Fathers be good to your Daughters

So, I know I've been on this whole "Dad" thing for a while, but bear with me because this post is different. I come from a family that is pretty awesome. It wasn't always easy, mind you. There have been some really tough patches, but overall I feel incredibly blessed. If you know me well at all, you know how deeply attached I am to my Mom and my little sister. I've always done the best I can to love and protect them. But something that took me a lot longer to realize was that I was blessed beyond measure. You see, I got two Dads. No, not because I have a gay parent...but because my biological parents got a divorce when I was very young. Now, most people see step-parents as the bad guys. There's the wicked step-mothers from Cinderella, Snow White, Ella Enchanted, The Parent Trap, and there are horror movies about step fathers like...well, The Stepfather. These movies teach our children that step-parents are awful creatures and not worthy of their love. 

Our culture has come to believe these things. 

I did too.

Here's the deal. I count myself lucky to have my "step" dad. 

When I was certain that my biological parents would (and should) get back
     together, and was sure that he would ruin that, he loved me. 

When I was a little girl, who was angsty, protective, and stubborn, he loved
     me. 

When I went out of my way to show him that he was not my "real dad," he loved
     me. 

When I tried to take his role as the protector of our family, he loved me. 

When I pitted my parents against each other, he loved me. 

When I was angry, bitter, and venomous, he loved me. 

When I yelled, cussed, and threw a tantrum, he loved me.

When I complained about him to my friends, he loved me. 

When I made him feel like an outcast in our family, he loved me. 

When I got in a screaming match with him, he loved me. 

When I shut him down time and again, he loved me. 

When I made it clear that I didn't want to try in our relationship, he loved me. 

When my own biological Dad flaked over and over again, he loved me (and
     showed it by always being there). 

When I got older and started wanting a good relationship with him, he loved
     me. 

When we stopped fighting and he started asking me for hugs, he loved me. 

When I wasn't sure what to do with that response, he loved me. 

When I asked him if I could talk to just him, without interruption, he loved
    me. 

When I was so angry at everyone in the world, and for the first time ever
     he was the ONLY person I wasn't mad at, he loved me.

When I bawled my eyes out in the doorway of his office, he loved me. 

When I told him that I didn't know how to cry anymore, that I didn't know
     how to mourn, that I didn't know how to stop being angry at everyone
     for no reason, he loved me. 

When he told me, "You're doing it right now," he loved me.

When he let me sit and unload my burdens, he loved me. 

When he told me that it's okay to grieve differently, he loved me. 

When we had this thing in common, our biological Dad's dying, he loved me. 

When I knew that I could come to him, he loved me. 

When he took me as if I was his own daughter from day one, he loved me. 

He didn't have to.

He was marrying my Mom...not her two daughters.

He loved me.

What kind of love is that? He chose to love me like his own daughter. His own, biological daughter. Sure, we had our fair share of fights. You will never catch me denying that fact. However, I don't know what I would have ever done without him. Mark is the reason that I didn't give up on "dads" altogether. He taught me through his commitment to me, that love stretches beyond who is "biologically" related to you. He taught me that running away is not the answer. He taught me that love is worth fighting for. And he taught me to fight hard for what I believe in. He taught me that I have to be my own person, I can't float on my parents coattails through life. He taught me that I need to follow Jesus, set my own boundaries, and stick to them. He taught me that it's okay to be broken, it's okay to come and ask for help in putting the pieces of your shattered heart back together. He taught me that sometimes...you just have to admit that you can't do it alone and allow other people in. The greatest gift that the death of my biological dad brought me, was a closer connection to my real dad, Mark. When no one that I loved really understood what I was going through, he held me through the storm. He reminded me that the pain won't just go away over time, it will linger. It will fade, but you will always miss that person. He told me that it's okay to cry when I need to cry. 

He reminded me that I don't have to be strong for everyone. 

That I can't be strong for everyone. 

That I shouldn't be strong for everyone.

It's okay to let other people be strong for me, for once. It's okay to be vulnerable. It's okay to let people in. It was hard to see when I was looking through the lens of a selfish little girl, but my real Dad has been Mark all along. Don't get me wrong, I love my biological Dad and I am so glad that I was close to him. But Mark has been the one that showed me what dads do. Dads love their daughters. They make them follow really strict rules even if it's annoying a lot of the time ;) They teach them to be independent, but always remind them that they have a place that they can come back to and be loved. 

I am the worlds most blessed woman because 
I have a beautiful family that loves me imperfectly. 

I have a Dad who knows what it means to love his daughters.

