The Battle We Don't Choose

Cancer

Up until a year ago, that word had no meaning in my life. It was just a disease that I learned about in my anatomy class. It was something that my neighbor's 85 year old father suffered from. It was something that my friend's great-great aunt died from. It certainly wasn't anything that could affect my life. 

Until I got a phone call that my friend had a tumor in her heart. She is 21 years old. My age.

Until my grandma called me from the hospital saying she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She died a week later.

Until my dear, sweet mother-in-law became diagnosed. 

Now,

Cancer is a word I've come to hate. 

It's become something that makes my stomach drop and my throat close up when I hear it. It makes me want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head. If cancer had a face, I'd punch it. 

Since my grandma's death I have been piecing myself back together and I'm learning now that pieces are all different. Everything I thought I knew has been challenged and I spent a lot of time questioning myself and my actions. 
What is important?
What matters?
Lately these questions have led me back to my Grandma's last days.Thinking about those moments stops me in tracks. The last week my grandma was alive she was tired and fading but that didn't stop her from smiling and laughing, or from showing us through her actions that every moment is precious. 
There were moments of total peace and happiness. 
Then reality would hit me. Grandma was dying and there was nothing I could do to help her. Disbelief. There is no way this is happening. Crash.
So many emotions. 
When I got the phone call that Sunday morning, "You better come now...", it was all I could do not to fly down the interstate on that 4 hour drive to Clearwater. When I walked into the hospital and hugged my sister she whispered, "Grandma's been waiting for you." 
I watched Grandma as she gave her final "I Love Yous" to all of us.How could she be so strong? 
And then, she was gone. 

Grandma's death has pushed me to accept that one day I will die.It is inevitable. I am not saying that I am not afraid of death, I have embraced that I am healthy. I am alive.
I don't want to sound idealistic and I know that life is not always great. In fact, it really sucks sometimes. Let's face it: we know how difficult life can be. What's worse is when life tests our trust in God. Where do we place our hope in these circumstances? Do our lives reflect that God is our hope?

"For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from him.
He only is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
On God rests my salvation and my glory;
my mighty rock, my refuge is God.
Trust in Him at all times, O People;
pour out your heart before him;
God is a refuge for us." Psalm 62:5-8

This is a battle cry. It is a bold profession of a man who, though trudging through trials and attacked by life, still embraces hope. 
David is reminding us that our God of eternal salvation is a God that we can trust in our present reality. 
So..
where does my hope come from? David answers that for me, "God alone..my hope is from him."

And if I ever doubt this, I consider the wonder of the cross:
"With God on our side, how can we lose? If God didn't hesitate to put everything on the line for us, is there anything else He wouldn't gladly and freely do for us?" (Romans 8:31-32). God secured us an eternal stay in heaven by sacrificing his own son. How much more would this mighty God provide for our temporal needs? 

He promised not to leave us and His promises are true. 

Kicking and Screaming

Like most, I struggle with finding good things in bad situations. My mind likes to dwell on all the bad or uncertain things going on in my life which then begins my downward spiral into a depressive state. I've never been diagnosed as "depressed", but I have my days where I just can't seem to pick myself back up. 

Take today, for example. My mind is in a constant circle of:

Grandma dying, needing a job, I have no money, I am worried about school, I have a wedding to plan. 

By the end of the day, I have put myself in such a bad mood that there is no pulling me out of it. 

And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of feeling that familiar lump in my throat when I want to cry. I'm tired of staying in a bad mood. And I'm tired of being tired. 

My coping skills for stressful situations are to sleep. Sleep to escape the world, sleep to escape the sadness. After my grandma died last week, I missed almost a whole week of classes because I slept all day. Literally, did not wake up once. 

Week after week, I have struggled with wondering when God would show up. Dry. Tired. Lost.

I kept asking myself, "what am I doing wrong?"

Whenever we have dry spells the enemy likes to creep in and spread a few lies in order to isolate us from our faith. I began thinking I wasn't pretty enough for my fiance anymore, I stopped wanting to go to church, and I stopped wanting to hear people encourage me. I thought that being in my sad state would make me feel better. But it only made it worse. 

