Day 56

Well, here it is.  The obligatory End of 2011 post.

The other night Lindsay brought Faith over to watch a movie.  Faith, whose gift from God is seeing directly into the hearts of others, knew I had been struggling.

Her advice?

Cry.

And it hit me tonight, just before 6:00.

And I cried.  And I wept.  And I mourned.

Two-thousand eleven has been a life-changing year.  The ultimate year of all twenty-six.

January – My heart was broken, and was given new eyes.

February – Began a Bible study with new friends.

March – Sparked new friendships and a new desire.

April – Visit to California; came home and fell away from God.

May – Began an even darker period of my life.

June – The month I knew I needed Jesus and no one else could save me.

July – Celebrated my birthday and fell in love.

August – Unending doctors visits resulting in the unlikely; saw Goo Goo Dolls and Michelle Branch in concert.

September – Saw Journey in concert; fell in love with Gulf Shores, AL.

October – Lost a precious gift; began Connection Classes at Fellowship.

November – Saw Gavin DeGraw in concert; God gave me precious friendships; began OYC.

December – The most I’ve ever relied upon God.

I’d say December is a pretty good place to be right now.  God has spent the year changing my life.  Last year I prayed to Him to “create in me a clean heart.”  And this year I was covered in dirt, in filth.  My anger raged, sadness has played on my heart, and why?

So God could create in a me an image of Him.

Face flush, warm with tears, I think back over all the instances of this year where my heart broke, my hope collapsed, my prayers were answered, and my love for God grew.

And am reminded of what I heard from a sermon at Fellowship the beginning of this year.

“I’m sorry to say this, but I hope 2011 is the most miserable year of your life…if it brings you back to God.”

I thought to myself, “Yeah, you tell ‘em, Bryan!” looking around at the unwitting people beside me.

Little did I know God was speaking directly to me.

And as tonight ends—not with a neat, tidy bow, but with blood, sweat, and tears bled, expelled, and spent being brought back to Him—I wish for nothing less from 2012.

Happy New Year.

Day 55

Not much to write tonight.

I was able to bring home some poinsettias from work, and pretty plants always make me smile.

And then unexpectedly finished the night playing this with Katie and Lindsay.

We rocked.  The end.

Day 54

Closed doors, unsent text messages, and unanswered phone calls.

When life gets overwhelming, I recoil into a ball of stress, my bedroom becoming my best friend.  I don’t want to talk to anyone, and so I very successfully don’t talk to anyone.  My poor roommate.  I must seem like a ghost to her.  Our living space is small and yet I find a way to hideaway.  Sorry, Lindsay.

With all the strife of life, it’s much easier to play groundhog.  Now you see me, now you don’t, until the shadow in my heart withdraws.

I’m scared.

My heart, felted with fear, abandonment, and hurt, is what pushing me to hide.  It's what has always pushed me to hide.

Robert Frost wrote A Drumlin Woodchuck, from the perspective of a groundhog who relates:

If I can with confidence say

That still for another day,

Or even another year,

I will be there for you, my dear,^^

It will be because, though small

As measured against the All,

I have been so instinctively thorough

About my crevice and burrow.

Mr. Frost would have done well to add this to the poem of my life:

Recoiled in her burrow, though overly thorough in guarding herself like an art,

a woodchuck who craves solitary days will never escape the lone maze of her heart.

A closed heart may receive nothing—no pain, no hurt, no disappointment.  But it definitely receives no companionship, no kindness...and no love.

Which way of life would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck?

I think I know.  And I can chuck.   And I want to come out of this funk!

Measured against the All in our lives is Our Rock.  And though we are small against the all, He is not.  And I can with confidence say that, still for another day, He will be here for us—in Him I need to trust.

Day 53

Take advantage of me.

That’s what I feel like my girly appearance exudes when I walk into a body shop.

Of heels, hair, and makeup, I know…well, little, but of cars, I know far less.  And because of this, nothing spikes my anxiety more than when my check engine light blinks on.  It laughs at me, mocking me with its hideous shade of orange.  Like a flea on a beloved pet, I hate it.

And this little tick has popped up, on and off, over the span of these last two months.  At each showing, I would lean over my dash and pray.  I would pray, pray, pray that my car would magically fix itself—that the warning sign would fade and things would be okay, like magic.  And it seemed to work.  For a time.  Then its ugly shape would suddenly reignite.  And prayers would ensue.  And it would disappear.  Repeat prayer.  And, finally, on its fifth presentation, I sucked in a deep breath and handed my keys over to my mechanic.

Within an hour, he told me how the ol’ girl was ailing.

A leaking power steering hose and a broken thermostat.

I wearily gave him the OK to fix her, and within a few hours, she was off the operating table.  I greeted her with a smile, and we trooped home.  I listened eagerly to the gentle hum of her engine.  No distracting music.  No discouraging orange light.  Just her and me.

At home, her familiar parking space awaited our arrival.  I parked, turning the key off in the ignition.  I breathed deeply, and it felt like my car exhaled, too.

You need a break, girl?  I almost asked out loud.

Maybe I was talking to more to myself than the car.  I sighed.

I sure do feel like I’ve lost my power steering, struggling to keep myself in the right direction, and dying not to overheat from being overwhelmed.

My Mechanic looms over my weary hair-pulled-back, make-up-smeared, exhausted self, and seems to ask, “And why haven’t you given Me the keys?”

He sees me; here I sit, praying, praying, praying that things go away, that they'd fix themselves...that I'd fix me.  Magically.

