Financial responsibility according to Jesus

Of course nothing in my life goes smoothly all at once. Shocking, right?

I am now a statistic, just one of the millions of college grads out there in need of a full-time job to pay the bills. Actually, the only bill I need money to pay for right now is my credit card bill. Everything else...well, such is the privilege of living at Hotel Mom and Dad. Some essentials, like food and rent, are gladly paid for. Go ahead and judge me if you want. At least I can have my cat for a few more months before I come up with some way to get the heck out of this town.

I miss having regular hours. I miss having cash in my pocket. As I am lamenting my sad, sad situation, I get a letter in the mail. It's from a girl in my Bible Study group, asking for financial support for a mission trip to Amsterdam next spring. A trip I really really really wanted to go on, but alas, it costs money I do not have.

So I'm a little jealous of her right now...pathetically so, since I have been to Europe more times than most people I know. But still. I am jealous. And, at first, a tad resentful. When it was my turn to raise support for a church trip, my first thought toward the whole process was, How can I, a broke college grad, ask other broke college grads to give me money?? I didn't want to do it, but I sent a few support letters for my summer in Colorado. I didn't get many responses. But, as God would have it, my Jewish grandparents ended up funding the rest of the support money I needed to go. My Jewish grandparents. For a Christian leadership program! Clearly, my God knows how to take care of people in ways they least expect.

Meanwhile, I vented to Josh the other day "This whole year is turning out to be a total waste! What's the point of taking a year off from school if I'm just sitting on my butt drinking coffee at Scribbles all day not making any money?!"

He just stared at me. "So, uh...you mean the whole year was a waste? Really?"

I realize what I've just said, and immediately backtrack. "I mean, financially speaking. Obviously this year isn't a complete waste, since I met you and all..." Luckily I didn't have to explain myself too much, since he knew what I really meant ;) But still, I am more than a little upset at how this year is not what I thought it would be. Then again, as Josh rightly pointed out, it has also turned out to be a year of unexpected gifts...so I guess I can't complain too much :)

With that in mind, I decided to rethink the whole support-raising situation for my friend. I know how stressful it is to try and tactfully ask people for money. No matter how much you stress that it's for a good cause, the bottom line is, you are still asking people for money. It's not an easy thing to do. But I know the importance of this trip. I know there will be some sight-seeing involved, but I know that the greater purpose of it is to bring a much-needed message to a spiritually impoverished nation in need of hope.

I have exactly twenty dollars in my wallet right now. All I really plan to spend it on is coffee. If I give my friend my last twenty dollars, I pray that God will use that act of giving not just to help her be able to go to Amsterdam, but to teach me a lesson on faithfulness as well. I'm not expecting to give my friend money and have God reward me by dropping a check with the amount for a whole semester of grad school tuition right out of the sky. I know He doesn't work that way. But what I do expect is that He will use my donation to show me that there are plenty of people more in need than I am, and if I can use what He's given me to help them, then surely He will use whatever resources he sees fit to take care of my needs as well.

It seems like such an archaic thing to do...to trust an invisible being with my financial needs. But, as one friend of mine pointed out earlier today, how can I trust God with my eternal salvation, but not with smaller things like money? I guess, when put that way, my fears don't make much sense.

And with that, I enclose my last twenty dollars to my beautiful, passionate, wonderful sister in Christ, Anna Michelle. I pray your trip is life-changing and full of surprises :)

Dissecting the Infamous Cliche

I confess...I am about as cliche as they come. All English-major knowledge aside, I am such a sucker for them. Maybe I'm a true romantic, maybe I'm cheesy, maybe I'm flat-out ridiculous...most likely all of the above. How often do you have to say something before it becomes just another expression to be stowed in a generational vault?

It makes me wonder, then, for all its many uses and contexts, how "I love you" never seems to get old.

"I miss you" still means your presence is notably absent.

Can we ever say these things too much?

Maybe we can. Maybe we need to start considering how our actions line up with these words.

Maybe love is accepting that chivalry has merely been forgotten, not killed. It just needs to be brought back.

Maybe caring for someone is more than offering practical advice, but refusing to cringe when they cry so hard that their snot gets all over your shirt. Because what ordinary person can handle someone at their worst, and consequently appreciate them more at their best?

It's easy to love and care for those who show the same qualities to you...anyone can do that. It doesn't take any extraordinary talent or depth of character. But loving others who look at you as someone who isn't good enough to even be the scum on the bottom of their sneakers...that's real love. It's often mistakenly labeled as insanity or even codependency. But so many of us are afraid to put ourselves out there, to be chewed up and spit back out.

I have a better understanding of what this looks like having been a waitress, believe it or not. I don't want to be someone who bends over backwards for customers who treat me like a lower-class citizen because I'm desperate for a tip, and don't want them calling my manager on me. I want to be someone who willingly -- maybe someday, when I'm a little more mature, even joyfully -- serves others because I understand how much of a chore it is for others to love the worst in me.

And of course I am well aware of what the worst of me looks like. Denying it won't hide its existence. But accepting that fact about me makes it a little bit easier to take the baby steps toward forgiving someone for even the most vile of offenses...because my own disgust for the weaknesses of other people doesn't make me any better.

This is my cliched sermonette for the evening :)

And this is the guy who has reminded me that chivalry is still alive and well:

Whoever came up with the idea for ugly Christmas sweater parties is a genius. I'm kind of a sucker for those too.

All the many roads we took to get here

I think often of how certain events in my life don't seem to make sense, yet somehow they connect like puzzle pieces in ways I never expected. It happens often over the course of several years. All my journals are proof of this, and that is why I hold on to them, even the embarrassing ones :)

I meet and talk to a lot of people who feel discouraged that so many of their prayers go unanswered. I blame the "fast" society that we live in, where everything is instantaneous. You don't even have to get out of your car to return library books anymore (at least not in my home town, you don't). We're so used to -- entitled, even -- to having the things we want happen when we want them to, and God forbid we have to be patient, well, then maybe it just isn't worth it (yes, I realize the irony that this is coming from me, the most impatient person in the world. I accept this. What can I say, I am a work in progress!).

When I first became a Christian three years ago, I wrestled with the whole "sharing your faith" (or whatever you want to call it) aspect of it. I didn't understand it. I mean, we all know and despise bible thumpers. I grew up Jewish, I have been thumped by many a bible in my time. But I misunderstood the concept. It's not about converting people. It's about sharing a message of hope, but only with those who are willing and ready to hear it.

