Feeling Restless

There's so much to do and so little time.

The above phrase is one that I've heard repeated over and over my entire life. Why does it always feel like we're quickly running out of time? It's like I constantly feel like I'm racing the clock to accomplish everything.

It's odd. Especially since I find myself wasting time more often than I care to admit. There are so many things I want to do; so many things I want to accomplish. But I seem to just get overwhelmed with the vastness of it all and shrink back, allowing my procrastination to rear its ugly head as I go back to Facebook or spend three hours on Pinterest.

It's time for me to start learning to manage my free time more efficiently. Working forty hours a week has somehow managed to make me lazy the rest of the time. I use up all my energy at work and then come home and succumb to the exhaustion. I can't keep doing that if I ever want to stop needing a day job.

I need to start learning how to utilize the time I have while I am still free enough to do so. Now I just have to figure out how.

Stifled

My dad was home for the weekend, which was awesome. I rarely get to see him and it's always a treat when he comes to town.

While the two of us were driving to see a movie yesterday, we somehow managed to get on the topic of my future. Right now, I'm living in their home (in America) while they're overseas (in France). My aunt (Mom's baby sister) and uncle recently moved in since they don't have anywhere else to stay and she's pregnant with her first baby (Hank!). I work as the Assistant Store Manager and a video store not far from my home.

To be honest, I hate it here. I feel stifled where I live, like I'm constantly on the verge of a panic attack. The suburbs have never been the place for me and I'm pretty sure they never will be. I love my job and I love my friends, but I'm ready to be out of here. Yet it seems like my plans keep getting pushed back.

Or maybe I'm just too scared to make the leap . . .

Anyway, I was venting about all of this when my dad brought up a way I could move a bit sooner. He was telling me that if I could find some way to further my writing career in Seattle (the city to which I'm wanting to move), if I could convince him that this would be a viable option that would actually help me make progress on that writing career, he would figure a way to set me up so that he could help me live there and be able to eat without working my ass off 24/7.

Of course, he's basically referring to college. Though he was talking about the possibility of a trade school, or something of that nature, that would strictly teach writing instead of requiring the student to take all of the other pointless classes that they will probably never use. *cough* Maths. *cough*

It's tempting. It's sorely tempting. Right now, I feel like I would do anything to get out of here and feel like I'm actually doing something: moving toward my future. I spent a good portion of my free time today looking for something like what he said. I found one or two promising universities, but those are so expensive and I've been so certain up to this point that I don't need college and I don't want to waste my (and/or my parents' money) on something I'm not absolutely certain I need for the future I desire.

It's not that I have anything against going to college. I think that, for a lot of people, it is the right choice. But I also think that not everyone has the same path and, for some, that means choosing not to go to college. I thought that was the path I was going to choose.

Then again, how are you supposed to know which way to choose? I mean, that's a pretty big decision there. How can I know whether my initial choice was the best or if I ought to change my mind before it's too late? I mean, I could always use more training in the skill I enjoy so dearly. I'm sure there's plenty to learn, but I'm also sure I don't want to get in debt of any kind.

As you can see, I've been having quite the inner dilemma. I don't do well with these sorts of issues. Thankfully, I managed to quell the panic attack that was on the verge of breaking loose tonight, though the nausea is still present. I don't really know how to explain my emotions on this any better than that. I mean, it's probably not a good idea to get me started on my social anxiety and all the things that crop up when I think of having to attend classes again (of course, this contributes to why moving is scary for me anyway, though my desire to get out of here is greater than my discomfort at the very idea of social interaction).

I hope I don't sound whiney, or worse, like a sociopath, but these are my general thoughts on my current situation and the decisions I feel like I need to make. I'm terrified and hopeful and entirely conflicted.

I just hope that, in all of that, I'll be able to figure out what is best for me, regardless of the other factors that play into the making of this decision. Writing this out helped, as writing out my emotions generally does, even if it hasn't quite led me to a solution.

