Life to the Full

For those who follow me on Instagram or Facebook, it’s no secret that my life has been a mountainous journey recently, and last year was the toughest climb imaginable. However, after the school year ended and I experienced an amazing summer of work and play, I finally felt like all the hard work had paid off and I had arrived at the long-yearned-for summit. Similarly, my favorite part of hiking actual mountains is also what comes after a tough ascent: the peak. The summit is the best part—a place to relax, to sit and enjoy the sunshine and the views, and to soak in the perspective that 10,000 feet above sea level provides.

So, why, in real life, do I allow myself so little time to rest at the “peak” points, and instead feel the need to rush back into work, scramble hectically in search of the next thing and worry myself into anxious knots about the future? Why am I constantly concerned about what’s to come, and give in to the fear that this high point, this rest and repose, is too good to be true, and there must be some disaster lurking around the next bend because there’s no way MY life could be going this well?

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life and have it to the full.”

So says John 10:10, and this verse is one I’ve been meditating upon as this next season emerges. Clearly, as highlighted above, I’m the type of person who tends to look for what could go wrong next in life, instead of focusing on and appreciating the good gifts in the present. I “look a gift horse in the mouth” so to speak. When God lavishes His love and grace upon me, I ask “but where’s the catch?” Or, for you Star Wars enthusiasts, I react the same way that Admiral Ackbar does in Return of the Jedi, when the rebel forces find the Emporer’s fleet waiting for them by the Death Star: “it’s a trap!”

Thankfully, I believe this next season of surrender is one of the beautiful kind: surrendering my persistently negative outlook and replacing it with an appreciation of God’s good gifts to me in the present (pun). It’s not without an active and intense struggle that I’ve come to truly believe in and cling to the biblical truths of God’s goodness to and love for His children. Instead of just memorizing verses that talk about these topics, I’m truly meditating upon them and internalizing them, and am purposely looking for their manifestation in my life.

Last time I checked, the Bible doesn’t say, “God gives crappy things to His children,” or, “When God gives good gifts, He always makes sure there are strings attached or He’ll take the gifts back.” NO. NOT EVEN CLOSE. Instead, the Bible contains verses like John 10:10 above, and other verses from the Proverbs that say “No good thing does He withhold from those whose walk is blameless”, and from Luke 11, “Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead?” or Matthew 7, “Which of you, if your son asks for a loaf will give him a stone instead?” These verses go on to say that, if sinful and fallen fathers only want good things for their children, how much MORE so does our perfect, holy God want to lavish gifts upon HIS children?

For a brief moment during my childhood, my dad would read to us three younger kids from the Westminster Catechism, the first component of which is “Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.” I’ve since long forgotten the rest, but for some reason, this point has stayed with me, decades later. If He’s a God who loves giving good gifts to His children, and if every GOOD and PERFECT gift comes from above, from Him, why DON’T I take more time to glory in what He’s given me? To enjoy His precense and His presents? Why instead is my default to look for the harmful, the pessimistic, and focus on the dreadful parts of the future that I’m so convinced await me? When I let those negative thoughts rule my mind, I’m actually falling prey to Satan’s trap. As John says, Satan came to steal, kill and destroy. He wants to steal our joy, kill our love, and destroy our hope. He is the great distractor, and one of the ways He does this best is by distracting me with worry and anxiety about the future.

In contrast, Jesus Christ came that we might have life and have it to the FULL. He is the bringer of light, of life, and of hope. He tells us NOT to worry, NOT to be anxious for anything, and NOT to despair. This is why, even though my bank account literally currently reads $0.29 (don’t worry—payday is 9 days away), I feel a ridiculous and incomprehensible sense of peace. All of my needs are met. I have food in the refrigerator, a car that runs and can transport me to my multiple jobs; I have a warm, homey condo with a fantastic roommate, my best friend lives a mere 5-minute drive away, and I get to be a huge part of her kids’ lives (anyone who follows me on INstagram knows the ridiculous love I have for those incredible children) and also positively affect the lives of the students at my school every day. I get to use my musical passions to sing and play for others at church, and to join in the anthem of creation surrounding us—an endless stream of praise to the Living God.