Today I prayed to God for the end of these 312 days.  As if at the end of them my need Jesus light would automatically turn off. And, magically, without effort, things would be okay.

Looking at my receipt, you know what the most expensive part of today was?

The labor.  Hhhhhhhhhhhhmmmm.

But I know the labor is what’s going to get me where I need to be.  A power steering hose and a new thermostat are useless if left sitting on the countertop of an auto-shop.  And they're even more useless in my hands.

They need to be in the hands of a mechanic.  The Mechanic.

An otherwise useless piece of metal becomes valuable through His hands.

Put yourself in My hands, He urges.  Stop trying to steer on your own.  No wonder you’re overwhelmed.

Can’t have a car that works well without the maintenance—without the hours, without the labor, without trusting a trustworthy mechanic.

And I can’t have a God-centered, faithful heart without the like.

Day 52

Warm milk.  Cinnamon.  A dollop of vanilla extract.  And two Nyquil tablets.

What a nightcap.

As I took each warm sip, I hummed over thought after thought, each pregnant with ripening anxiety.

Check engine light came on.  Funny sound.  Sip.

Trip home to California.  Pleasure and pain.  Sip.

Dogs need to go to the vet.  Sip.

Appointment with a dentist.  Possible cavity.  Sip.

Will be pushed to see orthodontist.  Teeth shifting.  Sip.

My budget versus my bills.  Not so David versus Goliath.  Sip.

Wanting a permanent roommate.  No options.  Sip.

Needing someone to live here while I go back to California.  Sip.

Single.  Single for a season or, more permanently, a reason.  Chug.

Each thought enough to drive me insane on its own, but squished together in my unsurrendering mind, I am at war.  At war with myself.

Where is my peace?

Warm milk.  Cinnamon.  A dollop of vanilla extract.  And two Nyquil tablets.

What a nightcap.

Good night.

Day 51

If you tested me, I would probably be 51% introvert and 49% extravert.

That one percent makes a difference.

The last few months have been the best of my life.  I’ve found myself enveloped by the love of friends I never anticipated I would have.

I look at my calendar over the last two months.  Overjoyed by the fullness of my life, I smile.  Dinners out at Jason’s Deli and Newk’s, Christmas lights and nutcrackers.  But in this joy, there’s also a sadness.  Coffee dates I couldn’t make or messages I never found the energy to return.  For every one friend with whom I spent time, there was one friend I couldn’t.  A 1:1 ratio.

That’s a lot of apologies.   I’ve been struggling to make time for everyone, and still haven’t been successful.

Earlier this year I spent one night out and six in.  Just this last quarter, I’ve spent six out and one in—if I’m lucky.   At an average, I have at least 20 new people in my life.  Math time—if I spent one night a week with a friend, plus other engagements I had—dinners with other friends, work meetings, Sunday night groups, parties—it equals a pretty full calendar.

And while the extravert in me is shouting, “Play!” the introvert is crying, “Pause!”

It been months since I’ve had some “me” time. 

This is where that one percent makes a difference.  Exhaustion is setting in. 

That is why when Christmas rolled around, nothing made me happier than sitting on my couch, curled up with my dogs and a movie.  This is the unwinding time I’ve needed so badly.  Mentally, I just feel so much better, recharged.

There have been a lot of friends I’ve disappointed within the last few weeks.  And I’m sorry.  I’m struggling to find balance—between the extravert and introvert.  Please just give me grace as I learn how to find it, and don’t give up on me!

Day 50

“I slept, but my heart was awake…”

Translation:

I may be taking a year off dating, but my heart is waiting for you.

Translation:

I am working on my heart, and you are working on yours.  And the ‘you’ that I meet will be the ‘you’ that God determined for me.  And the ‘me’ that ‘you’ meet will be the wife God molded for ‘you.’

Translation:

At moments, I may become grumpy, bitter, or sad while I wait, but I know you’re out there.

Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight,
someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight.

Day 49

2008--Christmas was the last thing I wanted to think about.

My first Christmas alone was at the end of 2008.

Two months prior I had ended an engagement, so the family I had known was no more.  My own family was 2,000 miles away in California.  My best friend, who had been within driving distance at Tulane for her degree, had moved back to the west coast after graduating.  And I was not saved then so I had no church family.  Other friends had invited me into their homes, but spending Christmas with another person’s family would have taken more energy than I was willing to spend.

And so I hung out by myself.

That was the longest day of my life.

After calling my family and my friends, I curled up in front of the tree.  And cried.  Alone on Christmas.   Stereotypical all-American Christmas Day tragedy, right?  I stared at the bulbs alit on the branches of my tree and wondered why I was meant to be alone.  And three years later, I feel like I know.

It’s so that when I arrived here—at this time in my life—December 24th, 2011, that there would be no mistake seeing from where I’ve come and where I am now.

In 2008, on that day I spent by myself, I wished desperately for a family of my own with whom to spend Christmas.  Now, 2011, on this night, I am so thankful for all I have. 

Throughout 2011, I desperately prayed for friendships.  I began the year with four, ended the summer with two, and went through the fall lonely.  As the months continued, God decided to bring some 30 new people into my life all at once.

Since the end of October, I have spent every day with someone. 

He not only answered my prayer from 2008—my wish for a family at Christmastime—but He did one better.  He gave me one for life.

Instead of having one day a year where I’m gathered with family, the last two months have been spent gathered with people I have come to love very much and who love me.  Forget about the gifts, forget about food, and forget about football.  But remember family.