The Eulogy I gave for my Dad at his funeral

For my Dad

     So, I've really struggled to get around to writing out what I was going to say this week. I don’t know about you, but I've found myself getting really tired. It’s not because I haven’t been getting sleep, it’s not because I’m running around like crazy, it’s a deeper kind of tired…kind of like a tiredness of my soul. That may sound kind of weird, but I know some of you are feeling the way that I am. Dad fought this battle for a long time…it seemed like an eternity to me…and honestly, there were points where I was begging God to just take him so that his suffering could be over. But God knew better. God gave me time. I know I won’t be speaking for everyone in the room when I say this…but I had a lot of things that I needed to deal with before I could let my Dad go. There were conversations that I needed to have, questions that I needed answered, and time to pre-grieve his death. For those of you who don’t know what that is, pre-grieving is pretty self explanatory, but every summer I start the process of grieving like 3 weeks in advance, knowing I’m going to miss my family…and Adam.


     I remember a friend of mine died last year…and I felt incredibly guilty about his death because I knew that I hadn't done all I could to tell him about Jesus. After that happened, Dad got really sick…and I knew that I couldn't live with myself if I didn't speak up and have those hard conversations with him. God gave me that time. I remember driving to KU where he was staying and asking God to give me the words to say to him. I was begging him to give me words…to speak through me…because to be real honest, I’m not the best public speaker the worlds ever seen and it really makes me kind of nervous most days. As I sat on his bed, I asked him questions… “How are you feeling about God right now?” You see, Dad got clean…he got a job…he started going to college, crazy as that is and we’d talk about how we were both in college learning stuff and working on the same type of degree…and right as he was working on getting his life together, that’s when he got sick…that’s hard on anyone’s faith. He answered that he was angry…and I told him that I was too. You see, people always worry that you can’t express anger towards God…but honestly, sometimes he’s the only one who can handle my anger and I don’t want to take it out on someone else! It’s like the times when I've been upset with Mom, yet she’s the only one I wanted to talk things through with, so I just had to get over my anger and vent a bit before I could get back on my feet.


     We had that conversation. I reminded him that God loves him even though his past was taking its toll on his body. He knew, at least in his head, that God loved him…even though many times he didn't feel worthy. The crazy thing about God is that none of us are worthy…we are all given grace if we receive Christ and live our lives for Him…but that’s a decision that we have to make and no one can make it for us. I have to be real honest and say that when I found out that my Dad had died, the first thought that came into my head was wondering where he was going to spend the rest of eternity. I didn't want to stand before you all today and give you some sappy speech about how “he’s in a better place now,” if he wasn't. I wrestled with that for a long time. I talked to Adam…and Marcy…Mom…and Fallon…and more than anything, I talked to God. I kept telling God that if I just knew that he was in heaven…I would be at peace.


     People said that of course he’s in a better place and at first I thought they were just saying all of that to comfort me. But I want to stand before you today and say that I am confident that he is with Jesus. When I found out about my Dad, I was with so many people that I love, my two best friends (outside of Fally, of course), two more good friends, and my roommates’ dad. We were out in the middle of nowhere with no cell reception…so when I got back into range on Sunday, September 29th, I was letting people know so that they could spread the news. I talked to one of my girlfriends from my church small group to let her know. When I told her, she asked if I’d read her Facebook message to me…this is what she wrote, “Hey girl, when I took my prayer time today I just randomly felt that God wants you to know your dad is going to be OK. God sees you.” That was really weird timing. You might be skeptical, like I kinda was, but the date on this message was September 27…before I told her anything two days later. When I heard this from her…I about burst into tears and had to have Adam take my phone and put it into his pocket so I didn't start bawling at the restaurant.


     To be honest, I still had my doubts after hearing from her and having so much confirmation from God. Then I talked to my Mom…she said on Sunday, when she went to church, she cried and was talking to God and said that if she only knew where he was…she would be able to have peace…and right after church…she came here with Fallon…and was talking to Grandpa Scott. He told Fallon (without mom even bringing it up) that he and Grandma Connie had been upfront with Daddy…and asked him if he believed in Jesus…he said yes. I am holding onto that, and trusting that what was done on earth was received in his heart. And because of what I know through Christ…this is a day of celebration! You know Dad…he wouldn't like everyone just mourning our loss of him, but celebrating the good in his life! He grew so much! He gave his life over to the only one who could make him whole. He got clean. He pursued a degree. He started living. This life…when it ends…we always think that it’s THE end. But this life is only the very beginning. The 20, 39, or 100 years we get…it’s only a glimpse of our lives. Dad is living a life so beyond compare that he isn't even thinking of mourning. He’s having the best (and cleanest!) party that he’s ever had! He would want everyone here to know the love of Christ that he’s experiencing now. God is good. Even through the hard times in life.


