To Live Fast and Die Young

Before reading, play this song: . Maybe don't watch the video. I mean...you could. But it's really just for the musical experience, ya know. And the video is a lil strange.

I should have written this months ago. At dinner last night, MGMT came on in the background and Liz, Rae, and I were all reminded of our wonderful 14 day road trip blitz around the US. Every time we rolled into a new city we blasted "Electric Feel" and fist-pumped for the entirety of the song.

We left the morning after graduation. I was unsure whether I should go the night before and even as our car crossed the border into South Dakota three days later I was still a little shaky about my decision. But now, of course, I wouldn't trade those 14 days for anything. Well, yeah...pretty much anything. I mean, we all sacrificed summer jobs in Athens for it. That's commitment.

I'll write it out by city real quick so you can get an understanding of the rate and scope of our adventure. Athens. Chicago. Sioux Falls. The Badlands. Yellowstone National Park. Mount Rushmore. Seattle. Portland. Napa Valley. San Francisco. Los Angeles. The Grand Canyon. The Vegas. Phoenix. Austin. Dallas. St. Louis. Atlanta. Athens.

Epic.

Traditionally, I rate the success of any and every given day by the amount that I learn from it. And the reason I haven't commented on our epic quest via my blog is because I never quite figured out what I learned. I thought it needed to be about God and it needed to be life-changing. Buttt... although I had some wonderful conversations with God on the trip - one in particular on the rim of the Grand Canyon that I hope to never forget - He didn't shatter anything or bend my heart in a different direction or anything like that. Instead, I watched and listened for 14 days. I watched the United States fly by through the window of Abby's car and I saw...beauty. I remember realizing how stinkin beautiful the States are and thinking that the sunsets of Italy finally had a rival in the wide open skies of Wyoming, the cliffs of the Grand Canyon, and the mountains of Northern California.

I have always thought my older brother was strange for his disinterest in traveling to other countries because I believed that the most beautiful places in this world are not within the borders of the US. I was wrong.

Rachael says that she realized on the road trip why the US is called America the Beautiful. So true, Rae, so true. Maybe that's all I learned, and I'm okay with that.

Oh...but we did learn never to cram a stuffed earth tot inside the gas chamber on the dashboard. That makes it difficult to remember...ya know...not to run out of gas. Especially when you're rocking out to MGMT.

Hope does not put us to shame.

If I hope all my life for healing and never receive it, am I a fool? Some would say yes. Last year I probably would have said that that kind of hope is a waste of time. That it is easier and wiser to expect little and then be surprised if something great happens. But that is unbelief. Why? Because the Lord delivers. Even if the world thinks we are fools for hoping, who is the world to us anyways? We were saved from the world a long time ago.

When I was sick, I was afraid to say that the Lord would heal me because I was afraid to give off the impression that I had an understanding of the Lord's plans. I thought it implied that I knew what was best. Because to me, claiming healing was me looking God in the eyes and saying I deserved healing and needed healing. Neither were true.

I mention this now because all of these emotions have resurfaced this week as I have been caring for a young woman with an autoimmune disease. A disease which has left her bed ridden for over a year, and sick for over six years.

I see in her what was in me last year. A fear to dream. A fear to hope because so many times she has gained enough trust and energy to hope that her next treatment will work, only to be tragically disappointed. Her symptoms get better and worse with no logical explanation. Who would expect someone to hope in a situation like that? As I was thinking that very thought last night I remembered . . .Jesus expects that.

As we were talking late into last night, trying to get her mind off of her pain, I could not help but think of Romans 5:5, "...hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Hope does not put us to shame.
I felt silly wanting to tell her to keep hoping. It seemed so right for her to give up already. I mean. . .it has been years since she was healthy, so giving that sort of advice made me feel naive.

But there is no shame in believing against great odds that the Lord will. . . Provide, Heal, Comfort, Restore. Still - I am so human. I look at what is around me and judge the odds on that. I forget that what is inside me is much more powerful than what is around me. Every doubt and darkness pales in comparison to the power of the One inside me.

We are free to be undignified. We are free to hope when all worldly signs say we are foolish and naive. If we hope but never see the restoration we long for this side of paradise, we are still incredibly blessed. Look at Joni Eareckson Tada or any other number of believers that are suffering from chronic illness. I believe that those people see a side of the Lord's mercy and grace that those who are healthy may never see - and it is truly beautiful. And on the other hand, if we hope and are restored...well there is no other joy on earth like that. Believe me, I have felt it.