Phobias

I've never been ashamed of my phobias. I mean, everyone's terrified of something. I happen to be terrified of enclosed spaces and deep water. It's not a big deal as long as no one puts me in an enclosed space or forces me to get on a boat. I've written a post on my claustrophobia (which you can find here), so you can tell I'm not ashamed of it. I feel like it's a pretty legitimate phobia. I mean, I do hate having it. I hate that I can't enjoy the Hezekiah tunnels the way my tour group did and that I started panicking when my family went into a partially underground tomb in Ireland. I hate bursting into tears and having trouble breathing. And I especially hate when that happens on a crowded Metro car or in front of people who like to tell me afterward that I'm probably over my fear now. (Sorry, but throwing spiders at an arachnophobic person isn't going to make them stop fearing the little buggers. It's going to make it worse. Claustrophobia works the same way.) 

I've been embarrassed by people witnessing my reactions to my phobias, but never of the phobias themselves. Until now.

I've recently noticed that I am growing increasingly fearful of elevators- a problem which I'm not okay with. I believe it's a mix of my claustrophobia and that time my sister, niece, and I got trapped in the library elevator. It seems that every time I find myself in an elevator, my heart rate goes up and I catch myself holding my breath until the doors open up again. 

It's almost comical. I mean, I get claustrophobic on planes, which are clearly the more dangerous of the two, but I seem to panic more on elevators than the metal birds I seem to find myself sardine-packed into every couple of months.

Frankly, it's embarrassing. Elevators freak me out. Then again, so does claymation and I've never really been ashamed to talk about that one. I just think it's irritating and odd that I've somehow managed to find another thing that makes me want close my eyes and pray for it to be over. At least I haven't gotten to the point where I'll only take the stairs. I suppose I'm a bit too lazy for that one. 

Exhausting

Chilling with Aiden, the little boy I nanny. :)

Does anybody else ever feel like their life is moving too quickly and yet they don't know what they're meant to do next? I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. In fact, it's a pretty common feeling, from what I can tell. I think it's especially apparent in the transition from graduating high school to encountering the rest of your life.

Right now, I'm working at a video store, taking a semester off from school, and living by myself in my parents' home while they're living overseas. I'm trying to figure out what my next move is going to be while saving up money and trying not to freak out over the fact that I don't have any substantial plans yet.

I mean, even a few days ago I was worrying over the fact that nearly all my coworkers at the video store work two jobs and thinking that maybe I needed to get another one when I realized I already have one working as a nanny (at least, that's if he starts calling me in more often--which it looks like he will).

*Sigh* It's like I know what my major goals are. I have a good idea of where I want to go. It's just the periods in between that stare back at me like a blank page just begging to be written on, but writer's block keeps holding me back.

I have plenty of stuff to take care of in the meantime. Lately, I feel like I've just been running from one thing to the next with barely enough time to keep up with everything that's important to me. It's just exhausting worrying about what my next step is going to be while trying to take care of everything else that needs to get done.

What I really need to do is put more trust in God and his ability to lead me through this and make sure I end up where I need to be. But honestly, that's easier said than done. Still, it can't hurt to start now.

I guess I just wanted to get that off my chest. I know I can deal with this and everything will fall into place in it's time. Sometimes I just have to remind myself of the fact that He makes all things work together for my good.

I can do this. I can make it through. I can accomplish my dreams.

I Might Just Be Mental

Sometimes I feel like my laptop is a sentient being.

When I'm reading a particularly good book or have an idea that keeps turning itself over in my head, this little MacBook Air of mine seems to loom bigger and bigger in my mind as if it's calling out to me.

"Write!" it pesters incessantly. "Why aren't you writing? Aren't you the one who calls yourself an aspiring author?"

Of course I want to write. The problem is multifaceted and cumulates in a lack of focus and far too many ideas ricocheting off the boundaries of my mind. Nothing's cohesive. I know where I want to go with some stories and the premise of others, but it's like the moment I've got that going for me, by brain freezes up and my fingers seize.

My laptop scoffs. "Maybe you should just give up," it jeers. "Everyone else is better at this than you. They've all at least finished a rough draft of their manuscripts. You just keep getting stuck after the first ten chapters then ditching it and it's cluttering up my files."

I sneer and go back to reading or watching YouTube, doing my best to ignore its nagging. I have to figure out how I want the opening to work. I have to hash out the story first. I can't write down some half-baked idea and call it a manuscript.

