I Need You To Love Me

"You're a God who has all things and still You want me."

I've been struggling with decisions lately. More specifically, the decisions that other people make. My opinionated nature often shadows my compassion. It's not that I don't have compassion because I do. Sometimes it's just.... misplaced. It's pushed to the side while my mouth spills the judgment or criticism that my mind inexplicably cannot keep to itself. It's a flaw, and one that I've come pretty far at rectifying. Nevertheless, I'm still working on it.

Some situations have come to light that created a weird order of emotions.

• relief
• confusion
• doubt
• anger
• disappointment
• and then back to confusion
• only to be lead to acceptance

I prayed and prayed and prayed. Sometimes those prayers where nothing more than me asking, "What am I supposed to do?" While it seemed like forever, it was only a few days into the praying for these situations when God spoke very clearly to me. It was an audible voice saying the most simplest of truths.

"I need you to love them."

I thought I already was?

"No, no... love them like you ask Me to love you - in spite of everything."

I agreed to work on that, even though I was completely convinced I already had that figured out. I mean, afterall, my feelings were not based on hate. My confusion was not because of my enemies. A few days later I rediscovered an old Spotify playlist. On that playlist was an amazing song from my youth group days. I was psyched to hear it because of the memories it brought back. And then the lyrics began. And I sobbed. I understood what God was saying just a few days prior. 

"Why, why are You still with me? Didn't You see what I've done? In my shame I want to run and hide myself, but it's here I see the truth - I don't deserve You."

How many times have I done things to either myself or to another person that I felt were unforgivable? And yet there was not judgment, no stone throwing, no mention of my past. As a friend recently shared with me, "Tell them God has dropped the charges!" My acceptance of the situations did not run as deep as I thought. In that moment, driving on a back road in early spring, I realized that my "roll with it" attitude wasn't enough. And it was such an elementary idea to just love them. In spite of everything. 

The other day I had a very good conversation someone I've grown fond of last couple of years. Despite the harassment we dish out to each other on a daily basis, there is a lot mutual respect. During that particular days dose of harassment, I mentioned how sometimes I hate that my parents raised me to be nice to people regardless of the feelings I may be feeling toward them at that particular moment. SO many people just think we're okay and friends while on the inside I'm melting their brains out of their ears. He smiled at me and said "Your parents didn't make you this way. Your relationship with Him did. They only fostered it. You have more compassion than you realize. It's your default setting. Stop being frustrated. You're doing it right." I looked at him, kind of skeptical, kind of in shock. "Do you know how much of a doormat I am sometimes?" He laughed. "Well, at least their feet are cleaner for knowing you."

I really took his words to heart, because I always saw this as a curse. It may still be some days, but the rest of the time... man, what a blessing! I know who those people are in my life and to think I may be that person to someone else - wow!

I do know this - 2020 has been a year of tests. Covid-19 struggles aside, I've never felt more challenged. Looking back, it doesn't seem so bad, but man - I really didn't think I was going to make it. I didn't think my family was going to make it. And we still might not. I might not. But today we are okay. We are all healthy. We are all looking forward to things. We are all celebrating what deserves to be celebrated. We have a Living Hope and we are forgiven. We extend that forgiveness to others because at the end of the day, we all want one thing: to be loved in spite of everything.

Trusting the Process

Hard times happen for every person on the planet. We aren't dealt the same hand, but life sucks from time to time. You're left with your heart in your hands, wondering how the very thing you have your heart to could misuse it the way they did. How could people who claim the same faith and values as you betray you and besmirch the name you proudly wear? How could family, the ones you'd lay down your life for, judge you and abandon you?

It's taken a lot of prayer and studying the Word, but I've learned something very difficult - people have absolutely nothing to do with my eternity.

When my father lost his job, I posted a quote, using a white tulip as the backdrop. (On "Fringe", the white tulip signified total forgiveness.) We'll call it a faith statement. I knew one day I'd have to forgive them, and now I have the undeniable peace about the situation.

When my friends walked away during this time, I was very flippant and indifferent. Obviously, I was hurt, but I wasn't going to spend my time explaining why I needed them to be there. Honestly, I'm lonely, but I'm growing so much.

When news of a rift in my family spread through the town like wildfire, going out was hard. People treated me so poorly, judging me without facts or even my side of the story. But I was raised to hold my head high, turn the other cheek, and forgive my enemies.

A phrase used a lot at my house lately is "pruning", referring to John 14 where Jesus compares the vineyard to our relationship with Him. He's pruning us, removing toxic people and environments that aren't beneficial to our growth. Oh, my word - it is painful!

The other day, I was reading in Ecclesiastes about "a time for..." and I felt God repeatedly saying "Trust the process." I responded with my typical charm. "What do you mean 'process'? This is too long! What has the last year been in Your opinion?! Are you sure we need to go through all of this, all at once, right now?" God, being God, said almost through gritted teeth, "Trust. The. Process."

"Okay... I'll try."

There are a lot of things in my life right now that I don't understand. Things I wish were different. Each member of my family has made decisions recently that have been hard. Really hard. People have a hard time understanding why we did what we did. The truth is - we don't owe anybody any explanation for anything we do. Most people don't agree with our actions and continue to pass judgement and start rumors. Any decision I make is usually more than carefully considered. And it is never, NEVER demanding of explanation. I visited a church a couple of weeks ago, and Pastor Rachel said, "Spiritual insight only comes from His Spirit." I feel like that is relevant to our pruning. When God tells you to do something, that should be the end of discussion. Man plays no part in it. Man does not deserve your answers or excuses. If man is upset, angry, disappointed, happy, excited - it should have zero affect on you. YOU are the one who has to live with your decisions.

I was discussing with my parents how messed up everything has been in the last six months, but when it came down to it, I would still make those choices. I would still walk that path. I would still risk all I did for the peace of mind that's come to me. I can't make people care for me, or love me, or want to be with me. I can't make people understand why I do what I do. I can't make people apologize to me or forgive me when I need it. I can only TRUST THE PROCESS that there truly is a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.

When everything fell, we were held...

I was jamming out to my radio when a song came on that brought me to tears. A song I have heard a hundred times, though not in quite a few years. It was a reminder of our testimony.

The song? Held by Natalie Grant.

During this four minute song, my mind replayed more than five years of emotional damage, how everyone's lives effected the other, and how we never thought we'd make it. I prayed this song a lot during those five years. While the song is about losing a child to illness, it's a powerful reminder that God promises He will be there for us, holding us when we can't seem to find the strength to stand.

It was one thing after another. Mental breakdowns, divorces, moves, new jobs, rifts in the church, relationships ending.... the normal stuff. And for most families, they might not have been so involved and upset about it all. But my family doesn't work that way. When you marry one of us, you get the whole lot. Not metaphorically. No, no.... you get all of us, all of our opinions, all of our stupid quirks. We're invested. So when you divorce one of us, we all feel it. When one of us moves, we all do it. When one of us hates someone, we (usually!) all hate them. We're everything to each other, even when I may hate them. So, when all of this was happening, we never had a chance to come up for air before a new obstacle showed up. It was like frickin' Whack-A-Mole. 