We will never be made a fool by believing in the God of creation. Hope does not put us to shame. I have to constantly disconnect what I see on the outside to what I know on the inside. If I forget,  my humanness takes over and it feels like there is nothing strong enough out there. Remember Abraham, Noah, and Mary - to name a few. Their hope against all logic, hope against all hope, did not put them to shame. And we serve the same God today that they served then.

Five things I learned from Nouwen

1. Loneliness is a precious gift. The Christian life does not take it away but cherishes it. Christians know deeply and intuitively that there will never be a friendship, community, man or woman that can satisfy our desire to be released from our lonely condition. Loneliness can be claimed as a source of human understanding because, "It is very difficult if not impossible for a healthy young man to realize what it means when nobody cares whether you live or die."  It connects us with the human condition.


2. "A Christian community is therefore a healing community not because wounds are cured and pains are alleviated, but because wounds and pains become openings or occasions for a new vision. Mutual confession then becomes a mutual deepening of hope, and sharing weakness becomes a reminder to one and all of the coming strength."

3."Perhaps the main task of the minister is to prevent people from suffering for the wrong reasons."

4."Hospitality is the ability to pay attention to the guest."

5. "We can only love because we were born out of love, we can only give because our life is a gift, and we can only make others free because we are set free by Him whose heart is greater than ours."

Henri Nouwen is unafraid to bring the personal, gritty parts of life to the surface because he fully believes that, "what is most personal is most universal." He made his life available through his writing and he is the only author I have read that rivals my dad in the amount of grace, poetry, and humility woven throughout writing.

"Have no fear of perfection. You'll never reach it. - Salvador Dali

I've been avoiding my blog because I haven't been able to live up to my post about accepting failure and living in freedom. But, if you tarry till you're better, you will never come at all.

One thing I definitely know is that there is good in everything. As I've been searching for the good in my failure I got to thinkin'. . .We have to let ourselves change. We have to let ourselves believe truth. Live, breath and walk in it. Especially if it is a truth we have never believed before. Because belief is what changes us - sets us free.

I held a 5-month old baby in my arms this week. I have probably held 3 babies in my lifetime and when I looked at her I couldn't help but think about how she was blank. Unscarred. Whole. Healthy. She doesn't yet know of the darkness of this world. It made me think of something I read recently about how we are as helpless before God as a newborn baby is to her mother. I think the analogy got me thinking because I am at a stand-still with job searching and I am not completely sure what I want to do - much less what I'm good at. It's comforting to remember my helplessness. And even better - its humbling. After graduation, there is so much talk and thought put into "what do I want to make of my life," or "where do I want to be in the next few years" that I start to think I really want to choose. When really - I'd rather He chose. I'd rather admit my helplessness and take the first open door and let Him guide me if it all goes wrong.

Perhaps depression is more common in the world today than it used to be. Now. . .I don't know a whole lot about it - but I do know that some people see depression the same way they see ADD: over-diagnosed. A fancy term for when people are sad and too lazy to figure things out. But I don't see it that way at all. I think it is a term to describe when the awareness of my helplessness becomes perverted by my pride. Helplessness which leads to hopelessness and then to darkness. A darkness that enters the soul. Many people (perhaps the people who think depression is over-diagnosed) are able to cut off their helplessness before they lose hope. Whether they lean on God or not, they can distract themselves from their doubts soon enough that they don't give up when they feel overwhelmed by their helplessness. But a whole lot of people can't.

We are supposed to feel helpless. On our own, we are lost. Our complete reliance on God is not weakness, it is beauty. It is grace. If I don't breath in every single day what it is that I believe I get to thinking that my helplessness is a flaw. And all my efforts send me inward into an attack of self. A loss of hope. A world of darkness. A deep depression.

I am a wreck of a person.
But I have a hope beyond myself.

Above all, love each other deeply.

Ten or so months ago I received a phone call from my good friend, Will Mott. He asked me to have lunch with him between classes. This was strange because, although Will is one of my best guy friends, we don't have lunch together. We actually don't do anything together just the two of us. I met him for lunch downtown fully expecting him to talk to me about my best friend, Liz, and tell me he was upset with her. Liz and Will had been having strange little disagreements in the preceding weeks and I thought Will might finally explain to me why. Well - he did. He told me he wanted to date her. He told me he had wanted to date her for over a year.