Every day has been, and is, a celebration of the family I have found in Christ.  He is my Savior, my Redeemer, and He has very much redeemed that lonely place in my heart by adopting me into His family.  And I am more thankful for that than I can ever express through words, or gifts, or human emotion.  I am so grateful to Him and so thankful for my “now” and my “then.”

So as I turn off the lights and crawl into bed tonight, I may be alone, but no, I am not lonely.  I am the furthest thing from it.

Day 48

“If you’re not a Christian, I do want to give you one tip about dating. Okay, here’s what it is: Non-Christians, don’t date a Christian unless you plan to become one. And let me tell you why. You don’t know they’re doing this to you and they’re going to hate me for telling you this, but this whole—when a Christian dates a non-Christian, it is all about bait-and-switch. You need to understand that. I can prove it. They’ve got you at church today.  See, they’re already working this, ‘Heeey, you want to go to church?’ Okay, you know, here’s the deal.  They do not accept you the way you are. They want you to become a Christian.  They want you to become a Christian, ‘cause their momma’s nervous, their daddy’s nervous, they know they shouldn’t be dating a non-Christian and they want you to become a Christian.  In fact, they’re really hating me right now, but you know what, I’m not the first person that has said this and as a non-Christian, I got to tell you, you’d be better off finding an honest Pagan, okay?  They will accept you just the way you are.  Christians will not.  And, I’m telling you, if you marry ‘em—if you marry a Christian they are going to want to set up shop…so, if you’re not a Christian I would be very, very careful about dating a Christian, because they have an agenda.” — Andy Stanley, Senior Pastor at Northpoint Community Church

1. Looks like the dating pool just got a little bit a lot smaller for me.  Non-Christians need not apply when I start dating again in 317 days.

2. I love Andy Stanley.  He’s hilarious.  Listen to his sermon.  Even if you’re not a Christian, there’s a lot of useful wisdom jam-packed in there.  The above excerpt is about 36 minutes into his series: The New Rules for Love, Sex and Dating; Part 4: If I Were You.  Click on #4.

3. I want to start dating again.  Now.  The urge is creeping.  And I’m attracted to Christians and non-Christians alike.  Not happening with either, Jamie.  So suck it up, and keep pushing on.  No distractions or cheap imitations.  I’ve made it 26 years without settling, I refuse to let it happen now, and I refuse to let it happen 317+ days from now.

4. Agenda.  Yup.  He called it.  Christians have agendas.  Though I would never have admitted to it >:)  Friendships and relationships alike, we’re pulling for Christ all the way.

5. I honestly don’t think, as a woman and a new Christian, that I could date a non-Christian.  For women, with men having to meet the standard of being the spiritual leaders in the family, there is no way I’d be able to fill both pairs of shoes.

6. “What’d you get your boyfriend for Christmas?”  “Oh, if I had a boyfriend, you mean…”  “Oh,” which is then followed with pity, apologies, and promises for ‘maybe soon’.  Nobody died, dear, sweet customers at the bank.  There’s no funeral.  I’m still alive, people!  If my relationship status wasn’t on the mind of every sweet grandma and grandpa who wants to see me married, maybe I wouldn’t mind so much that I’m not.

Will.i.ever.be.married? to Will.i.am.okay.no.matter.what.

Day 47

Venting, real life versus real-time, the taste of Christmas, the season of giving mixed in with some j-o-y, all rolled up into some bullets.

I is the ninth letter of the alphabet.  And sometimes the most disappointing thing to hear out of someone's mouth.  I did this, I said this, I think this.  One thing that hurts my feelings in conversations is when I can tell the other person is waiting on me to finish my sentence so they can say something—and sometimes not even waiting, but interrupting.  Care more about knowing someone than being known.  Listen more than you speak.  It makes the person opposite you feel valued.  Speak more and listen less, well, that value will decrease and you won’t have to wonder why they never ask you to hang out anymore.  I have to pursue this in every conversation.  I try to practice pausing my need to share—which, anyway, is usually met later on in the conversation when the other person feels comfortable enough to ask me something.  I have to die to myself on a regular basis.

App’d at the hip.  If we sit down together and you cannot put your iPhone down, you are sending me a very clear signal that you have better things to do.  I’m not talking about an occasional text to check in on your child or an appointment tomorrow, but if you’re sitting there playing Angry Birds or Words with Friends while I’m trying to open up to you, I’m not going to waste my breath.  Either spend time with me or don’t.  I could be elsewhere with someone else, not staring at the top of your head while you're busy interacting with someone—something—else.

Cinnamon-stuck.  I am stuck on cinnamon this season.  I mean, I love it year round, but it definitely feels more like Christmas with a candle, a cookie, or coffee to taste, smell, and enjoy.  I love cinnamon.

Gratitude to latitude.  I’ve been praying to God to be able to bless someone this season.  I was blessed a few days ago when I received $100, a very special gift from someone.  I prayed about what to do with it.  Pay off bills, buy groceries, buy gas, buy clothes…all of that seemed like…things I could do any time.  And so today I made a couple deposits into a couple different accounts of people who have spent the last year watching over me, protecting me, and making sure I had something to eat when it appeared that I didn’t.  They may not ask from where the gifts came, but I know they’ll appreciate it.  It means more knowing that they have something than me doing something less with that money.

Self-fulfilling prophecy.  I ain’t going to lie.  The last few days have been rough.  The next few weeks will be rough, too.  So rough that I’ve started giving up on love.  I’ve resigned to the idea that I’ll be 50, maybe 60 or 70, and never married.  That seems to be my scorecard so far.  And when talking with Sara about this tonight, she told me about the danger behind a self-fulfilling prophecy.  I wonder though if as a relationship-addict that I’m meant to feel this way for a time—to remove the primary desire for a husband, to take full advantage of being single.  And by full advantage I mean becoming someone who has their life centered around Christ—so much so that He is the only road to joy.  Right now if I were to date I know without a shadow of a doubt that I would fall back into being dependent on a guy for happiness, and happiness happens, but joy abides.  Need to rework some things before I can love to the best of my ability.