I remember reading a book called "The Beauty of Broken" by Elisa Morgan during this time. (One of my Ollie's finds.... I had never heard of her until I picked up this book.) This is her memoir. This is a story about everything in her life that seemed unfixable that God turned around. She had to give it to Him first. In an excerpt from this book, Elisa writes: "God hallows broken families. God holds broken families. God helps broken families. God heals broken families." I remember praying this prayer so many times. We were all so broken in different ways that the unit was starting to crumble. I wanted God to wrap us in His arms and heal us. But, man! He was taking His sweet, sweet time!! Things were getting worse before they were getting better. Resentment and bitterness were settling in. Fear and anxiety took the reigns on any formality of a family gathering. We even went as far as walking on glass at the risk of starting an argument. Time bombs were strategically placed throughout our lives and we never knew when they would go off. It was an extremely stressful time trying to get through life. It's funny how the rest of the world keeps going when you have personal issues. Everyone was trying their best, but it wasn't good enough. The black-and-white observer of the world in me struggled immensely with grace. I struggled extending it to my sisters who I thought were selfish and I struggled to extend it to my parents who took a job at a church I really didn't like under leadership I had grown to loathe. I struggled to show patience and understanding. I was thrown into things I wasn't ready for. I was dealt hands I didn't ask for. I had to learn to go with the flow. The rapid, uncontrollable flow.

Those years were rough. Every day was a terrifying thing - not knowing what was coming our way. Not knowing if we would have a chance to breathe or if anything was actually making a difference. Looking back now, I can see that we were held by the loving Father that He is. There was never a moment that we weren't. He was healing us individually at different rates to allow for a healing in our family unit. I wouldn't be the person I am today. I wouldn't be the fighter for people that I am today, one who's protective to a fault. I wouldn't have the patience for children that I have today. I wouldn't be so willing to help people out. By going through these things, I ended up in therapy for eight months. In those sessions, I learned so much life-changing stuff that I have actually been able to share with other people to help them get through things. My sister is a strong believer that everything happens for a reason, and I'm not so convinced. However, there was a master plan going on during this time that cannot be ignored.

If you had told me back in 2015 that we'd be where we are today, I would have shrugged you off because we were almost past the point of no return. We all laugh, goof off, hang out, go to each others houses, help each other out... we are healing. We are far from perfect in every possible way. But, my goodness... we are still the McConnells and now that we know we can overcome this stuff, Lord help the next demon sent our way.

(February 2019)

_______________________________________________________________________________

I wrote this entry back in February. I almost threw something when I opened it and read it today. I have so much to say about the demons that were sent our way the following month. The slithering of the barracuda lurking in the grass. The sharp pain and searing venom of the lies and rumors that surrounded our name. Even the friends we held dear showed to be under the influence of the false hope that was presented in a convincing package of revival. I had a friend ask me if everything was alright, and if everyone was in good spiritual health. I was angry for just a short second because she knows my family. But in an even shorter second, I understood why she asked. The vagueness of the stories that were told from the only source allowed to speak about it lead people to believe whatever sinful story they could manufacture.

I was talking to my parents about this last night. In light of everything going on, it's the non-church members who have been there the most for us. It's the barflies and the Easter/Christmas church goers. And it's because non-believers look for the good in people, and Christians look for the sin in people. They look for ways to help people out of their darkness, they skip over the already good qualities of people. The ones that look for the good in people are tired of the crap that is out there - the hatred, the meanness, the judgment, the cruel reality. I have to tell you, I didn't care for the lyric in Billy Joel's song "Only the Good Die Young" that said "I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints", but I honestly have never felt it more than I have in the last two months. I have had more shoulders to cry on and ears to vent to from non-believers who don't doubt for a second the integrity of my family. I know what you're thinking: where are your church friends at, Caitlin? I wish I knew. I honestly don't know who I can trust anymore. And that's a sad situation to be in. It's not our battle to fight, or so I've been told, but I'm sporting my shield of truth and everything seems to be making it's way around it.

I guess the first part of this still stands. He held us then, He's holding us now. The sacred has been torn from our lives and we have somehow survived. His promises are true - yesterday, today, and forever. Sometimes we just need to let Him hold us, let Him cradle us, and whisper to our souls. 

"When men speak ill of thee,

...live as though nobody may believe them."

I prayed the song "Your plans are for me. Goodness You have in store so Thy will be done" over and over again in a twenty minute period. When my phone rang and the voice on the other end told me the verdict, I immediately rebuked it. This was all a horrible dream. This cannot be happening. I have never experienced a broken heart before, but I swear in that moment, I felt my heart shatter into mere flecks of sand as I collapsed on the floor. I ached for my parents. As a protective (albeit, often unnecessary) force in their lives, I was ready to storm the gates. But I knew that the battle was lost. I ached for our friends and family that would be blindsided by this. I ached for the community that benefitted from the faithful and generous congregation. And, selfishly, I ached for my own healing.

It's not a secret that I have had my ups and downs with the church. I saw things happening that I didn't want to be a part of so I walked away. When my parents answered the calling to be pastors there, I was angry. I was hurt. I was completely selfish. Still I supported them because that's what my family does. The funny thing is, in my selfless act of supporting my parents as they tirelessly, faithfully, and joyfully served Mohawk, I found healing. So much so that I honestly didn't recognize myself at one point. I was a different person because I acknowledged that the work of the Lord was going to happen whether I approved or not. I could sit back with my arms crossed and criticize it, or I could join them. So I rolled up my sleeves. The hours we spent pouring blood, sweat, and tears into that building. The hours of prayer poured out over it. The lives that were changed because we offered a completely judgment-free zone and even the most squared peg could find comfortable seat and friend to sip coffee with. All of the good things this church did for people simply out of their genuine love for people. We may have been small, but we were a mighty congregation with a fierce love for God and others.

And, just like that... it's all gone. Without warning, preparation, prayerful consideration, or even a chance to breathe. The very thing that we held so dear, the people that brought joy, love, peace, friendship, healing.... the safe place where we could come together and worship our Creator....

But I was just reminded it was never ours. Yes, it was a place we could call ours, but it was always God's and it was used for His purpose. They may have turned our mics off halfway through the song, but there's still a song to sing. I just don't think our song is their song. It's no longer harmonious. And that's okay.

During the last episode of The Office, Creed said probably the most beautiful sentence I've heard. And it sums up exactly how I feel about the relationships we have made.

That being said, I'd like to express my gratitude. Thank you for the initial hurt that lead me to Mohawk. Thank you for the loving arms that welcomed me even when I didn't want them. Thank you for the complete transformation each and everyone of you contributed to. Thank you to the faithful, loyal, completely trustworthy people who have stood beside the pastor in agreeance.

But more than this, I want to thank Pastor Kevin and Lisa for everything. For every prayer prayed, for every tear shed, for every ounce of doubt and faith that drove you to continue faithfully serving. For every sleepless night. For every phone call. For every event planned. For your desire to not grow in numbers, but grow in our walk. For every stone you took for the sake of your flock. For every truthful sermon and  encouraging word you spoke boldly over us while struggling with your own lives. "Thank you" is only scratching the surface of what I want to say.

The Day I Learned I'm All Three

I found these words in my sermon note journal, dated 4/10/17. I remember writing it, but had completely forgotten where exactly it had been. So, almost a year later. I present you with my thoughts from last Easter.

Even as I was listening to the sermon, my heart was thinking about Holy Week and the quote I would later post to match the photo I found on Instagram. (I'm a millennial, deal with it!) I found a beautiful depiction of the prodigal son's return, paired it with a lyric from Natalie Grant's song "Alive", and shared it with my followers before resuming back to the aforementioned sermon.