I walked home from that lunch replaying every interaction Liz and Will had ever had over and over in my head. He had caught me completely off-guard. I was given strict instructions not to share this new knowledge with anyone and when you live with five of your best friends who share everything with each other, its quite a challenge.

Liz and Will started dating a week or so later and it wasn't long before most of their friends (and both of them) knew they were a good match. I still remember the day she told me she was in love with him.

I cried the night Will asked Lizzy out on their first date. I think most of the Pope Street girls did. It was a beautiful picture of the Lord showing his daughter that he knew her, cherished her and had plans for her. It was during a time that Liz was struggling to believe in the Lord's provision, and I was struggling to believe that any of our prayers and pleas were being heard that year. The last month or so in our house had been hell.

I cried last week when Will called me on the phone and said first thing, "I want to marry your best friend." I had to sit down on the floor and catch my breath. It was months before I thought there would be any talk of engagement. But more than that - those are words everybody wants to hear about the people they love most in the world.

I realized a couple days ago that for years I have been praying for Will. I have prayed for the man that my best friend would marry and asked, above all, that he would be a man of God. I could not approve more. Will is one of the most joyful and creative people I know. For him to marry the girl who teaches me more every day about the reality and attainability of joy is more than perfect. So congratulations Liz and Will. I can't wait to celebrate with you on your wedding day.

The gift of failure.

When I boarded the plane for Pennsylvania I felt like I had made a mess of everything. I know I've mentioned before that failure seemed to be a theme throughout my senior year, but as the summer played out it was especially ridiculous while I remained unemployed and moved back in with my parents. And it wasn't that I knowingly made a lot of bad decisions or anything. I tried to 'follow all the rules' and seek wisdom from the right places in every decision I remember making. But at some point last year I lost my ability to tell up from down. The black and white I used to live in became grey and all my decisions turned to guesswork.

But I figured working at camp might be good. It would at least be a break from unemployment. Within a week I knew something else was going on. When my campers first started pushing the rules, being disrespectful, etc. I thought that this would be great chance to learn how to deal with kids. How to talk to them, have fun with them, listen to them, discipline them. Nope. Wrong again. My summer at camp quickly became another lesson about failure. But better than that - a lesson about accepting it and not letting it break my heart.

Since camp was a job it made it a little easier. If I lost my temper with my girls I was not doing my job well; I needed to do my job well. So I either learned quickly how not to be discouraged by their attitudes and complete disrespect, or I went home without a paycheck. Sounds like Survivor? That's because that's what it was like.

Camp magnified my post-graduation-identity-crisis and forced me to find answers. Quick. I learned not to take people's criticism so personally. I learned that even if everything bad someone said about me was true it didn't matter. I learned that every single day I have to remember who the Lord thinks I am and cling to that like its my job. Unless I am grounded in the truth that, yes I'm a failure and yes, I am redeemed, I cannot live. That sounds like something I should've known and heard all my life, but I was never in a situation of such discouragement and self-consciousness before that required me to know and remember those specific truths.

I thought when I got home from PA I would need my parents to love on me and remind me daily that I'm not worthless. That I'm not unlovable or disgusting or completely and totally annoying. But I didn't need it. As I thought I was being ripped apart, the Lord was actually building me up. He was showing me all the ways the world could see me, some true and some untrue. And he was letting me know that it didn't matter. It doesn't matter if everyone thinks I'm ugly or creepy or boring because HE doesn't think that.

I know I messed up A LOT of things last year. I tried my best not to. But- its alot like my parents always told me in school after a failing grade. They asked me if I studied hard and did my best. And when I honestly replied that I had, they said that was great. It wasn't about the grade it was about the effort. If I am seeking the Lord's wisdom and I screw everything up. . .I am still okay.

He's perfect, not me. I am going to try to live like him. When I mess that up I am going to remember that. . .of course I did. I'm not Him. I'm not capable of perfection. My story - whether I live well or I make messy mistakes - isn't the point. And why live in guilt when He doesn't want me to? He did everything that was needed to free me from that a long time ago.

I am a complete failure and I am completely free.

rambles and such

I'm having trouble writing. I'm actually having trouble thinking. I keep looking forward to the day I'm back in Georgia where my heart will feel home. And then I expect I will be able to sort my thoughts and share what has been bumping around in my head. But I have a secret fear that none of my thoughts from living in Pennsylvania will ever be sorted. Because there is so much. So much I'm thinking and seeing for the first time. I'm afraid when I'm finally taken out of this atmosphere I'll forget all about it. I hope not, because then why did I come after all?

