries to tear me apart.

I had another reminder of it this summer.

And you know what?

After all of the pain I feel really, really good.

Good enough that I barely believe it.

And I know it will not last, but I know the next thing will still have the same constant. I have a rock to build my foundation upon and I cannot be shaken by any scheme of man or power of Hell.

I've already faced both.

I've already conquered both.

And I am ready and willing to do it again.

Because while the fighting is exhausting, the victory with God is more than worthwhile.

Has your cup tea gone cold?

Mine has.

There you have it. An abridged version of my journey to faith. For that is all that really matters. That is what make me who I am.

Putting Myself Out There

So tonight (as in literally a minute ago) I submitted several poems for publication.

And this is odd for me because, for the most part, my poems are for me, written because my heart needs to lament or heal and that is how it grieves.

And so tonight I submitted seven poems. Seven pieces of my heart.

And honestly, I am still kind of in shock.

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard considering I put my thoughts and feelings on here, but somehow it is different.

It's not like I am hiding a piece of myself from any of you, but I suppose in a way you are choosing to read my posts not because of my writing alone, but because you know me and want to support me in my writing.

At least the vast majority of you do.

And so the thought of my writing, my raw, bleeding heart being judged by someone who has never met me, is unnerving, and I feel out of sorts.

But not in a bad way.

I'm in two writing classes this semester and both of them are encouraging us to publish our work, but I didn't do it because of the bonus marks I might receive if any of the poems do get selected or because I can have bragging rights or even because my professors told me to:

I did it because this is who I am.

My writing can tell you everything you need to know about me.

And I guess I would rather be judged on that than on a facade I plaster on my face to impress people.

I would rather be known as I actually am.

And besides, like all people, I want to see if I am good enough.

Writing is something I want to do, it is something I need to do, and I just want to do it well.

I want to hear that I am not wasting my time, and I kind of want to hear it from an unbiased party.

The key is however that I want to hear it, I don't need to hear it.

I know that God gave me this love for words and for arranging them, and so while it would be nice, all I really need is His approval.

Remind me of that as the rejection letter inevitably start trickling in.

He certainly will.

Trucking Through

For the last year I have been dreading yesterday.

Part of me hoped it would never come.

The other just wanted it to happen to get it over with.

And I'm grateful to say I made it through.

Yes it was sad, and yes I was sad, but I was alright with the fact that I was sad.

And I can only owe that to the fact that God showed me that I was going to be okay.

How did He do this?

On Saturday night there was a terrible rainstorm. It was a torrential downpour.

And while most people would hate this, I love the rain.

Partially because it rarely really rains in Colorado, so growing up rainstorms were magical occurrences that needed to be celebrated, and partially because every time I really need God, every time I am lost and need a reminder that He is there, He sends rain.

That is one of the reasons I moved to the Pacific Northwest. Here I can get daily reminders of Him.

Anyway, it was raining so hard that the power went out. Our entire campus went pitch black.

And in a moment of spontaneity, I put on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt and I went and danced in the rain, just the way I did when I was little kid.

And the rain wasn't cold like I expected.

But it was refreshing,
revitalizing,
and rehabilitating.

Because He was pouring over me, in just the way I needed Him to.

And the best part, was while I was dancing, I was certain that Annie was dancing next to me.

I could almost hear her laugh.

And I knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that she was so happy.

And she was with me.

So yesterday, while I was sad, I was filled with so much joy.

Because Annie has had a year without any pain, sorrow, a year of perfection that will span into eternity.

An eternity I plan to embrace alongside her.

And to further help with my sorrow yesterday, here is my devotional, yet again all too appropriate:

"Be prepared to suffer for me, in My Name. All suffering has meaning in My kingdom. Pain and problems are opportunities to demonstrate your trust in Me. Bearing your circumstances bravely- even thanking Me for them- is one of the highest forms of praise. This sacrifice of thanksgiving rings golden-toned bells of Joy throughout heavenly realms. On earth also, your patient suffering sends out ripples of good tidings in ever-widening circles.

          When suffering strikes, remember that I am sovereign and that I can bring good out of everything. Do not try to run from pain or hide from problems. Instead, accept adversity in My Name, offering it up to Me for My purposes. Thus, your suffering gains meaning and draws you closer to Me. Joy emerges from the ashes of adversity through your trust and thankfulness. 

                

           James 1: 2-4; Psalm 107: 21-22"

~Sarah Young, Jesus Calling

So I guess all I can sufficiently say is Thank you Lord.

Her Unwavering Glance

The eyes of a child

Are wide and

Open to a world of stars

A world of magic and the impossible

They shine like moonbeams

They reach towards a world where

Nothing is unattainable.

Always looking forward to a bright light

To the radiance of what is ahead

Nothing can stop those eyes

From their aspirations of what’s next

From their dreams reaching the sky.

For they dwell in such a world

Where the heavens sing forth their songs of hope

And the clouds rain wonder and majesty.

In this world there lies no shadows

There are no monsters lurking around the corner or under the bed

But instead

There are endless opportunities

And dreams can always come true.