     There will be days that are really hard. You might experience anger…at him or someone else or no one. That’s okay. You might go through periods where you cry all the time and you’re not sure why. That’s okay. You might just go on living and feel guilty for being at peace or for even being happy. That’s okay. Don’t judge your own grieving process (some good friends told me that). We will all handle things differently and in our own time. Give yourself permission to grieve…give yourself permission to scream for “no reason”…give yourself permission to feel and to be angry and to hurt…that’s good. Give yourself permission to punch your pillow…or vent to someone…or just completely fall apart for a time. It’s okay to be out of control sometimes. And I hesitate to say this, but I've been quiet about it for far too long…I want you to all know…that you can and will feel all of these things…and the one who can truly bring you peace is God. I never want to come off as that Bible thumping girl in the family…but I also don’t want to look back and regret never speaking up and sharing the truth with the people that I love most. Daddy accepted God before he died, so I can stand before you today and rejoice…I want to be able to do that with everyone. God is good.

Life is Beautiful

     So, a lot has happened since I posted last. Not just a lot of small things, but a lot of huge, life changing, things. To begin with, I have added another Bachelors degree onto my plate. I am now not only a Counseling and Psychology major, but an Intercultural Studies major (that means I'm going to be a missionary!). That is huge. I have a heart for people who are lost. I have a heart for those that no one loves, those that no one see as worthy of their time. My heart breaks for the many people around this world that feel so alone. We live in a world of over 7 billion people. How is it that one can feel so alone in a world so large? It shouldn't be this way. We are called to go and to love people wherever we are.
 
     Another pretty drastic thing happened this September. My Dad died. He was only 39 years old. Since November of last year, he was struggling with pancreatitis, jaundice, liver failure (from his previous alcoholism), a development of diabetes, depression, and other ailments.

He was sick not only of body and mind, but of heart. 

     He had begun to maintain a sober lifestyle.
     He had gotten off the alcohol...and the drugs.
     He was down to 1 cigarette a day, which is HUGE for someone
          who used to smoke several packs.        
     He was seeking Christ.
     Going to church.
     Building a community.
     Went to get his college degree.
     Maintained a steady job!

     And right when things started looking up for him...boom. Satan struck. Right when Dad started living his life in a way that was honoring Christ...that's when things went wacky. One day, while he was in the hospital, I went to talk with him. On the ride there, I was asking God desperately to give me words to say. I didn't know what to address...I didn't know what I should leave unsaid. I plead with God on the way there that He would speak through me...because I didn't know how to.

     No one wants to see someone they love...dying. And that's what I would see whenever I saw him. He was yellow...he was thin beyond belief...and he could barely talk because he wasn't allowed to eat or drink much when he was being tested...It made me sick and depressed to even be in the room with him. I didn't want to scare him more by crying, but simply seeing him would bring me to tears. Having a conversation with him...knowing it might be my last...was horrible. I can't begin to describe the anguish that gripped my heart in those times.

     I could do so much more.
     I could drop out of school.
     Spend every day by his bedside.
     Holding his hand.
     Telling him it would be okay.
     Being there so he wouldn't get depressed and lonely.
     I should have been around more BEFORE this all happened.
     I'm a horrible daughter.
     What's more important? My career...or my Dad?

     At the same time...I NEVER wanted to be around him. I hated going to see him, not knowing if he would be having a good day or a bad one. Not wanting to see him dry heave as his deteriorating body wretched in pain. Not wanting to go over and put more blankets on him because he was too thin and sick to maintain a warmth in his body. Not wanting to face him because I KNEW...I...knew...that he wouldn't be here much longer. I always thought *I'd* die before Dad. I always wanted it to be that way. I'm not sure why, but I thought..."If I die first...that will be a testimony to him. If I get sick, I can show him how good God is through the pain and the suffering of death..." But that didn't happen. He went first.

     When I got to the hospital the day I cried out to Jesus on the drive...I arrived to see my Dad just as broken as before. Pitiful, pathetic, in pain. And I nearly wept. As Grandma Denny left, I went and sat next to him on his bed. Facing him...I asked him a question. "How are you feeling about God right now?" I didn't expect much of an answer because he wasn't able to speak much. But he did muster up a reply..."Well...I'm pretty angry at Him actually." "Me too."

      So many people think that it is unholy...heretical...or whatever to be angry with God. If anyone can handle my anger...it's going to be Him. I couldn't be mad at the withering away man that was laying on the hospital bed, as much as I tried to be. He brought this suffering on himself through years of abuse of his body...but I couldn't be mad at him.

     I could only cry out to God. Scream. Bawl my eyes out. Fall limp 
     at the feet of my Heavenly Father...and ask Him, "Why?...
     Why now? Right when everything was coming together...right 
     when he was being the Dad that I always wanted him to be. Why
     are you taking him from me now? When he's cleaned up his act
     ...when he's started to follow you? What did I do wrong that you
     won't let me keep my Dad that I have so earnestly prayed for all
     these years? You finally helped me to get him back...he's so much
     better when he's clean...so much happier...and now You've gone 
     and let him die...Why?"