I naturally assumed this would be my worst struggle with Leadership Training in Colorado this summer. I knew it would be uncomfortable. But then, in March of my senior year, I ended a destructive relationship I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I had to be broken -- I knew that's what God was doing -- to understand "Oh, okay, so this message of hope that I'm supposed to be preaching actually has some purpose to it." I mean, why go through your life hating yourself, feeling worthless because the guy you love hurts you and is now with someone else, when you can survive and thrive instead? Not really a complicated choice, is it? Well, it was when I realized that finding my purpose means falling apart first. Only Jesus is the answer for the healing I needed. I don't care if people disagree with me. I'm still gonna offer it anyway, the same way other people would recommend counseling, ice cream, and Oprah.

So the evangelism training for LT became less of a big deal than it was before; instead, healing was my top priority. And, lo and behold, sharing my faith became easier, because I had motivation for it that was more genuine than simply "I'm a Christian and I have to do this." Broken people are the best ministers to other broken people, I think. And so far, I think it's quite effective. As I said, I'm not on a mission to convert anybody. I'm just sharing what I'm learning, and how it's changing my life for the better.

So fast forward to this fall semester: I surprised myself by voluntarily participating in my church's outreach program. We basically go around surveying people about their spiritual beliefs (if they want to). We've had some really good conversations so far. If nothing else, we've proven that not all Christians have an agenda to boost the number of congregants in their churches and put more money in the collection plate.

Anyway...long story short...it is because of my willingness to push through the awkwardness of talking to strangers in order to share a valuable message that I was in the student center and ran into an old friend...and old friend who, to my great shock, actually ended up becoming more than just a friend...and I am finally starting to remember what happiness feels like again. God has blessed me so much. I don't deserve it, but I am so grateful.

But as rewarding as this journey has been, it didn't happen without unintentionally causing pain to someone else. Someone I still deeply care about, even if he no longer believes it. He has no idea how truly sorry I am. But I am praying that God does healing in his journey too, and someday in the future, all the roads will meet and this craziness of life will actually make some sense.

SB is 23!

So, I'm now 23. Have looked 17 for about 5 years now...or maybe younger than that. Young enough to be asked by two different waitresses if I wanted a kids menu (a KIDS menu???). They say I'll be greatful for these assumptions by the time I'm 40...too bad that's another 17 years from now.

Alwell. It was a fun time. I got to see some close friends in sunshine-y Texas. Then I came back to Ohio where the temperature was 50 degrees lower, and the sun almost nonexistant. Surprise surprise.

Sharon and I have the same birthday!



She's exactly 3 years older than me

As for gifts, I got time with amazing friends...

And...last but not least...

Yeah, that's right. Pretzel earrings!! Apparently Justin knows me well...not to mention that the A&M shirt, the earrings, AND the pretzel and pickle Christmas ornaments were ALL stuffed inside a pretzel box.

Don't worry, I got to actually eat the pretzels that came with the box too :)

Oh, and this...

That sucker is THRICE thickness of an Auntie Anne's pretzel in Ohio...I was impressed. Then again, "everything is bigger in Texas!" I should have known. Forgive me, I'm just an ignorant ol' yankee.

The big dreams of a broke college graduate: a rant

I hate how everything worth doing in this world costs money. The people who are most qualified for professions that involve saving lives, curing illnesses, or bringing justice to crime victims are stuck in debt because everything is so damn expensive. At the same time, we can't devalue the "working man" jobs as alternatives for those who never had the chance to pursue higher education because those are the jobs that we never think about, but we would be screwed if they did not exist: the garbage men, the postal workers, the plumbers, the mechanics...

I got into this debate with my mom a couple days ago: is it necessary for some students to fall through the cracks, so to speak, so that we have people to fulfill those job positions? Is this sucky economy locking the newest graduating classes into jobs that may not allow them to use their full potential, since all the higher paying jobs require training that intelligent but indebted students just can't afford?

I am writing this, if you couldn't already tell, from the perspective of a disgruntled college graduate who is struggling to choose between a grad school with a perfect chaplaincy program, but has a tuition cost that will require selling off my firstborn to pay for it, and one with a not-so-specific-to-my-chosen-field-of-study program with a surprisingly reasonable tuition cost...and my heart is torn. The decision about which grad school I end up going to can't be made solely based on the cost, can it?

Perhaps I should start spending my tip money on lottery tickets, put out an ad for a sugar daddy on Craigslist, or sacrifice my dream of an apartment with a wall-to-wall bookshelf and settle for living in a shoebox. I am already feeling jaded and bitter about a future that has barely even started. *Sigh*

Then again, Joan of Arc was a fifteenth-century peasant with zero education who was somehow able to lead an army and change the world. I mean, if that was doable, then surely I can find a way to impact the world without having to sell my soul to pay off my inevitable debt...right? Right?

I had this picture in my head/Of where I ought to be and when/But it's just like the good advice/That John gave when he said/Life is what happens while we're busy making plans... "Sandcastles," Kate Voegele.

On a positive note, here's a little puppy cuteness to brighten your day:

"Why you put me in da sink, Mom?"

Answer: Because we found you sleeping in your own pee, you silly pup!

Kim Kardashian and homosexuals didn't ruin marriage...we all did

I hate to jump on the "Let's hate on Kim Kardashian for making a mockery of marriage" bandwagon, mostly because all the punch lines have been shared to death already. But this picture on my Facebook newsfeed got me thinking:

I agree with it, for the most part. There is a lot of hypocrisy about the sanctity of marriage being perpetrated by straight people. But using a celebrity like Kim as a means to expose this hypocrisy is wrong for two reasons:

One, I think it's safe to assume that 72 day long marriages are rare among average, non-famous people. Whether or not you believe that the divorce was planned right along with the wedding for publicity's sake, the reality is that Kim's fame alone makes her an unlikely candidate for a long, happy marriage. We all know that celebrity marriages tend to have an extremely limited shelf life, as they are often made on a foundation of jello instead of genuine commitment. I mean, if you're bordering on becoming a has-been before you even start to get gray hair, a high-budget wedding is a great way to get your name back in the press.

Secondly, getting back to my point about how Kim's divorce makes the debate on gays ruining marriage seem silly: the quote from the above picture makes the faulty assumption that divorce is not a big deal to Christians. Obviously, Christians can and do get divorced, but that's no excuse for the church to suddenly change its stance. Jesus' teachings don't change just because society does, and "everybody's doing it" is no excuse for down-playing the seriousness of marital commitment.

I'm not about to argue why I don't believe in gay marriage, but from the Christian perspective, I will say that it isn't fair at all to blame homosexuals for ruining the sanctity of marriage. That is one thing that picture gets right: straight people, Christian or not, are doing a great job of that all on their own.

The gay marriage debate will go on, but in order for their stance to be taken seriously, Christians need reminders on what "Till death do us part" means just as much as everybody else, before they open their mouths to protest the nuptials of their homosexual neighbors.

Long story short, human beings are fickle creatures, regardless of sexual orientation, who want to have their wedding cake and eat it too. And in other news, water is wet.


