When Did This Happen?

Over the course of the past few months a realization has slowly been working its way into my brain. I managed to keep it at bay for quite a while, but I think it's time to face it . . . I'm growing up.

I don't really know how it happened. I suppose it's a result of a conglomeration of things . . . me asserting my independence more and more, turning twenty, getting a real job that actually pays a somewhat respectable salary, getting a new car that I'm actually paying off and plan to completely own by the time I graduate, passing the halfway point to getting my undergraduate degree, etc. I knew it was coming. I spent all of high school wanting this to happen. I've craved independence for years now. It's kind of exciting.

At the same time, I don't want to grow up. The thought of having full responsibility for my financial situation terrifies me. Responsibility in general is rather frightening. Knowing that I have to be out in the real world soon . . . yikes. Seriously. It finally started to hit me the other day that I only have three semesters left before I graduate with my B.A. in psychology. It's kind of bizarre.

Until recently, I was absolutely convinced that I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Unfortunately, I've been thinking more and more about the future, and the more I think, the less certain I feel. I want to do so many things. I want to get my master's degree in social work, but I don't know if I really want to be a social worker. When I consider how angry I get when I deal with the kinds of situations I'd face in that line of work, I almost think I'd get myself into trouble. I love photography, but I've discovered that if I do it for someone else, it's just not that enjoyable anymore. I love to write, but I don't see myself turning that into a career, either.

Maybe I should just be a hermit.

Thinking about the Future

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately . . . particularly about the semester after I graduate from Northwestern. I'm graduating a semester early, so the plan has been me working for that spring semester and then going off to grad school the next fall. At least . . . that's been the plan until recently.

Last spring break I went on a missions trip to Tijuana, Mexico. We worked at a mission called La Roca . . . it's basically a shelter for battered women and their children, a place where they can stay as long as they're willing to earn their keep helping with chores and such, where the children can go to school, where they can learn skills to help them make it on their own when they decide to leave, and most importantly, where their souls can be fed. In the week or so that I was there, I absolutely fell in love with the place. The ministry is one that is very dear to my heart—it shares my passion for battered women. While I was there, I felt for the first time in my life that I could possibly live and work quite happily outside of the country . . . or even outside of the Twin Cities.

That feeling hasn't left me in the almost 11 months since I returned from that trip. I could probably count on one hand how many days have gone by since then that I haven't thought about Mexico. Now, I'm gearing up to go back in less than 6 weeks for another spring break missions trip to the same location . . . and I've made a decision that could mean me taking the greatest step of faith of my life so far. When I go back to Tijuana, I'm going to ask the director of La Roca about the possibility of working there for the 6 months or so between graduation and grad school.

Even as I'm writing this, the idea sort of startles me. I've thought about the possibility off and on since I was there last, but not until the last couple of weeks has it seemed real to me. Never in my life had I considered going into missions, even short term. I simply didn't see that as my future. Even now, going to a Bible college, I'm not majoring or even minoring in missions. All that I know of missions is what I have seen and heard from friends and family who have served/are serving around the world. I cannot see myself as a missionary.

However . . . I can see myself working and serving others in another country, at least short term. I suppose they're really the same thing, but me being a missionary is just . . . such a foreign concept. I can love people, I can serve people, I can help people . . . but win people to Christ? I'm tempted to laugh out loud at the thought. I know very well how wretched of a sinner I am. I don't need a fire and brimstone sermon to convince me of that. I fail in so many ways every single day of my walk with God. Half the time I don't even really know what I believe beyond the very basics of Christianity, but I do know that I do NOT believe in shoving my beliefs down anyone's throat. I can engage someone in a philosophical and theological debate, but unless I feel a clear nudge from God, I won't push such a debate into a "you're going to hell unless you believe in Christ as your Savior" conversation.

It's ridiculous that such an image comes to my mind when I think of myself being a missionary. None of the missionaries I have ever had the privilege of knowing come across that way. Unfortunately, that seems to be the general impression that the rest of the world has of Christianity, and because of certain encounters that I've had with other "Christians," I'm afraid I often find myself agreeing with that impression.

