Hiding Our Humanity

Today I read two posts that connected with my past on a deep level. One was an article talking about trigger warnings in classrooms and how there is a trend towards keeping places safe and free from emotionally fraught material. The other post was a blog written by one of my new favorite authors about her experience speaking at her alma mater.

When I remember my time in college, I have to fight to see the good parts. Because there were good parts. There were friendships and wonderful professors and late night giggles and getting yelled at too many times to count for being too loud during quiet hours. There were fall retreats and Battle of the Floors and singing in choir and loving the city I lived in even though it also scared and intimidated me. But mostly I remember how hellish my final time there was. I remember the crippling depression, the eating disorder, the alcohol abuse, the self-injury, the hospitalizations (yes, plural) because I didn't know if I had the strength to keep living. I remember falling HARD and feeling like there was no one to help.

College was where I first got real help. I had a counselor who made me feel less alone, like my problems weren't who I was, just things I was dealing with. So I will forever be grateful for the help I DID receive, because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that that help saved my life. But college was also the place where I learned that my problems were too much, too big. I learned that Christian institutions want shiny, happy, healthy students that they can show off to benefactors, alumni, and potential students. They don't want messy imperfection in their walls. I remember living in fear of being honest with how bad things were because I was afraid of being kicked out, afraid of being rejected. Well, that did happen to me, and it was every bit as horrifying as I had feared.

I am super passionate about people feeling supported when they are down. I have been in the black pit of depression too many times, and I live in a constant state of alert waiting for the next cycle of despair to rear up and try to drag me under. I know how isolating it feels when your friends and family seem happy and healthy and you feel alienated from them in every way. I know how HARD it is to have faith when you can't feel love or joy or peace or hope and everyone who tries to make you feel better feels gratingly fake. So when a friend comes to me and wants to talk about how they're REALLY feeling, I do my very best to be a good listener. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning and someone asked if they can use my floatation device, too, but I try to listen anyway because I know they might not find another person to help them float a little until it's too late.

Why don't we talk more about how hard it is to be human? Why don't we talk more about how painful it is to be alive? I'm not saying there aren't AMAZING things about life, but I'm so tired of hearing how amazing things are when they most certainly are NOT in my life. It has been 8 years since I had the courage to go to the counselor's office at my college and say that I didn't know why, but my life was hard and I needed help or I wasn't going to make it. Sometimes I wonder how different my life might be if I had known how to ask for help sooner. Part of the problem was that none of the people around me had any understanding of mental illness. Pretty much my first year of counseling was learning what depression was and how to identify what I was feeling. Because I didn't know how to sit with my emotions long enough to identify them and their roots. All I knew was that I was supposed to be happy, but I wasn't.

I want a culture where we don't hide when life is hard. I want an environment when pastors and church leaders can publicly talk about the hard parts of their lives as they live through them, not once it's all over and resolved. I want people to feel safe talking about their pain so we can learn to empathize and understand each other. The more we understand each other, the better we can love each other. We have to stop crucifying people for failing, because THAT'S WHAT HUMANS DO. We fail. But we learn from our failures, and that's how we grow and mature.

Tomorrow will mark 5 months since my dad died. The first month after the funeral, I was more angry at the lack of support from the people around me than I was sad about my dad being gone. Part of that was because anger is easier to deal with than pain and sadness, but part of it was because I was so furious that even after years and years of trying to build a support system for just such an event, it failed spectacularly. I was furious at every person who tried to high five me and be cheerful in my direction. There was NO room in the culture around me for me to mourn openly. I felt anguish and guilt at how poorly I had supported my three friends who lost parents just months before I lost my dad. Being on the other side, I had so much more insight about how to be a good friend in times of tragedy. If I couldn't figure out how to find a safe place to express my true feelings for a loss that people universally recognize is devastating, how am I supposed to create a safe place for people who have hidden, little understood hurts? Why are we so afraid to drop the smile and cry when we are hurting? I know it's hard. My therapist and I have been working closely together for six and a half years, and I think I've only cried twice in front of him.