"That's what editing's for, dimwit. It doesn't have to be perfect the first time around."

But I want it to be perfect the first time around! I want it to be the potential I see it having. And I have other things to do. This isn't my entire life after all.

"Isn't it what you want your entire life to be? Writing? Publishing books?"

Shut up! I'm doing the best I can. I'm reading like a maniac over here, trying to learn as much as I can through what others have done. As John Green would say, it's the best apprenticeship I've got.

"You just ended that sentence with 'I've got'."

I groan. That's besides the point. The point is that I'm learning right now. You can't expect me to do everything at once.

"Practice makes perfect. You can set a little time aside at the very least. What was that quote you used to be so fond of? Oh yeah, 'The way you define yourself as a writer is that you write every time you have a free minute. If you didn't behave that way you would never do anything.' -John Irving. Or 'Learn as much by writing as by reading.' -Lord Acton. Or even that one from Ray Bradbury, that author you look up to so much, 'Quantity produces quality. If you only write a few things, you're doomed.' I win."

Not fair! You can't just bombard me with quotes I like and win the argument just like that. Okay, maybe you've got a point. *sigh* Fine, I'll get to writing already. I'm not saying I'm gonna type up a novel in the next week, but I promise I'll stop procrastinating somewhat and at least write for an hour or two every day. Scout's honor.

"You weren't a girl scout. They didn't let you in the troop because the lead mom hated you, remember?"

Enough with the low blows already. You already won.

Just let me finish one more chapter of Suite Scarlett first. Things are getting intense right now . . .

Growing Up

My brother. Yes, that's a half-chewed grape in his mouth.

Growing up is a terrifying ordeal.

I guess I'd better specify exactly what it is I mean by "growing up." When I refer to growing up, I am basically referring to the age group consisting of seventeen to twenty-two year olds (and possibly older). This is a time in nearly everyone's life where they are trying to figure out exactly what they want to get out of life and how they are meant to make that happen.

This sentiment -- this feeling of terror in the face of the unknown -- is one that many are familiar with. Still, the realization that others are dealing with they exact same questions you are trying to tackle somehow doesn't make you feel much better. This is likely because we all realize that these aren't questions that anyone else can truly answer for us; rather, they are decisions we each have to make on  our own.

Up until now, our parents have been the decision-makers in most of the big dilemmas our life has presented us with. They generally had the final say at the very least. Now we're supposed to strike out on our own to "find our fortunes" ( that's a Howl's Moving Castle reference, for those who care). It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

On the one hand, it's scary trying to move from being supported to supporting yourself, finding where you fit, and where you want to be. On the other hand, it's wonderful when you feel like you're finally getting closer to accomplishing those dreams you've desired for so long and it feels like the world is at your fingertips.

Coming from my own prospective, I have the potential and the desire to become a published author. There's much I have to do in order for me to accomplish that dream, but it feels doable now. There are times when I can almost taste it. But there are also times when I feel like I'm looking through the wrong side of the telescope and all of my goals are comically out of reach. I feel out of place in my hometown (particularly after living in Paris, France) and I'm literally itching to get out of here, but my circumstances have determined that I stay for now.

It's like those cartoons from when I was a kid where the person trying to get the horse to move dangles a carrot in front of its nose to keep it going, but the carrot is always out of reach. There are times when I wonder if I'll ever reach the carrot at the end of the line or if it'll always just be a dream and never a reality.

I realize I sound a bit melodramatic and I apologize for that. Still, it's a legitimate feeling that I know I'm not alone in experiencing. It's a big world and there are so many opportunities to shoot for the moon; but at the same time, there's such a potential for failure that it can nearly paralyze a person at times.

All in all, I know its all in the hands of God. He knows exactly where I (and everyone else) need to be and if I listen and follow, I'll be able to finish the race. Trusting Him is key and listening to His voice is more than necessary.

Still, what I wouldn't do for a couple of neon signs to point the way for me right now . . .

Twenty

The weird outfit is my Tae Kwon Do uniform. :P

Tomorrow is my twentieth birthday. That means today is my last day as a teenager. Want to know what I did? Homework.

(Okay, I did work in a few episodes of LA Ink and an unintentional midday nap.)