Last but not least: WE GOT OUR PUPPIES! Introducing Oliver and Dodger, the newest Caplin critters:

The new brothers first meeting: "What is this thing, and why is it in my space???"

I'm in love!!!



A huge step forward

Well I'm a little late in posting this, since I was overwhelmed with giddyness about Fall Getaway. But now, I'm all caught up on the "Got Consent" Facebook page and this article marks the beginning of a new era.

"The Uniform Crime Report Subcommittee voted unanimously to change the definition of rape, which had not been changed for 80 years (!) and rape will now be defined as, “penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.”

To put it in simple terms: by changing the official definition of rape, more rapes will be officially counted, thereby allowing more resources to be targeted towards prevention and prosecution."

While this is a change that is absolutely necessary, I can't help but think about the new can of worms that has just been opened. Rape is extremely difficult to prove in many cases as it is, especially within the context of intimate relationships. I could be wrong about this, but I would assume that with non-intercourse rapes, there would be less evidence to collect in a rape kit...which could make for a more difficult case to take to trial.

This is not to say that these other forms of assault should not be reported...but based on the research I've done, newspaper articles I've read, and talks with a few friends who work and/or volunteer at domestic violence clinics, I have very little faith that the current justice system actually delivers in many of these cases...not that I can really blame it entirely. If there's not enough evidence, there's not enough evidence...and I do believe that it is a better alternative to let a guilty person walk free than place a potentially innocent one behind bars.

Now that the legal definition of rape has been expanded, I can only hope that more people, men and women alike, will educate themselves and understand that the extent to which a person is violated doesn't really matter. What matters is that no one has the right to defile what is not rightfully theirs. Humans do not belong to each other, our bodies are not commodities to be used at anyone's disposal. We do not value them enough.

This isn't completely related, but thought-provoking nonetheless:

Dying of thirst by the side of the fountain

So I just got back from another awesome fall retreat with my church, where the theme was why truth matters: this "truth" being who we are, who we were created to be, and how the lies the world tells about what we need to have a secure identity impact the way we live.

It's not like we don't know that the mechanisms used in advertising are often harmful: it's always assumed that you can never lose too much weight, never have teeth that are too white, never have hair that's too shiny, and if you don't have these things, you're not worth as much as someone who does. Someone else's success is often the catalyst for someone else's harm. I don't stop and wonder often enough how truly damaging it is to just take in these messages so quickly, and believe the truth in those more than the truth God says about me: that I'm unique, fearfully and purposefully made. I give so much lip service to that truth without really, truly believing it. Why is that?

I have to assume that the speaker, Tammy Smith (whose book Soul Healing has changed my former roommate's life, so she tells me) was partly motivated by anger as well as passion to make a career out of speaking on this topic. It must be frustrating, maybe even infuriating, to know that so many people are wasting their lives trying to look or become like something they simply weren't meant to be.

Many people go through their whole lives never figuring out where their true gifts lie because they're too busy copying other people's. God had something specifically in mind for every person he created, he's the only one who can truly fulfill a person's hunger for love, and yet so many people just don't realize it. It's like 90% of the world is dying of thirst by the side of the fountain, and it's such a senseless tragedy. Who wouldn't feel angry knowing that?

Sitting in that session, I realized something obvious: I can't afford to live a wasted life. And yet...I have, by holding on to misplaced anger. Anger over things that I can't change. I can't go back and re-live the day I met the person who is the cause of almost every insecurity I have today...it's over, it's done. So what am I doing about it now?

I hope that one day, as all that anger fades and I experience true joy again, that I'll still remember the hurt I once felt, and never ever forget it, because there will still be countless men and women trapped where I once was...and just remembering that dark pit I once lived in, even if I'm not living in it anymore, is what will make my message genuine. The fight against the enemy's lies is vicious, ugly, and painful, but I can't think of anything else more worthy to do with my life than that.

I want to be someone who remembers what God says is true about me even on days when I hate the way I look and don't want to go outside; on days when I feel fat and bloated and cranky and PMS-y and no one wants to be around me. Moods fluctuate, trends change, but my identity in Christ should not. And the sooner I start living like I truly believe this, the sooner I can be of use to help other people see the futility of chasing satisfaction in temporary things that will only let them down.

What true joy looks like...pretending to be five years old again on a swing set, where grad school applications and the stresses of job hunting are far, faaaar away...

Inexcusable excuses, part 2

One of the reasons I rarely go to see "chick flicks" anymore (besides the ridiculous jacked up prices of movie tickets) is because of the same objectifying material that is recycled over and over again. Consider the stereotypical female protagonist: a self-sufficient and obviously attractive woman who, for reasons us average women cannot understand, just can't seem to find the right man.

Cue the stereotypical male antagonist: a beer-guzzling, skirt-chasing sleezebag who sleeps with anything that moves. And every viewer knows, even before the opening credits finish, that these two archtypes will somehow end up together. The best, most current example of this ridiculousness is The Ugly Truth, with Katherine Heigl and Gerard Butler.

The lack of originality is actually the least of my frustrations: it's the never-ending cycle of dehumanizing rhetoric, and the expectation that eventually, the so-called "strong, independent" woman will give in to it. It's all a part of my new fascination: rape culture. Consider how many times you've heard remarks like these:

"I'm going to make it with her."

"Tonight's the night I'm going to score."

"What a piece of meat."

Pretty commonplace, right? Consider these statistics as well:

One in twelve male students surveyed had committed acts that met the legal definitions of rape or attempted rape.

84 percent of those men who committed rape said that what they did was definitely not rape. (http://www.aaets.org/arts/art13.htm)

For the record, I'm well aware that men think about sex. A lot (as do women). Being tempted is not wrong. Wanting sex is not wrong. What is inexcusable, however, is the acceptance of women being treated as commodities or prizes. I don't know why, in this day and age, it is socially acceptable for men to think that way. It's inexcusable that there are men who resort to coercive tactics to get what they want, truly believing that as long as they aren't using excessive force, they aren't actually committing a crime.

This may leave many people wondering, how exactly does a guy know when a woman is giving consent? Well honestly, a guy should know a woman well enough to know what she wants and what she doesn't want. And if he doesn't, well...consider it an incentive to actually get to know a woman before deciding to sleep with her. Sure, it takes time, but it's a better alternative to being labeled a sex offender.

The more I research this, the more convinced I am that this is the direction I am meant to go as a chaplain (assuming that's still what I want to do once I get my Masters in divinity). I don't know if women's clinics/counseling centers for abuse survivors are in need of counselors in the clergy, but I am so sick of seeing women trying to find their identities in men, even if those men fail to treat them as the daughters of God that they really are. The lies this world will believe just break my heart. I am making it my mission to do something about it.