Only You can turn my darkness into dawn. I'm running right into Your arms.

Fast forward to that afternoon.

We had Easter dinner on Palm Sunday for a few reasons: it's easier than trying to rush to in-laws all in one day, the stores weren't crazy, and Frankie will be with his dad on Easter. Let's be honest, it was that last one that really mattered.

Hyped up on candy and presents, Frankie was having trouble focusing on the concept of listening. I had left the room for something, and when I returned, my sister was saying, "Go tell Gurgah what you did." I happened to glance around the room and finally settled on a puzzle across the room whose pieces had been rearranged 

"Did you do that?" I asked. Frankie shook his head. After a nudge to the back of his head by his mom, I asked again, "Did you do that, Frankie?" His lip was quivering and his eyes grew very sad. "Come here, dude. It's okay. I'm not mad at you."

By the time he reached my arms, he was sobbing. "Listen, bud, it's okay. Wanna know something? The puzzle was already broken. I can fix it again. Okay?" Now I'm crying, and have to excuse myself upstairs.

He broke my heart because he was afraid to tell me. I don't know if they were teasing him about me being mad, but he was truly terrified and sorry. I had to assure him a dozen times that I wasn't angry and I could fix it.

Later that night looking back on the emotional week I had, the image of Frankie's broken faced kept coming in view. Then I remembered the photo I had posted and couldn't help but compare scenes.

*Prodigal son: worn, fragile, lonely, uncertain, scared, convinced he's unforgiveable

*Frankie: unfocused, uncertain, scared, (sometimes) reckless, certain his minor infraction was unforgivable

Usually, you hear people say, "Part of me is the prodigal, part of me is the other brother..."

This past weekend , I caught a glimpse of what it's like to be the father. The crime in question was the rearrangement of a 500-piece puzzle (about 100 pieces had actually been put together) that cost me one dollar. Clearly this was not my greatest achievement , nor was it my most prized possession. I probably wouldn't have even noticed the crime otherwise. And yet my heart broke when someone I love so deeply walked a slow, shaky, scared walk into my arms, thinking I would hate him for it.

Again, I don't know if the house full of people teased him about me being mad at him, but we have to know the prodigal son heard it. I'm sure the path home was full of discouragement and belittling. But onward he walked.

While most days I'm one of the sons, this small taste of the father has changed my perspective. I only hope I remember this illustration the next time I rearrange the pieces and think I've ruined everything.

...but what if it's not well with my soul?

Having been awake since four o'clock, I'm sitting here, the end of July, in fuzzy socks, jeans, and a hoodie at six o'clock in the morning. I hear owls making their final calls, geese flying above me, the occasional car on the adjacent street, the wind chimes from my grandmother's funeral. I feel an abnormally chilly breeze, and see a lightening sky despite the sun trying to hold onto a few more minutes of sleep. A four year old is sleeping on the living room floor just on the other side of the door, completely innocent and hopeful. A four year old that deserves a much better world than what we're in. A four year old that has yet to experience the pains of this world in a capacity that shakes his entire being. A four year old that, despite his age, still knows things that we don't. A four year old that somehow changes everything all the time for the absolute better.

__________________________

I use my brain, listen to my heart, and trust my gut.

To a fault, I do these things. An annoyingly, disastrous fault.

Here's the thing, though: my soul controls all of them.

Whatever state my soul is in consumes my every thought, emotion, and action.

Lately, despite the smile I put on my face, my soul is not okay. My soul is

•tired

•burdened

•ashamed

•lonely

•angry

•disappointed

•weary

My soul has had enough:

•babies granted to unfit parents instead of loving ones struggling to conceive or unable to afford adoption

•suicide

•murder

•budget cuts and unemployment

•political correctness

•foster care and adoption

•cancer

•addictions

•the overall mistreatment of people

And I'm not alone. I know you are, too. We look at this world and everything in it and hate what it does. We hate that it judges and lies and hates. But I think the thing we hate most about it is that it steals.

It steals our joy, our happiness, our motivation, our optimism, our innocence... it steals away our loved ones.

I'm watching the world rapidly become less and less. We are losing good, sweet, loving people everyday. We're losing smiles and laughter. We're losing hugs and words of encouragement. We're losing friends, family, co-workers, neighbors - sometimes all of the above. We're losing random trips to the movies. We're losing "Wanna grab some wings after work?" We're losing "Just thought I'd stop in and say 'hi'". To us, it's a heartbreaking defeat. To everyone else, though.... it's just a face in the newspaper.

Behind that picture is a life. A person who was born, lived, and has now passed on. And in that living, they LIVED. They loved and were loved in return. They were devoted in whatever their role was - mother, father, sister, brother, grandmother, grandfather, uncle, aunt, cousin, etc. They were educated, worked hard, and lived with integrity. They helped those in need, and were always there for anyone who needed them. They were strong. They were loving. They were caring. They were protective. They were somebody's entire world. Everything important to them happened in the dash on the gravestone. The lifespan of each person varies, but the size of the dash is always the same.

None of this is okay with me. None of it. And I know this will sound selfish, but I'm extremely jealous of anyone who has family members alive that I don't. My friends are posting four and five generation family photos. I won't have that. I had lost grandparents before I was even born. I am 26 years old and have one living grandparent. ONE. And I do not take that for granted. That doesn't stop me from the occasional depression that comes when I realize how many people I only spent a short amount of time with. 

They say "only the good die young", but that's not entirely true. Only the good die. Period.

All of this sadness and sorrow and loss - none of it is okay with me. 

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll...

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say

"It is well, it is well with my soul."

It's not well with my soul. 

It is not well with my soul to watch my family experience heartache after heartache and not be able to do anything about it. It is not well with my soul to be woken up at four o'clock in the morning to find out another family member or friend has passed. It is not well with my soul to have had plans with someone, only to have them die before we could do them. It is not well with my soul to have spent all week knowing something bad was going to happen, but not know what that was. It is not well with my soul that I spent last night thinking a four year old had simply mixed up his pronouns when he said "He's high in the sky like Shadow. I miss him. I want to talk to him."

It is not well with my soul....

....and I desperately want it to be.

My Warrior Strong Community

com·mu·ni·ty
kəˈmyo͞onədē/

noun

1. a group of people living in the same place or having a particular characteristic in common

2. a feeling of fellowship with others, as a result of sharing common attitudes, interests, and goals.

I spent the first eight years of my life in a little white house in a family friendly neighborhood where everyone knew everyone, even if they didn't know them personally. Having spent sixteen years away from it, I've gained the appreciation for the sense of community that I've been able to come back to. As frustrating as it can be sometimes with everyone seemingly knowing your business, the heart of this town is full and strong and bigger than we think.

I have been challenged lately. I don't know if this is the exact reason, but it started after I read the book "Keep It Shut" and followed it's study "Zip It". It really is true that when you stop and listen you see so much around you. It prepared me for my new job in retail pharmacy in this small town. I have always been empathetic. I tend to take on the emotions of those around me. It always annoyed me and I fought it and put up walls. This town doesn't let you do that. And I kind of love that. I still get annoyed, don't get me wrong, but the world needs more empathy and less judgment. I see the pain on their faces when they come to the pharmacy, whether it's a physical ailment or a mental/emotional one. Sometimes I see people who used to light up a room come in with a cloud hanging over them. I have an opportunity at that register to make a difference, even if it's for that solitary moment. I was nervous about going back to dealing with the public, but I've realized that this isn't challenging like I thought. It's easy when they're faces you know and respect. It's your parent's classmate's parents who was your teacher, you old softball coach, your kindergarten best friend... I am only three weeks into this job, but I am so grateful for this opportunity. It has brought out a better side of me, and I've missed her greatly.