It's a little scary, standing here on the brink of my twentieth birthday. I mean, I know nothing's going to change between today and tomorrow. I won't magically gain bundles of wisdom and whatnot. I won't become suddenly cleverer or more independent.

I'm excited for the same reason that I'm a little worried. I mean, by birthday really just serves as a more obvious reminder that I'm getting older and closer to the dreams I'm trying to make a reality for myself. It's a landmark of where I've been and where I'm going.

I have so many things that I hope to accomplish in the next few years of my life. I have so many dreams and imaginings that make me more and more excited about life. My mission is to reach my dreams and experience life to the fullest and I can't wait to do that.

It's funny when you look back at where you thought you would be when you were a kid. People change so quickly and it's crazy when you think about it. A couple of years ago, I had plenty of ideas of where I would be at this point. I thought I had my life basically planned out. It turned out nothing like what I thought it would be! I didn't expect to have the friends I do now or have lived in Paris, France. I had thought I would be married by now or on my way to graduation college. Neither of those are in my near future now and I don't want them to be. Even looking at the person I was when I graduated high school versus who I am now is pretty weird. I've changed plenty, mostly for the better, and I love who I am today.

I guess it's just weird when you look back at who you are, what you've become, and who you hope to be. Certain things have been constant all the way through, like my writing or my walk with God, while others have shifted substantially or fallen by the wayside.

I couldn't be more excited for life and where it's taking me now. If y'all haven't noticed, I'm a bit of a dreamer (understatement of the year) and devising plans for my future is almost as exciting as seeing myself accomplish those goals.

So, 20, I'm ready for you. This year's gonna be good.

Less than Human

I'm currently reading The Help by Kathryn Stockett. It's a New York Times Bestseller and has recently had a movie adaptation of it hit the big screen. The fact that Emma Stone plays one of the leads had me interested before I even heard the premise of the story.

The premise, it turns out, is about civil rights in the early sixties, back when my parents were mere toddlers.  The book follows the story of three women, one white and two colored, dealing with the racial inequality of the day. It's a story about standing up for yourself and standing up for others. It's a story about racial discrimination that seems so long ago, but was really only a few short years ago.

I won't go into detail about the book. My review of the book will be up in a couple of days on my other blog, Booklist That. That's not what I really want to talk about.

Sitting back and reading this book, I can't help but feel aghast at what passed as acceptable behavior just fifty short years ago. That anyone would treat another human being with the kind of disrespect and condescending nature that was bestowed upon anyone who wasn't white is just disgusting. It legitimately makes me sick that this was considered appropriate.

I don't even know how to put into words how messed up that is.

This wasn't that long ago, though. This was less than a lifetime ago. Only five decades ago, people treated those with differently colored skin like they were nothing better than well-trained animals. Seriously?! I mean, what the hell is that? How can anyone look at that and think it's okay?

But the thing that pisses me off more than that is the fact that some people still think this way. Some people still call black people the "n" word behind their backs. Some people still keep their distance like they're going to get their wallet stolen. The fact that I have black friends that can't so much as stop for gas in certain Southern towns. It makes me want to vomit.

And don't even get me started on how racism has affected Hispanics in the States. It's like people were told to lay off the blacks, so they switched to the Mexicans -- making jokes about illegal immigration, indicating that they're less intelligent than someone with paler skin.

It's that kind of thing that makes me ashamed of being a Southerner.

People are different. That's a fact that people have to come to terms with sooner or later. Some people will have darker skin, some will have paler skin. Some will like loud music, some will only listen to instrumental. Some will have different political, religious, or philosophical point of views than yourself.

THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT OKAY TO ABUSE THEM OR TREAT THEM LIKE THEY ARE LESS THAN HUMAN. EVER.

It's never okay to treat someone like they are disgusting because they are different. The world isn't ever going to get any better until we learn that.

In the words of one of Michael Harmon's characters in his book, Brutal, "It's all the small things we accept that make this world such a crappy place."

So stop accepting it. When you see things like this, you have a responsibility to do something about it. You have a responsibility to change things.