I don't have answers. I know it's hard. But if we all made an effort to reach out just a little, I think it would add up to a lot. If we all just texted one or two people each week to say, "Hey, thinking of you. How are you doing today?" I think maybe we would feel less alone and a little safer to share our true selves. I think we wouldn't be so afraid to share the complex parts of our humanity because we would understand that we belong to each other and together we can do hard things (to borrow two sayings from one of my favorite authors Glennon Doyle Melton). Sometimes when I need support the most, I offer support to a friend, and then we discover that we can support each other and make it through.

Inundated with Depression

I have spent pretty much all of today immersed in depression. I felt it in my heart, my head, read it with my eyes, listened to a talk about depression, cried tears related to depression, craved (and ate) sugar because of depression. It's been rolling over and through me in wave after wave.

I felt raw all day. Last night I cried and stayed up too late trying to sort out how I felt. Today I read blog after blog about depression. When a beloved actor commits suicide, people share all their thoughts about mental illness, even the ones that are ignorant and hurtful. People who should have just listened spoke and caused harm instead of healing.

I've been listening to Jason Gray's latest album for the last few days. He doesn't really have a unique sound. He fits right in with the typical Christian pop music melody-wise. It's his lyrics that make him stand out from the crowd. His songs are the most honest songs I've ever heard.



I keep holding on to the lyrics from the end of this song: "You don't even have to speak/Just sit with me in the ashes here/And together we can pray for peace/To the one acquainted with our grief." It's just the worst when I risk being vulnerable, take off my mask, and let someone know how I've really been doing, how much depression has really been hurting me, and they try to fix it or they brush it off. Sometimes more than anything I just want a friend to bring me some ice cream and sit with me while we watch a couple episodes of Friends. I just want someone to be there, to sit with me in the pain, to walk beside me as I try to make it long enough for it to get better.

I've been feeling incredibly lonely over the past few months. I've been fighting depression mostly by myself. I've had long-distance support from my best friend who lives on the West Coast, and of course my therapist helps. But I'm still left alone most of the time. I was thinking tonight that fighting depression is like training for sports competition. I should disclose that my only experience with playing sports outside of gym class in high school was when I played flag football in college, so the analogy probably isn't perfect. But it's fourth and goal and I'm going for it (I'm so full of sports knowledge!).

I spend all day every day training (fighting depression). I know that I need help to know how to train better, more efficiently, so I hired a coach (counselor/therapist). He gives advice, educates, cheers me on. It's a special kind of relationship, but it's professional. I need more help than just one person can give me, more support, so I've sought out some teammates, as it were (other people who are walking their own journey of mental health). I've attended a depression support group a few times, and it is so encouraging to know I'm not the only one going through this. So now I feel like there are other people on the field who are working towards the same goal I am, and if we help each other we can all get closer to the goal (making it through each day, getting to a place where we feel more in control of our mental illness). What's missing are fans (friends). Fans just show up and cheer on the athletes. They're supportive even though they can't hop on the field and play the game for me. This is a game where critics are not welcome, but fans are deeply appreciated. I keep looking up at the stands hoping for someone to smile and wave at me, cheering me on, but the stands are empty. My family loves me, and I love them dearly, but they don't live near me. It's like they're watching on TV; they're cheering me on, but it's not the same as watching the game live. The thing about fans that is so great is that they're there only if they want to be. I pay my coach. He's totally on my team, helping me, cheering me on, but it's different. I want people to choose to root for me just because they care about me and believe in me. People who are actively in my life because they live here and they like me.