Inexcusable excuses

Most women I know have heard these warnings at some point in their lives: Always guard your drink at parties. Don't lead a guy on by wearing a short skirt. Never walk alone at night.

And just about everyone has heard this expression: "Boys will be boys" (and curiously, there is no established age limit on "boys," as if some men are incapable of growing up).

This dichonomy has become a fascination to me lately. The above warnings may come from a well-intentioned place, but they are misguided. They seem to imply that a woman could be partially responsible for being assaulted or harassed. Yet in this culture, men are excused, to an extent, for disrespectful behavior because they're supposedly wired to be perverts.

If I were a guy, I'd be highly offended by the implication that my brain is located next to my balls. And yet, so many men revel in it, because it's such a convenient fallback. If society conditions men to be slaves to their hormones, then how can they ever be taken seriously as intelligent, moral human beings? Furthermore, if the woman is always blamed for somehow "provoking" unwanted attention to herself, then what is she expected to do...never go out in public, or dress like she time-traveled from the 18th century if she does?

The way I see it, we are asking the wrong questions. We need to stop questioning women's wardrobe choices, implying that it's a justification for assault or harassment. We need to stop asking why they find themselves in compromising situations with men who want to take advantage of them. It's one thing to miscalculate the risk, especially if alcohol is involved; it's completely another to have specific boundaries, and be unfairly blamed if those boundaries are crossed without consent.

Conversely, we should ask ourselves why we have made it acceptable for men to "rate" women based on sex appeal, and to treat them as trophies or conquests. And furthermore, why are women deemed slutty for doing the exact same thing?

There is something wrong with our sexual ethics is we continue to justify these attitudes. We are missing crucial opportunities to respect and learn about both sexes if the perpetrators of this blatant rape culture are written off as nothing more than "jerks," while their female targets are typically assumed to be temptresses.

Funny how I have a laundry list of reasons why certain aspects of feminism are damaging to women (not to mention that someone once told me I couldn't be a feminist because I'm also against abortion), but this is one issue I've grown passionate about lately, and I can't sit back and accept that this is simply "the way things are."

Okay, end rant. In other news, feel free to ooh and aah over these new puppies my family is adopting:

Names, as of now, are still TBA.

What if the American church was persecuted?

Disclaimer: I do feel like a hypocrite writing this post, which is meant to point a finger at myself in addition to anyone else who reads it. I am far from the kind of woman I like to present myself as in my writing. Despite an embarrassing number of failures, I am a work in progress.

I saw this bumper sticker on the car parked next to me at Scribbles Cafe this week: "Many paths, one God." I'll spare you my soapbox rant on (shameless plug alert!) the universalist approach to religion and step up on a different kind of soapbox. This is a serious question that, while slightly outlandish, is worthy of consideration: What if the American church was persecuted?

I'm not referring to the casual insults of "bigot," "homophobe," or "closed-minded" that so many conservative Christians get. While hurtful, this is not persecution. I'm not referring to the Christians who are personally offended by those who refuse to say "Under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance, disapprove of allowing prayer in public schools, or the display of the Ten Commandments in front of courthouses. This is a far cry from persecution.

Regarding the aforementioned bumper sticker, the all-too-common approach to religion today is one of comfort. The only sin in our modern world of choice and convenience is personally offending others with whatever we perceive as the truth. It is easy to take this view. It allows us to keep our friends, our jobs. Above all else, it's safe.

But is it worth it?

There are, believe it or not, Christians in countries who are facing persecution -- the kind that gets you killed -- who pray for persecution in America. That seems harsh, but think about it for a second. Imagine the mentality behind such a drastic plea. The prayer is not for violence and bloodshed. The prayer is to use drastic measures to wake people up and get them to understand where they really stand in their faith.

The churches in America are in desperate need of revival. Christians in other persecuted countries understand that complacency is the enemy of those who really want to know God, because we forget what we have been spared from when we get too comfortable. We forget the weight of the debts we've been forgiven for, the debts that weigh down the souls of those we love.

The people who attend church out of obligation, for the social interaction, the potlucks, or to look good for their communities are not motivated by love for God. They are not inclined to make the necessary sacrifices, should circumstances demand it, that Jesus refers to when he says "Pick up your cross and follow me."

The Christians of America, as a whole, have very few crosses to bear, thanks to the freedom of religion we have been granted under the law. We should be thankful for that. And our hearts should break for those who wake up every day wondering if today will be the day they will have to die for what they believe in.

Please, think about this. Pray about it. If one day it was made illegal to be a Christian in America, would there be any evidence (besides regular church attendance) to convict you?

The day the world stopped turning

It's really sad how it sometimes takes a national tragedy to shift your perspective in a reasonable direction. We all suffer bad things, but we get into trouble trying to decide who suffers more than another (a game that many people sometimes enjoy playing). Sometimes, though, it's obvious. Sometimes we need reminders that the world is much, much bigger than just ourselves.

Even in private grief that has me utterly convinced life cannot get any worse...I am always aware that it can. Six months ago today, I went to bed after what should have been a normal day, and woke up in hell. God answered my prayer to dig me out of an abusive relationship. I felt like I lost so much, it killed me to know I could never get back the amount of time I had wasted, losing myself in another person. But, as the tenth anniversary of 9/11 proves, the heart is a very resilient thing. Lives crumble, but they can be rebuilt. People are taken from us, but life soldiers on anyway.

It baffles me how that happens. I don't know how or why it happens, I'm just so grateful that it does.

I just sat through the movie United 93 on TV and bawled my eyes out, something I haven't done since my remaining days in LT. I thought I had used up all the tears my body is capable of producing during the three months I spent in Colorado; apparently, I can still make more. So that's a good thing, I'm not completely numb yet. I'm probably too young to be jaded and apathetic about the world and all the bad people in it.

Even if this wasn't actual footage, and the real people who died were represented by actors, the grief I saw was real. It's the kind that makes people give up on faith altogether, or cling to it with a desperate realization that even a small strand of it is better than having nothing at all.

I was 12 years old when it happened, just gotten out of PE, and was, ironically, on my way to my American History class. Naturally, the lesson for the day was cancelled, and we watched the news instead. Not having lost anyone close to me that day, it's hard to feel the same kind of grief as those who were more personally affected. But I admire the resilience in the survivors. I admire anyone who can manage just to get out of bed in the morning when everything seems hopeless. Eventually, I suppose you get to a point where you have no choice but to survive. And it's such a hard, sucky choice, but what other choice is there?

Hence the meaning behind my newest tattoo. "Choose Joy" is more than just a cutesy motto.