Tragedy has struck our community countless times. Classmates who have passed away from suicide, car accidents, even undetermined causes. Most recently,  we lost a high school senior a week before graduation. Our small community has somehow managed to simultaneously stop time and come together for this family. This community weeps together. When one of us hurts this deeply, everyone hurts. This week. I spent a lot of time in tears, or fighting them back, as neighbor after neighbor came into the pharmacy. Each one more devastated than the last. Each one heavy with the memories of those who have gone too soon in this community. Tears flowed freely and nobody casted judgment. They just passed a tissue.

I used to think I'd be better at the anonymity of a big city. This past year, especially these last few weeks, I've learned I'd much rather be part of a community like Mohawk. The friendly greetings and daily harassment from the coffee shop regulars. The fact that a twenty minute walk takes forty-five minutes because you stop and talk to people in their yards. The same faces you knew from twenty years ago, with a few more wrinkles. People who live modest lives in a less than modest town because this is home. We are neighbors. We are friends. We are family.

We are WARRIOR STRONG.

Just You Wait, Henry Higgins...

...just you wait.

In a world where everything is automatic and the entire universe is readily available at our fingertips, it can be extremely difficult to wait. Even when God inescapably tells you over and over again, you grow impatient. Trust in God is a nice thought, a beautiful song, and (at times) a frustrating existence.

Every day, I'm faced with people and situations where feelings were trusted more than the idea that God or the universe had something better planned. They have found love, success in their careers, expansion in their families. They're buying houses and traveling the world. It seems that those of us earnestly seeking guidance and answers are sitting here - waiting.

Waiting in obedience.

Waiting in hope.

Waiting in joy.

Waiting in faith.

Waiting in anticipation.

Waiting in growing discouragement.

You see, scripture tells me that God gave us dreams and desires, and if I take delight in Him, He will add them unto me. So if God gives these desires and tells us to wait, we can only assume that they are coming our way. But what if they don't? What if it turns out that, while God gives you dreams, they're still not the dreams He has for you? I don't believe He is a God of confusion, but I've seen plenty of evidence to support that theory.

The couples struggling with infertility.

The financial burdens of so many hard-working people.

The terminally ill waiting for a cure.

We all hope for something. We all have something (or several somethings) that we want more than the next.

For me, I want what everyone wants, just maybe not in the same capacity. Love, a family, a job that I love, the independent life I thought I'd be living at this point. But the one thing I want over everything else, the one thing that would make me happier that all of those other things combined because it is the one thing that hinders or effects all if these things -

freedom from my anxiety.

The feelings of high stress, nervousness, and worry.

The sensations of shaking that have turned into very obvious shaking.

The mood swings.

The intensity of emotions.

The inability to control them every minute of every day.

The energy it takes to wake up every morning.

The complete exhaustion from just the thought of encountering people.

The coping mechanisms that don't ever seem to work.

The immediate jumping to the conclusion that someone is dead if they don't answer their phone.

The fear of the house burning down and loved ones being trapped at night.

The nausea.

The migraines.

The stomach aches.

The chest pains.

The restless nights.

The difficulty breathing.

The irritability. 

The total lack of control. 

The toll it's taking on my life and the ones of those I love.

More than anything, I want to rediscover ambition and lose the inhibitions to go after them. I want to lose the negativity and the hurt and the rejection and the fear of these things happening in my relationships.

I want to believe that anxiety isn't my cross to bear. But since it appears to be true, I want to believe that I will find ways to manage it because I am more than this affliction.

Without you pulling it, the tide comes in. Without you twirling it, the earth can spin. Without you pushing them, the clouds roll by. If they can do without you, Ducky, so can I!

A Nephew, A Celestial Ball, A Night of Reflection, and the Lessons I Learned

Nobody in the world loves the moon more than Frankie. While we're driving, he will randomly exclaim, "Guys, I found the moon!" When night falls, he runs outside to find the moon. He loves the moon. The moon is always there for him. Even when it is cloudy, he understands the moon is there. His faith in the moon is a maturity that surpasses most.

The harvest lunar eclipse beckoned us outside on a warm September night. Accompanied by cool beverages and the sound of crickets, we huddled together on the front porch and watched the moon creep over the trees. The excitement of an three year old already up past his bedtime was contagious. Anticipation, combined with a lifelong infatuation for lunarious spheres, skyrocketed his usually groggy energy for the nine o'clock hour. Bouncing between my lap, the chair, the steps, and the walkway, he exuded enthusiasm as the "big one" shown above the trees.

After ten minutes or so, we scurried back inside to call it a night. After arguing that Gurgah would not "sleep on the carpet" in his bedroom, I agreed to let him sleep in my room. We watched half of an episode of VeggieTales on my phone and laid in quiet admiration of the moon shining brightly through the curtain. He tossed and turned and squirmed all over the bed trying to get the perfect spot. He grew impatient, and said, "I cannot see Fedder!" A few questions later, I learned he had named the moon Feather. A little unconventional, but I loved it. We said our bedtime prayers where we prayed for everyone he's ever met, but especially Bob and Larry, since they were the ones who had sang him about conquering monsters (an idea that is ever present in our house.) After a few moments, I set him up at the foot of the bed, right in front of the window. There, he laid motionless until the heavy breathing of deep slumber filled the room.

I relaxed and continued to stare at the moon, wondering how I could channel Frankie's wonderment. At 25, I'm cynical and realistic. Painfully so. I'm so in tune with my discernment, I often forget about the benefit of the doubt. I'm obnoxiously boring. And then here is this three year old who gets so much joy from a circle in the sky. A circle he knows absolutely nothing about except that it is in the sky, and it's always there, even when he cannot see it. At his age, everything is curious. Everything is new and exciting. Learning is fun, and you don't even know you're learning! The excitement from mundane things adults don't even think twice about can stop you in your tracks. (For example, the light in the refrigerator is not just there for midnight snacking. A three year old reminded me of this.)

So what did this night teach me? I learned the moon really is a spherical mystery that brings feelings of security and joy. I learned that sometimes the best conversations can happen while staring at the moon. I learned lot of inspiration can come from watching a three year old sleep peacefully after an evening of staring at the night sky. And I learned that I have a lot of learning left to do. I have a lot to surrender and a lot of admiration to lavish upon Him before I write something with even  a twinge of expertise.

Frankie loves the moon. Gurgah loves Frankie. Frankie teaches Gurgah to love the moon. Life is never the same.

An Open Letter to the Enemy

Enemy,

I originally started this letter off with "Dear Enemy" but that seemed a bit too friendly. And I'm really not in the mood for formalities tonight.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of you.

Cunning.
Manipulative.
Deceitful.
Desperate.
Straight up evil.