Maybe that's why I feel like God might be calling me into . . . well, a missionary role of sorts. Maybe He's calling me because I could use the proof that even someone as confused and sinful (and often stupid) as I am can be used by Him.

The idea of going into missions (at least short term . . . after grad school, God alone knows what I'll be doing) scares me. A lot. But not nearly as much as I would have expected it to. I know that I can't possibly do it on my own . . . but if God is working in and through me, the possibilities are virtually endless. So whether I wind up in Mexico, somewhere else in Latin America, or on the other side of the globe . . . I think it's going to be ok. Challenging, yes . . . uncomfortable, yes . . . but good. Because no matter what happens, God will still be good, and He will still be God . . . so what in the world am I worrying about?

Coffee > Jesus (or "My Priorities Need an Organizational Makeover")

I love coffee. I will readily admit that I am addicted to coffee. On a typical day I'll down anywhere from two to six cups . . . I think I average three or four. I am totally ok with being addicted to coffee—I know I can stop whenever I want to (provided I'm willing to deal with a couple of days of withdrawal headaches, of course . . . haha). Addiction aside, though, I honestly do enjoy coffee. I love the taste of black coffee; I love the smell of coffee; I love the feel of a warm mug of coffee in my hands while I read a good book. However, I realized this morning that I might be loving coffee just a little too much.

This morning when my alarm went off for the second time, I dragged myself out of bed, walked into the closet, grabbed my bag of whole-bean Costa Rican coffee, plugged in the coffee grinder, dumped the grounds into a filter, dropped the filter into Steve (my coffee maker), and started filling the coffee pot up with water . . . and then I stopped. Because I realized that all I had thought about since waking up was how much I wanted a little bit of caffeine. I had almost finished making my pot of coffee before it even occurred to me to do what I should be doing before I think about anything else: I hadn't bothered to talk to God yet. In fact, He hadn't even entered my thoughts up to that point.

I've definitely made the statement that I want God to be number one in my life. I know that there are times when other things take top priority. Usually they're pretty significant things, which isn't really an excuse, but which make some sense, as I am most definitely human and therefore prone to error. I don't think I've ever really thought about how often small things can take priority over God just as easily as the big things, though. I mean, seriously . . . coffee is wonderful, but it is DEFINITELY not more wonderful than my Lord!

Today was actually full of reminders of how easily I'm distracted from fixing my eyes on Him. There are so many things that can pull my gaze off His face and onto my own life. It's ridiculous, really. I know from experience that I'm really no good at all at running my own life. Unless I surrender everything to Christ, I'm pretty useless.

I think God's really been teaching me lately that I need to be a more genuine, consistent person of integrity. He's making me much more aware of the words that come out of my mouth. I'm starting to learn what it means to "take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ." (2 Corinthians 10:5) I'm become more aware of how my actions affect other people. It's hard . . . at times it's downright painful. But it's so worth it . . . I just hope that I don't throw it all away when this particular lesson is over.

Fatal Attraction

I find it fascinating how conclusions drawn from seemingly unrelated incidents can turn out to be very much connected. I have found my thoughts returning to the topic of self-esteem several times over the past couple of weeks. I have also been wondering why it is that we sometimes end up with "friends" who hurt us. In all of this thinking and wondering, I have come to yet another realization. I'm going to talk about this particular revelation in regards to being a woman, so guys, I apologize. Don't think that I don't realize many of you struggle with the same issues; I've just been seeing this a lot in my own life and in the lives of other ladies lately, so that's the way this blog is going to go. Girls, this one's for you.

I think as women we tend to struggle so much with comparing ourselves to each other. It's horribly cliché, but I think we really do end up feeling a lot of pressure from the world to look, dress, act, etc. in a certain way, and since the vast majority of us don't fit into that "perfect" mold, we end up believing all of these lies about ourselves: we're not pretty enough, smart enough, thin enough, sexy enough, feminine enough . . . that we're not "enough" in general. The really sad part of it all is that we're so used to the lies that half the time we don't even realize that we believe them. Whether we realize that we believe them or not, those lies are often some of our most closely held beliefs about who we are.