I have forgotten that God is with me in the valley. And the truth is without valleys there would be no mountaintops. God knows, God is near, and I can trust that He is good and that He is my Father. Instead of praying for God to take me out of the desert, I should pray that God would teach me while in the desert. 

I have learned three things thus far:

Stay in church community- Whenever we feel unloved by God our first inclination is to run. We feel unwelcome. We feel unloved. We isolate and hide. The best thing we can do when that is happening is to intentionally surround ourselves with our brothers and sisters of the faith. They can pray for us. They can encourage us. 

When I feel like praying the least, is when I should pray the most. Be silent. Be still. Ask God to speak to you through His word. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it feels like He isn't there. But sometimes He shows up when you least expect it.

Be honest and real with God and others. We don't always have a smile. We can cry. We can yell. We can be frustrated. Until we are fully transparent with our loving Father, we'll never feel the weight of burden and anxiety off our shoulders.

Even as I sit here, I know that I am going to have to force myself to stay focused on those three things. So much of me would rather just stay in my yoga pants and eat Oreos and lay in bed and not think about the world. But I wasn't created for that. I was created to excel in life and be extraordinary. And I cannot show Christ through me if I don't know how to let God pick me up from a bad situation and walk me through it. 


** I love you, Grandma. I miss you every single day and will always hold you close to my heart. You never stopped believing in me and encouraging me to do better, and I hope that I made you proud.**

Banana Pancakes

Can I just take a moment of your time? I promise this won't take long.

This morning, I woke up and promised my fiance that I would cook him a huge breakfast in my new place. Excited, I ran to the store to get all the mixings for pancakes, bacon, eggs, and orange juice. That trip ended with me calling my mother, who lives 4 hours away, to ask where to find pancake mix in the store. 

Fast forward 2 hours

I stood in the kitchen, close to tears. The bacon had burned, the pancakes had either been overcooked or undercooked and were gooey, and let's just say  I went through a whole dozen eggs. The only thing that was good was the OJ.  By now it was almost noon and my very hungry fiance was waiting at the table, wondering what was taking so long. 

I stared at my botched attempt at a breakfast and my eyes filled with tears. How stupid was I? Can't even cook a simple breakfast for 2 people. How the heck was I supposed to be a good wife? Furious with myself, I grabbed up the crappy food and slammed it down the trashcan. About that time, Matt walked in curious as to what was taking so long. Instead of Betty Crocker standing in the kitchen with her cute little apron and perfectly fluffy, golden pancakes....there I stood with bacon grease burns on my arms in a cloud of smoke ( from burning the bacon) and tears rolling down my face. 

Matt took one look at the situation and immediately took over. He opened windows, took the now charred bacon off the stove, and gathered me in his arms.

"Baby, what happened?" He said

"I just wanted to make you a good breakfast and I burned it all and now it's almost lunch time." I wailed into his shoulder. "I can't even make you breakfast." 

I heard what sounded like a chuckle, and then I felt Matt's hand tilt my chin up.

"Look at me." He said.  "I love you. I can't tell you how many times I've burned up my breakfasts before getting it right. This was your first meal on your own and you didn't get it the first time, but you will. But I want you to know something...even if you never ended up making good breakfasts, I would eat your burned breakfasts every single morning because I love you."

I looked up at him as he gently wiped the tears off my cheeks and I saw that he was smiling.

"What's so funny?" I blubbered.

"You." He said. "I think it's really cute that you cared so much about making me breakfast."

He kissed my forehead.  "I'm going to run out to the store, and I'll be right back, okay?" 

"Whatever." I mumbled.

15 minutes later I sat at the kitchen table feeling dejected and lousy. Matthew walks in with not one, but two bouquets of flowers. He walks over, gives me a kiss, and hands them to me. 

Daisies. My favorite.

"I realized I haven't gotten you flowers in a while...and I knew you were upset. So here...flowers!" He said all excitedly.  He then went into the kitchen where he whipped up an amazing breakfast for us.