     "Dad...I'm angry with God too...and that's okay. It's okay to be angry with him...to ask him questions...to cry out to Him. And Dad? Though you're angry...He's the only one who can fix this. He's the only one who can make you better. I love you so much...and God?...He loves you so much more. I know that's hard to believe. I know it's crappy that right when you got clean...this all happened...but God didn't do this to you. He's hurting just as much as I am...just as much as you are. He loves you." 

     Dad didn't say much to this...but his tears said enough. It's hard when people are expected to withhold their emotions. Their hurts, anger, fear, and sadness. Christ never told us that we weren't allowed to come to Him in our broken moments. Just the opposite actually. He wanted us to come to him, broken, unable to fix ourselves, and let Him pick us up and hold us together as our world seems to be falling down around us. 

   

     That conversation was one of many throughout the months ahead. He would be in and out of the hospital...he had too many near death experiences to count. Fallon and I actually became confident that he wasn't going to die...ever. Like Grandma Denny said, "He's like a cat! He's got nine lives!" 

     

     I got calls all the time saying, "I took your Dad to the hospital and..." It would always end in something like, "the doctors were not sure how he was still walking around and feeling good" or "his blood sugar was supposed to be around 130 and it was at 1,300! People go into a diabetic coma when their blood sugar is at 300 and he and I went shopping after we left the doctors. He was just fine!" 

     So, when the call came in to Mr. Low's house and I heard those words from my Mom...I didn't expect much. I sat across from Adam in the living room (learning to play chess), while Marcy, Jason, Nathan, and Mr. Low were in the dining room behind us and I was trying to hint to my Mom that I was busy and needed her to get on with it. 

     "Grandma called me this morning and..." *delay on the other line for what seems like an eternity* Oh my gosh...Okay? And? She calls you all the time. I get it. Dad's sick. What is it? I'm trying to learn chess here! Gah! Another "We went to the hospital today for another check-up and he's developed an incredibly rare disease that should have killed him 20 years ago, but he's fine! Isn't that crazy? Love you! Have a fun rest of your trip!" 

     But this conversation was not going in the direction that I thought it would. I thought to myself, "What is happening? Why is her voice so somber? This is ridiculous." 

"Daddy died last night." 

     No he didn't. He can't die. Remember? He's ALMOST died a ton. But actually die? What does die even mean? I'm not even sure that's a word...I've seen dead people...but my Dad didn't die. I'm 20 years old. I'm too young for my Dad to die. HE'S too young to die. This isn't real. What is happening again? 

Silence. 

     That's going to be my response? Really. I never expected to be so emotionally detached from such hideous news. Silence. No screaming. No losing my mind. No tearing at my hair as I fall into the fetal position. Silence. No crying. No passing out. No telling the people around me what happened. Silence. 

     "What?" Without saying a word to Adam or anyone else, I stood up, and I walked away. I walked to the spare bedroom. Shut the door. Sat on the bed facing the wall. Silence. Silent tears stream down my face as I try to understand the sentence, "Daddy died last night." I have somehow forgotten what death means. Can I still go visit him? No. But I can still text him and see how he's doing, right? No. Well, what about when I need a bear hug? I get to keep that don't I? No. 

     What is this death thing? I can't have a conversation with him again? Ask him how his relationship with God is? Tell him that I love him "most mostest infinity?" No. None of those things will ever happen. Ever. Again. What is this? Death? That doesn't sound like a real word anymore. I'm sure it's not. Right? 

     The problem was...he was getting better. Sure, he'd been really, really sick. I WANTED him to die so he could just be done with this illness. I begged God to take him from this earth while he was in right relationship with Him. I pleaded that he would be released from this agony. 

     

     But then God made him better. "I didn't mean it! I take it back! I'm sorry! I
     thought he would never get better...don't do this to me...I'm sorry...I
     shouldn't have ever prayed that You would take him...it's my fault. If only I
     made more time to visit him. If only I could have been around more and let
     him know that I really do love him. If only I had talked more about You.
     Then he wouldn't be dead. What if he did it on purpose...what if he got so
     sad...so lonely...that he decided it wasn't worth it. I killed him because I
     was too selfish. I should have dropped out. I should have sat by him every
     second so he would never have to be alone again. What have I done?
     ...He won't be there on my wedding day. He won't get to give my future
     husband permission to marry me. He won't get to see my children. He will
     never know that I decided to become a missionary, for real this time. He
     won't be there. For anything. He won't be there on my 21st birthday. I won't
     get to show him that you don't have to get wasted and party to have fun
     when you turn 21...He's missing everything." 

