I know I am not, but I know I AM

I KNOW I AM AFRAID.

I am afraid of stepping into the unknown.
I am afraid of being alone.
I am afraid of being found inadequate.
I am afraid of not living up to the expectations of those I love.
I am afraid of letting people know the real me and not liking what they find.
I am afraid of failing.

BUT I KNOW I AM IS WITH ME.

I AM is with me as I step into the future.
I AM is with me so I am never alone.
I AM is my Strength when I am weak.
I AM is the only One whom I have to please.
I AM is changing me into someone who looks more like Himself.
I AM is with me to pick me up when I fall.

15 Minutes

Sometimes I really do think I am a touch ADD.  If you were to look through the folder on my computer where I keep my writing, you'd be amazed at how much half-written stuff I have stored away in there.  I have great moments of inspiration while I'm driving or while I'm at work - anyplace where I can't sit down and write, really - but once I'm home in front of my computer all I want to do is check my Facebook, watch Modern Family, or sleep.

Ok, maybe I'm not ADD.  Maybe I'm just lazy.

I have moments of inspiration that apply to other things besides writing though.  On those days when I have too much time to think while doing a mindless task (i.e. folding laundry at work or vacuuming at the church) I plan on making big, sweeping, positive changes to my life.  I will be super spiritual and use all of my commute to and from work to pray, or I will completely clear out and reorganize my closets, or I will sit down and write my autobiography when I get home, or I will send encouragement cards to all of my old hall girls, or I will re-read all of the books that were assigned to me in college, and actually read them slowly this time, etc, etc, etc . . .

And then I never do any of it, because it's just too big of a task to start.  And friends, this is not a new phenomenon.  This has been going on for years. 

So I finally decided a few weeks ago that I could do anything for 15 minutes, right?  Way back when I was commuting to community college every day I tried the whole "pray while you drive" thing, and it almost killed me.  Literally.  I couldn't stay awake, and I nearly drove off the road.  So I modified it a little, and for the last few weeks, I've been praying for the first 15 minutes of my drive (approximately from my house to Napavine) and so far so good.  After the 15 minutes are up, I can turn on the radio and sing my heart out to keep myself awake.

There's a writer buried in me somewhere, and every once in a while he makes a valiant effort to dig his way out, but he usually gets reburied by a big 'ole shovelful of Facebook, sleep, or Grey's Anatomy.  So this weeks goal is to set a timer every night and just write for 15 minutes.  After the 15 minutes are up, I can watch Grey's.  Who knows?  Maybe I'll finally finish some of the stuff buried in that writing folder and maybe some of it will even make its way on to my blog.  Stay tuned.

I'm not good at big, sweeping life changes.  They stress me out and any sort of change in my schedule tends to bother my little OCD brain.  But I can do just about anything (except maybe run) for 15 minutes at a time, so we'll see if these little changes can build on top of each other and maybe create some bigger changes in my life.  It's a well known fact that I hate change, good or bad.  But 15 minutes?  Sure, I'll try that.

The New Normal

For the last several weeks, I've been devouring this book, Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist.  I love her real-life writing style, her painful honesty, and the truth that life can be both horribly bitter and amazingly sweet all at the same time.  Throughout the whole book I kept wanting to underline and hi-light and circle stuff, and every time I was disappointed that I couldn't because it belongs to the library.

This is a quote that I wrote down while I was reading though, (ok, I actually typed it into my iPhone) and it's been rolling through my head all day.  It does a good job of summing up how I feel as of late.

I was afraid . . . that it would always be like that.  I was afraid that this was the new normal, that seasons of lightness and peace were over in my life, and this brittle, fractured way of living would last forever.

Like a Vapor

Yesterday started out like most of my Thursdays do.  I stumbled out of bed and went downstairs to read my Bible while I ate my bagel and yogurt.  I fixed my hair, put on my makeup, brushed my teeth . . . the usual.  I was moving a little slow, so I headed out the door a few minutes later than normal, but I always give myself plenty of time to get to work, so it wasn't a big deal.  I threw my gym bag, purse, and lunch bag into the back of my little green Jetta and off we went.  I don't remember much about the approximately 10 mile drive from my house to the freeway except for two things.  First, I heard a new song on the radio that I hadn't heard before - some country song about a guy who had finally broken up with the dumb girl he was dating and the whole town was rejoicing because then he could finally get together with the girl who had loved him all his life.  It was sort of growing on me.  Second, the radio station 96.1 does their last traffic report of the morning at 7:58 am, and since I was running a couple minutes behind, I realized that I had missed it.  Not a big deal though, because they always say the same thing:  "We have no traffic problems in Lewis County."  


I merged onto the freeway and the right lane was slow, so I moved into the left lane to pass the truck that was putzing along.  But instead of speeding on towards work, I saw brake lights, an almost stopped semi truck, then a puff of smoke, and flying car parts.


I didn't immediately realize what had happened.  I saw the semi truck swerve off to the left, and my first thought was that he had blown a tire, so I slammed on my brakes and checked my rearview mirror to make sure that no one was going to run into me from behind.  I don't know when I realized there had been an accident, but the next thing I remember was that I was running down the side of I-5 towards a crumpled, red, Toyota pickup with my phone to my ear dialing 911.  


There had been one other car between me and the red Toyota, and the guys from that car were already checking on the victims.  I told the 911 operator that there had been a terrible crash on the freeway, and would she please send help quickly?  We couldn't find a pulse on the driver.  The passenger's pulse was there, but faint.