Tres away.  Day 47 into my challenge.  It's been difficult—so difficult.  But I'm growing.  Every day I get a little closer to who God wants me to be.  One day I'll be ready to love and be loved by someone.  Three days until my 50th day anniversary, and three days until Christmas.  On the path to being saved in more ways than one.  I get to celebrate my small victory, and I get to celebrate His larger-than-life victory.  And this will be my second Christmas at Fellowship—so much has happened in a year.  And I am so different from even a year ago.  I can't wait to see who I am in another year.

Assumption.  You read my blog and assume you know me, wrong.  Ask me, then you'll know exactly who I am and where my heart is.  Assuming does not breed life, but good conversation does.

Day 46

I clutched the key in my hand, like doing so would somehow bring him back.

And I cried.  For what seemed like hours, curled up in the fetal position on my bed, I cried.  The tears burned down my cheeks and I could hear the angry beating of my pulse through my temples.

What should have happened two months ago happened tonight.  And all too late I realized avoiding it only made this inevitable pain worse.

I looked into his light brown eyes tonight, and, for a second, he cradled me.  My head met that warm space in his chest.  So familiar, and yet so unforgiving.

To love someone so much, to not have it be right…hurts.

It hurts.  Present tense.  Where I thought I was doing okay and had moved on, really I just hadn’t allowed myself to feel the pain.  This searing, almost electrical pain.

I miss him.  I miss all we were and all that was…even though I know what he said is true.  It wasn’t right.

As he handed me my key, I felt my heart completely surrender to the pain.  I held the small piece of metal delicately then, as if it were instead made of glass.  As if breaking it would reflect the last piece of my already broken heart.

My tears continued to fall after his departure, my thoughts swirling.  And I cried even harder, realizing what it was to have loved someone who loved me.  My pain didn’t come from him betraying me or hurting me like other breakups.  It simply came from having to accept the truth.  Two good people with two good hearts who weren’t meant to be.

And so, I’ll remember when we were meant to be, if only for a season—when God brought us together.  I’ll remember loving him, and what it felt like to have his love.  The summer nights where his lips met mine, the slow dances in his arms, conversations about life on the small balcony of my apartment, the warm night together in the starlit ocean, and standing in the rain, letting it soak us and feeling more joy—more freedom—in that one singular moment than I had ever felt.

I thank God for letting me experience that love and for the respect he showed me tonight.  I pray that God pulls me through this pain.  I pray that He changes my heart.  I pray selfishly that this pain won’t last longer than it needs to.  I pray for both of us that God may make us both stronger and bring us closer to Him in ways we never expected from the ending of this chapter.  I pray for him to keep growing, and to one day find love with someone who brings out the best in him, who can push him towards Christ, and who loves him so deeply.  I pray that the issues that tore us apart will not be forgotten, so we may grow from them, and that the good parts—the parts worth remembering—are used to push us to fight for love in our future romances.  A part of my heart will always belong to him.

Day 45

Drunk.

Good night.

Day 44

It was snowing.

I was dressed in my heavy black overcoat.  Such a contrast against the bleached background.  Dan walked beside me, his face straight-laced, as we made our way through the winter flakes.

After a year apart, we had decided to try again.  As he crunched the snow beneath him, it occurred to me I had no idea why we had agreed to this.  I watched him as I would a stranger.  Neither love nor hate filled my spirit.

As we somberly climbed the stairs to the house in front of us I realized we were visiting Evan.  Dan and Evan were friends.  I had dated them both.  Dan first, and Evan more recently, him being the one I had loved more deeply.  When we walked into his living room, Evan’s back was turned toward me.

He was skyping with his coworkers who were on a ski trip out of town.  They started guffawing when they saw me, as if there was a joke I had missed.  Evan’s eyes met mine, and his disdain was immediately evident.  His face took on lines of anger as he turned away from me.  He continued to laugh with his buddies, and even welcomed Dan with a warm hug.

But to me, the girl he had loved, his eyes remained bitter.

As I waited for Dan to finish whatever he had come here to finish, Evan approached me from behind.  I turned around and, for the first time in many months, stood face to face with him.

The face I had once loved was gone.  This one was raw and tormented, lips turned down in a snarl.  A stranger stood before me. 

“Get out of my house.”

“What?” I asked, hoping I had misheard.

Ugliness covered his face and hate radiated in his voice.

“Get.  Out.  Of.  My.  House.”

I looked for Dan.  He didn’t stand up or even acknowledge what was being said.  He continued to zone in on the 60 inch TV where Evan’s friends paused to listen.

It hurt to look into Evan’s eyes—strange eyes that held no familiarity.  Dan’s reaction I expected.  He had never stood up for me the first time we dated.  But Evan—Evan I had loved with all my heart, and he had always treated me with respect, so his sudden disrespect was a shock.  I was in disbelief that he could be so cruel.

And so I left.  I walked away, letting the door slam behind me.

Disgust filled my heart.  It was so strong that by my tenth step, I turned around.  I marched up the porch, gracefully walking back into his house.  Evan sat on his lounge, laughing.  When my eyes pierced his, he became silent.  And suddenly, he looked different.  He was still internally Evan, but he outwardly looked like my best guy friend Jackson, the friend who has always shown me respect.