     As I sat there...and cried...and listened to my Mom's breathing on the other line, I could only think of questions, some answerable, some not so much. 

     How is everyone? 

     How is Fallon? How did she react? 

     How are you, Mom? I know he's your ex-husband, but you were still friends
         and you loved him like you ought to as the father of your children. 

     How is his Mom?

     How is Grandpa Vaughn?

     How is his Dad? And Grandma Connie? 

     His grandma's? 

     How are his siblings?

     ...How did this happen? 

     How did he die? 

     Where did he die? 

     When did he die? 

     Was he all alone? 

Oh God...he was probably all alone. He didn't die with ANYONE around to hold him through it. 

      How is this going to effect this weekend away that was supposed to be fun
         and relaxing. I'm going to ruin everyone's fun because my Dad died. 

     Why am I here? 

     Why couldn't I be in Joplin or Kansas City when this happened? 

     Why did God set up the timing like this? 

     Why did he allow my two best friends (outside of Fally) to be with me
         through this horrible thing?          
     Why am I not crying more? 

     Am I not sad? What a horrible daughter! 

     How am I going to take care of everyone that is sad?

     How will Adam handle this?

     How will Marcy?

     How will Jason, Nathan, and Mr. Low?

     

     When will I be home next? Today. Right now. No, I'm here for  reason. God is good. I'll go home soon. He has me here for a reason. He knew that I was going to try and take care of everyone else. He knew that I would not allow myself to be taken care of by people who were hurting just as much as I was. He knew that Adam and Marcy could handle my brokenness. My anger. My hurt. My fears. My buttloads of tears. He knew exactly what He was doing when He let this happen. 

     God knew that I would need a period of "pre-grieving." That's where I mourn the loss of someone or something far before I lose it. I know Adam is going back to school for the summer in 3 weeks, I begin the mourning process. I get some tears out between those week and then when we separate for the semester, it's not a floodgate that's been held back for weeks. 

     God let me see my Dad as sick as he's ever been. I saw him die before my eyes. I knew in my heart that he was dying. And then...he got better and better. He developed diabetes this summer, and he was doing well. He was keeping his sugar pretty good...he had a few mess-ups (one involving a car accident after he had a diabetic attack and blacked out), but overall he was better. He gained some weight back. He looked good. He talked to us. We ate together. He was good again. 

     And then he died. Just like that. We didn't expect it because he'd been doing so good. It wasn't this long drawn out process that would have made me bitter towards God. I didn't hold his hand as he wasted away before my eyes, unable to have conversation with him, or grow in our relationship. He didn't die suddenly without warning which would have made me angry at God. I would have been destroyed if he'd been taken away without warning. I would have never been able to have those hard conversations with him. 

     He declined, got better, and died quickly. God knew exactly how to prepare me for his death. He knew just what I would need. He knew that I would be full of regret if I hadn't had opportunities to tell him about Jesus. When a literal life and death situation faces you, you become a whole lot more serious about spreading the gospel, I've found. 

God prepared me. 

     He has not let my heart become embittered towards Him. He has used this terrible heartbreak as a way to grow me. Grow my relationships with some incredible people who were already in my life and who are more a part of my life now because of my Dad's death. He gave me people who would stand beside me, and hold me up as I wilted and fell limp in their arms. He gave me a podium to speak from at my Dad's funeral. An opportunity to show people who he really was, and to show them the God that he ended his life loving. 

     Don't get me wrong. There are PLENTY of days that I struggle. Just writing all of this was hard...and memory provoking and I am honestly torn as to whether or not I should post this. But I think that God works in mysterious ways. I love God. There are days when I feel so far from Him. Days when I wonder whether it's worth it to follow Him. Days when I cannot will myself out of bed to get quality time with Him because the sleep keeps me from having to think about hard things. 

But MY God...He is good. 

     As much as I want my Dad back. If even for just 1 day...1 hour even. I know that God is truly working all things for the good of those who love him (Romans 8:28). It might not always feel good. It might be hard. But God is good. He really is. He may not remove you from every painful situation that may come your way...but He will be there holding you through it. 

     There is a poem that my Dad always had on a plaque in his house. It is called "Footprints." I've posted a link to it below. This has been a poem that's reminded me through the years that my God is always with me. Even when it doesn't feel like that is true. He is holding me through the storms of this life. 

God is Good all the time. 

When everything falls around you, Jesus keeps you sane. 

Life is Beautiful. 