This quote has given me much to think about:

"Our generation, as long as we've had an identity, was known as the generation that had it easy.We had no crisis, no Vietnam, no Martin Luther King, no JFK. We've got it now. When we have kids and grandkids, we'll tell them that we lived through the roaring '90s, when all we cared about was the No. 1 movie or how many copies an album sold. This is where it changes." (Greg Epstein)

What does it mean to define yourself by a tragedy? Is it healthy? To an extent, maybe it is. It's a sign that nothing bad that happens is ever in vain. Every life has a turning point; pain is probably the most common indicator of where one's purpose lies. If nothing else, pain turns us around and gives us something bigger to live for.

I'm not sure where I intended to go with this...for once I'm trying not to dwell too much on all the issues that stress my tiny little life. As a wanna-be chaplain, my spiritual gift is serving others in their tragedy. My perspective is ever-widening.

The cost of non-conformity?

I'd like to think that I've always been a non-conformist in my own right. When everyone in high school wore church retreat shirts, I flaunted a Star of David. When some of my friends started experimenting with cigarettes, I took a self-righteous high road and insisted I was better than that. I wanted to do the right thing for honor's sake, but I also wanted to be "that girl" who stood out for it. I did what I wanted because I wanted to, but there was no denying the part of me that just wanted to be known for something.

Now that I've grown up a little, I realize my motive for wanting to do "what everyone else is doing" (even if, most of the time, "everyone else" is NOT doing it, whatever "it" is) has less to do with wanting to fit in, and more to do with a desire to be taken seriously.

If you're not living in the "real world" (what does that even mean, anyway?), you have no idea what you're talking about. People silence you, and disregard anything you say in your defense.

I wrote a weekly column for my campus newspaper throughout my senior year. I experienced this "Can't take you seriously when you believe X and Y" mentality weekly. I'm a Christian, so I can't possibly understand what it's like to be in the minority. Nevermind the fact that I grew up as one, and I did not "convert" simply to escape that. And also because I'm a Christian, it's automatically assumed that I've never had sex since I'm not married, so what would I know about "real relationships"?

I have found that believing in something counter-cultural can cause some people to be less inclined to listen to what you have to say. It doesn't always matter how intelligently and inoffensively you say it. And therein lies the reason I feel so tempted to give in to what society says is good, normal, and healthy: because I want my testimony to be taken seriously. I want my story to be heard by everyone, because I think there's something in it that can benefit many people. Not everyone, but enough. So is it required to live the life my peers are living just to be understood? Do I have to hook up with a stranger, get high a few times, become a social drinker, or indulge in any other lifestyle habit you can think of, in order to have a "real opinion" on these issues?

I don't think there's a single living being that hasn't felt pressured to live a certain way, to make certain choices for the sake of being included. What I want to know is, why are young people encouraged to be unique if, ultimately, they are expected to adapt to the ever-changing values of society?

No one can find the rewind button, girl

You must accept whatever situation the Lord has put you in, and continue on as you were when he first called you. 1 Corinthians 7:17


It was a sad, hard day today...our beloved puppers, Shadow, passed away last night.

She was 13 and a half years old, the equivalent of a 94 year old woman, and in a lot of pain...but she lived the best life possible for a dog, I think. We were considering having her put down at the vet today because she could no longer walk, eat, or hold her, um, bodily fluids, but she died in her sleep around 11 pm last night, surrounded by her family, the way it should have been.

I'm really more of a cat person, but I loved her, and I miss her so much...I can't imagine what it will be like to lose Lucky Mittens. He's 15 already, and I know he's getting up there in cat years. Seriously, anyone who says "Oh big deal, they're just animals" has clearly never had one, and should never be allowed to. They are family, no matter what anyone says.

So a new semester has started already...not that it should make a difference to me. College life continues without me this time, but I find myself wanting to tag along and live the illusion once more. I went to church on campus for the first time in months and wow, there were so. many. freshmen. I have never seen so many freshmen in one room before. And believe it or not, I was actually a little jealous of them.

Unlike high school, I'd be reasonably okay with doing college over again. And no, it's not just because I made some of my biggest mistakes during that time -- those can happen anywhere, at any time. I miss the feeling of having a new clean slate, a chance to be someone new. To make the most of every opportunity and make lasting changes.

I just wish I hadn't waited until my senior year to become comfortable enough in my faith to really live it out on campus. While I'm not completely cut off from my friends, or denied access to new ones, I still feel like I'm shut out in no-man's-land Hudson, which is an absolute dead zone now with hardly anyone my age left in it, and no new dorm neighbors to get to know, or chat with awkwardly as I wait in line for grilled cheese at Rosie's Diner at 3 in the morning.

Grad school is the next best thing to getting a "do over." It won't be until Fall of 2012 for me, but if I end up going to Denver Seminary, it will be a 4-year long program that will, in a sense, be exactly like doing college over again. Only I get to live in a real apartment, and not a dorm. And I'll be in a place where I almost certainly will not run into anyone I know from high school. Of course, the whole "someday fallacy" will most likely come and slap me in the face, but I'll deal with that when it happens. And hopefully I'll be better prepared for it.

In the mean time, I'll try not to get too frustrated when the new freshmen ask me what my major is, or what dorm I'm living in, and then get these shocked looks on their faces when they find out how old I really am, and then the inevitable "So, uh...what are you still doing here?"

No really, that's already happened. Three times. In one evening. *Sigh*

It's my job to fill the mentor role now. Am I mature enough for that?

What I Owe Humanity

One of my dreams is to become all things to every living person.

 

But what will it take for me, in my factory-made clothes and with unscarred feet,

to place my heart in the middle of someone else's country?

Will my own pursuit of life suddenly make more sense

by cramming other wayward journeys in the files of my head?

 

In becoming every story that mankind has ever known,

to do more than merely sympathize, but absorb the pains of others

in my fragile little bones, I make myself understand the difference

between pain and fear. Fear precedes pain always, and pain

is the breaking down of purposelessness. Pain is for those

without mandatory suffering to justify the story.

 

To become every experience, I must learn to carry love.

I must carry on in heaviness the carefully-chosen words

designed to latch on searching hearts.

The "Someday" Fallacy

My ideal "someday" is hopefully not in the far-off, impossible to determine future. By this time next year, I hope -- expect? -- to be moving into my first apartment and starting grad school (some place far from Ohio, of course). I have no major expectations for this imaginary Apartment in the Sky, other than a) I get to have my princess bed, and b) a wall-to-wall bookshelf (no one will ever succeed in convincing me that it's better to have a Kindle for books because it's not as much of a pain in the butt to schlep across the country. Forget that, my books are as dear to me as flesh-and-blood children).