I'm tired of you taking my thoughts and twisting them around.
I'm tired of you making me say things I normally wouldn't say, then filling me with shame as I beg forgiveness for my uncharacteristic behavior that hurt someone I love.
I'm tired of you pinning my family against each other on a regular basis.
I'm tired of you trying to divide us.
I'm tired of you attacking our health - mentally, physically, and spiritually.
I'm tired of you attacking the very space my parents worked so hard to make safe.
I'm tired of you attacking feelings and emotions that simply do not belong to you.
I'm tired of you filling up the hole I'm so desperately trying to dig myself out of.
I'm tired of you sparking arguments with something as little as a dirty look or word.
I'm tired of you bringing up past mistakes, flaws, and insecurities as if I don't already know about them.
I'm tired of you stirring hatred and discord.
I'm tired of you driving a wedge in every aspect of my life.
I'm tired of you draining every ounce of energy I have.
And I'm tired of letting you.

I'm tired of you stealing our joy.
I'm tired of you stealing our happiness, our security, our innocence.
I'm tired of you stealing our sense of purpose and pride.
I'm tired of you stealing our family.
I'm tired of you stealing our freedoms.
And I'm taking them back.

I'm tired of you thinking it's okay to keep a little boy awake all night long in order to make us less focused and negative the next day.
I'm tired of you thinking it's okay to use his innocence as a hindrance instead of the strength it is.
And I'm tired of you thinking it's okay to use a little boy like that - period.

I'm tired of you telling me I'm not good enough, or the person I think I am.
I'm tired of you telling me I am unlovable.
I'm tired of you telling me a church family isn't something I need or want.
I'm tired of you telling me that nobody cares.
And I'm tired of believing your lies.

I'm tired of you thinking it's okay to mess with us.
Because it's not.
You don't get a say in what happens here.
I can quote song after song, scripture after scripture, but it's really quite simple.

You don't win.

End of story.

You don't get my victories, and I'm determined not to let you get my defeats, because let me tell you something - I've just become your worst nightmare.

I'm a woman who has had enough. And not in the "I give up" kind of way. No, no... that'd be too easy. That would be exactly what you wanted. No, dear - I'm fighting you with the armor that my King has given me. And it just so happens that prayer is my strongest weapon. So get ready for a whole lot of plans backfiring because I'm not playing anymore. You have overstayed your unwelcome here.

*mic drop*

Resting in Faith When Resentment Keeps You Awake

Lately, the overwhelming reality that we cannot control any part of our lives, whatever they may be, has been a hard truth to swallow.

In the last several months, I've been heartbroken over the loss of loved ones. Family members, friends, miscarriages, and even a toddler, who fell victim to a tragic accident. People taken at different stages of life, but none we were ready for. They may have been, and honestly, I hope to find that peace someday, too. Reflection and contemplation only bring sadness and anxiety. Sadness for the future I may never get to have, the dreams I won't see come true, and the people I will never get to love. My anxiety is from letting the thoughts in the previous haunt me.

But, you know - I'm not only upset about how short life can be. What are we doing with our time? For me, I'm spending it bitter because of other people's decisions. Yes - you read that right. I am full of anger and resentment because other people made decisions that I not only disagree with, but had a negative impact on my life and my feelings. Because I'm letting their decisions eat at my heart and mind, I'm letting my mind tell my heart that I'm okay. The truth is, though, that I'm not alright. I know this. I see this. I'm working on this. It terrifies me, though. Not only am I realizing I cannot control my life, I have to accept the fact that I can't control anything anybody else says and does. I just can't. I don't want that burden, but sometimes it'd make life a whole lot easier. Nevertheless, this is my battle to fight right now. I am at war with myself and my resentment, and it's taking longer than expected. This is leading to frustration, which only fuels the bitterness. I look at the people who I let control my feelings with their lives all Facebook-picture-perfect and want to throat punch them. (I know what you're thinking -  Jesus wouldn't do that, but He did overturn tables in a place of worship, so.... yeah. Haha!) I am not exactly the Duggar's number one fan (or three billionth, for that matter), but in light of recent headlines, I read a statement made by Joshua Duggar that said, "As I am learning the hard way, we have the freedom to choose our actions, but we do not get to choose our consequences." Am I the only one who said, "Ouch." when they read that? As much as I want to shout that from the rooftops and have it spray painted on my transgressors cars or houses, I felt like I needed to hear that for me. I need an understanding that we don't get to choose our consequences and we don't get to choose them for others. It's all up to Him.

We can plan. We can dream. We can have every good intention in the world. But the truth is we are not the playmakers of our lives. We cannot predict anything that can and will happen to us. We can only put our lives in the hands of the Father, and trust in His will. Our minds grow anxious. Our souls grow weary. Our hearts break, over and over again. Life is full of uncertainty, but resting in the Father's love? Well, that's the only place to be in these times.

Rest because He is God.

Rest because He is here.

Rest because He will hold you together.

Rest because you need... yes,

Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for Him.

Lay it down before you fall down.

Without You: How God Used Audrey Hepburn to Reveal My Self-Worth

What a fool I was! What a dominated fool - to think you were the earth and sky!

A timeless story. A classic movie. A soundtrack of catchy songs. A seasoned veteran in musical theater. And the most beautiful person, inside and out, to grace the silver screen.

In My Fair Lady, Henry Higgins goes after Eliza to convince her to come back. In a lady-like fit of rage, she tells him how she feels through "Without You", a song with a lot of closure and even more sass.

(I mean, just look at that still!)

 

The general synopsis of the song is that everything in this world is perfectly capable of doing their thing without Henry Higgins. Though partially responsible for helping make her the woman she is today, Eliza tells him that she will be perfectly fine without him.

I've had my share of influential people, most of whom I was certain I couldn't live without. They were infectious and I wanted to be around them all the time. They all changed my life in one way or another. When the time came for us to go our separate ways, whether it was on good or bad terms, the world was ending. Well, it felt like it at times. Over time, I came to the realization that I was moving on. I was doing fine without them. Life goes on. And when I was finally over them, they'd send me a friend request or a text message, in hopes of rekindling what once was. How do they always know the most inopportune time to contact you? So, I sat up straight, tried my best not to smirk, and channeled my inner Audrey (just in case they could see me) to politely tell them where to go. Simply put: I deserved better. I didn't need the drama that went with being friends with them. Yes, they helped me in making me the person I am today, but that, in no way, means I owe them. And I have to remind myself of that - a lot.

 

Much like the self-confidence that blossomed in Ms. Doolittle, my self-worth became evident slowly, but surely. I may not be your first choice, but that's okay. I am to other people. I may not be ready when you are, but one I will be - and it will be with the right person. I may not be what you want me to be, but I am exactly who He wants me to be. And honestly, isn't that what it all comes down to?

Without you pulling it, the tide comes in. Without you twirling it, the earth can spin. Without you pushing them, the clouds roll by. If they can do without you, Ducky - so can I!

Train Wrecks or Pure Hearts?

What you feel is what you are and what you are is beautiful...

 

 

 

 

As much as I hate to admit it, I am emotional. I experience emotions on a much larger scale that is difficult for even me to grasp at times.

 

 

 

Do you remember when Kristen Bell was on Ellen, discussing her dream come true of partying with a sloth? She said, "If I'm not between a three and a seven on the emotional scale, I'm crying."

This is so unbelievably true for me. While I'm not in the fetal position in hysterics, I'm fighting it. Hard. I want to cry all the time. Not for any reason in particular, either. Let me tell you - it's exhausting.

 

Whether it's nostalgia, loneliness, joy, excitement, or a moment of overwhelming peace, it's guaranteed there is a knot in my throat.