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Satan Sucks

     Today, I was able to get a lot of time talking to God. Out loud. In my car. Where no one could interrupt me or think I was crazy by talking out loud and not getting a response. Best place to have intimate God talks (for me at least). Something that I have been learning a lot this summer is that Satan has a way of knowing what gets under our skin. He knows what will get us fired up. He knows what will ruin our good memories. He knows what will make us angry and hurt and frustrated. And guess what! He feeds on that. He does his best to weasel his way into my life without me even knowing he's there. He gets me to act like a brat..well, I suppose he doesn't MAKE me, he just presents me with opportunities that I generally don't use to glorify God. I take all the blame for how I act. A good friend of mine told me this summer that it's okay to feel emotions, it's okay to be hurt, frustrated, or angry, but it doesn't give me an excuse to act like a "grouch butt." I am responsible for how I act regardless of how I feel. Sometimes, I don't feel like giving my life to God. Sometimes, I feel like pouting just to show that I am upset, instead of simply addressing it or giving it to God and letting him handle it. Sometimes, I FEEL like rubbing people's nose in their mistakes to make them know what they did to hurt me. How Christ-like, right? No. Not really at all. That's a sucky thing to do to anyone, especially to the people that I claim to love most. That's hurtful, and though I don't do it consciously most of the time, I know in the end that is what I have done. How hateful. I allow the enemy room in my heart to make his place there if only for a time. I allow his hate, his bitterness, his ugly to come into my life. When I was talking to God today I realized, once I said it out loud, that Satan had my heart in a vice grip and I allowed him to keep it there because my hurt felt justified. Well, it's not. It's okay to feel hurt, but acting out and hurting someone else to tend to my own wounds is never the right answer. I can see God working on my heart more and more. I can feel him mending what's been broke, and though I am not going to be perfect overnight, I am growing. I am healing. I am becoming more like Christ, even when I slip into old ways sometimes. I am always telling people that I'm a realist, Adam claims I'm closer to the pessimistic end of the spectrum, and maybe I am more of a pessimist than I previously thought. I think Satan feeds on that. He knows that I have fears and insecurities and he knows just how to make me question the healing that God is working on my heart. He knows how to make me insecure in my relationships with the people that I love most and even with God at times. Satan sucks. I really don't like him. I don't like who I am when I slip into my old self. I want to be all in for Christ. I want to be ever growing in my relationship with him and I am. Satan can lie to me all he wants, but I am tired of listening. I am done listening.