I made sure he was looking directly into my eyes as I spoke my next words.

“You don’t get to treat me like this ever again.  One day you’ll understand.”

The house was silent.  There was no more laughter.  He said nothing, and I took one last look at him before I walked back out into the white afternoon.  As tears fell down my cheeks, I left that house and everyone in it behind.

Yesterday marked my seventh week of not taking communion with the church.

·   I saw a picture of Dan a few days ago.  I looked at his face, recognizing the flaws I saw as his girlfriend, as someone who really knew him.  And instead of just pain, I think that was the first day I really felt…sad.  Not in a callous you-haven’t-changed-way, but sad like I suddenly, truly wanted more for him.  It was a weird experience, and I think my dream related it well.

·   Apparently I’m more hurt by Evan than my consciousness let me realize.  Because of the way it ended—or didn’t end—the time we spent together feels void.  Where is my goodbye?

·   Evan and I were friends for a long time before we started dating.  I trusted him.  Just like I trust Jackson.  There is a part of me that doesn’t trust men—father, friend or otherwise—and it’s almost like I’m already prepared to be hurt.  Like it’s a matter of time before a guy friend hurts me.

God, I praise you for helping me sort through my feelings with Dan, and letting me get to this point.  I pray that you continue to work on my heart with Evan, and let me forgive him and myself for everything that happened.  And with the men in my life, please continue to grow my heart for them and to build up trust in them.  And lastly, please continue to protect me from men who aren’t of You, who don’t love You, and therefore cannot love me.  You’ve been faithful so far, and I believe it’s only up for here on out.

Day 43

There are ups and there are downs.  Tonight is a down.

I was fine.  Until I watched The Help.

As soon as Skeeter walked in to play Bridge with the young married housewives, I was angry.

The last few months God has been showing me at just what I am angry.

For the couples in my life who I have deemed worthy of marriage, I support, encourage, praise, and smile.  But when people become engaged who I don’t deem worthy—I get jealous, furious, and plaster on a fake grin.  Because, really, why do they deserve marriage?

And that’s exactly the thought that crosses my mind.  Right?  Because I have the power to say who does and does not deserve to be married.  Phew, that pride is limping a little.  I’m all for the friends who have had difficult, faithful journeys to reach the end of the aisle, but when it comes to friends who have stumbled upon love, I’m vicious.

I got so upset watching those women in that movie.  They got the big house, they got the children, they got the man—why?  Why them?

And that’s the same thought I think each time I find out another girl has gotten engaged.  Why?

She’s not as nice as me.

She’s not as kind as me.

She’s not as funny as me.

She’s not as pretty as me.

Yeah, I said it!  Those are the evil thoughts I think!  Admitting it is the first step.

As we were sitting in our group tonight, we touched on idea that God uses the hurt in our lives.  Our painful past decisions work for God’s glory.  It is just now I’m beginning to struggle with this.  A month ago I would’ve agreed wholeheartedly.  And I still agree.   But there’s a bull inside me waiting to buck—not because it’s not true, but because of this deep fear within me.

A few weeks ago my friend Jillian handed out a worksheet to help pinpoint the lies we believe about God.  It was at least a two hour process for me to fill this out.  And at the end?  This is the lie I believe about God:

“God is selfish.  He doesn’t want to see me happy.  He doesn’t care about me.  He doesn’t care if I’m happy.  He doesn’t care if I’m ever loved by anyone.  God is selfish, and He’s the reason why I’ve been in all these failed relationships.  If God is love, and I’m not worthy of love, then how could He ever love me or let me be loved?  I am never going to be loved.  God is going to use me till there's nothing left.  My happiness doesn't matter.  And then he's going to discard me just like all the rest.”

God is going to use me till there’s nothing left.  And then He’s going to leave me.

At the center of my heart is abuse and abandonment.

Not love.

Am I really in white robes?  Will I ever wear a white dress?  What’s the point if love isn’t at the end?

Day 42

My name is Skeeter and I don’t want a Stewart.

My name is Juliet and I don’t want a Romeo.

My name is Gomer and I want a Hosea.

My name is Ruth and I want a Boaz.

A love in spite of my flaws.  A love encouraging courage.  A love centered on the center.

This is where I will wait.  Not dabbling in Stewarts or Romeos, but in God’s will.

Day 41

One day I’ll be married.

One day I’ll have a ring.  One day there will be vows.  One day there will be a kiss.  And one day there will be a house that becomes a home.  One day there will be babies who turn into toddlers who grow into teenagers who mature in adults.  And one day there will be a set of rocking chairs on a porch where my husband and I will look back and marvel at our life together.

One day.

But until that day, there will be today.

No checking in, no conflicting schedules, no need to find babysitters, no house note, no family expenses, no lunches to pack—yes, I want to cherish this time in my life.  Before we all get married, before we have children, my friends and I can enjoy our time together and know exactly what it means to have each other—to know the true meaning of friends.  Road trips, movies, holidays, special get-togethers, any get-togethers, coffee dates—all the while rejoicing in times of sadness and celebrating in moments of gladness.

As Sara and I drove through Germantown tonight, mapping out our targets, it occurred to me…this is such a precious time in my life.

Before I started this challenge I felt like I was just filling my time until he came along, waiting on him so my life could start.  Nothing could be further from the truth now. 

Instead of time being filled, I feel so full—my life is full and happy, and satisfying. 

I realized being single isn’t shackles and woes, it’s freedom.

And it amazes me how in just 40 days my perspective has changed in extreme ways.