So all these thoughts and feelings have been rolling around in my head. I'm trying to sort out my faith in the midst of feeling like church is harming more than helping. I started trying to connect with God in different ways and discovered that I love going to mass at the catholic cathedral a mile from my apartment. It brings peace to my soul. It feels a little weird to share all this, to talk about how much depression hurts, to talk about how I'm trying new things which is scary but helpful. Tonight I was at a talk on depression, and after the speaker shared his own story of dealing with depression and anxiety, he shared some scripture. He talked about how the Bible is testimony, and there is tension between the testimonies it contains. The primary testimony is how God relates to the people with whom he chooses to be in relationship, how he sees them, rescues them, loves them. And there are testimonies that are in direct opposition to that primary testimony, people who acknowledge how God has shown up for their ancestors, but they also cry out asking why God has forsaken them. Thinking about how the Bible is a collection of people sharing how they have or haven't encountered God made me want to testify the truth of my life right now. I felt compelled to share more about what depression is like for me, what trying to find God and faith in the midst of the pain is like. For years now I've hoped that somehow my experiences, my story, my testimony could somehow help someone else. They can't do that if I keep everything to myself and hide behind a mask of "I'm fine," so for now this blog feels like a safe way to experiment with sharing.

Live for More

Last Sunday my church started a sermon series called Live for More. The first week was about volunteering, and they're encouraging people to interact via social media. Well, I decided that I have a whole lot to share, so I decided to write down some of my experiences (photos thrown in for good measure). You might want to grab some popcorn, because I am not a succinct storyteller.

I am something of a life-long church volunteer. I grew up attending church, and even as a kid I spent time volunteering.  When I was in college, I slacked off on church attendance quite a bit, but I had a lovely year when I volunteered for a Wednesday night kids' ministry (where at least twice I painted my hair as a reward for the team with the most points).

In my fourth year of college, I was diagnosed with major depression. Life was pretty awful for me for quite awhile. I had to leave school before I graduated, and I spent almost a year feeling pretty bitter towards God. The people who hurt me the most, who treated me like I was not worth much, were people who said they loved Jesus and made their lives about him, and it made everything feel confusing and painful. Towards the end of the summer of 2009 (the year after I left school), I realized how lonely I was. I had never really made friends outside of church or school, so I decided maybe it was time to give church a chance again. I had tried two different churches without finding the right fit when a friend recommended that I try Substance Church.

I remember how nervous I was that first Sunday. I had given myself a week to work up to it. I checked out the website, looked at a map to make sure I knew where to go and where the parking options were. Trying new things by myself when I know there will be a bunch of people is really hard for me. As I drove onto the Northwestern campus, I was greeted by the parking team. Oh, the parking team! At the other churches I had visited, I didn't know where to park or where to go once I got inside the building. At Substance, there were these crazy joyful people waving bright orange flags guiding me to a spot. When I parked my car, I sat for a moment fighting back tears. I hadn't even set foot in the church yet, and I knew there was a joy here that was unlike any church I'd attended before.

Substance has been my church home ever since that first Sunday. I spent my first few months attending lots of subgroups, trying to find friends even though all of the newness was so uncomfortable for me. In early 2010, I decided I was finally ready to volunteer. I was a little wary, but knowing that I wouldn't have to do it every week and that I could stop if I needed to, I took the plunge. Because of the impact my first visit had on me, I had no doubts that I wanted to join the parking team. I helped out on the last Sunday that Northwestern had only one service, and the next week when we jumped to two services, I began a three-and-half-year journey on the 1st service red team, part of that time as the team lead.

During the summer of 2010, I made a few connections during a volunteer party and found myself connected with someone who was running lighting. I started training for the media team, and for years I planned my schedule around the Sundays when I was either parking or running lighting (sometimes both in one day). I still run lighting regularly for Northwestern, The Well, and for other things like Deeper or Family Fun Night on occasion.

Being a volunteer has drastically changed my experience at Substance, and really my entire life. I feel such ownership; Substance is MY church. I know the staff, the pastors, the interns. I get up earlier on Sundays than I do for work on Mondays, and I'm OK with that. Best of all is the relationships I have made. The people volunteering with me are not just fellow volunteers or church members. They are my friends. They are people who have shown me grace when I have failed spectacularly. They are the people who encourage me when depression makes it seem like there is nothing good in the world. They pray for me when my faith is failing. In the past six months alone I have experienced support from so many of my friends when my car broke down, and they rejoiced with me like crazy when God provided a way to replace it.