I think heaven is a lot like college. Or Athens. I wonder if many people feel that way about their college experience. But really - I don't write that flippantly. I really think its true and this is why: Community.

Okay. . .I know community is a buzzword right now and I hesitate using overused words, especially when I write. So let's pretend we're at L'abri Fellowship and I'll define it for you.

Community is. . .sharing life. It is cookouts and book clubs and long talks over cream soda about what is on your mind. It is being willing to borrow. To depend. To share not only what you have but who you are. And for Christians, who you are is who God has let you be, who God has made you to be. So sharing yourself is really sharing Him.

Now - the great thing about college is that I didn't really have a choice. I didn't have to choose to live in community; I was forced to live in community. To rely. To serve. To give and to get. And now I am terrified of ever living outside of that sort of love. And the reason I am terrified is because I don't think we were ever intended to leave it.

But I think now we are called to leave it.
I think...

I've been reading through the New Testament books written by Paul and there is something I'm not getting. Paul doesn't seem joyful, and yet he mentions joy as a fruit of the Spirit. He mentions it a lot. Paul yearns for heaven. For life on the other side of glory. And yet he has stepped out of his Christian community and chosen to preach the gospel. And sometimes he is in places of darkness. And sometimes he aches for the Church.

My thoughts are all over the place.
What I'm thinking is: Every Christian needs to leave Christian community for awhile. And when I say leave it I really mean leave it. Because when you live in Christian community all your life you can rely on it for all your strength without even realizing it. And that sounds good until you realize that doesn't neccessarily mean you're relying on the Lord at all. And there is a chance that, really, you are only living a life honorable to the Lord because all of your friends are, and not because you have chosen to believe and then take on everything that goes with that.

I'm aching to be back in my community. But I can't help but feel like I am supposed to leave it. At least for awhile.

Exploring

Kelly and I explored a couple adandoned buildings today...an old church and a motel.

No matter what, motels are always slightly creepy.

My summer (so far) in photographs.

Every week or so I get an off day and this week I ventured into the city with Kelly and Jordan. Turns out - I'm falling in love with New York City. Even though its a little too big for my taste, there is so much history there. And history is one of the things I find most beautiful in the world.

But then, I returned to my life at camp. . .

Oh my crazy, crazy girls.

Learning

I took a job last minute at a camp in Pennsylvania. Last minute because I heard about the camp for the first time only 36 hours before I was on a plane headed for New Jersey. I sat on the runway at the airport in Charlotte for 6 hours joking to myself about how, if I hadn’t believed in total depravity before that moment, being trapped on a plane beside a 45 year-old woman that doesn’t know how to communicate without complaining assured me that it was true. Now I see that those 6 hours on a delayed flight was a teaser for what was coming.

The camp is 7 weeks long. Campers come and stay for the whole summer. I live in a bunk with eleven fifth grade girls and two awesome co-counselors from Chicago. I teach six periods of photography every day and when I’m not doing that I’m with the girls from my bunk.

The last seven days have been the hardest I remember having in a long time. Who knew a fifth grade girl could make you feel worthless? I guess I like to think that at twenty-three I am secure enough in who the Lord has made me into that someone’s negative opinion of me won’t shake me. I was wrong.

But I think I can survive this. And yes, that sounds dramatic. But today was the first day I had the strength to stick this out. The strength to be ridiculed and torn down by a group of girls I am dying to break through to. The strength to come up with creative and fun photo projects for kids who refuse to admit that anything is good enough for their time. The strength to love people that I struggle to find any good in.

But as my mom reminded me today – the Lord did that. I don’t think I have been given an opportunity like this before. An opportunity to love because I’m called to and not at all because of the way someone loves me back. With privileged 10-year olds who have never gone without anything they’ve wanted, I struggle to find any reason to treat them better than they treat me. And then … I remember the reason. And it hurts, but its real. And it’s evidence of the Lord’s love in my life and his hand in my story. Or my hand in His.