When I am married, when will I have random nights out like this?  When will I be able to drink coffee at night?  When will I listen to rap music as loud as I want?  How often will I be able to just pick up and hang out with a friend?  There’s an element of spontaneity that fades when other responsibilities come into play.  Right now is the time to take advantage.  Right now is the time to develop and enjoy a full life.

Because one day, it will be me and my husband.  And we will share a life together.  And it will be great.  But it will also be different.  The dynamics will change, and what once was, will not be.

And one day when we sit rocking on our porch, reminiscing of our lives together as our grandchildren play on the steps, I will think of the road I traveled long before my husband entered my life.  I will think of my friends.  Our nights out.  Our nights in.  And how much God blessed me with this One Year Challenge.

And as memories drift through my old, tired 80-year-old mind, the phone will ring.  I’ll slowly amble towards it, cane in hand, and answer with a soft, “Hello.”

And on the other end will be Sara.

“I don't understand how I can have so many ha-ters.”

And I’ll respond, “Move if ya wanna if ya wanna if ya wanna. Move, move.”

And my husband will shake his head.   And I’ll laugh, remembering such a precious time and the lifelong friendships I made in what started out as my darkest year.

Day 40

I am a Christian.

That sentence alone causes a multitude of reactions to anyone who reads it.

Some may feel joy and relief.  Others may feel resentment, anger, or hatred.

My friend and I sat this evening and had a deep conversation about why people hate Christians.

Because people do hate us.

So why?

People see us as prejudice, hateful people who judge and condemn—of course you would hate us.  I would hate me if that were true.  But it’s not.

I love you.  Not in a pretentious I-have-to-because-God-commands-me-to kind of way, but in an honest, deep, and meaningful way that I want to share my life with you.  Because once I was that person who didn't believe.

A few years ago, I was determined to avoid religion.  I had my doubts, I laughed at religious satire, mocked Christians, and hated what I knew about God.

God hates gays.  What a loving God.

God created us to be miserable.  Forget that.

God wants us to sing and worship him.  How selfish.

God wants me to rely on what I cannot see?  If science can’t prove it, it’s not real.

So many lies and half-truths—and no-truths! Cheap imitations of Christians are out there, everywhere.  Giving us—really, giving God, a bad name.  It took me a long time to see what is real and what is not.  And it is because of the truth of His love for me that I will love you, and continue to love you.  And I will always love you.  Because He has loved me.

I’m not writing this to change your heart, or to sway you, or anything like that, because really it’s not up to me to change you.  My responsibility is to love you.

Penn Jillette is an advocate for atheism.  I heard this last year, and it embedded itself into my heart.  This is my responsibility to you—to everyone.  He says this:

“…I’ve always said, you know, that I don’t respect people who don’t proselytize. I don’t respect that at all. If you believe that there is a heaven and hell, and people could be going to hell, or not getting eternal life or whatever, and you think that, well, it’s not really worth telling them this because it would make it socially awkward…how much do you have to hate somebody to not proselytize? How much do you have to hate somebody to believe that everlasting life is possible and not tell them that? I mean, if I believed beyond a shadow of doubt that a truck was coming at you, and you didn’t believe it, and that truck was bearing down on you, there’s a certain point where I tackle you. And this is more important than that…”

I see the pain in this world.  Christians and non-Christians alike suffer.  We have been torn apart and set against each other, and it’s easier to hate than it is to love.  Hate comes to us in a more natural way.  Love takes work.  But I will love, and I will live my life in such a way it glorifies the God who saved me.  I will not force my beliefs on you, but neither will I condone behavior.  I will never compare our lives and boast, but I will share what He has done through me and for me. You may never change, and you may never love or accept me, but you need not change to have my love—it’s already yours.

In the Bible there is a book called Romans, written by the apostle Paul.  Romans 12:10 reads:

Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.

In our conversation tonight, my friend said, “It doesn’t say, ‘Love believers…outdo believers in honor’—no!  It says everyone!”  And to the best of my ability, I will love you and I will honor you as you are, believer or not.

Day 39

Exhausted, but happy.  So here’s a rundown.

Sister, sister.  This week has been a full and happy (but exhausting) one.  Monday I spent time with Sara and Tracy, listening to a sermon together.  Tuesday I went to the gathering at the Holcombs' house, where I was able to spend time with so many people.  Today I had dinner with Sara, Danielle, Savannah, Jillian and Christine, and can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.  Tomorrow I’ll see Tabitha.  Friday, more Christmas lights with Sara.  Every day I have been blessed with…just being around people who are so joyful.  It’s amazing how much can happen in such a short amount of time.  The party planning committee made an awesome list of things to come for this year.  I’m excited to experience life with my new and wonderful friends.

Included in this shot are the
president and our secretary of defense.

Our Must-Do-Before-We-Marry list.
"Crossing something off
makes this a legitimate list!"

Nothin' like dancing in someone's random front yard.

Always ready for a good time.

These neighbors must hate their neighbors
with the amazing lightshow.

Work.  Bowling on Tuesday for our Christmas party.  Ready to (not) kick butt, but enjoy some bowling alley pizza and beer.  The only thing that would make it better is hot wings.

Just gimme a beat.  Loving Big Sean’s Dance and Pbz’s Freak It Like Madonna right now.  Know both songs have inappropriate lyrics, but I just need a good beat and I’m happy.

Day 38

I remember the sweater I wore on our first date.

Funny, for a girl who has a terrible memory, the things I remember.

I still have it hanging in my closet, and when I wear it my mind drifts back to that cold January day.