Not only are my needs met, but they are also EXCEEDED. I am surrounded by a loving community, and when necessary, I can escape life on one of the many beautiful, winding trails that populate this area. And more than all of this, I am surrounded by God’s grace. My sins are forgiven, my future is sure. I may not know what tomorrow holds, but I DO know the ending of the story—Christ comes back, all wrongs will be made right, and darkness will be turned to permanent light. I have been given SO much, and I am so blessed. And when my brain is full to the bursting with these delights and gratitude, there is no longer space for Satan’s attacks of despair and anxiety about the future.

Why share all of this?

Well, frankly, how could I not?

I don’t know about you, but when I receive incredible gifts from others, all I want to do is share the story and the gift with others. I promise this is not an attempt at a humblebrag. And I am also NOT a proponent of the prosperity gospel. But what I DO know is that every one of us has things in our lives fro which to be grateful, and I want to encourage fellow anxious, pessimism-prone people like myself to choose to turn their gazes outward instead of inward. When we do that, we realize how much we have, and how much we can give, instead of being consumed with fear about what might be taken away from us.

I’ve found that this—this place here of complete surrender and finding joy in the moment at the peak of a mountain—this is a place in which I always want to rest. With views like this, who wouldn’t?

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

"Her mountains did not break her, instead they only shaped her."

At the beginning of last school year, we as a staff were reminded that we would have moments where we would become frustrated, discouraged, and would want to give up. it's a natural hazard of the profession; so, in anticipation of those moments, we were handed a half sheet of paper, pens, colored pencils, and were tasked with creating a picture or a quote to which we could turn for encouragement during difficult moments.

As I was handed my paper and coloring utensils, a verse that has characterized my time in California immediately popped into my mind. I spent the next 15 minutes sketching it out: "I will lift my eyes to the hills--from where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth." Underneath my rudimentary drawing of the tram face mountain in Squaw, I wrote the words, "Look to the hills".

I'd had premonitions that the 2018-2019 school year would be difficult, but I couldn't have predicted the countless times I would look to the hills to remind myself that somehow, in some way beyond my comprehension, God was in control and everything would be okay. Other than a child psychology and development 101 class I took sophomore year of college, I'd had no training in teaching early childhood education. I substitute taught in maybe 3 different kindergarten classrooms over the course of 6 months, did none of my student teaching in early childhood classes, and had not even attended public school myself in kindergarten so I had a very limited background that I could draw from.

When people frequently asked me how the year was going and how I was enjoying kindergarten, I used one particular analogy to explain the difficulty that I was going through. The analogy was this: teaching kindergarten was like being plopped on a sailboat with no knowledge of sailing, and being told that I needed to navigate the boat to an island in 9 months with nothing but a star chart to guide me. A dubious gift, since I have only the slightest notions of how to find my way using the stars. Oh and then let's throw in 21 miniature sailors that I have to somehow educate in the ways of the tides, oceans, and sailing itself. That's what teaching was like last year.

I don't say this to either victimize myself or to puff myself up, but instead, I say it to highlight the strength and the depth of the grace that my Lord possesses. I've come to the conclusion that with the weight of responsibility and expectations I carried largely by myself this year, I oftentimes operated from a psychological state of duress. It's honestly a miracle to see how much my students learned and grew this year.

I remember breaking into tears multiple times those first few weeks of school as the enormity of the year's responsibilities settled weightily on my mind. How could I ever achieve what was expected of me, what was necessary for the year? It felt a lot like standing at the base of a dark, looming mountain and wondering how I could possibly scale such a steep, gigantic piece of rock. Just like climbing a real mountain, I had to take it step by step, day by day, until now, finally, I can stand at the pinnacle with my arms raised, shouting at the top of my lungs in exultation and relief that this hike is over.