Since my depression diagnosis in college, my life cycles through periods of normalcy and periods of bleakness. I think it can be hard for people without depression to understand how inaccessible God can seem when you're in the middle of a dark pit. My friends stick by me even when I'm doubting or angry. I am part of a community that wants health and wholeness but appreciates how complicated the journey to get there can be. I'm in one of those hard times now, and the late-night texts and conversations give me the strength to keep going. I find joy in putting aside the pain that I feel and serving others, even if only for a few hours a week. Volunteering keeps me connected with my friends, but also reminds me to look outside of myself, to try to keep perspective on the bigger picture of the Kingdom of God.

I think what happened at church this morning sums up how being a volunteer has made my life more than just going through the motions. I volunteered to park this morning, and when we were done, the four of us stayed backstage talking for the rest of the service. We talked about really deep things, shared parts of ourselves that we probably don't share with just anyone. And the only reason we even met each other was because of volunteering. Between services I went up to the media booth to say hi to my friends. I mentioned that I hadn't actually attended first service but wasn't sure I was going to stay for the second service, and someone joked about how me coming up to the media booth was church for me. It really is, in a way. In my time volunteering at Substance, I have made friends who make my life richer. These people value me, they assure me that they do not define me by my mistakes, and they appreciate having me be part of the team. The people at Substance aren't perfect, but they continue to show me a love that keeps me going even when everything else is telling me I shouldn't exist. There are days when I fully intend to show up, put in my time serving, and go home, but every single time I am reminded by the people around me that life is so much better when I engage and choose to live for more.

Who I Am

Last night was the first meeting of the summer book group in which I am participating. We're reading "Girls with Swords," by Lisa Bevere. We've only hit up the first chapter, but its about choosing who you will be. Will you be a hero in your story, in other people's stories? I'm pretty excited about it, and we had a great group of women there.

Today I finally remembered to look up a music video that a friend told me about weeks ago. I'm already on the 3rd 4th 5th listen through, and I wanted to share it.



This is a constant struggle for me, to discern if the things that have been said to me are truth or lies. It's especially hard when some of the most awful things people have said or done to me are by people I was supposed to be able to trust, people who were supposed to be looking out for me. I am trying to embrace the truth that I am a daughter of the most high King, that I am loved, wanted, cherished. In a world where people grow, change, and move in and out of seasons of life, it can be really hard for me to accept that God does not change. He does not love me more or less based on how I act. He doesn't get tired of me and move on, or get married and have no time for me anymore.

This is where it gets hard for me: I FEEL like God doesn't love me, or none of my friends care about me. It can be really hard for me to acknowledge that my feelings do not determine how others feel. That's why I still have birthday cards up on my VCR. They (and the kind words inside) are tangible reminders of the friends I have, things that I can't deny. And when I focus on those, my feelings start to change, to line up with the truth that I have amazing friends who love me.

That's why I started trying to memorize the book of Ephesians earlier this year. Sadly, I dropped the ball, but I intend to pick it back up and keep going. Meditating verse by verse, even sentence by sentence, helps the truth of God's love to sink in deep down. As a wise friend pointed out to me yesterday, sometimes what I really need is to take my problems and hurts to God first. It's ridiculous how easy it is for me to forget how healing being in His presence can be.

I am a beloved daughter of Christ. I have been purchased at a high price. I am God's masterpiece. I am a warrior. I left normal behind and am now covered in righteousness.

What Is Normal, Anyway?

I think I have a mouse. I haven't seen one, but tonight I have heard two short squeaks that make me think there is one somewhere in my closet. I was immediately filled with dread, feeling like I just can't handle this. Because at my last apartment, I caught over 40 mice in less than two years. It was horrendous. And this weekend, when I pulled a wooden spoon out of my drawer and found two tiny bugs on my hand, I tried really hard not to freak out. Because at my last apartment, I had a horrible roach infestation for the last two months I lived there (yes, my last apartment building was not a happy place by the time I left). When I see signs of some pest in my living space, I start to panic, because I've seen what happens when they take over. What I try to remember is that it's probably normal to have a few pests now and then. 40 mice? Not normal. 1 or 2 a year, especially when it's cold? Probably normal, though not fun. A few bugs now and then? Normal. I mean, we always had ants in the summer growing up, and I never freaked out like I did with the roaches. In the southern states, it's weird if you DON'T have a bug guy to treat you for various pests.