I got a chance to pray over all the girls’ beds the morning before they came. I prayed over the girls by name. And a couple times a day, usually in a discouraging moment when I consider hopping a plane back to GA, I really look at them and think about how, maybe, no one has ever prayed over them by name. And maybe that is why I’m here.

senior exit

I went on a walk last night with Paige and got the chance to explain to her my senior exit project for interior design. And why I care about it. And I have been wanting to write that here - mostly so I wouldn't forget it, but also because sometimes I need to prove to myself that there is meaning in the way I spend time.

We were told that our senior exit project should solve a social issue. And over Christmas break I got to thinking about Athens and what issues there are that interior design could improve. Homelessness was the first thing that came to mind. But I didn't want to design a shelter for Athens or a half-way house. I wanted to get to the root of the problem and see if I had anything to say about it.

So I researched affordable housing projects. I researched how design affects the way people feel. And how maybe the place where a person lives plays a part in their ambitions, motivations and, later, in the way that person lives his or her life. I considered redesigning the government housing on Baxter and Broad - but that didn't seem like enough of an answer. And then I thought about what it is that really puts people on the streets. And I believe that, in part, it is the loss of community.

Without someone to do life with, whether it be family or friends, people lose motivation. We were intended to live in community. And yeah, community is a big buzzword in Christianity today so I cringe to use it so much here, but I do think that a need for community is real, and biblical. And obvious - just look at middle-to-upper class depression in the suburbs. There has got to be a connection there.

So I found the old cotton mill on Pulaski Street a couple miles from downtown and designed an affordable housing community. More than a quarter of all Athens-area residents are living below the poverty line (which means they are paying more than 30% of their annual income on housing). Affordable housing is a definite need. My redesign of this sweet brick building on Pulaski contains seven private apartments for families - preferably dual-earner families working minimum wage jobs. Along with the private living space, the building now contains a community center with a library, study, workroom, laundry facility, TV/seating area, dining area, and group kitchen. The occupants of The Mill will share evening meals, with a different family cooking each night of the week. This frees up time each night to spend as a family or in community. There is also a garden, outdoor patio and grilling area, playground, and basketball court.

In society today, single parents are now required to do what grandparents, aunts, uncles and neighbors all used to do together. Living in community can fix that. Single mothers are no longer raising their kids alone; older couples are no longer cut off from the community they were used to; new married couples are surrounded by families they can learn from an serve.

For the last two years, I have struggled to find meaning in interior design. It is hard to spend thirty hours a week in the studio designing hotels and restaurants that will never exist. And even if they did - I wouldn't believe in them being built. But at some point in the last two years I opened my eyes to the need for design. And now it is hard to think of doing anything else.

When I graduated from high school my brother wrote me a letter encouraging me to ask questions. To seek out answers. To rebel a little. To read a book that's not a classic. To break into Sanford stadium, join a club, take classes that don't have anything to do with my major, and to join a movement. We laughed about that yesterday and my mom asked me what movement I joined. I didn't have an answer. But I know what movement I want to join. Currently one in seven people in the world live in a slum or refugee camp. There are architects and designers around the world joining in the effort to design for this humanitarian crises - to provide shelter where it is most needed.

I want in.

But until then, I'll be putting my BFA to good use working at bar in Athens, or something sweet like that.

Grace.

I didn't think I would ever write this post. And by God's grace I got to a point in my heart when I didn't need to. And because of that everything is more beautiful.

Could I be a little more ambiguous?

I came home early from class today and rummaged through the cabinet for something to eat because it's the end of the month and money is running low. I found black beans and corn, which actually turned out to be a great meal. No one was home to talk to while I ate so I actually turned on the TV. If you know my house then you know its a weird day when the TV is turned on. After four straight minutes of pressing buttons and trying to get the stinking guide to stop covering the screen, the TV landed on that show about baby stories. I don't know what its called and it is embarrassing to admit that I left it on that channel - because I'm not a huge fan of babies or reality TV. But the TV had defeated me so I sat down and watched this lady talk about how she was having her second child and was worried about her pregnancy. She had undergone a liver transplant at age 13 and went on to explain that women who have organ transplants usually don't carry their child to full term. And all of the sudden I'm covering my face with my hands and weeping. But this time it's tears of joy.

I don't have PSC.

A liver biopsy came back last week with only mild evidence of inflammation in my liver.

I'm not going to need a liver transplant.

The pain I have experienced for the last few months is not going to last my whole life.

I can have kids without worrying about being sick and missing out on parts of their childhood.

I can get married without feeling like a burden.

I can travel.

I can take risks.

I can live, actually live. And it wasn't until this week that I realized I had somehow forgotten that I could.