Every girl desires to be loved. Most of us have caught ourselves wishing at some point or another that we'd find our Prince Charming or Knight-in-Shining-Armor who would make us feel like princesses. The problem is, many of us have also been ensnared in the lie that we don't deserve to be loved like that.

Most people are under the rather misguided impression that "opposites attract." While that's true in some respects (some difference is good—it's good to be able to play off each other's strengths and weaknesses in a relationship), people tend to be attracted to people with similar characteristics and beliefs.

This leaves us in a sort of strange place. We want to be loved, but we don't believe we deserve love . . . so we end up with friends (and, unfortunately, "significant others") who don't seem to believe that we deserve love either. They'll treat us just well enough that we'll rationalize and claim that they really are our friends or that they really do love us, even though just about anyone on the outside of the relationship is able to see that the relationship is hurting us more than it's helping us.

I really believe that's why so many women end up in abusive relationships that they can't get out of. I also believe it's one of the reasons that we struggle to let go of the lies we've come to believe about our worth: if someone I claim as a close friend confirms with his or her behavior toward me what I already believe about myself, it's going to take a lot more to change my mind than if I'm the only thing standing in my way of breaking free of that lie.

Hurting Can Be Helpful

Friendships are wonderful, beautiful things. Being able to love and to be loved are two of the greatest joys we can experience as humans.

Unfortunately, the people that we love are also the people who can hurt us the most.

A very dear friend of mine had to deal with this today. She truly desires to be the best friend she can be to people. Sadly, this sometimes means that she lets people walk all over her. I have a tendency to do the same thing, so I can understand how difficult it can be to stand up for oneself in relationships (meaning relationships of all sorts -- friendships, family relationships, etc.). Today, this friend of mine did what was quite possibly the bravest thing she's done in her entire life. She chose to very gently and lovingly point out to one of her friends that he had hurt her. She could not have been more sincere in her desire to make their friendship work out, and she actually stood up for herself so that he could learn to be aware of how his actions affect other people -- so that he could learn to be a better friend and a better person in general.

However, her friend chose to go on the defensive, twisting her words and interpreting them as an attack on his character. Rather than realizing the true purpose of her gentle criticism of his actions -- to help him -- he focused solely on his bruised ego, taking extreme offense to something that was intended for good.

Hurting someone to help them is a bit of a strange concept. It's so easy to take offense at the constructive criticism our loved ones offer -- rather than acknowledging that they're acting out of love, we wallow in self-pity, claiming they have no right to tell us how we ought to live our lives. At the same time, we can often so easily offer criticism (constructive or otherwise) about others. At some point last year, I decided that this particular principle can be summed up in one simple sentence:

It's easier to look through a window than into a mirror.

I know I tend to be far too sensitive to criticism. Rather than learn from the observations of others, I persist in acting like an idiot until it really gets me into trouble. Rather than acknowledging my sin when God convicts me of something, I push on in rebellion. I want to feel like I can run my own life and make my own mistakes without ever affecting another person.

But that's just not how life works. My decisions, my stupid mistakes do have an impact on others. My refusal to accept criticism can forge barriers in my relationships that, if not properly addressed, can end up causing those relationships permanent damage.

So, now I come back to the two basic principles of my last two blogs: I need to learn to surrender, and I need to be conscious of how my words and actions are affecting those around me.

Think God might be trying to tell me something?

Self-Esteem (or, "Do As I Say, Not As I Do")

I had an interesting revelation on Wednesday as I was talking with a couple of friends. One of them was frustrated because boys were being stupid (unfortunately, this seems to be a trend for many of my friends right now). At some point in the conversation, she began making derogatory comments about her looks. My other friends and I immediately assured her that she was, in fact, beautiful, that any boy who would ignore her must be an idiot, etc. Her response was simply, "Yeah, right . . . "

I have conversations like that one more often than I'd like to. It breaks my heart that so many girls struggle with self-esteem. I was profoundly bothered by this particular conversation . . . I honestly wanted to cry for my friend, because she truly is a beautiful person, inside and out.

My revelation came later, as the conversation continued: I hold a ridiculous double standard when it comes to the issue of self-esteem.