The little red pickup had probably been going about 70 mph when it slammed into the back of an almost stopped semi trailer that was at the tail end of a traffic backup from an earlier accident that had occurred almost four miles north.  By the time I got off the phone with the dispatcher, the people from the car in front of me had realized that the driver was gone, and had moved to the passenger side to try to help him.  


I just stared at the driver for a second.  His body had been crushed into the cab by the impact, and his head was resting on the steering wheel, his blood spattered onto the shattered windshield.  I would later find out that his name was Antoliy, a 43-year old father from Vancouver.  The passenger was his 15-year old son, Mark.


I ran to the passenger side of the truck, where the other witnesses were trying to get a response from Mark.  Nothing.  A paramedic who was driving by had stopped to help, but I don't remember if he was able to do anything.  


It seemed like hours, but I'm sure it was just a few minutes later that the first ambulance arrived.  They pulled Mark from the truck, cut off his clothes, and hooked him up to portable monitors.  I don't remember anything that the paramedics said, but they put him in the ambulance and worked on him there.  I didn't even think to wonder until later why the ambulance didn't immediately leave, but soon after a helicopter appeared and landed on the freeway to take him to the hospital.  From what I read later in news reports though, I think he died before they could even get him into the chopper.  


As I stood in the rain on the side of the freeway waiting for the police to take my statement, I began to realize what had happened and I started to shake uncontrollably.  These two men were dead.  Their lives had ended in a split second not 50 yards in front of me.  I could feel myself starting to panic, so I tried to think about something else, anything else, but all I could see was Antoliy slumped over that steering wheel and Mark's lifeless face as the paramedics worked on him.  


Even today, those two faces were the first things I thought of when I woke up this morning, and I don't think I'll ever forget them.  I've been praying and thinking and trying to make sense of this awful tragedy, and it's just one of those things that you can't wrap up in a box and tie a neat theological bow on.  The thing I keep being reminded of though is this one simple truth:  Our lives are short.


Last Sunday, Pastor Joe told a story.  I don't remember what he was trying to illustrate, but he told of a man whose father had accepted Christ on his deathbed.  The son had decided that that's what he was going to do too: life his life however he wanted, then become a Christian just before he died.  Joe talked about how we have no idea when the end of our life is going to be.  We aren't guaranteed 85 years, then a peaceful passing into eternity with our family around us singing "Kum-by-yah."  I'm sure Antoily and Mark didn't wake up on Thursday, get into their little red pickup, and think that they might die that day in a violent collision with a truck trailer.  But they did.  I have no idea if these two men knew the Lord, but I hope with all my heart that they did. Our lives are so short.  We as humans are so fragile.  It doesn't take much to cause our bodies to stop working.  


I'm not gonna end this post with any cute little inspirational words about living each day like it's your last and making the most of your life.  That's true stuff.  Good stuff, even.  But all I can wrap my mind around right now is that life is short.  We are like a vapor.  We are not guaranteed tomorrow.  

Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow.  You are just a vapor that appears for a little while then vanishes away.  

James 4:14

A Look Back

2011.  It was a heck of a year.  In January, I had my "last first day of school" as I organized syllabi and filled in my color-coded planner for the last time.  I played intramural basketball for the first time and even have one basket to my name.  I attended a formal dance, with a date, and got to cross that off my bucket list.

March brought the most wonderful spring break I could have imagined, spending 10 days traveling to/being in Mexico with a group of people who quickly became some of my dearest friends.

I wouldn't have wanted to spend my spring break with anyone else.

And oh yeah.  2nd Floor South won Balyo Battles.  NBD.

We are the champions of the world.  Or at least of Balyo.

April wrapped up the end of my undergrad career and my time as an RA.  It was a good thing I had a pretty easy last semester because I spent most of my time trying to cram as many memories as possible into that last month, and didn't spend much time studying.  And it all worked out.  I didn't fail my Bible & Egypt class, so I got to graduate.  

Senior RAs.

May was graduation.  It was totally bittersweet - it felt good to have accomplished something like college, but I wasn't sure if I was quite ready to have to be an adult and not be an RA anymore.  Plus I really like school.  I lived in the dorms as the "summer RA" for the athletes for a while after graduation, then moved into my first apartment and got a job at a gym.

Class of 2011

During June I tried to survive on my part-time income from the gym, and got really good at dumpster diving for bottles and cans to recycle at WinCo.  It was a blast.  

My precious roommates.

Halfway through July I got a full-time job though, and had to move back to Washington.  A week after I started my new job, I took a week off, put my camp shorts on, and got to spend five days being the children's camp director.  After camp, I roadtripped to almost Canada with my ex-roommates to attend the first BAD Team wedding.  One down, nine to go.

Kids Camp!

In August, I fulfilled another item on the bucket list by attending a Seattle Seahawks game.  They even won.

I love my Seahawks.

September brought the second BAD Team wedding.  Two down, eight to go.

The roommates again.

October, November, and December consisted of working during the week and making the trip to Salem on a lot of weekends.  The weeks tended to suck.  The weekends recharged me to face another week.

Which brings me to January.  It's been 2012 for all of 3 1/2 hours or so, and I'm not even going to pretend that I have any clue of what this year might bring.  I would love it if it brought a change of location (Oregon would be ideal, but I'm not gonna be picky; Africa would also be fine) or a change of relationship status (tall, dark, and handsome please) or a change in my educational future (I'm ready to start grad school yesterday).  But even if none of those things happen, I want to make the most of wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, and not sit around waiting for my life to start.  So 2012?
Bring. It. On.