Control Freak

     I recently got a pretty painful wake up call from God. I figured out that I am kind of like Sarah (you know..from the story of Sarah and Abraham?) in at least one area. I am a control freak. Now, don't be shocked, I DID know this about myself and have known for quite some years, but I hadn't really ever compared myself to Sarah until recently. I mean, just look at her story. She couldn't have children, so she gave Hagar (her servant) to her husband to be his (second) wife in order that they might have a family line. Hagar did what Sarah asked of her, got pregnant, and kinda rubbed it in Sarah's face. Obviously, Sarah didn't take too kindly to that. I mean...who would? BUT, think about this. SARAH started this. SARAH wasn't patient enough to wait for God's timing. SARAH gave her husband another woman. SARAH. But who was angry? Sarah. What the poop? Sarah had no one to blame in this situation aside from herself! And as I read that...I got to thinking, "Well, that's just silly. You can't have it both ways, sweetie. You want children. But can't have them. You send in your maidservant. But don't really want her to be able to have children either? Or your jealousy is overtaking you so you throw a little hissy fit?...Sarah..Sarah...Jen...crap....that's me!"
     For those of you that haven't heard this golden nugget of a story yet, a few days ago I was at the Wyandotte County Fair. I invited Adam and his family, and when they were unable to make it, I checked with my Aunt and cousins. My closest cousin, Mattie, was able to come, so we set out on our little adventure to our childhood ;) One thing I dislike about our culture is the necessity for everyone to be on their phones all the time. Don't get me wrong, I can be that person sometimes..and for that I apologize (it's something I am actively and painfully working on). But as our culture would have it, my cousin was snapchatting and texting away the whole ride/beginning of our visit to the fair. As fate would have it, the Langs were able to come (at least most of them were!) and that was exciting :) We all met up and I realized at once that this night might turn out differently than control freak Jenna planned. And that's no good. I'm like the hulk sometimes..and you won't like me when plans change (or when we're running late) (again...two more things I am currently working on). So, as the night went on, I found myself torn between wanting to spend time with Mattie and wanting to spend time with the Langs, and realizing that because of our texting problem, I would have to choose one or the other at any given time. And as I've said, I don't like choosing, I just like things to magically fit together perfectly all the time just as I want them to be. Well..life. I don't even know why I said that...but I'm keeping it there. Moving on! I had an attitude problem all night. I may not have made it super evident, but I was definitely feeling it, and as much as I tried to let it go and give it to God, I kept dwelling on it. Well, after a series of events unfolded, I had a moment to myself where I was able to text my friend Grace. I asked her to pray for me because I knew I was in the wrong and needed to have a change of heart, and I couldn't do it on my own. So, she prayed for me. It didn't feel like anything changed. I mean it did at first, but then everyone was back together again, and I got my attitude right back. So, I texted her again. "Why is this so hard? I don't want to be irritated!" Or something along those lines. My cousin had decided at this point that she was going to catch a ride to our aunt's with a friend (which was later shot down by her mother, so she came home with me as planned). So, now I'm cranky, and looking for my cousin on a fairgrounds I've never been on before. Cool! Luckily, at this point, Adam had pulled me aside to check how I was doing. I think he caught on about that time that I was being a grouch butt for no known reason. I told him everything, and felt significantly better. But when I get angry, I always feel like crying afterwards. So, my anger had diminished, and he stuck around to help me find my cousin. His family headed home as we set out to look for Mattie.
     Luckily, we found her and her friend pretty quickly! I let her know a few minutes before that she needed to head to the front so we could head out. As we talked and walked to the car, we passed a sewage truck. Adam and I (mostly I) walked through some of the run-off...which is disgusting when you think about it. Adam jokingly nudged me towards the truck, saying I should touch it. Which I vigorously declined, of course. So, Adam touched it instead. And of course, he reached out to touch me, since he knew it would be funny and he was trying to cheer me up. And the thing is....I knew that trailer hitch was there. I had just seen it. I planned on NOT hitting it. It WAS further away...in my head. But as I turned to run away from his sewage hands ;) what met me was a hard, thick, piece of metal straight to my thigh and kneecap. Now, I don't fall down much. I honestly don't. I'm sure many of you have seen me trip, lose my balance, or whatever, but falling is not my thing. I'm not graceful mind you, I drop my phone all the time, but my person rarely gets seriously injured. Well, trailer hitches (in my many encounters with them) are not forgiving. I hit that hitch incredibly hard and flipped over it. I (nearly) faceplanted, luckily I only grazed my ear somehow, and I jumped back on my feet out of sheer embarrassment and shock. I heard several things as this event unfolded. "Is she alright?" yelled some man across the fair. Sweet. Onlookers. "You're cousin is terrible! She's laughing at you!" my cousin's friend stated. "I am a terrible person, I was trying to cheer you up, and I've just made things worse! I'm gonna feel terrible about this for a while!" Adam said. Now, if you've ever seen a little kid get hurt, you'll understand how this all worked out. It hurt. But, it didn't hurt that bad, at first. I got up and started giggling a little bit after hearing that Mattie was, but as soon as Adam wrapped me in a hug and asked if I was okay, I just burst into tears and replied, "No.." Well, I was okay, I had a severely bruised ego in the moment, but that fall is just what I needed. I had pretty much given my anger and icky feelings to God, but I hadn't been able to really release all of that pent-up emotion. I got to bawl. That's good for me. God knew that I need to be knocked off of my high horse of "I should get x amount of quality time with Mattie and Adam when I want it!" He gave me a heavy dose of embarrassment, but also supplied me with two of the people I love the most to laugh it off with. He gave me a memory that will (hopefully) keep my attitude in check and in perspective next time I decide to be a brat. I needed God to kick the funk of out me and that's just what he did. I wasn't angry about falling and getting embarrassed (like I normally am in those situations), I was actually thankful that it had happened. I knew I needed it. Now I have a significant welt in my thigh, and a bruised knee to remind me at least for a few more days, that I don't get to be in control. I am not God, and I need to step down and live in God's love instead of in Jenna's selfishness. It's hard, because control is something that I have struggled with for years, and I know that I'm not going to be perfect over night (like I wanna be), but God is doing a number on me and I am blessed beyond measure to fight these battles with him by my side.

