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.