The Hezekiah Tunnel Incident

My sister is visiting us in Paris for Christmas and tomorrow is her last full day here. We've been cramming in as many fun sight-seeing events as possible in the time we're here and tomorrow is supposed to be proceeding in much the same fashion.

First on the agenda is the catacombs. Now I've heard little tidbits about the place before, but we haven't been yet. It's basically these underground caverns full of arranged bones. They were cleared out a cemetery and put on display down there years ago. Now it's a huge site for tourism. I even found out they have a sign that says, "Stop! This is the empire of death!" (That's what it says in the picture.)

Sounds awesome, right?

Wrong. It's not awesome because I can't go and I'm super pissed about that. Okay, it'll probably still be awesome for my brother, sister, and dad-- but it sucks for me. You see, I'm claustrophobic. Like, I have panic attacks from claustrophobia. Panic attacks including tears, snot, and plenty of hyperventilating. Turns out the caverns are pretty narrow, which means it's definitely a no-go.

We don't need another Hezekiah Tunnel Incident.

"What's that?" you ask. Well, the Hezekiah Tunnel Incident is basically the story of what happens when I underestimate my level of claustrophobia. When I was told my tour group in Israel this May was going to walk through the Hezekiah tunnel, the tunnel Hezekiah travelled when he and his army were attacking Jerusalem in the Old Testament, I thought, "Sounds like fun."

I should have known better.

My first red flag was when we watched the informational video at the beginning. I saw a clip of some guy having to crouch to get through part of the tunnel. I quickly asked about the narrowness of the tunnels, but was assured that it wouldn't be bad. I'm thinking, "Oh, they must've just been exaggerating. The tunnels are probably pretty big. I mean, if an army is going through them, it's probably, like, five people wide."

Oh, how terribly mistaken was I.

It only took about five minutes of walking through the tunnels before it was narrow enough that I only had to move my shoulder about three inches to the right or left to hit the walls. Then the roof lowered to only a foot above me. I tried to stay strong, I really did; but it wasn't long before I was reduced to tears.

I cried for twenty out of twenty-five or thirty minutes of the journey. God, it was terrible. The only thing that kept me from hyperventilating the entire time was knowing that if I managed to make myself pass out, I was going to just get trampled as I drowned in the calf-high water. By the end, I was practically pushing the others out.

That was probably THE most terrifying ordeal of my life. I was shaking at the end of it. Then some of the adults on the trip had the nerve to go laughing about how I was probably over my claustrophobia now. Yeah? Far from it. If anything it's probably worse.

So that's why I'm not going to bother trying to "tough it out" in the catacombs. It was a bad idea the first time and the sign of insanity is to do the same thing multiple times and still expect a different result. No thank you.

I think I'll just meet up with them at the Napoleon Museum.

Not for Those with Weak Constitutions

Well, it's 4:30 in the afternoon here in Paris and I've only been awake for maybe an hour.

Oh, the wonders of jet lag!

My plane ride over here was probably the worst travel experience of my life. How so? Well my original flight was meant to be DFW>HIA>DFW>CDG. That means I was supposed to take a plane from the Dallas-Fort Worth airport to the Houston International Airport, then board a plane there for DFW which made a pitstop there (where my brother was going to get onboard) then take us to Charles de Gaulle.

What ended up happening was that I made it to HIA and had to collect my luggage and recheck it because that's what the American Airlines guy at DFW had told me I needed to do. That was fine and dandy except for the face that when I made it to the American Airlines baggage check, they told me I was too late to make the flight and I would have to make other arrangements-- that was the last flight to Paris today.

I got out of line and found a seat nearby, promptly bursting into tears as I called my dad. Now, I'm not the type to cry in public if I can help it. However, this is an exception for a number of reasons:
1) I had pulled an all-nighter the day before and I was over-exhausted.
2) My brother was sick and cell phone-less. I had no way to reach him so he would know what was happening.
3) I just wanted to go home and see my family.
4) I didn't know what to do or where to go.

When Dad picked up the phone, I explained the situation to him and he handed the phone over to Mom while he figured out my flight with the airline people. In the meantime, a sweet older woman saw me crying and dabbing at my eyes with my sweatshirt, so she came over and handed me a pack of tissues. It was rather sweet of her and it helped me calm down a tad. I don't know why. It's just the little things like that that really make your day just a bit brighter.