Home

Alright, so I don't blog too often..this I know, so two in a day is gonna be overwhelming for you guys. Take it slow. Summer is coming to a very sudden and screeching halt for me. It seems like I just eased into summer ever so slowly, went to camp and had an incredible time, blinked, and then my summer was over. I know it wasn't actually that way, but it feels like that sometimes. I am the kind of person who isn't particularly fond of change. Me? Little ole Jenna? Doesn't like change? I know...it's a shocker for us all. Harhar ;) I get settled in (which takes me a while) and then I like to stay where I am. I don't mean I like to stay stagnant. I just mean, physically, I prefer to stay in the same city as opposed to going to one place, settling, then packing up and going to another to do the same. That's a vicious cycle for the college student. And I, being a college student, have to do this a couple times a year. I love being in my hometown..er..city? I do. I have all of my family really close. A sister that doubles as my best friend. An incredible boyfriend who is also my best friend. A mom who I love with all that I have in me (she's also my best friend...I have a few okay?! Don't judge) A dad and stepdad that I love dearly. I have close friends that I have rekindled relationships with. And I have (finally) found a new home church and a small group of young adults to be a part of. I can go see them, catch up, and be with people that I love. I love going to Ozark. I have developed an incredible family there that I wouldn't trade for the world. I have the best roommate/best friend, a poopsquatch or two (you know who you are), a couple of "gurls", an awesome big brother, a cliff jumping buddy, and a baby bear that make up my adopted family (and I'm sure there will be more soon). I know God has placed both of these "homes" in my life for a reason. I needed my first home to grow up in. I needed those people at that time to be who I am today. I needed my Ozark home to grow even more. I wouldn't trade these "homes" for the world. I wouldn't swap my story for anyone else's...junk and all. My life has been blessed beyond measure and I am who I am because of every tinsy detail. God has done a number on me...so why do I catch myself worrying about tomorrow? Not tomorrow literally...but the future. Why do I get so antsy about going "home?" Leaving one home for the other means leaving people. And I'm realizing that my "home" isn't a place. It's a set of people. I'm "home" when I'm with Adam, or my Mom, or Fallon, or Marcy, or Dani, or Tricia, or Grace, or any number of other people (don't feel left out, I was thinking of you too..well, maybe...this is getting awkward, just assume I was okay?). But my heart is spread out so far. It is still wholly in me, but at the same time a piece of my heart is with people that I'm not with when I'm at one "home" or the other. At school, a gigantic chunk of my heart stays in Jackson, Tennessee...and in Kansas City. When I'm at home another huge piece is in St. Louis (or China), Joplin, Lamar, Louisville, Texas, and Curryville..My heart struggles to be away from those that I love. So, going "home" is always hard. I long for a day when going Home won't be hard. I was not made for any "home" on earth to satisfy me. Many times I catch myself looking forward to being "home" with my own family some day. I long for my "home" to be my husband...and my kids. Then I remember, even then, I'll long for Home. I will still have parts of my heart scattered among the states and the rest of the world. Though it gets easier for my heart to be away from it's pieces the longer I'm at one "home" or the other, my heart yearns for a day when all of my heart will be whole again. All of the people that I love most will finally be together in one place greater than anything we could ever dream up on earth. I want to go Home....but not yet (see, I still have a lot to do here). One day, my heart will be fully satisfied. One day...I will be Home.

Who am I?

So, the past few days I have been "off." Don't ask me how (cause I wish I knew), but it's not a good kind of off. If those exist. I've felt emotional, needy, selfish, and filled with worry. I have reached my breaking point more than once. Burst into tears a time or two. And held back at least double that. I got around to 5 o'clock this evening and I realized that I hadn't spent any time with God today...wow. How does that even happen. How is it that the ONE who should be most important in my life got pushed aside to the back burner. I didn't even work today, so there goes one excuse. I stayed home. I read. I sold stuff on the internet (or at least tried to). I talked to a good friend on the phone. I ate. I went to get instructions for a house sitting job. But I didn't spend time with God. I made time to procrastinate. I made time to look up pointless junk on the internet (without facebook OR pinterest mind you...that takes skill). I spent my day on me. And look where that gets me every time. I started journaling and realized...I need God. So badly. I need to talk with him. I need to love him. And I need him to love me. So badly. I am too broken without him. I can never put myself together...and try as I might, I just fall apart again without his love. I have spent my summer trying to fix myself, my relationships with others, and my relationship with God. I have spent my LIFE doing this. When will I learn? I am not able to do ANYTHING on my own. I get my feelings hurt over hurtful words. I get angry and hurt when plans change unexpectedly. I feel personally attacked when I am called out on my faults (unless it's in a way that is not embarrassing). I rule my world, and if anyone tries to do things differently, I throw a little (or big) fit. Who am I? Compared to who I was even in high school, I have grown in my faith and in many areas. But when I look at who I am, compared to who I know Christ wants me to be, I am saddened. I know it's a process (and jeez do I hate that), but it's hard. God is soooo good. He is so encouraging, and without his encouragement through his word and through the incredible people he's placed in my life, I probably would have given up by now. I want to be perfect. So badly. I want to figure out my faults and just fix them and never struggle with them again. Ever. I want to be so in love with Christ that when people look at me, the first thing they see is Him. I don't want to be remembered for the sin I have committed. I don't even want to be remembered for the good that I've done. I want to be remembered as God's daughter. I want people to look back when I'm gone and see Christ. I don't care if they remember what I looked like, how many years I went to college, how many mission trips I went on, how much money I made, or anything like that...I want to be remembered for loving Christ first all the time. I want to be remembered as the girl who took each moment as it came and gave God glory through it. I don't want to be remembered as the girl who got angry at the flip of a switch, or the one who had to cry at least 3 times a week to remain sane, or even the one who was good at mourning with those who mourn. I don't want to be remembered for anything I did. I want to be remembered for what Christ did through me.