It was my favorite turtleneck.  Deep orange and soft, it not only kept me warm, but complemented my then-jet-black hair.  As I drove to meet him, I stopped at the traffic light at Germantown Parkway and Walnut Grove.  It was then I heard Shinedown’s 45 for the first time.

Funny, the things I remember.

The sadness of the words wooed my heart.  I felt the pain though I knew nothing of it at that time.  It would be two years later, like a prophecy, that the lyrics of this song would punctuate my life.

Whatever happened to the young man’s heart?

Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart

Last December, my heart would drown in its decaying state, and I would be swallowed by the same pain sung within that sad melody.

It was today as I dressed for work that I realized I was pulling on a sweater I had not worn in a year.

This would be the very sweater I wore on the last day I saw him.

Funny what I remember.

Black and white.  What irony.

Things were black and white that snowy night.  He didn’t want me.  I wanted him.  He had moved on.  I hadn’t.  He had lied.  I had cried.  He was gone.  And I couldn’t breathe. 

My whole life changed in that moment, and for a year, memories of him plagued me like an incurable illness.

For a girl with a terrible memory, I remembered so much.

In a month, our year apart will be dated, and I will think of the 365 days that have passed—a testimony to God’s unfailing love.  So much can happen in a just year.

Three years ago began the most painful, but beautiful journey of my lifetime.  Two years ago sparked authentic curiosity.  One year ago I died in heartbreak.  Today, my heart is alive in love.

Thoughts of him now feel like I am swimming through the ashes of another life, because it was another life.

As time passes, God clears more of these ashes from my heart.  Every day, those ashes of my past become less and less as love—His love—delicately sweeps them from the darkened spaces within me.

Those ashes of 2010?  Yeah, redeemed by the light of 2011.

Dance parties at work.  The first time I tried apple cider.  Andy Stanley sermons.  Meeting a Persian.  The dance floor at the Rumba Room.  A salsa inspired Justin Bieber mix.  The one-way street that was not so one way.  An uncleanable crockpot.  A scone at Panera.  A delicious dirt-cake.  Tables at Starbucks where amazing conversations were had.  Couches with strategy.  Creepy facial hair.  Boots that were worn out to Black Friday.  Conversation hearts.  Breakfast at CKs.  A terrible Muppet movie.  A warm bonfire.  Nertz and Signs.  The day I came home from the Connection Classes and wept out of joy.

Years from now, when God and I sit down for coffee, I will share all the ashes of my life with Him and thank Him for the dark places, praise Him for redeeming those dark places, and throw myself at His feet in gratitude for the light He would shine down upon me in every moment of my life.

Day 37

My soul will wait for You, Lord (Psalm 130:6), as You wait to be gracious to me (Isaiah 30:18), because blessed am I when I wait on Your will (Isaiah 30:18).  I will wait for You, Lord, and my heart will take courage, because, yes, I am determined to wait for You (Psalm 27:14).  And I will trust You, because I will seek first Your kingdom (Matthew 6:33), and You will hear me, and I will know that You hear me, because I will be so lost in You that my will, will be Yours (1 John 5:14), because You are the greatest love story ever told (Job 33:14).  You are my greatest love story.  My heart is deceptive (Jeremiah 17:9) in its fruitless wants of this world destined to pass, but You are forever (1 John 2:15-17).

Day 36

“I don’t have to…I get to.”

As the pastor continued teaching, I couldn’t let go of those words.

All week I’ve been praying about what of my story to share with my Sunday group.

How deep can I go?  What can they handle?  What can I handle?  What can I say to keep them from running?

Throughout the week I heard God telling me to tell it all.  To share everything.  Not out of guilt.  Not out of shame.  But to tell of His grace, His glory, how He pulled me away from my poisonous, addicted life.  The things He used to change my life aren’t pretty, but God builds beauty out of ashes, and, baby, I was burnt.

I don’t have to tell them, but I get to stationed itself in my heart.

As 5:30 rounded the clock, I was in a panic.  My heart was literally beating out of my chest.  Please let them love me after this, I prayed.

A friend reminded me yesterday that being obedient to the will of God is a lot better than wishing you had been.  And tonight I was obedient to God, and I shared my life with these girls who have so quickly become my family.  I don’t know how each felt afterwards, but I heard God saying, "One.  One needs to hear this."  And so I followed Him, knowing that if He said "only one" then that's the one that mattered.

At the end of the night, my eyes were met by gazes full of abounding love and grace, just as if Christ Himself had been sitting there, listening to me.

After the last few girls left, I curled up in front of my fireplace, partly from emotional exhaustion, and partly just taking a moment to praise God while Chris Tomlin and Audrey Assad’s song Winter Snow played on REPEAT.  The first time I heard this song was in my car, and it brought tears to my eyes.  I’m assuming it talks of God sending Christ to us, but my heart took on a meaning of its own.

It makes me think of how God didn’t bring me to Him.  He wasn’t quiet or gentle.  He saved me by ripping everything from me.

Could've come like a mighty storm

With all the strength of a hurricane

You could've come like a forest fire

With the power of heaven in Your flame

And You did, for me.

You could've swept in like a tidal wave

Or an ocean to ravish our hearts

You could have come through like a roaring flood

To wipe away the things we've scarred

And You did, for me.

For me, He did so much.  He tore away at the life I knew.  He took it from me by force, piece by painful piece.

What are you afraid of?  I hear Him gently.  This is the path I gave you.  Would you want anything different, anything less?  If they love Me, they love you.  Don’t let your fear keep you.  Peace.

Peace.  And I am at peace tonight, because He fell from the sky in the night to the earth below, and saved me.  And I get to tell that story.