But as we grow

Our eyes dim,

And they narrow

They open to a screeching sound,

A world of metal clashes,

And a world of contradictions.

They reach for nothing,

Lost in a water-less sea,

Less swimming

but stumbling,

Falling and tumbling.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel,

No waking dream afloat

In the star-less sky of night.

In such a world

Fire consumes and destroys

And chaos reigns.

They are beaten, and damp,

And shadows fill their memories

Found buried in the core.

What makes the change from bright to dim?

What allows the starry skies to fade?

How can a world so pure and innocent turn into one with war and hate?

In blueberry eyes I found the answer

Placed on the face of a beautiful blonde haired girl

Or at least the hairs were colored gold

Before the world ripped them out

Her eyes had no logical reason to radiate such light,

A lifetime of pain and misery

Crammed into a span of seven years.

Time after time

She thought her battle won

But the cancer always returned,

And the doctors always lost hope.

But her ocean eyes never strayed

Her faith strong enough to make the mountains quake,

And her hope for a miracle always remained

Her quiet courage always pressed on

And her eyes retained their gleam

Her eyes shone with Heaven’s luminescence

And in the midst of all of the pain

They never showed hint of a complaint.

The epitome of her name

Annie emitted grace

And in the seas of her eyes there was

An infinite capacity to love

Without fear

Without judgment

Without inhibition.

And that is why they never dimmed like all of the rest

That is why the switch occurs.

We let fear consume like cancer.

We fall victim to the world’s trap.

Where logic can only restrain us

And there is no more room for hope.

We allow the world to tell us lies.

We don’t fight the cancer in our heads.

The logic backfires.

And terror settles in.

And before we realize it

The light is gone,

Faded to nothingness.

And the cancer has won.

For we allow fear to dictate our actions

And we become puppets in our own lives,

Puppets with glassed-over eyes.

Eventually the light in Annie’s eyes needed to extinguish

She had fought with every last breath

Her suffering is finally finished

And she rose on eagle’s wings

On the journey we must all take

home home.

And within my heart I am sure those eyes still contain

All of the love they always have, In fact

I am positive they hold even more than before.

She had a strength I envy

and trust I try to emulate

She embodied all I yearn to be

and she did so as a child

She believed in Truth with all her heart

and loved fearlessly like I never could

It was through her eyes that I learned to see the world

And through her eyes that I feel the world will learn to see.

I am His

So yesterday in Chapel we heard students answer why they believe in God, and we were then encouraged to answer the same question.

So here it goes:

I believe in God because God didn't really give me another choice.

Yes, I have free will and no I don't think that I don't have the ability to control my own actions because everything is predetermined, but what I mean when I say that He didn't give me a choice is that He created me perfectly to respond to His consistent pursuit for me.

I am one of those hopeless romantics. The kind of person who always wants to believe that the happy endings can happen. The kind of person who always tries to see the best in people, holding them to a high expectation so that they might be able to rise to it.

This doesn't mean they don't sometimes let me down, or that I think everything can be happy all of the time.

If you've read any of my other posts you know that I've experienced the unhappy.

But because of my love for these things I can't help but believe the romantic that is Christ:

The concept of a God who designed me simply because He wanted to know me.

A God whose heart is broken every time mine is.

A God who loves me enough to humble Himself and live in a fallen world that can often be torturous. And for Him it was.

A God who died purely so I have the ability to know Him better.

A God who constantly reminds me of how valuable and important I am to Him.

How can I not believe such a beautiful love story?

How can I ignore His unyielding pursuit of me?

More importantly why would I want to not believe it?

It is the perfect story, that gives us all a perfect ending.

Call me naive, call me wide-eyed and fanciful, but the truth is I know that God loves me because He tells me in each moment, He whispers it in every instant, and He proves it infinitely.

So I don't think I was made to not believe. I don't think that I could choose to ignore Him even if I wanted to.

Simply because He would never let me.

And thank God for that.

The very first verse we learn in Sunday School. But how well do we really know it?
He loves us SO much. For He SO loved the world.
Let's not forget it. 

Lacking Words

I've had a lack of words lately.

At least a lack of words that I've felt like sharing here.

Honestly I am still struggling with the fact that anyone has the ability to read my heart and while I am still working on the breaking façades thing,  I also know there are some people my heart can no longer bear letting in and the notion of them potentially reading this unnerves me.

Which is why I've been selfish.

I've been guarding my heart from these people, but at the same time I have been shutting the vast majority of the people I want to share with, the rest of the world, out.

And that isn't fair.

So here I am exposing my heart once more to all that want to read it.

Even if those few are out there too.

Because I can't hide away forever and at the same time I can't stop them from reading.

So I am taking the advice of a wise man who once prayed:

"Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference"

 

And this is one of those things I can't change.

And one more thing:

Since I've been struggling to find my own words I have been finding a way to inspire me with the words of others:

Quotes and pictures placed above my bed. To help encourage me to search for my own words. 

Hopefully these will get me back on track.