The same friend asked me a question later in the evening, calling me "Lovely." I told her I didn't know who she was talking to when she said that. She called me "beautiful," and I protested. I eventually admitted to my her that I don't think I'm hideous; I'm just simply not a drop-dead-gorgeous, boys falling at my feet sort of girl.

It's funny how I can be so caught up in wanting to make someone feel better that I can be completely blind to my own attitudes.

I actually realized the double standard that night. Unfortunately, while admitting that there is a problem may be the first step to solving the problem, it's not the only step. I did the same thing on Thursday night. I was going swing dancing with the girls in my hall, and I found myself making comments about how I was actually going to look beautiful that night, since I was going to wear a dress and put on makeup.

I hold a similar double-standard in several areas of my life, I've realized. I don't want to cry in front of people; when I do so, I feel it's a sign of weakness. However, I don't look down on others for crying more openly--when others do so, I can admit that it takes strength to let others see you when you're broken. I want to be able to bear my own burdens along with the burdens of everyone around me without help; I will tell anyone else who tries to do the same that it's not ok, because trying to carry so much simply wears you down to the point that you can't be of any help to anyone.

It's a troubling realization. I want to be a person of integrity, and yet, if I really examine my heart, I find that I'm a hypocrite. I have been much more conscious of the words that come out of my mouth over the past couple of days. I have been forced to admit that over-criticizing myself just makes it ok for other girls to be over-critical of themselves.

So, I have a goal for the next week (and hopefully beyond). Working on all of those double standards at once is an overwhelming thought, so I'm going to start small. No more making negative comments about myself, aside from healthy, productive criticism. That's just not the sort of person I want to be.

I have a feeling it's going to be an interesting week.

Tough Questions

"Why did God bless me with such wonderful friends?"

"Why does growing up have to hurt so much?"

A dear friend of mine asked these questions last night as we sat together on my couch. I didn't have an answer. All I could do was hold her and find the same questions echoing back in my mind.

That first question has been on my mind a lot lately. I have the most amazing friends in the world. I totally don't deserve them. That's really struck home in the past couple of weeks. I hadn't been doing very well; I had found myself in a bit of a slump. It's a pretty normal thing for me, and I know I would be out of it soon enough. Usually when I'm in such a slump I can keep up a pretty convincing façade. My issue are my issues, and I'm used to dealing with them on my own. But last week . . . last week I couldn't keep up the act. In fact, by the time Friday rolled around, people I would never have expected to notice were asking what was wrong. Friends that were super busy went out of their way to ask how I was doing and give me hugs. It made the slump a lot more survivable.

Being in college makes me ask my friend's second question a lot more than I used to. Growing up is painful. I spent most of my childhood waiting for the day I could get my driver's license, and almost every day after my sixteenth birthday waiting for the day I could move out of my house. Going home on breaks, I still find myself waiting for the day when I can move out. But really . . . growing up is hard. It's terrifying. I still struggle to comprehend the fact that I'm a legal adult. I don't feel like I'm mature enough . . . or responsible enough . . . or strong enough.

That's been my biggest battle over the past month or so. No matter what I do; no matter how much I try to talk myself into thinking otherwise, I'm never quite strong enough. I see my friends struggling to get by . . . I watch my parents fight with my brother . . . and I realize that in the end, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I can't even keep my own life under control for more than a couple of hours, so how could I possibly help anyone else?

I've always wanted to be stronger than I am. I've always felt the pressure to be strong. My friends turn to me when life doesn't go the way they planned; my brother turns to me to defend him when I'm home; my parents turn to me when they can't figure out what to do with my brother . . . and I expect myself to be able to do it all. But I can't.

I can think of few issues I find more difficult in my relationship with God. I want to be self-sufficient. I want to be able to take care of myself and everyone around me. At the same time, I know the only way I'm ever going to get anywhere in life is by surrendering it all to God. Surrender . . . being a living sacrifice is hard. It's so much easier to jump off the altar and run away screaming. At least that's how it seems. When I think about it, though . . . I tend to make a royal mess of things when I'm trying to run my own life. God definitely does a much better job. I'm just too proud to let Him.