Day 35

"Please don't burn us!"

I don’t bake.

I don’t bake.  I don’t cook.  I don’t decorate.  I hate folding laundry.  I hate washing dishes.  Yeah, you want to marry me, I know.  I’m the wife of your dreams.

So what am I doing tonight?

I did laundry.  I washed the dishes.  I decorated.  I’m cooking.  I’m baking.  Or at least I’m trying.  Those little guys are probably burning while I type this!

So why the sudden domestication?

Company tomorrow.

My Sunday night group is convening at my place.

I owe it to them to try.  I owe it to myself.  I owe it to God.  Not just in the sense of baking—though if I pull this off it’ll be amazing—but because this is the season for me to try new things.

Dressing the way I want to dress.  Listening to music I want to listen to.  Hanging out with people I want to hang out with.  Finding hobbies that I love.  Pushing myself to live.

I’ve spent my entire life unhealthily revolving around men.

I’ve let them decide my schedule, my diet, my friends, my hobbies—even my interior design.  I just went with the flow, and going with the flow meant not having a style all my own, or having responsibilities, because all of that was taken care of for me.

Don’t want to cook?  Let’s go out to eat.  Don’t want to buy new sheets?  Let me buy you sheets.  That painting sucks.  That TV isn’t big enough.  That dress doesn’t look good on you.

So I changed.  I resigned.  And I got lazy.  Okay, you pick for me, because it’s easier than fighting.

So tonight, I’m trying out new things.  Adding new things to my Jamie-resumé.  In a few minutes I’ll know if the cookies Iiiiiiiiiiiiii made came out tasting like gingersnaps.  In the morning, I’ll know if the stew I made came out not-disgusting.

And if they didn’t, then try, try again.

And if they did, I guess there’s more to being me than I thought.

Day 34

One year ago…I was miserable.

I was so confused and lost…and struggling to follow Christ the best I could.

I prayed for a community that would walk with me and could understand my struggles. 

I prayed…and I prayed…and I prayed.

Tonight I went over to a friend’s for a small dinner, and sat around a table full of new faces.  After dinner, the rest of the night was spent watching Hitch and talking about God.

Talking about God all night?!  What community does this?  Is this reality?  I wondered in amazement.  I sat quietly, taking in the conversation before me.  It sounded like all different people from all different walks with so much wisdom, so many concerns, and so much love for God.

These last few months have just brightened my life.  I have never been so thankful and so vulnerable.  This has been such a great journey—not that it’s been a great journey, but one where I’ve grown, grown close to Him, and have grown close to others.  I can’t explain in words what it feels like for an empty heart to be filled a little more each day…

I enjoyed every moment of tonight, and thank You, God, for moving mountains.  This is exactly where I wanted to be, but could never find.  You are faithful, and loving, and so amazing, and I just want to praise You!  I want to honor You and all the wonderful people You have given me!  I am so full of joy!

Posted 12/10/2011 @ 2:24 AM

Day 33

Time for bullets.

Pursuit of idleness.  All my life I have pursued men in both relationships and friendships in unhealthy ways.  This challenge has been a proactive pursuit of stepping down and back, refusing to be aggressive.  The more I learn about the roles of men and women as Christians, the more comfortable I am letting and wanting men to take initiative.  I’m giving men space to be leaders in my life, which is a big change for me.  I’m leaving it to them to initiate.  No sending Friend Requests, no initiating text messages, no initiating phone calls or chats.  My behavior isn’t one of righteousness or entitlement—I promise—but rather letting the progress of my challenge take its slow course.  If I haven’t reached out, it’s because I’m letting you take the lead.  It’s not a forever-thing, but right now it’s what I need.  I’m thankful for the men who have been spiritual leaders lately.  It means a lot.

Sunshine after the clouds.  In this pursuit of honor and love, God has given me some great examples of men lately.  A few weeks ago, I was really upset with someone, but couldn’t relate my feelings.  So I automatically counted out the friendship.  Saturday night I saw him out, and I wasn’t excited to see him.  He ended up finding me midway through the night and initiating intentional conversation about the last few weeks.  Where I was initially defensive, he was understanding and gentle.  He was sincere in wanting to understand my perspective, and because of that I was able to open up.  I really appreciated that conversation, and I am so thankful to God for protecting me, and using him as an example; men are capable of honoring women.

Gambled investments.  As the months continue, I’m becoming very aware of my friendship-making habits.  Pride is a dangerous thing and it isn’t often that you’ll get away unscathed when it’s at the root of your decisions.  It compels me to befriend friends that aren’t a good fit.  I want these friendships where I have to prove that I’m worth being friends with, which part of me (wrongly) thinks would increase my self-worth.  It’s not a fair barometer of compatible friendships.  I want to use these next few months to commit to and really develop friendships with the right people.  A friend who isn’t interested in being friends is like sand slipping through your fingers anyway. 

Loosen up those buttons, babe.  “What kind of button is that on your coat?...Is it made of wood?...Where was it made?”  A button conversation is an endearing term for superficial conversation.  I’m not saying these conversations aren’t necessary—at the beginning—but I need some depth!  These last few months I’ve met plenty of new people, having my fair share of button conversations.  I love people who open at the core and share themselves with others.  You’re my brother, you’re my sister, I want to know your heart.  I want to share mine with you.  I absolutely love when I’m talking with someone, and they say, “So…what’s your story?” because I know theirs isn’t far behind.  And loving is so much easier when you know who you’re loving and can appreciate all the pieces of their heart.  So if you and I ever have a conversation, don’t be expecting buttons.