It's so hard to keep an objective view of what normal is when you're in the midst of something. I remember clearly that I didn't think anything of the roaches at first, just figuring it was summer and it was typical to have some bugs. But then I realized they were roaches, and that there were a ton of them, and all of a sudden it felt so overwhelming. It crept up on me. I can't even remember which mouse it was when I went from "this is annoying" to "this is ridiculous" to "this is NOT right." You get in survival mode, and when you're focusing on surviving, it can be really hard to gauge where you are. When I was first diagnosed with depression, I was relieved to have someone tell me that it was NOT normal to feel as awful as I did for so long. I sort of knew that, but I had felt that way for so long and just kept pushing through that I really wasn't sure sometimes. I should have known something was up a lot sooner, when my grades started to suffer. For me, it was not normal to have learning be so difficult. It was like a flip switched, and all of a sudden I felt stupid in school. I would stare at a computer screen for hours, having no idea what to write for papers.

I think this is one of the reasons it's so important to have close friends. We all need to have people who know us intimately, people who can tell us when they start to see us veering off the path. I think having accountability like this can help ward off certain problems with habitual sins before we get far down that path. For example, if you are the sort to drink alcohol rarely or only moderately, if your friends see you start to drink frequently and heavily they can say something. It could be so easy to justify it to yourself. After all, don't we see on TV and in the movies that college and even high school students do it all the time? Don't we sometimes see grown adults being functional alcoholics presented as somewhat normal? We need people in our real life to give us perspective, to be honest with us. It's not easy. If you don't have a relationship built on trust and mutual friendship, it can be really easy to feel judged and get defensive. If you're hearing this kind of truth from someone you don't know well, it can be easy to say "What do they know, anyway?" and ignore the truth in what they spoke.

I have a friend who lives across the country, and we contact each other about once a week for some accountability stuff. We have a few specific things, but it's nice just to know I can be honest about everything. She's a safe space for me. And when I've been doing things that I'm not comfortable sharing with her, that's a really good barometer of whether or not I should be doing them. Because if I know she won't be happy to hear it, I know I shouldn't be doing it. We've talked about all sorts of things, and it goes both ways. We've also struggled with some of the same things, which helps with the whole not feeling judged thing.

It's a new year. I'm not big on making New Year's Resolutions, but I do like to look back and reflect a bit on the previous year. 2012 was filled with apartment/pest drama, but otherwise it really was a pretty good year. I've made some wonderful friends in that time, I've done a lot of things that I loved. I got to see some amazing shows, I read a lot of books, and I laughed a lot. I'm really happy to realize that my normal has shifted to a place that is mostly contentment and thankfulness. I'm so thankful for my job, my church, my friends, my family. I'm thankful that depression isn't my daily normal, even though I struggle with it sometimes. I'm thankful for fresh starts and forgiveness. I'm thankful that normal can change for the better, that there is always a bend in the road. Who knows what exciting things lie beyond?

When God Affirms Your Internal Call

Today has been a crazy series of events that led to a crazy God confirmation in my life. As I think about my day, it's so clear that none of it is coincidence.

I volunteer a lot at my church. I lead a parking team, which serves every third week, and I'm also a lighting volunteer every third week. Today was one of the days when I wasn't volunteering, and I decided to try something a little different. The campus where I usually attend had to switch locations for the late service, so I though I'd sleep in and visit the SLP campus, where I'd never been. I also thought it would be neat to check out the lighting booth, since SLP is the only campus at which I have not run lighting.

It felt a little funny to have the visitor jitters going to my own church, but everyone at SLP was so nice. The service was great, and a friend steered me in the direction of the staircase to the media booth (thanks, Dale!). Will and Josh gave the grand tour, and then they asked if I was attending the Intern Q & A tonight. I hadn't even known about the Q & A, but since I had no interest in being an intern, I declined. Without being obnoxiously pushy, Will and Josh both encouraged me to come anyway, because at least it was free food. I said I probably wouldn't, then headed home, but the idea stuck with me. I actually had two other friends tell me I should go, so I decided that if nothing else, I'd get to support my media intern friends.