Perhaps it was prophetic, or perhaps not, but as we stood in a circle during that staff training day, I told my colleagues, "I wrote 'Look to the hills', because just like how the weather, snow and rain soften the sharp edges of the mountains, I think the storms and weather I'll face this year will soften me and will shape me if I let them."

As I look up at that same mountain face today (I literally climbed the mountain yesterday), I'm struck with odd gratitude for the stormy climb I faced last year, how it shaped me, softened my edges, and  I know now for sure that God DOES give us more than we can handle sometimes because then He can show up in ways that highlight our need for Him. If scaling that figurative mountain of teaching kindergarten this past year isn't proof enough, the coming mountain range is. There's the possibility of unemployment for a time, or of changing the field of education I'm in, which may require more schooling and more certifications.

But as Morgan Harper Nichols' poem says, last year's mountain did not break me--they shaped me. And I believe that this next mountain will shape me, and the next one, and the one after that, until I finally reach the end of the journey. Where a year ago that would have overwhelmed me to tears, now I'm okay with it. I'll just start up the path, day by day and step by step with the faith that, with a lot of prayers and help, I'll eventually reach the summit.

On Losing

“When you lose, experience is the reward.”

I can’t remember the author of this quote, but after the past couple of months, its truth resonates deeply. In life, we can’t win ‘em all. But it’s not our failures or losses that define us; it’s what we do with them—how we let them affect us, shape us and mold us—that matters.

That includes when we work hard yet still come up short, or when we practice and do our best for an interview but still don’t get the job. Or when we don’t get into our dream college or when we experience yet another broken relationship….the list goes on.

My natural reaction when things like this happen is to feel discouraged and frustrated and defeated. It’s only natural. And it’s okay for us to acknowledge when things just suck. But then my friends remind me that it’s not the end, it could be worse, and that I’m not alone. The experiences and the processes I’ve been through are what prepare me for the future.

So instead of focusing on the aspects of my life where I’ve fallen short, I’m choosing instead to appreciate the experience I’ve gained and to truly understand it as a reward. Because it is a reward, hard-fought and hard-won, regardless of whether or not the outcomes of my life circumstances are what I initially hoped for.

Sometimes life just seems against us. Sometimes there are seasons where it feels like there are more failures than there are wins. I think it’s perfectly normal to be frustrated and emotional about it, eat some ice cream, binge-watch some Netflix, or maybe hike a mountain (if you’re me, you do all of those things). Then, get a good night’s sleep, and look at things from a new perspective. Dig into the experience you’ve gained, and seek out the rewards you’ve gained.

For instance, this was the most difficult year of teaching I’ve ever had, but it grew me in ways no other experience has. I’m more willing to be brave and take risks to do things I may not otherwise think I’m qualified for. I face things day by day and step by step, as a way to manage the stress and anxiety, instead of letting the big picture overwhelm me. And I believe that if God brought me through this stronger, it has to be to prepare me for something in my future. The difficulties of this year brought about rewards of resilience, patience, trust and a stronger faith.

Next time you face a difficulty, failure, or loss, take the time to feel it, and then start looking for the reward in your experience. It may be painstaking and difficult and not the most fun thing to do, but as always—it’s worth it.

Snow Drifts and Uncertainty

Thump! Woosh! Wump! I looked over from the front deck, where I was finally returning the shovel to its resting place after 40 minutes of shoveling feet upon feet of snow. "You've got to be kidding me!" I grumbled. I'd just finished clearing off my 4Runner when a gust of wind whipped through the trees, nudging them to dispose of the snow on their heavily-laden boughs, right on top of my newly shoveled vehicle. Heaving out a resigned sigh, I picked the shovel back up and trudged to my car to get rid of the freshly deposited snow.

Yesterday afternoon was spent in much the same way: constant shoveling and trying to keep up with the snowfall and create a wide enough space so that I could even rev my car up the driveway. The berms are easily over ten feet high, and it feels like a fool's errand to shovel out all this snow because it just. Keeps. Snowing. I cleared a foot at least yesterday, and another foot today. So, why do it? Well, out of necessity. I understand that if I don't tackle the task now, the snow will just keep piling up, making it harder to shovel later. Sure, it's hard work that will leave me sore and aching tomorrow, but it also makes tomorrow's task easier.