Finally, Dad came back on the phone and informed me that he found another flight for me with British Airways. It took me another half hour just to get the the terminal where their airlines were located and then I had to grapple with a pissy baggage check lady who seemed to be irritated by everything and kept trying to hurry me along as if I could help the fact American Airlines was taking so long in getting my ticket to come through on the computer system.

Finally, she got it and I made it through the security line after having to go through the metal detector about four times. It was only when I realized my iPod was still in my pocket that I finally got through.

My flight was delayed when I made it to the gate, so I found an outlet and checked my phone, only to find a voicemail from my brother, who had called from the DFW airport to let me know that the gate had changed in case I needed to know. I tried calling back, but it was a pay phone call and therefore pointless. I then called my dad, trying my hardest not to panic. He was still working with American Airlines to get a message to my brother. I hung up and tried not to worry.

Let me give some context here in explaining that all of the previous night during which I had pulled an all-nighter, my brother had been throwing up from some stomach virus that had him feeling miserable. Dad had given him the option of staying behind a day or two in order to recover before his flight, but he didn't want to get left behind in Texas when his family was in France. He didn't want to be sick by himself. Let's face it- who does?

So I sat there, worrying about him until my dad called back and told me he had gotten the message through and my brother wouldn't be worried. With that burden off my shoulders, I managed to relax long enough to eat some chocolate and do some reading until it was time to get on the plane.

My trip lasted about eight hours before we landed at the London-Heathrow airport. I had enough time to use the restroom, brush my teeth, and spruce up my makeup before I had to jump on the plane. I spent about an hour and a half on that plane and slept through most of it. I declined breakfast, as I had on the other plane. Airplane food makes me nauseous and the dinner I had eaten hours before had been enough for me.

I reached the airport with barely suppressed glee. I had my passport stamped and hurriedly grappled with my bags before heading out to where everyones' families were waiting. . . only to find mine missing. I stood there awkwardly, then moved off to the side to where I wasn't in the way. My phone had died before I made it to Heathrow and I started to panic wondering how I would reach my family. Sure, I knew how to take the metro home, but that would take hours and I didn't know the address for a taxi to take me. I knew Mom had told me to call them when I was in London. What if they were still waiting for that call and assuming my trip over the Atlantic had just taken longer than expected?

I moved off to the side and waited for twenty minutes, scanning the crowd for my dad's face before I finally saw him walking over with my brother. I jumped up and wheeled my bags toward them as quickly as possible. Turns out, they hadn't expected my flight to be in so soon and had gone to sit down where there were more open seats.

Exhausted and ready to finally be home, I let them pile my things in the car for me. My brother claimed shotgun because he was still feeling nauseous after the flight and such. I settled into the back, complaining about wanting to sit next to dad.

The car ride took about forty-five minutes, but the worst bit wasn't until the end. It's a well-known fact that I suffer from motion sickness. Thus the reason I generally get shotgun when we go on family road trips and such. I can't even swing on a swing set for more than a minute or two.

So near the end of this car trip home, I was feeling intensely nauseated. I kept asking how long it was until we got there and complaining that my stomach hurt. I didn't start gagging, though, until we made it onto our street. Dry-heaving is never pleasant, but a panicking father who's driving the car can always make it worse. Not only was he freaking out in the front seat, but he pulled over IN FRONT OF A CROWDED BUS STOP. And that was about the time my stomach decided to release its contents. Talk about embarrassing.

My brother and I were both yelling at him to move the car while my head was still sticking out the door and he finally moved further down the road, still throwing up out the door. I rinsed my mouth out with Dad's sweet tea he offered and jumped out of the car over the emptied contents of my stomach, keeping my head low since we weren't far from the bus stop at all.

Mom was leaning out the window with the cat calling down about how excited she was that we were home. I ignored her and hurried into the building, dying to brush my teeth and praying I wouldn't vomit all over the floor on my way up.

Finally, I made it upstairs and after changing and thoroughly brushing my teeth, I got plenty of water and promptly passed out for the equivalent of nearly twenty hours.
And that, my friends, was the worst travel experience in my life. I hope I never top it.