Except...here's where the fallacy part comes in...it will not be the perfect escape I imagine it will be, simply because perfection doesn't exist this side of heaven. Case in point: this entire summer. I can't believe LT is over already. I can't believe I've been home (whatever "home" is) for exactly a week now. I didn't have any plans, per se, for the summer, only expectations. And nearly every single one of those expectations were turned on its head. My plans for "someday" will inevitably be flipped as well. This does not necessarily have to be a bad thing. It's just an inevitable thing. And you would think, at 22 years old, I'd have figured that out by now.

I got a new job! I am now making yummy bagels at Bruegger's (see Facebook job info: "Makes yummy bagels"). Quite a fitting job for a born-and-raised Jewish girl. And it literally *just* happened. Hadn't even been home a full 24 hours and already got hired. In this case, the "someday" fallacy surprised me in a good way. I'd been feeling an increasing panic about what the heck I'd do for money as the summer was coming to an end and not one of the 30+ places had called me back yet...and then I got this one. I feel more at ease now.

Oh and I adopted a new member of the Caplin family...say hello to Pippa!

And this little dude was very grateful to see me after 3 long months (and I him, of course):

Apparently laptops are more comfortable than his designated place on the fleece blanket on my bed. Hmm.

Pray that the "someday fallacy" doesn't completely mess with my ability to handle real-life hardships. I pray so much for patient endurance.

Every journey has a name

In a few days it will be the six month-iversary of the legalization of my name. It's a key part of my testimony I can't leave out. It's a reminder I have a very strange, unusual history, but I didn't write it, God did. I am a weird but unique individual.


The briefest explanation I give to people when they find out is that I have hated my name my entire life, which is not a lie. It was frustrating having 5 other girls turn around at the same time whenever my name was called. To this day, I still cringe when new parents bestow common, un-unique names on their babies. But really, the reason goes far deeper than that, and it's not always appropriate to share that reason with each and every curious person.


God showing up in people’s lives like a stranger on their doorstep is not an uncommon theme in the Bible. In Genesis 12, God said to Abraham, "Leave your country, your people and your father's household and go to the land I will show you.” God made a covenant with him and promised that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars. In Scripture, such drastic life changes usually warrant a name change, to reflect the significance of these changes. Abram’s name was changed to Abraham, meaning “father of many,” and his wife Sarai (my namesake) became Sarah, meaning “God’s princess.”


Similarly, I knew I was going to emerge from my baptism as a new creation. I just went a step further than most people and drew a literal separation between my old self and new self with the replacement of my social security card. There are times when I feel disgusted by my old self. Maybe it's a little schizophrenic to refer to my old self as "her" or "she" and not "me," but whatever. In my mind, and in the eyes of the state, they are two different people.


Legally, Sarah Elizabeth Caplin no longer exists, for which I am glad. God doesn't remember anything of my previous life, therefore neither will I...except I know I always will. She's still a part of me, whether I like it or not. She made huge, life-altering mistakes, but she's still a part of my story. She gave in to peer pressure and cultural expectations, she got screwed over by someone who was supposed to love her...but I won't screw her over again by acting like she doesn't exist. I wish I could, but doing so would be morally reprehensible.


Understandably, I hate being called Sarah. Hardly anyone but my parents call me that anymore, and turning around every time I hear that name being called is no longer an instinctual response. But she's still with me. And reconciling the two sides of me will be a life-long process.


As for whether I'll change my name again if I get married...who knows. I'm not feeling called to marriage as much as I used to be, but if it happens, I'm leaning toward keeping my maiden name, and maybe "assuming" my hypothetical husband's last name, sans paperwork. Replacing all your old IDs is expensive! But, no sense worrying about it now. Ask me again if/when it actually happens :)

The newest addition to the Soundtrack of my Life

I listen to this song about 5 times almost every day. I love it so much, and it was released just when I needed to hear it. It's These Old Wings by my favorite forgotten artist, Anna Nalick.



He raised his hand
for the last time she could stand.
That room was a grave at night.
She left a note that said I'm not coming home.
He took courage, but she took flight.

What are you really holding onto?
Life is a tightrope and you're burning, burning, burning both ends.
You don't always move the way you'd like to,
but don't let the ground drag you around.


And these old wings,
they've been a long time, been a long time coming,
these old wings, they just gotta be good for something.
Burn these strings, so I can see what these old broken things,
what these old wings can do.


She sold the car for eleven hundred bucks
and bought a bottle of something sweet.
She caught a train, and counted seven stops
and got off when she felt free.

She found herself where people go in gloom
for friends that are buried there.
She wrote a note to God on a balloon,
and watched as it disappeared.


What are you really holding onto?
Life is a tightrope and you're burning, burning, burning both ends.
You don't always move the way you'd like to,
but don't let the ground drag you around.


And these old wings,
they've been a long time, been a long time coming,
these old wings, they just gotta be good for something.
Burn these strings, so I can see what these old broken things,
what these old wings can do.

Making relationships count: the honesty challenge

Recently I overheard a conversation between two international employees who were very confused about American ways of greeting. They didn't understand how a person can ask "How are you?" but keep on walking, without even waiting for a response. They didn't understand that "How are you?" has turned into more of a greeting than a genuine question of concern for your well-being.

I've been feeling convicted of how often I do this, and I'm trying to be more conscious of how often I ask it without actually stopping to listen or care. You have to wonder what social interaction among aquaintences would look like if everyone was suddenly honest about that question.

LT has probably messed with my head regarding the "Don't share your junk with strangers" rule of society. Outside this little bubble of Estes Park, most people will respond with something like "Oh, I'm good" even when they're not. It's just expected, and with good reason. If you're brutally honest about how you're doing with everyone you come in contact with, it's the quickest way to avoid making new friends. We don't want to freak people out. If you were to respond with "Ugh, I'm so pissed at my significant other for leaving the toilet seat up again, I just got laid off, my cat won't stop peeing on the carpet, and my PMS is out of control" to the unsuspecting cashier making small talk, you'd be alienated, without question. People would be afraid to talk to you if you're THAT honest.

But, here at LT, those old rules are tossed out the window. It doesn't matter that there are over 200 people in this program, and you'll never remember all of their names. They're still brothers and sisters in Christ, and by default, we are expected to be open and transparent with them (well, with some more than others, obviously, but being real about our lives is the main priority). As previously discussed in the entry about the Night of Confession, what good is the church if people can't be honest about what's really going on in their lives? What do we gain by bottling up? While everyone is entitled to have secrets, it's the relationships in which we cut through the emotional BS that end up mattering the most. Everyone else, we tend to forget.

I have been challenged this summer to question how I am making my relationships count.

Few people I've met this summer have impacted me as much as my "Jew Crew." I couldn't hide anything from them if I tried. Which is kind of annoying at times, but still pretty awesome. This is Closing Ceremonies night for LT, where each project group picked a theme and dressed up. Sharon is an owl, Justin is Shlomo, Rudolph's Jewish cousin on his mother's side (don't ask), and I'm a pirate. Can't help but wonder what the caterers at the reception hall must have thought of us Jesus freaks all dressed up like Halloween in the middle of the summer. Would have been fun to ask.