I feel like I've reached a similar point in my emotional life. I'm a whole-hearted giver, someone who wears my heart on my sleeve, and as such, I am constantly asking for advice and direction from others in my life because I don't always trust my emotions, and honestly, because I'm a people-pleaser. Where should I go next? What should I do in this situation, or in that situation? Should I stay in California? Should I move back to the Midwest? Their answers, pure in motive and honestly helpful, nevertheless pile up on top of my heart and my spirit like swirling snowflakes, drifting higher and higher and obscuring the still, quiet voice in the depths of my spirit. It's often easier to put others' desires and dreams for my life in front of God's desires and dreams for my life, and that's what's gotten me to this point.

One of my goals in 2019 is to start peeling back those layers, digging through the advice, the words, the opinions of others that have piled up in my heart, so that I can expose and truly hear God's voice--what HE thinks of me, how HE loves me, how HE wants me to find my identity in HIM. And now, as I find myself at another crossroads in life, it's never been more important for me to grab the shovel and start clearing out the snow. It's going to be painful. It will leave me aching and sore, but it's effort better spent now, as it will make decision-making processes easier and clearer tomorrow.

Author Shauna Niequist's words in her book Present Over Perfect resonate clearly with what I'm going through right now,

"I've always trusted things outside myself, believing that my own voice couldn't be trusted, that my own preferences and desires would lead me astray, that it was far wiser and safer to listen to other people--other voices, the voices of the crowd. I believed it was better to measure my life by metrics out there, instead of values deeply held in my own soul and spirit."

 If I don't take the time to shovel through the layers and depth of emotions and tangled up questions in my heart, God's truth and what He wants to reveal to me will remain buried. I will remain stuck, overwhelmed in drifts of cluttered thoughts and harried strivings instead of doing the painful work of stripping back years of people-pleasing, perceptions of who I SHOULD be, what I SHOULD do, what life SHOULD look like.

One of my favorite quotes from a beloved pastor is this: "Love God, and do what you want." I've always believed that means following rituals, rules, laws, and previous generations' perceptions of what a "successful" life looks like. In reality, I think I AM loving God no matter where I go, or where I end up. I seek to serve others and know I will always try to help those in my life to the best of my ability. Other than that, what else is there to worry about? It doesn't matter where I live or what I do.

Perhaps that freedom is what scares me the most. Perhaps that realization is what has kept me stuck inside the house, refusing to go out and shovel through the past, the pain, the pre-conceived notions of how my life should look. It's safer here. But once I deal with everything, I have the freedom to go out, to do, to stop comparing my life to the "metrics out there". And it scares me.

 It's been easier to listen to others' voices, to take others' advice, than to look deep inside myself and listen to my own desires and dreams. Don't get me wrong--others' advice and wisdom is good, Biblical, and often necessary to make strong choices in life. However, I'm learning that it's also important to look at how God has made me, to listen to His Spirit inside of me, and to let that be a deciding factor, as opposed to allowing the forces of others' opinions surrounding me to sway me.

Hours later, I'm warm and cozy inside, curled up with a good book. I glance out the window; the snow is still coming down. I'd rather stay inside and cuddle with the dog right now, but I know that if I don't start clearing out the driveway again, I'll never get out tonight.

Similarly, if I don't grab the shovel and start digging through the voices that surround me, that have piled up in my spirit, I'll never gather the courage to freely chart my life's course based on what Jesus wants for me, as opposed to what others might want for me. Just like the snow that seems a constant here in Truckee, so the voices and opinions of others are truly a constant in my life. What I listen to, though, and how I let it affect my life and decisions is 100% my choice. I need to do the hard work now so that I can be free to go and do and love for Jesus. I pull on my snow pants, boots, coat and gloves, and stride out into the snowstorm, determined. Time to get back to work.