Air

Well I'm writing today's blog post from my brand new Macbook Air!
My other laptop died a few days ago and I was able to buy the new one with a combination of my Christmas money and my Savings. I love it!
The only downside is that with the crashing of my previous computer meant I lost all of my files-- which means that book I was five chapters into writing and the FanFiction Newsies story that I was 9 chapters into. Thank the Lord, though, for uncles who are technologically savvy! I gave my laptop to my uncle and he promised to extract my files and photos (and possibly some of my music, though most of that survived via my iPod. Still I lost some good albums like Coldplay and the Killers.)

In other news, one of my very best friends got married yesterday. It was a beautiful ceremony and I cried through most of it. I never thought I would be that bridesmaid, but it was more than I could handle. Then, of course, I nearly lost it when the Maid of Honor (another of my best friends and also the bride's identical twin sister) choked up while giving her speed. In fact, I'm pretty sure half the gymnasium choked back a sob at that one.
Everything about the wedding was wonderful. The bride was able to have a friend of hers sing "All I Ask of You", her favorite song from Phantom of the Opera (her favorite movie) and the song she's been telling us since Junior High was going to be in her wedding.
I love her to death and am so excited to see her starting the rest of her life with a man who loves both she and God so deeply. I pray they have many long, joyful years together.

Only two more days until it's time for my brother and I to head back to France and there's plenty I need to get done in the meantime. Just today I need to dye my hair, have lunch with my grandparents, go to Northpark, hit up my LCS (local comic bookstore), and start packing. Let's not mention how many people I need to visit and say my goodbyes to ASAP.
Arg, I'm getting stressed just thinking about it!

Worthy of Love

I don't have a crazy salvation testimony. I was saved when I was five and rededicated somewhere around the age of nine. It wasn't anything spectacular. There was no chorus of angels or near death experience. I just realized I loved Jesus and wanted Him in my life forever.
Thus, when I was asked to write my testimony for a personal tract when I was in an Evangelism class at CFNI, I was a little worried about what to write. I know so many people that have had these crazy things happen to them  and while I've gone through my own share of crap, it's never been something astounding or even something I'm cool with sharing.
Finally I decided on an experience that actually happened to me while I was in attendance there-- the Lord dealing with my insecurity. It's a journey and this was only the catalyst. I still deal with insecurity and likely will have to fight it for the rest of my life, but I'm okay with that because I know Who I have beside me.
So here's my story:

I sat in a chair in the middle of the room, tears streaming down my face as my body convulsed with sobs.
Two minutes ago, I'd been avoiding my youth pastor's eyes, desperately hoping I wouldn't get picked next for prayer. I knew I needed it, but that was exactly why I didn't want it. It had been my mentor who ended up calling me out, though.
Two minutes ago, I'd been focused on holding in my stomach so everyone wouldn't see how fat I was. I'd been focused on keeping myself from crying so no one would see how ugly I looked when I cried and so no one would know what I was feeling. Neither mattered now. The only thing I could think now was, "I'm in so much pain! It hurts so bad!"
I'm sure I looked a mess. No one else sat down in the chair and started sobbing before anyone started praying. But it didn't matter anymore. All I knew was that a burden had been wrapped around my shoulders for so long and I just wanted it off. I wanted nothing more than to be rid of this pain that encompassed nearly every waking hour.
That night, the Lord healed me from my self-hatred, self-condemnation, and massive insecurity. I carried that burden of feeling worthless, disgusting, and ugly for so long that the burden had become a normal weight- I can't remember a time before then when I didn't shoulder it.
The emotional scars came the way scars usually do: careless words; a comment here, a rejection there. As a child and later as a young adult, I had unwittingly harbored these things in my heart. Satan whispered his little half-truths until I would accept the full-blown lies as truth.

"She's so skinny, yet she keeps talking about how she needs to lose weight. She probably thinks you look like a cow."
"No one's ever going to like you. I mean, what is there to like?"
"You're just irritating them. Why would they want to hang out with you?"
"Ew. Look at that stomach. No one will ever find you attractive."
"All those people who rejected you before? They obviously had a pretty good reason. Get over it."