The Q & A was about as I expected it to be. Honestly, as I listened, I knew that there was no way I was going to apply for an internship. Besides a bunch of logistical reasons, I knew my heart wasn't in the right place, and I definitely wouldn't want to waste time and resources and commit to something so big if I didn't mean it. I actually spent part of my afternoon rehearsing the bullet points of why I wasn't going to apply so that I wouldn't freeze in conversation when I was inevitably asked about applying. After the Q & A officially ended, I hung around and talked with a few people. I talked to Josh about why I wasn't applying, and then I talked to Tabi. While I talked to Tabi, I got to talk about all the things I love about where I'm at right now. I love being a part of my parking team. I love running the lighting. I've especially loved running the lighting for The Well (our women's ministry) the last few months, because I've really gotten to be creative and do things without a lot of restrictions.

I have had quite a few people tell me they think I should do X or that I'd be good at Z. And mostly I've found it frustrating because I feel like they're pushing me in a direction I'm not comfortable with. As I talked with Tabi and explained lots of the reasons about why I don't want to change what I'm doing now, she affirmed that there was a lot of wisdom in knowing myself well enough to say no to certain things. Having someone finally listen to the things I've been thinking about a lot over the past several months was such a relief. As I walked back to my car, I felt so light. I started to cry on my way home, because I felt like God was telling me that right now I am in a season of rest, restoration, and celebration and that it's OK to not take on anything else right now. I also felt, for the first time, like maybe it's OK that other people see something in me that I don't, because that's something that will happen in the future. I'm even a little excited at the thought that maybe down the line God has something big for me, whereas before I'd just feel scared and anxious. I think God affirmed that for now, I'm correct with my internal call of supporting those around me and serving as I have been, but the external call I've been getting from others isn't wrong, either. It's just not now. I have felt such tension over the difference between what I feel I'm called to do (internal call), and what others have been telling me they think I should do (external call). Pastor Peter even preached about internal and external calling this morning.

I want to remember today. I want to remember how I drove home and felt like God was telling me that He knows I've been through a lot, and it's OK to enjoy a time of peace and stability. I want to remember how I felt something stir within me at the idea of serving on a larger scale, even though I knew I'm not at the point yet. I want to remember how people encouraged me, told me things that made me feel valued and loved. And I want to remember how blessed I am to have such wonderful friends and a wonderful church. Three and a half years ago I was in a hospital because I was suicidal. Now I can't believe (in a good way) that this is my life. Today is a day to remember God's faithfulness. I'm so thankful.

Isn't it Obvious?

I'm in 2 Kings right now as I'm reading my way through the Bible. King after king did what was evil in the sight of the Lord. Their idolatry was so obvious. They put up an Ashorah pole? Of course that was a bad idea! It's so easy to look at other people around us or even at the people in the Bible and see where they went wrong. David shouldn't have been at home when his troops were at war, and he should never have gotten involved with Bathsheba. Samson should never have revealed the secret of his strength to Delilah.

I've often wondered why people make such obvious mistakes. I tend to think that if given the opportunity, I would easily make the right decision in those situations. Except when you're in the midst of things there are often lots of smaller, less obvious choices. When I was 18 I never thought it was even possible that I would make the choices I did when I was 21. But I did. I think that's one of the many reasons why it's so important to have a group of friends that holds you accountable. They can help you spot the stupid mistakes long before you're in too deep.

Sectioning off who you are

I have different categories of friends. Friends from high school, friends from college, friends from church. My friends have known me in different times of my life. I've had theatre friends, floormate friends, Spanish Club friends. Generally friendships are formed based on common interests. Isn't that what you do with your friends? You get together and do something you both enjoy.

I hate having to wall off part of who I am when I'm around some people. I'm not talking about when you decide not to disclose all of your deepest, darkest secrets with a friend you've only known a short while. In my case I'm talking about my faith. I went to a Christian college, so my college friends and I share the same basic faith. My church friends and I share the same basic faith. But when it comes to friends from high school, or maybe people at work, my faith is something that I feel I have to hide.