 

I love it just as much as I hate it. Like I said, it's exhausting. I don't just get annoyed, I get irritated. I skip over the whole jealousy thing and go straight to the green-eyed monster. When I'm hurt, there is nothing anyone can say or do to make it better. (Except Frankie, but.. I mean, come on!) When I'm angry, well, let's just say the Hulk's got nothing on me. But I fight the intensity of these feelings. That's why it is exhausting. I'm really good at fighting my feelings. "Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let them knoooww." That would be the downside of being a pastor's kid. I know I rag on being a pastor's kid, but I just don't think people understand that things are a lot more 7th Heaven's later scandalous years than the early wholesome episodes of the mid-nineties. Nevertheless, we prevailed - stronger and wiser. Unfortunately, some habits don't die. The picture-perfect oldest daughter of a senior pastor that congregations all over the eastern United States can't seem to shake the notion that I am allowed to have feelings, and it's okay to show them sometimes.

 

Back in April, I accepted an offer to be a youth leader at my church. I was reluctant, mostly because I have always been intimidated by teenagers. Even when I was one, I hung out with adults. (Oldest child syndrome, I think.) Anyway, I said yes, and this has been the best decision I've made in a long time. I love every single person that walks into the room. I don't fully understand it, but I'm committing myself 100% to this group of students. It's been hard - I won't lie. I've gone to several people for advice, and while some of them were helpful, most of them gave me this solid advice: "Relax. Stop worrying about it. Don't over-think it. Just keep doing what you're doing." Am I scared I'm screwing this up every single day? Yes. Am I worried one of these kids is going to take my advice the wrong way? More than you know. Do I think someone else is better suited for this position? Absolutely. But someone saw something in me, and I have to have faith in that. I have to see what they see, and trust it. I realized this past week that out of everything that is going on in my life right now, being a youth leader is the one thing I don't screw up on a daily basis. At least, to the best of my knowledge. 

 

Today I participated in the Ice Bucket Challenge. I wasn't going to, despite being nominated twice. I donated money, but I really didn't think my pouring water on my head was going to make a difference in the world of ALS awareness. One of my co-worker's husbands died a couple of years ago after battling ALS for years. I knew this, and felt the need to donate. When our CEO challenged the entire company, I groaned. Out loud. (I was at home when I got the memo, so I didn't actually make a fool out of myself.) A few of us were discussing it at work, and it was mentioned that "if you don't participate, you're an *expletive* and not a team player..." blah, blah, blah. And that made me mad. So mad, that I was going to take a personal day and not have to deal with it. Last night, I had a dream about my co-worker. I woke up, packed some extra clothes, and went to work fully prepared to take this Ice Bucket Challenge. Not for the company. Not for the sake of following through with a nomination. For my co-worker. My work mom. My "not putting up with office bull crap" partner-in-crime. So I stood beside her today as I dumped a bucket of (mostly) ice on my head for ALS awareness. The joy that exuded from this woman was so contagious. It made me proud to be soaking wet for no other reason but to say "Yes, I donated to make a difference." It may seem stupid to you, but to my co-worker (white "Walk to Defeat ALS" shirt), this was one of the best days of her life. She could not stop thanking this team. It seemed so insignificant, but to her, it meant so, so much.

 

 

 

 

My point:
When I allow my feelings, whatever they may be, to be focused on others in a positive way, it's not so tiring. It's... exhilarating. And even when I focus on myself, it's exhilerating. To feel things with your whole heart and not hold back - why haven't I been doing this?! Feel every emotion. Embrace every feeling, whether it be negative or positive.

**Do you see how unorganized this post is? This is my brain. All the time. I am constantly sorting through thoughts and stories and ideas to get to what I want to say. I don't always succeed. So when I babble, hang on a minute - I'll eventually say what I need to say. :)

 

And now I leave you with this bubble-gum pop song from a Disney Channel movie of the early 2000's era. You're welcome.

 

 





Silent Battles

In light of recent events, today I'm going off script and writing about something that I've been moderately open with over the years.

Depression.

Depression effects more than 17.5 million people in the United States. It's estimated that 60% of those suffering with depression do not seek professional help. Depression effects people of all ages, races, and social classes. You are not an exception.

I have suffered with depression for most of the last ten years. As a 14-year old with social issues and a temper, I was repeatedly told "It's a phase. You'll grow out of it." and "It's just teen angst. Be patient." It wasn't until I graduated high school, that I was able to find a doctor who not only believed me when I told him what I was feeling, but gave me steps to help treat it. I was put on anti-depressants for five years. I have been in counseling. I spent years (years!) letting people tell me that I could be freed from this spirit of depression. Have you ever had people plan a night of intercessory prayer and you just sit there like, "Uh... guys... this isn't working..."? That happened on more than one occasion, actually.

Depression is not something that can be fixed. It can be treated. It can be managed. If there is one thing I've learned from suffering with depression, and watching loved ones suffer as well, you are never really free. It can take a single moment to snap you back into the void. Sometimes, it's gradual, and before you realize it, you're lost.

I don't want to limit what God can do in healing people at all. I'm not saying He can't. I'm not saying He doesn't. He can free you, absolutely, but just like anything else, it's not forever. You can be healed from cancer, but it can also return years later. It's the same thing. God has the power to heal you, but that doesn't make it permanent. Sometimes, you have to accept that this is your cross to bear, and take steps to manage it according to the opinion of a professional, whether it be pastoral, medical, or psychological.

Like I mentioned, I wasn't taken seriously in my battle with depression until after I graduated high school. I was taking medication to help level my mood swings, etc. The thing about anti-depressants is you have to take them all the time. You can't just take it if you're having a bad day. You have to have that medicine continually in your system in order for it to work. I hate taking medication, so this didn't appeal to me. However, I did it (most days), and it worked. I still had my blue days, but they were fewer and fewer. I was doing so well that I stopped my medication. Life was good. I was happy. I let people into my life that I believed were positive influences, and in some ways they were. They pushed me to be better and try new things. It became an addiction. An unattainable addiction. And one day, I lost my mind. Literally. I don't remember weeks at a time from last year. I weighed a scary 110 pounds at my breaking point. I lost my job, I lost my apartment, I lost my friends... I became so focused on reaching this level (of someone else's idea) of perfection that it caused me to have a mental breakdown. I've come to realize that all I needed was to be loved, but the people who I looked to for that love left at the first sign of trouble. My family saved my life. It was a very difficult thing to go through. Even now, its hard to accept that I can't remember most of last spring.

How did I overcome it? Well, I'm not taking any medication. Not this time. That's a personal choice, though. I felt like the side effects of the medicine weren't worth it. I got involved in my church. It was "like falling asleep. Slowly, then all at once." I started going to a small group every other week. Then I started working in the pre-school class once a month. Now I'm a youth leader. All of this, along with regular services and youth events - total emersion in the Lord's work. "Pouring into the lives of the people around you allows room for them to pour into yours." I thought it clichéd until this past year. I was able to get a good job, and though there have been a few hiccups in the process, it's been a great growing experience. I've been blessed with people that haven't let me say no to opportunities - but it's been out of love. They see something in me that I don't. They see the person I am and the gifts I have and have loved me enough to show me how to use them to help others.

I'm not going to lie, I struggle. Daily. I still have days where I "blackout"... I don't remember what I did that day, what I said to people. It's scary to think I'm doing so well, but am still experiencing these set-backs. The key to overcoming depression is to take it one day at a time. But the most important thing to do is to talk to someone. You are not alone. There are people who are going through exactly what you're going through who can help you.