My heart is full.

I don't make this stuff up <3 

Why Goodbyes Have to Exist

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."
        -Thomas Meeha

There are only a few days until I leave the city and the home I have lived in for the past 22 years. and move 4 hours away for college and for a new life with my fiance. And it has been rough as the reality has set in. Waiting is the worst part, as you live in between where you've been and where you're going. Then there's the fact that I am going to have to part with those to whom I am closest. 

I'm going to change. The reality of moving out of my comfort zone and starting the new, grown up chapter of my life, is scary. 

I can't say what's going to happen once I turn the page. 

It's true: endings are hard. Maybe it's because I can see where I've been  and where I'm going, but I didn't really want to arrive at the destination quite yet. Because then it's all over and I've got to figure out what to do next. 

It's uncertainty that gives life its terror- and its thrill. I know where I'm going, I just don't know exactly what is going to happen when I get there, or what will happen once I'm gone. 

I don't have the heart for goodbyes, because I don't really have the words. How does one fit the thankfulness to those one has known their entire life into something that wouldn't take an hour to read? 

I remember watching the series finale of M.A.S.H. with a friend (on a rerun, of course). I was young, so I don't remember much about it. What stuck with me, however, was the end as the character parted. I vaguely remember watching the closing scene and asking my friend, "What is that for?" For, from the helicopter, "GOODBYE" was spelled out in large stones. "It's because he wouldn't say goodbye." My friend explained.

He couldn't- or wouldn't- say goodbye to his best friend. So he wrote it instead.

It wasn't a paragraph. It wasn't several pages of a letter written thoughtfully and painstakingly. It wasn't a poem.

It was beautiful.

It was simple.

And it said all that needed to be said, in the end, because in that seven letter word, was everything.

And so, when it comes time for me to cast off from this harbor, rolling into uncharted waters, I shall try my best to wave farewell and say- or rather, not say- 

For Better or For Worse..but Never For Granted

I fell in love with the man of my dreams 2 years ago. 

In the throes of what researchers call the "passionate love" stage, I was pretty sure my boyfriend was too good for me--and was just glad he didn't seem to realize it. He was outspoken, cooked up a storm, and loved Jesus as much as I did. We couldn't have been happier. Over the next two years, we traveled back and forth to visit each other, made many new friends, as well as suffering through losses and hardships of life as it was thrown at us. 

But--in like many relationships--the lovely "honeymoon" period had a shelf life. And today, although my fiance and I continue to share a strong and abiding affection and connection, I've come to realize that I've been doing something I never thought I'd do--take my fiance and relationship for granted. And I think a lot of people do the same. 

This realization hit me in the head recently when our anniversary came and went. Matthew was down in Ocala working on a house project with his dad, and I was stuck at home cleaning. No, we didn't have any plans...but who's to say we weren't going to make any? I mentioned it to my fiance and he seemed nonplussed. Should I have been annoyed? I thought back to the first months of our relationship, how we enthusiastically participated in this widespread ritual of public devotion, surprising one another with special meals and trips and gifts. One weekend, he surprised me with flowers and a trip to Disney. Now I can't recall the last time we got to go on a date night together.


But now I think I was wrong. Somewhere along the way, that passionate kiss when my fiance saw me for the first time in a month morphed into a peck on the cheek or a quick side hug. I began to be much more sweet natured with my girlfriends than I was with my own fiance. Worst of all, I began to keep score, constantly calculating who had done what. "I came down this weekend, so it's your turn to come visit me next weekend!" 

My aunt and uncle just celebrated 37years of marriage to each other. I asked if they still celebrated Valentine's Day, and much to my surprise, they said they did. My aunt said, "I think for us, Valentine's Day is just an extra day to say that we love each other more than ever and to take a breather from our crazy lives. With so much going on, we tend to forget that hey, we have a partner that we love."

She's right. We should all be celebrating Valentine's Day each year and every day in between. I sometimes think my fiance and I were starting to become so familiar with each other that we simply settled into a comfortable routine. And there's a real danger in that. Studies show that nearly half of men who have cheated say it was because of emotional dissatisfaction. When men don't feel connected to their spouses, they are vulnerable to the advances of any admiring woman who pays a bit of attention to them. 