But what is better than all of that is that for the first time in two years I believe in the character of God without having to struggle and wrestle and question. I knew He is faithful, but He has given me the grace to see it in my life. For at least this one moment, my definition of good is aligned with His. I feel like I'm drowning in His grace.

I have a million thoughts to work through. I can't do the Lord's work any justice by trying to explain it here. All I can say is that He is who He says He is and it is not because I am healed. He would have been the same God if I was being rushed to the hospital right now for emergency surgery. But He has given me the gift of himself this week. And that is what I really wanted.

I constantly doubt the Lord. I don't really doubt that He exists, but I do doubt that He loves. I doubt that He listens or even cares. Sometimes I am fully convinced He uses us at His own disposal and thinks nothing of our own good. And in the last year it has become harder and harder to believe Him. As I have looked down at my swollen hands or across the room at my best friend who I nearly lost, I have almost given up. But He hasn't let me give up completely. He gave me enough strength to hold on. To believe that He is enough. That He is fighting for me in the best possible way.

I came to a point this year when I accepted He wasn't going to save me in this world. That my health wasn't going to get better and it was now up to me to believe that disease is the best. He helped me believe that. And if I get sick again, I will believe it again. But instead of Him deserting me like I deserve, and instead of Him holding my hand and walking me through sickness as I expected - He made me well. Not my body.

My soul.

My heart.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts. "

If I never feel the amount of joy I have felt this week ever again in my life I won't be surprised. Because this joy doesn't come from this world.

and we're back

I have learned a lot about forgiveness in the last week. About how it is an action and sometimes we have to do it over and over because when we hurt the pain snaps back on and resentment can start over. I wish I could forgive like the Lord does - forgetting completely our sins and seeing as as clean each time we repent. But thank God he is patient with us and lets us start over when we need to try to forgive again and again.

I am reading the book When Jesus Weeps by Joni Eareckson Tada right now. I'm almost done. No book I have read before has spoken so perfectly into what I am questioning and unsure of about God, and suffering, and pain.

All I want to do is write section by section what I learned from Joni's book. But that'd be ridiculous. So, I can say, I have learned that hurting is okay. And that it isn't always our fault. Sometimes, yeah, it is a consequence of being an idiot. Or being selfish or just plain inconsiderate. But sometimes we hurt simply because we live in a place that has fallen from glory.

I watched Good Will Hunting for the first time over the break, and I'm not recommending it although it does make one wonder why Robin Williams has yet to win an oscar for anything he has done (Dead Poet's Society...come on people. That's epic.) In one of the last scenes Robin William's character looks at Matt Damon and tells him that the pain and abuse in his life isn't Matt's fault. And he keeps repeating it over and over, "It's not your fault." And Matt Damon starts off saying, "Yeah, I know" every time as a reply. And then he stops replying and you watch him really get it for the first time - that the abuse is not his fault. The pain. The abandonment. And Matt Damon loses it and its the bets man-crying scene ever.

I didn't think a whole lot about that scene when I first saw it, other than that the acting was fantastic. But as I have been learning this week about. . .a million things. . .that scene came to my mind. Because to me, I associate pain with sin. And I still think the two are associated. I mean, without sin there wouldn't be any pain in the world. But does that mean that every thing in our lives that causes us pain is a direct result of our sin? Can I trace back over my life and pinpoint the sin I committed which caused my disease? Most people would say no. Most people would say that they don't know why sickness happens, but to blame it on ourselves is not the right answer. But then why are people so impatient with people who are hurting?

I think a lot of the time Jesus is Robin Williams' character, looking us in the eyes and saying, "It's not your fault." Because when we give our lives to Jesus, we give ourselves away to sickness, abuse, abandonment and we say that since we know the Lord is good, we know that anything he works in our lives is good. But the best part is, we also give ourselves away to full joy, contentment, forgiveness, and the ability to love.

I am starting to believe I am better off with a liver disease. With full body muscle pain. With tears in my eyes almost every night. Because I have never worshiped God to the depth that I have in the last month, even when I was healthy, strong, and content. There is nothing as painful and beautiful to me as singing, "nothing is impossible with you" when I can barely get the words out smoothly because my voice is hoarse and has been for 2 months now. I can't wait for the day when I am strong enough to sing to him with a full voice, but I think for now, the hoarse man-voice I'm rocking is much more beautiful.