Today, we remember those who have lost their battle with depression. The warm smiles that hid so much pain. The laughter that was so infectious, yet so foreign. The hugs that were always "too tight and too long" that you now wish were longer. To the ones we know and the ones we don't, I don't think apologies could make a difference, but know that our eyes and hearts are more open to those around us. We're all fighting battles.

Never Grow Up: A Letter of Hopeful Wisdom from Aunt Caitlin

I knew the drive home from work was going to be long. I was exhausted and it was raining a steady, calming rain. My radio stations were fading in and out from the storm, so I blindly pulled a CD from my visor and hit "shuffle". The often whiny, but somehow addictive voice of Taylor Swift echoed in my car, singing anthems of angst and heartbreak. Then, a familiar guitar progression, mellow and comforting, capture my full attention.

"You are not going to cry this time."

So I unlocked the heartless side of my personality, and put on my tough guy face and made it through the entire five minutes unaffected by the song.

Yeah, I laughed as I wrote that, too.

No, I cried. Like a baby. Not because of my personal nostalgia of growing up, but because my mind immediately went to the blond-haired, blue-eyed wonderment who answers to the name Frankie Andrew.

Dear Frankie,

I never imagined that my sister would so casually announce her pregnancy by barging into my room while I was cleaning and hand me the pregnancy tests. I never imagined that I would be the kind of person that was almost unable to contain my enthusiasm for nine months. As soon as I found out that she was having a boy, I bought you the cutest little suit. I proudly planned a baby shower in your honor and helped (as much as possible) your mother carefully carry you to term, whether it was a shoulder to cry on or a crane lifting stress off her shoulders. Even in the womb, you were a stubborn little fellow. It was about a month before you were born when I finally felt you kick, and it made my day. I stayed at the hospital as much as I was allowed to when your mom went into labor. And though I had to work, and wasn't there during your first moments into this world, I was there as soon as I could be. When we first met, your father introduced me as "the crazy aunt", and let me tell you, I'm only getting started! There isn't a doubt in my mind that we will have our share of adventures. I really hope I'm not one of those aunts who is "too involved", but rather a friend that is always there for you. I've watched you grow over the past sixteen months and it has been the biggest joy and the biggest blessing. I have realized that I have so much I want to tell you - the "you" you are at any given age in life. You can take it or leave it, but know that I mean every word.

First, know that you are loved more than you know. Love breaks, but love also mends. Your family is a force to be reckoned with, and I only ask that you reciprocate that love. It won't always be easy, either -you come from a long line of stubbornness. But to love and be loved is something people take for granted, and I hope you never do.

Don't underestimate your inner strength. Period. "You are braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." If you ever need help remembering that, I know a few people who would be more than happy to remind you. When you stumble, and you will, get back up, brush it off, and move on. When life throws you a curve ball, hit it out of the park. Pardon my clichés, if you will. If there's one thing I've learned about handling tough situations it's that you never know who is watching. It's not enough to tell a great story, you must live a great story.

Take chances and cease opportunities... as many as you can. You'll only regret the ones you passed over. If the opportunity to travel comes your way, whether for work or pleasure, GO. Don't weigh a list of pros and cons. Don't wait until you win the lottery. Don't wait. Just go.

As a general rule for life, if they teach you the consequences of certain actions in health class, just say no. Whether it's drugs, alcohol, sex, or not brushing your teeth - there's a reason the government requires schools to teach you the side effects of doing said things.

Believe it or not, there was a time when you were afraid of grass. Your parents didn't let you stay on the porch, though. They might have bribed you with toys, but it was this milestone, and all of the others, that let your parents know they were doing something right.  When you're a kid, your parents seem like superheroes. However, their heroism knows no bounds. The older you get, the more you realize just how amazing your parents truly are. So, give them a break every now and then.

Remember the little things: the way Papaw slaps his chest when he laughs, the way Meemaw's kisses make everything better, and the sound of the house when it's full of genuine happiness. Always find time for family - it's never wasted and often never lasts long enough. I know we can be a bit overwhelming, but if there's anything I've learned in my short twenty-three years with them, they are the best part of life. You're never too old for eating ice cream cones or catching fireflies. Never pass up the opportunity to pet a friendly dog or make a baby laugh. Watch movies and cartoons, but read books, too. Lots and lots of books. Don't lose the wonderment of knowing your place when you look at the sky and the oceans. If it brings you peace, do it. Peace is such an important part of living a life you're proud of.

And finally, know that no matter where you are or what you've done, somebody loves you and is always going to be proud of you. They are always going to be there for you. They will always encourage you. They will always, always, ALWAYS be on your side - even when you're wrong. You're family is far from perfect, but their grace is endless because their love is endless.

You have filled our lives with so much joy and hope by being your toddling self. Keep it up, kiddo.

I love you, Frankie!

Aunt Caitlin

Sleeping at the Wheel.

According to my peers, I'm just a silly, white girl because I'm a huge Matchbox Twenty fan (I really, should be embarrassed, but I'm not), but they never cease to amaze me. This song has been on repeat for the past two weeks.

 

 

 

 

I, I could be anything
But for the fault that I've acquired on my way
We, We were the end of it
But now we see the sun shining in our face
We see the sun shining in our face

So come on, come on we can be saved
The lives we live, the wars we wage
When everyone just tells us how to feel
We're sleeping at the wheel

And I, I would give anything
But for the grace of God I'm here and still aware
We know the end is overrated
We've became the walls we raise
We don't believe enough but we still cared
Standing on the edge without a prayer

So come on, come on it's all we got
Our hands are full, our lives are not
The loose affiliation with the real
We're sleeping at the wheel

All of the time we've lost
All of the love we gave
And now these hands are tied
I can't help thinking
That I was in a daze, I was losing my place
I was screaming out at everything
Waiting for the walls to come down
Before my moments starts to fade
But everything that's perfect falls away

So come on, come on we can be saved
The lives we live, the wars we wage
When everyone just tells us how to feel
We're sleeping at the wheel
We're sleeping at the wheel
Just sleeping at the wheel

Force of Impact

We all have those days. The ones where you sleep in because you have the day off. The ones where you can just drive around town with absolutely no agenda. The ones where you spend much needed time with the people you love. The ones that are warm and sunny, offering a glimmer of hope that summer is in fact coming. The ones that appear to be straight out of "The Truman Show", if that's even possible. And in one second - one tiny second - all of that comes to a screeching halt. Literally.