I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell

I love seeing the shock on people's faces when their first impressions of me are proven wrong. I like playing this game with myself, getting to know a person and learning later on just how wrong I was in the beginning. I used to people-watch and make up stories in my head about what kind of jobs and lives they must have based on their actions/appearances (and possibly store that information in my filing-cabinet mind as inspiration for characters in my future novel).

First impression...

Alter ego!



(Future seminarian, anyone?)

Much of my life is a double-edged sword. I am a walking definition of irony, and I'm learning to love it.

Down and out is overrated

Each of these mini revelations probably deserve individual blog posts of their own, but if I don't blurb about them now, I'll forget, so here we go:

I have learned that the likelihood of finding a relationship has more to do with motives than what you look like or what kind of personality you have (face it, if the world's fattest man can get married at 1500 pounds, your appearance isn't keeping you from getting any dates, I'm positive). The more that people, and particularly women, view significant others as a means to complete themselves, the more they will whine and complain about being lonely and unfulfilled. If we looked at life partners as more like complements rather than consolation prizes or easy access to gratification, the better chance 80% of us would actually find one.

Not every difficult person is a terrible person by default. The person who got the evil eye from me at Starbucks from talking loudly on his cell phone probably thinks I go through every day of my life with a giant stick up my butt. And okay, sometimes I'm made aware that that's true. I've mentioned before that patience is not my strong suit. However, if I don't want to be judged as a bitchy person every time I lose my cool and slip up, I can't look at every difficult customer that comes into the Craft Shop as permanently awful people either.

This is the coping mechanism that has gotten me through many a difficult misunderstanding with someone who seems like they only want to cause trouble: maybe he/she just got laid off. Maybe he/she just found out his/her boss is having an affair with his/her secretary. Maybe the fact that we are out of purple glass beads was the last straw that made them snap. Sometimes you never know. And the more I pray to have patience, the more opportunities I get to practice patience. Go figure.

You have to face pain if you want your life to count for something. Quite honestly, I am astounded by people who have no problem trusting God despite knowing innocent people were brutally killed in a shooting in Norway, tornadoes destroyed homes in Joplin, and innocent people get hit by drunk drivers, but the moment something bad happens to them personally, all faith and goodness in God or humanity goes out the window.

Why are people shocked by suffering? Sh!t happens. That's just how it is. And yet so many people go through life as if they're somehow immune to it. These are character-building events. And why do some people try to comfort themselves and others by saying there is no rhyme or reason for it? How is anyone comforted and able to learn anything by asserting the ultimate meaninglessness of whatever the bad experience was? "There was no reason behind this tragic accident, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sucks to be you." Most people wouldn't respond so bluntly, but that is the reality behind what they are saying. No wonder so many people give up on God, it just takes too much effort to look beyond tragic circumstances and find what can be learned and even gained from suffering.

You don't become refined and thick-skinned by having everything handed to you. And some crap things that happen lead to awesome things that could never have happened otherwise. I've met two women here that I bonded with by sharing our stories of a mutual tragedy. They are encouraging me in ways not many people have been able to. Which leads me to this point...

Healing doesn't happen immediately because it isn't supposed to. Those aforementioned women have reached a place where they have found true joy again. But it's been several years since their initial struggle started. It's barely been a year for me. As much as I prefer otherwise, I know I won't return to Ohio a completely healed person. But I've made some baby steps toward progress, and that's a huge accomplishment.

Conquering the world one mountain at a time

(Pretending I'm back at Stonehenge)

Man makes plans, but the Lord determines his steps.

Proverbs 16:9

What makes a leader?

With only 3 weeks left in Colorado, now I'm starting to freak out about whether I made the most of my time here. I'm pretty sure I did, since I made a quasi-official decision to apply to Denver Seminary when I never thought I'd want to end up this far west (though I need to do the "responsible" thing by checking out a few more schools before I make my official decision. Anything is possible). The chaplaincy program is four years long, which will give me more than enough time (hopefully) to discern if this is actually what I want to do. Or, better yet, what I'm actually called to do. Then again, I can make a ministry out of anything. Even bagging groceries can be a ministry of some sort, somehow.

Can't say I never had any suspicions before, but I have learned that one of my spiritual gifts is definitely NOT patience (though I am convicted of it). In many instances I've learned more about what I'm not or don't have than what I am, and do have. Sometimes I feel like I'm not cut out for spiritual leadership because the thought of being responsible for helping to shape other people's souls terrifies me. It terrifies me because I feel my own crap makes me unqualified.

But according to last Thursday's talk, the best way to be a successful leader is to not brag about your awesome leadership skills; instead, own up to your own weaknesses and shortcomings, because leaders have to be real people living in the real world, not on some towering pedestal, in order to be taken seriously and effectively lead people to Christ. And if I keep on waiting for my life to get cleaned up before I can effectively lead people, I'll never do anything productive. Maybe one crap issue will be resolved, but several years from now, another one might come up and then I'll be back where I started. But even if I can't speak with any kind of authority on some issues, I know something about others that could be, who knows, actually helpful to somebody.

I explained this to my friend Justin at lunch today, and he said "So if the thought of being a spiritual leader scares you, why are you considering chaplaincy?" My response: "Well I'm not a chaplain yet." :)

The staff Talent Show was last week. I got to dance for the first time in 5 years. I tried to load a video, but the internet is being stubborn so pics will have to do for now. Check out the video on Facebook instead (if you feel so inclined...).

The jacket came off when the music picked up ("Alive Again" by Matt Maher, one of my favorite worship songs). It was kinda epic.

Intense concentration!



For the record, pretzels are more valuable to me than flowers. :)

Choosing Joy when life is sucky: the story behind my new tattoo! (Kinda)

Today was one of the better days I've had in Colorado. The last few LT talks have been a little hard to handle: first the "night of confession," then a discussion on being refined and strengthened through trials. Naturally, all this has gotten me thinking more about my own trials and how many of them were unexpected this summer.

But during the "night of confession," I made friends with a girl I probably never would have gotten to meet had we not gone up on stage and confessed our feelings about an ugly, awful thing that happened to us that we have in common. I got to meet with her today, and then finally caught a shuttle into town to one of my favorite coffee shops in Estes Park, where another friend happened to be. I finally got some of the alone time I've been craving for weeks -- not to mention great coffee. And coffee makes everything better :-D

My life group has been dubbed the "hardcore" life group because of our impromptu decision to drive to Boulder last week and get tattoos (not matching tattoos, though. We're not cult-ish). While the decision to get them together was a little impulsive, my decision about what I wanted was not. I came up with the idea about a month or so ago, and it was oddly inspired by one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. LT has challenged me to think of how God can make the worst of our choices and experiences work for our benefit...and while it sucks to suffer from the consequences of bad choices, God made sure I met up with some truly amazing people to demonstrate what grace looks like.