My friends have always respected me to my face. They've never said I was stupid for believing in God. They've never accused me to my face of being judgmental. I have a deep fear that if I was honest about my beliefs on certain things, some people would no longer be my friend. In high school, I was afraid of losing the only friends I had, of losing a life that I'd never had before and was desperate not to lose. Now that I have a wider circle of friends, I'm not as afraid of losing my friends. What I'm afraid of is of saying or doing something that would offend them so much that they wouldn't be open to anything having to do with God at all.

Not all of my beliefs are politically correct. Actually, most of them probably aren't. And I'm OK with that. I do believe that people should be free to choose what to believe in. I also believe that despite thinking others should be free to choose, they can choose wrong. I don't believe all religions are equal. And I think there are a lot of things in our culture today that are widely accepted but shouldn't be, because they're sins.

I really wish I knew how to be my whole self no matter who I am near. My faith is so central to who I am that it feels absurd when I section that part off. It feels kind of dishonest when I don't speak up about something that I disagree with. But I don't want that to be the only thing people focus on. I think it's also important that I love to read, that I like to paint, that I have a passion for theatre that is so big I can't describe it. I think it matters that I love fall and I'm not wild about fruits or vegetables and my favorite color is purple. The world around me is crying for people to be tolerant, but I think we've actually learned to be less tolerant of differences. It seems to me that forcing everyone to believe the same sorts of things isn't tolerating our differences at all. And who decided tolerance should always be a good thing, anyway? I wouldn't want any of my friends to tolerate an abusive relationship. We do not tolerate people committing crimes without consequences. The fact that we have laws about what is and what is not acceptable shows that there are things that should not be tolerated. I value my freedom, and I hate when I am told that I can only express my freedom in certain ways so that I don't offend others. I struggle to value the right for others to have their opinions when they're opposite of mine, but I know that freedom needs to go both ways, or it's a dictatorship.

This all comes about because tonight I was with a group of people, and as great as they are, I had a moment when I realized that I had to hide my reaction to something or they would all have a big problem with me. My belief about something doesn't change how I treat them. I already believe it; it's already how I'm treating them. It's a hard line to walk. I want so desperately for my friends to have an encounter with the one who loves us so much he sent his son to die for us so we wouldn't have to be separated for eternity. Love like that totally changes everything. I wish I wasn't so scared that my own story is too full of pain and not full enough with love to be very hopeful. Somehow, even though I know it's silly to think that God can't move because I am imperfect and my story isn't finished, I still worry that I'm going to screw up eternity for some of the people that I love the most. I hope I can learn to just be more like Jesus. He totally shook things up, was totally not PC, and he loved people like they'd never been loved before.

Remembering

My best friend's mom passed away three years ago today. She fought pancreatic cancer for over a year (if I'm remembering correctly) before she got really sick and died. I've been aware that today was coming up, but I didn't look at the date until just now, when I read Althea's blog.

Margot was a really wonderful person. She always welcomed her kids' friends into their home. I remember playing various card games at their kitchen table. Racko and Taboo (especially Taboo) were games that we played often at the Babler house.

I remember vividly a conversation I had with her during one of my early years of college. I was home for a visit, and I had gone to see my friends at the high school and I had given Joe a ride home. I sat and talked with Margot in the living room. I remember talking about my desire to be a stay at home mom, and how a lot of people in high school had asked me why I would waste my intellect doing something like that. Margot told me how much work it takes to run a household well. She was really supportive of my dream.

I was always welcome at the Babler house. Margot wasn't the best at keeping the house clean, but it was always a welcoming home. I knew it was a safe place that I was always welcome if I needed somewhere to go. I loved the way she changed the outfits of the American dolls to fit the season. I loved sitting on the couch watching The Simpsons with Maretta, Joe, and Craig.

I'm sad that Margot is gone, but I'm glad I have such wonderful memories of her. She treated me as if I was one of her kids, and that still means so much to me. I'm so honored to have known her.

I'm praying for my Babler friends today. Because as much as I miss her, I know they miss her a million times more.