I had my first car accident. I totaled my car when I hit the back bumper of a minivan. I failed to stop at a red light because of the sun glaring through my window. The sound cars make upon impact is unlike any other sound I've heard in my life. I've heard a car accident before, but this time it was different. It was quick, loud, and resonates even now. Airbags deployed before I could comprehend what was happening. I hit the brakes and stopped safely next to a utility pole. Several failed attempts to open my door forced me to crawl across broken glass to my passenger door, leaving my shoes wedged under the dash. I ran out to find two gentlemen who had called 911. The other vehicle informed me, quite hysterically, that she had kids in the car. My heart sank. I was unable to see the damage I had done to her car, but they assured me they were all fine. Not a single bump, bruise, or scratch was evident on their bodies. (Shout out to the sharp-dressed might-have-been-a-lawyer who stepped in when I thought for sure I was going to be murdered.) Thankfully, there was an unmarked police car a few cars behind us when the collision occurred. Within minutes, we had local police and fireman on the scene. I managed to dig my flip flops out from the under the dash and present my information to the police while I gave my statement. Thankfully, the other vehicle only lost a bumper. Celeste, on the other hand, lost a little bit more. She will make her way to a scrap yard, proud of her service. After the EMTs looked me over (it didn't take long because I insisted I was fine.) I called my mother. As soon as she answered the phone, I lost it. She calmly asked the right questions and told me she would be there to pick me up as soon as possible. Firemen used chemical neutralizers around the ever-growing puddle of various fluids that poured from my vehicle. "The last thing we need is someone to toss their cigarette out the window," he said with a smirk, trying to ease the tension. The tow truck came and loaded my baby onto the bed. Though it seemed like an eternity, my mom arrived about ten minutes later. The moment I saw her, tears fell from my eyes as if someone had turned on a spigot. She hugged me and told me everything was going to be fine. We followed up with the police before they cleared me to go. We wanted to see my dad, just to let him know that I was alright. Telling my dad terrified me. My dad is not mean or condescending in any way, but not only was my car totaled - it was my fault. But like any good father, he just hugged me and said he was glad everyone was okay. We spent the rest of the day dealing with insurance companies and a less-than-adequate emergency room, but not before a quick Dairy Queen run for some much needed "depression food", as my family calls it. (Sometimes it's cheesecake, but that day expressed a dire need for a French Silk Pie Blizzard.

Much like the impact that shattered my windows, my perspective on fears and risks were destroyed. The bruises to my confidence seemed so much worse than the crumpling of my car. I was 21 when I got my license, and I only got it because I was left with no other option. My fear of risking my life, and those in every car I'd meet along the way, was the ball and chain in my quest for freedom in the form of transportation. Now, in the briefest of seconds, it had become my reality. And the worse part about it - it was my fault. Not only was I in a car accident, I was to blame. If you had asked me that day, I would have told you I would be perfectly fine if I never drove another car again. Instead, I woke up the next morning, literally stumbling out of bed because of my injuries, and (cautiously) drove myself to work. Every single person I came in contact with told me I was nuts for not taking the day off. My response was even shocking for me to hear: "The world didn't end." THE WORLD DIDN'T END. I faced one of my biggest fears, and though I have my share of residual pain, the world kept on spinning. And I am going to be just fine.

Same Mulder, Different Day...

Maybe it's other people's reactions to us that makes us who we are

Fox Mulder

 

 

 

The topics of my moral stance and beliefs have been the topic of discussion for years. I have strong opinions and I stand behind them. I almost always see things black and white. I think with my brain, listen to my heart, and trust my gut. An invitation to do drugs, smoke, or party is one I will always pass on. It doesn't matter how highly recommended they come, I don't read trashy novels. I don't appreciate a dirty or perverted joke. I would rather watch a Hallmark movie than most movies out today. I guess that's why people call me a prude.

Prude (prood) - noun

*a person who is excessively proper or modest in speech, conduct, dress, etc.*

*a person who affects or shows an excessively modest, prim, or proper attitude*

*worthy or respectable woman*

Recently, I referred to someone as a "douche bag". (Not my finest moment, but in all honesty, he deserved a much stronger term than that.) The complete shock on a few faces was unsettling. "Oh, Caitlin learned a new word!" they said, mockingly. "Caitlin's got a potty mouth!" 

If I'm being completely honest with you, I was offended. I have this good-two-shoes reputation that is constantly looked at negatively. Or at least it's vocalized negatively. 

Yes, I get offended when people use profanity, especially when they're hand-raising, amen-shouting members of my congregation, but that's my conviction, not theirs. So if I don't sing the curse words in a song or fail to find your dirty joke humorous, that doesn't mean I'm scared to let loose.

I get offended when people treat others disrepectfully. During my short-lived career as a waitress, I served many people I had gone to church with. And let me tell you, they are some of the rudest people. And because I knew they were proud members of their church, I was put off. The world is lacking respect in all areas, so if I show a little respect to someone - even if they don't deserve it - that doesn't make me a pushover.

I've mentioned my bullet-proof "case of emotion" before. I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I have it in a bullet-proof case - you can see it, but you can't touch it. Over the past few years - this last year specifically - I'm trying to be more vulnerable. Im trying to be more loving and open to all of these "new" emotions. That doesn't make me weak. There's strength in vulnerability.

When it comes to entertainment, you can guarentee that if my 86-year old grandmother likes it, I will, too. Sometimes I read young adult fiction and get judged because it's juvenile. A good story is a good story, nevermind what section of the book store you buy it from. Wholesome, and sometimes cheesy storylines (also know as a "made-for-tv movie) are what fill up my Netflix queue. For example, "Letters to Juliet" is one of my all-time favorite movies. Not once do we hear a curse word or the mention of anything sexual. And, yet, it is one of my favorite love stories ever. It is proof that you can have a romantic comedy without innuendo and passionate affection. Does that make me foolish and naive? No.

I'm kind of a diva, according to my family and a few of my co-workers. I like wearing dresses and heels and make-up and dressy tops and scarves and accessroies and... well, you get the picture. It may come across superficial, but have you looked at society lately? If they're not in yoga pants and pajamas, they're scantily clad. So go ahead and make fun of my cardigans and sweater dresses, but I'm trying to respect not only myself, but the people around me, too. 

I like boy bands. Everyone knows that. On sunny days, I dig out 90s and 00s pop cds and jam. I'm still the proud owner of Jump5 cds. They're fun and remind me of my childhood. I guess I don't understand how my listening to Jesse McCartney one minute, and Steven Curtis Chapman the next gives you permission to judge me, but it's stupid. I appreciate a strong lyric, but I also like the senseless fun of the now seemingly crappy music I listened to ten years ago. If that makes you laugh, I'm glad I can help.

All of these things and more (even down to the color of my fingernails) have been the reason I'm still single. Or so I've been told by strangers and even family at times. Can I just say that if a guy is turned off by my taste in music or my modesty or even my convictions on abstinence, I don't want to date him either. I'd rather live a life I'm proud of than sacrifice my beliefs for one you think I should be living. So you met your husband online? That's great... for you. Maybe I'm too conventional, but I dream of finding the love of my life unexpectedly, not through a virtual Cupid. I'm trusting God and His plan for me with this subject and unless He tattoos it on my forehead, I will not look to a dating site for true love. I'm okay with where I'm at right now. You should be, too.

Believe it or not, I am actually uber sensitive. When I show it, I'm "dramatic", but when I'm indifferent, I'm bitchy. I'm generally quiet, until I get to know you. If I have my loud periods and then revert back to my shy demeanor, that's reason to jump to the conclusion that something is wrong. I'm bossy and I don't always think before I speak, but I know when to apologize and step back from the situation. I have very strong commitments to abstinence and my faith. I work hard for what I need, and if there is anything left over, then I get what I want. My parents sacrificed so much for me, I only hope to live in a way that makes them proud - that their sacrifices weren't in vain.

Audrey Hepburn had this uncanny ability to say exactly what I want to say.

"I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles."

"The greatest beauty tip: For attractive lips, speak words of kindness. For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people. For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry. For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her hands through it once a day. For poise, walk with the knowledge that you will never walk alone. People, more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed, never throw out anyone. Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you will find one at the end of each of your arms. As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands; one for helping yourself, and the other for helping others."

If all of this makes me a prude, then I accept it. I'd rather be a prude than the alternative.