Woody Allen states, "A relationship is like a shark. It has to be constantly moving forward or it dies."

And that's why, on this day, I will remind myself what drew me to my fiance in the first place. In the months and years ahead, I will abandon predictability in favor of the same kinds of surprises we used to give each other when we first got together. And I will toss aside the computer and kiss him...alright...TMI. 

The truth is, I still love my fiance--and I still get a charge out of my relationship--just as much, if not more, than I ever did. But complacency can be a potent force. My vow is not to let it overpower us. 

Tonight I Miss Him

Tonight I miss my fiance.

I'm here blogging instead of going to bed. I don't want to face the thought of falling asleep alone.

I ache to talk to him for longer than a few minutes here or there. I want to share the details of my day with him over coffee, or lunch. I want to wrap my arms around him and be in the only place I know that makes the world right.

I want his hand to hold. I want his eyes to look into. I want to fall into his hug at the end of the day. I want to share the laughing with him. I want to cry on his shoulder. I want to see him smile at me. I want to share a little of my weariness and frustration with him because when I'm with him, life doesn't seem so hard.

I want him. Plain and simple.

I don't want to have to wait another second longer. But I will. Because waiting is how I love him right now.

The Skinny on being Skinny

"People have really odd opinions. They tell me I'm skinny, as if that's supposed to make me happy." -Angelina Jolie

This is my sister. And she is beautiful. She is strong, independent, stubborn, goofy, and in every way I strive to be like her.

Yesterday we spent a day at the beach, enjoying live music and good food while soaking up the sun. It officially felt like summer. Heading back from one of our many trips to the bathroom (I don't know what it is about the beach that makes you have to pee every 10 minutes), we passed by a couple walking in the opposite direction. I must not have been paying attention because once they had passed by, Jenna looked up and said, "Did you hear what she said to me?"

"No," I replied. "What did she say?"
Jenna didn't answer as we continued our walk to our towels. Once we sat down I looked over and immediately knew something was wrong.  Through tears, Jenna said, "That girl looked at me and went ' UGH! WAY TOO SKINNY!' ". 

Immediately, I stood up.
"Where is she? What did she look like? I'll go shut her up!" 

Right, okay Christen. I weight about 120 and don't intimidate anybody. 

But still, I was ticked. Who thinks they have the right to say something like that? I don't go around looking at overweight people and saying "Ugh, too fat!" or looking at people with different hair or different skin and saying "Ugh, too ugly!" 

My sister has always been small. She is 5'6, and has weighed about 90-100 pounds for most of her grown up years. That's just the way she is. She eats like a horse, and doesn't gain a pound. It's unfair really. Share some of your fast metabolism with the rest of us, dangit! 

She has good genetics. I mean, I've had the pleasure of getting the nickname "Chicken legs" for my ridiculously skinny legs. Thank you. People are so nice. 

But regardless, why are people so set on tearing people down about their image? Jenna doesn't starve herself ( believe me, I live with her and she eats more than I do!), and she is one of the most beautiful, genuine people with one of the biggest hearts. 

I think people are critical of others when they want to be like them. Jenna is naturally tall and skinny, she eats what she wants, she doesn't starve herself, and she is beautiful. 

So why are people allowed to "love their curves" but its wrong for her to love her bones? Why is it okay for you to call her "anorexic", but horrible for her if she calls you fat? If you can tell her to "gain weight" , why can't she tell you to lose weight? 

If you can feel beautiful for being big, she can feel beautiful for being small.

Get over it. Some people are born skinny, and that's just the way it is. You can't point a finger at them and say their ill or anorexic. 

1 Samuel 16:7- But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."

Song of Songs 6:7 - "But my dove, my perfect one, is unique."

Psalm 139: 13-15- For you created me my inmost being: you knit me together in my mother's womb. I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful. I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.

Jenna, I love you. And if ANYONE ever tries to mess with you again, I got your back man.