I have been learning that happiness is not my goal in life, but joy is. And the difference between the two is that happiness is fleeting and dependent on feelings, whereas joy is a deep-seated state of being that has nothing to do with circumstances. Joy is an actual choice, one I will be reminded to make every time I see this:

...and I'll be reminded of the suffering I endured to get it. And if I can endure that, pffft, I can handle anything!

(This was when the tattoo guy called me a drama queen. You'd think he'd never seen a girl afraid of needles before!)

And the actual tattooing process itself...I think I'm done after this one. I know I said that after the first tattoo, because as my mom said when I told her, "You don't need a tattoo for EVERY major revelation in your life, you know." And as Sam put it so eloquently: "I love tattoos, but getting them makes me feel like a masochist." Now I understand what she means!

Keeping calm, carrying on

A typical work day usually starts out like this:

Alarm goes off at 7. Cathy and Maegan are already gone or on their way out. I'm always the last person to bed, last person to get up. Hit snooze button at least 5 times. Get dressed, get ready, head out. I never have time for breakfast. I clock in, sit down in my little section of the craft shop and wait for customers. And since I'm not "from around here," they ask me lots of questions. I swear if I had a quarter for every time I've heard "How long are you here for?" "What school do you go to?" "Oh, you graduated? What are you doing with yourself now?" I could retire by the end of this summer.

It's that last question that I don't know how to answer. Am I supposed to already have my post-college life planned from the moment I receive my diploma? Why do people act so shocked when I say I have no idea what I'm doing? The job market sucks, and I had a major revelation mid-sophomore year that drastically altered the career plans I already had. So no, I don't know what I'm doing with myself once this summer is over. Stop reminding me (okay, that was a little bitter. I'm really much nicer than that, I promise!).

I've been told to find a "niche" in ministry based on personal experience, and go with that. Problem is, I have too many experiences to choose from. So far the most definite career plan is chaplaincy while writing books on the side, but I know better than to say that that is a sure plan.

My ministry doesn't really have a name. My ministry is, or could be, working with people whose loved ones have been affected by cancer. My ministry is working with women who feel trapped in abusive relationships, whose dignity has been stripped from them. My ministry is reaching out to "spiritual orphans" who left the traditions they were raised with, believing God is calling them elsewhere, but feel like they can't ever belong anywhere.

My ministry is all over the place.

I might be making this decision process a lot more confusing than it has to be. I'm checking out a potential grad school in Denver with my parents in a little over a week, and maybe that will help clear things up from me. I never thought I'd feel comfortable this far from home, but now that the summer is already half over, I need to get away again.

Why can't every day be filled with views like this?

(Not gonna lie, I was definitely singing 'Colors of the Wind' in my head when this was taken)

Exposing the ugly to find the cure

These are some of the most common complaints I've heard from people who gave up on church: it's too preachy. The pastors and congregants are arrogant. The sermons reek of stereotypes about men and women and are completely out of touch with reality. The pastors encourage people to put on happy faces even when they don't feel like it, because God forbid a Christian is seen as anything less than joyful.

I haven't been to enough churches long enough to say whether most are actually like this or not. But I feel so extremely blessed that the first home church I've found has completely shattered every single one of the above stereotypes.

Growing up non-Christian, my view of what Christian faith looks like in a modern world was skewed. I thought the Holy Spirit was some kind of magic antidote for life's tough issues, that you accept Christ as your savior and suddenly your job is easier to handle, you're happy all the time, and your acne clears up (okay, not really). But based on many conversations I've had with non-Christian friends who grew up Christian, the church has been bashed as a place where you have to put on a front and be fake, because sin is shame and shame makes outcasts of people who may be in desperate need of fellowship.

Last night's LT meeting was -- I hope -- the turning point in my quest for healing this summer. When the speaker said he was turning over the microphone to the crowd for anyone to come up and boldly confess their most personal, shameful sins, the first thought that popped into my head was "Hell no!" The point of this wasn't to perpetuate gossip and expose all our dirty little secrets; the point was to completely shatter the walls of pride that keep us from admitting that we are flawed, broken people in desperate need of grace. Pride is that pesky emotion that prevents needy people from seeking help, which results in way more destruction than simply willing your issues away. That never happens, ever. Our own strength is just not enough.

I saw and heard things I will never forget last night. There were women I assumed had it all together -- the personality, the smarts, the seemingly perfect boyfriend, the good looks -- confess to struggling with eating disorders, shame for past sexual experiences, and self-hatred. There were men who confessed to struggling with lust, porn addiction, and feelings for other men in their Bible studies. I saw grown men break down and heave in desperate, gut-wrenching sobs. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've seen grown men cry and let me tell you, when that happens, that is serious business. You never make fun of a man who cries.

Lust was probably the biggest issue confessed for both men and women, which blew me away because the issue of women struggling with it is so rarely mentioned in the church. There are Christian books on dating and setting boundaries I've read that I've wanted to throw across the room because they fail to address the absolute fact that women can struggle with lust and pornography just as much as men do. The transparency and courage of these people was one of the most amazing things I've ever witnessed.

It wasn't long before I felt myself being pushed toward the stage to confess my own sin. I think part of that was because I'm tired of being that awkward, moody girl who always has something going on, but never talks about it, so therefore no one can help her. I wanted to get everything off my chest because this group of people, this church, is my family.

I may not know half the names of the people in it, but I am them, and they are me. We are all in this bitter struggle together, and I finally felt the conviction to come clean about some of the things that have been weighing down my heart this summer: having impatience for customers at work. Being jealous of other people's successes. Harboring hatred for someone who hurt me in ways that no one should ever know.

It all just came out, and afterward I cried so hard my whole body shook, and I sat in a "prayer huddle" for more than three hours afterward, with a dozen other broken but beautiful women who loved me and showed me grace. It hurt like hell, but it was honestly one of the most beautiful moments of my life that I will always remember, because this is exactly how God works: breaking us down to build us up.

This is a quote from one of my favorite biographies on Joan of Arc that sums up the meaning of last night extremely well:

An experience of God's nearness does not mean an avoidance of pain -- it provides a path through which suffering may be endured. Is it more comforting to assert the ultimate meaninglessness of life? Does denial of meaning, even though we cannot know it, bring peace and diminish agony?

No matter how deep our suffering, God is deeper still.

God did not say, "You will never be tempted, you will not suffer," but He does say "You shall not be overcome." ~Donald Spoto, Joan