On and on they went, spinning their little webs around my heart until it was entirely ensnared. I had my good days, where I thought a dress looked pretty good on me, or hung out with that one person that I knew actually liked to hang out with me, though I couldn't for the life of me figure out why.
I knew that God found me beautiful and fun to be around. I knew He loved my personality and my body. I even knew that thinking badly of myself was insulting His handiwork, figuratively spitting in the face of God. Still, I groaned when I saw myself in the mirror. Still, I cried when I finished a beautifully romantic movie, because I was certain that could never happen to me.
But on that night, the people on the Paradigm leadership team called it out of me. They "read my mail" and cried with me when they saw what I was going through. They helped me give up that little girl who saw a whale when she looked in the mirror and that young girl who couldn't figure out why no one wanted her around.
Then we were silent as I listened to what the Lord was speaking to me. It was one sentence, but it sent me into an entirely new set of tears- tears of joy. In the deepest part of my heart, He whispered, "You are worthy of love."
My countenance changed immediately and I knew that the pain had stopped. I felt so light. I've never felt that light in my entire life. The weight slid off and I suddenly felt like I could fly because I didn't have to carry that burden anymore. Jesus had picked up up, thrown it over His back, and I don't have to carry it ever again.
It's so easy to listen and agree with Satan when he feeds you lies. He's constantly doing it. He uses people to make little digs at the things we struggle with the most. He whispers half-truths that seem whole, all the while using it to eat away at our souls. He masks condemnation as conviction, hiding behind twist Scripture and twisted Truth to prove a point.
You don't have to believe Him!
God finds you beautiful/handsome! He sees you as worthy of time, effort, love. He finds you intoxicating when you worship Him with your whole being. He cries with you when your heart is heavy-laden. He cares about us in a world that would rather cover up our flaws than help us fix them. He calls you His treasure and sees you as more valuable than life.
That's why He gave His life for you on the cross so many years ago. He thought of you as He was executed for sins He did not commit- sins you did commit. He died so you could have a life with Him, because He enjoys your heart! He loves you enough to want to spend an entire eternity loving on you and spending time with you. How can you feel worthless or of so little value when the King of Glory calls you beautiful and His own?
It doesn't matter what anyone else says. Your family, your friends, those people who shaped your insecurity, they're all just as jacked up as everyone else. They don't know what they're talking about and through that, Satan will take whatever foothold he can get in your heart. The lies of Satan are potent and the longer they are left without dealing with them, the more they fester, the more they grow, until they threaten to take over your whole world.
Hand it over to God. You know what those lies are.
What's holding you back?

All Your Tears

Last week was not my greatest.
Whether it was the moving away of one of my best friends, the flu virus that's going around my school, my lack of sleep, or a thick mixture of the three and many other factors- I wasn't feeling all that hot. I was discouraged and tired, irritated and disconnected.
You know, sometimes I think we forget just who it is we serve. I mean, I never forget I'm a Christian. I'm always aware that I serve Jesus Christ, but sometimes I forget what the full meaning of that is. I forget just WHO He is.
It was in this mood that He spoke to me. I was in the middle of worship, struggling to let go of everything bothering me and just give in, yet He spoke. Simply saying, "I care, I really care." was all I needed. I was nearly in tears. How mindblowing is it that the God of the universe cares about my bad days? He cares when I'm upset, angry, or sad. It hurts Him to see me like that.
No matter how many times we hear that, we seem to always forget.
He directed me to Psalm 56:8, an absolute favorite verse of mine. It reads, "You number my wanderings; Put my tears into You bottle; Are they not in Your book?"
It hit me like a freight train as He continued to speak to my heart. He reminded me of that Sunday, just after one of my best friends moved to Houston. I cried the entire way home and walked in the door in the same condition. My dad immediately sat up from where he'd been napping on the couch, called me over, and laid my head in his lap while he stroked my hair. He comforted my like that until I stopped crying.
God took that instance and told me how that was exactly what He wants to do with me. He wants to take me, lay my head in His lap, and stroke my hair when I'm upset. That's how much He cares.
Remember that the next time you're frustrated, worn down, or broken hearted. God wants to lift you up and hold you. He knows you're hurting and it breaks His heart. Just let Him hold you. Let Him be your comforter.