Ok, that’s over. This is just a short post to remind me, and anyone you ever reads this, that life is good. Really, really good. I’m worshiping while I wait on the Lord’s timing, praying for my family, praising for my amazing Australian sweetheart, and thankful for my friends.

In non-Jesusy news, I’m also still jobless, Harli is paying all of my bills for June, and I cried for half an hour this morning before he left for home again.

It’s all ok. It’ll get better, or it won’t. Either way, I’ll deal.

It’s all alright.

I mess up almost every day, and it hurts. I do what I hate, often for no other reason than it is what I’m accustomed to; it’s force of habit.

When I’m anxious, nervous, prone to worry and extreme mood swings, my sin rips me apart. When I snap at my sister, selfishly impose my problems on my mom, or call my fiance at 3AM, it hurts the people I love. When I stretch the truth to keep from academic reprimand, or choose a victim mentality over mature interactions, it hurts everyone.

I live in my past. The hurts that it holds are comfortable. I beat myself up constantly for the messes I’ve made, and how disappointed everyone must be in the person I’ve become.

Years of counseling (off and on) and conversations with the many pastors in my life has led me to conclude that I don’t believe that grace is mine. Christ died for the sins of everyone but me. There’s no way that God can forget my sin. Someone has to remember it, and if He won’t, I will.

Yesterday, I lamented to a good friend that I miss the person I appeared to be when he and I met five years ago. As I described who I was then, he asked me if I was ever really all I claimed to be, or if it was who I wanted people to think I was. I was never actually ambitious, but I sought to be impressive. It wasn’t politics I loved, but the appearance of power. I wasn’t disciplined, but I was very good at scrambling to handle all the stuff on my plate. I’d never really faced failure, and never anticipated having to do so.

So, here I am: a sinner with average grades, two degrees that she doesn’t want, and almost $50,000 in debt from earning these degrees. A self-absorbed, envious, and pain-loving sinner.

Christ died for this sinner. He faced humiliation, agony, and death with the weight of my sins resting on him. Jesus loved me enough to redeem me of my mistakes. As hard as it is to believe sometimes, I’m forgiven. I’m forgiven and have another day to live like He’s called me to live.

How do I know I can be new? Because the Son of God rose from the grave. He faced Hell and was resurrected by the Father’s power. Redemption came with an empty tomb. “He isn’t here,” his followers were told. Death had no hold on my savior.

He saved me when he took to the cross. He saved me from a lifetime of wallowing in mistakes and worrying about a future that I have no control over, ultimately. He wiped away the pain of my parent’s divorce, my lost semester, Ireland, Texas, and Denver. He took away the sting of life’s frustrations and replaced it with hope.

In Christ alone my hope is found. He is risen and we are saved.

Big visa application. (over 100 pages of forms)

Lots of money. (roughly $4000, not including travel)

Uncertain timeline. (“somewhere between six weeks and 10 months”)

God’s been pretty clear on this one.

I’m going to have the sweetest accent imaginable.

“Trust in the LORD and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.”-Prov 3:5-6

“Ok, God; I trust you. I trust you to provide. I trust you to guide my life. It’s your will, not mine.”

I wish I had a time for every time I’ve said that. A rush of clairity will wash over me, reminding me where my hope should be placed, and I drop to me knees- sometimes literally- and proclaim my dedication to relinquishing my worries and fears to my Creator. For a few days, I have total confidence my Father has nothing but good plans in store and won’t let me fall. A week later, I begin to fade a bit, reminding myself that I still have to be responsible and plan as much as I possibly can so that God’s direction can be as clear as possible, whenever He might decide to give it. In two weeks, I may or may not be reduced to panic attacks at the thought of life six months from now. In the midst of my panic, I grab the Word and turn to the third chapter of Proverbs, thus beginning the cycle again.

God’s so funny. I almost never know what He’s telling me. I think I do, frequently, but either I’m not giving all of myself to His plan or I’m misreading something along the way. I’d give anything for a burning bush right now.

As I sit here this morning (11:30am Australian time) in my fiance’s living room, I’m humbled by where the Lord has brought me. A year ago, I had just gone to house church for the first time, had no believing friends to my knowledge, and was on my way to an emotional breakdown. I was so, so lonely. This morning, I made toast with margarine and Promite for my future husband, have a faith community strong enough to wrap its arms around me as God dries my tears, and know that I’ll never be alone again. 

I want to rest in the Lord. I want to hear His voice. I want  to scream from the rooftops that I just want to be happy. The problem is that I don’t just want to be happy. I want to be happy, financially secure, and have an uncomplicated life.

If my student loans had any more power over me, I’d be one big promissory note. If I my academic record was an accurate reflection of my abilities, and I wanted to work in the world of politics or traditional reporting, that would be one thing. As I have a very, very average GPA and still little idea what career I can pursue, I’m constantly calculating and re-calculating repayment schedules and anticpated earnings and praying that I’ll be able to stay home when I have kids. No one has to tell me that I’m putting my trust in my own abilities rather than placing my future in the hands of the Lord. I know that He loves me, but I can’t help but wonder if He’s disappointed in the mess I’ve made of the opportunities He’s presented. How will I ever move forward if I don’t believe that I’m forgiven for being a complete moron? How can God let me succeed when I’ve done so little to show Him that I want to do so? Money makes me so anxious. It rules me.

Remember my fiance? Yea, well he’s Australian. Living in Australia. One of us has to move. We’ve done the math on what we’d be earning, roughly, in each country, cost of housing, insurance, food, government-related payments in Australia, and transportation. We’ve made lists of pros and cons. We’ve cried. We’ve prayed. We’ve come to a decision three times. Each time, we get reset by one of two factors: uncertainty about finances, though we realize there’s risk in either decision; and his mother. In the interest of not violating Ephesians 4:29 (“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.”) let’s just say that I’m going to have quite the mother-in-law. I’ve spent most of my morning listening to her tell me how I’m putting to much pressure on Harli, and how we’re being stupid for weighing our options. She’s commented on my weight, shoe size, accent, and actually snatched my Bible and hidden it behind her back while taunting “the world won’t end without it.” Yea.

If we live in Australia his mum be living with us. I can’t handle that, nor can Harli; he’s said so. She’s in every aspect of his life, from money to food. I’m not going to have a three person marriage. Moving to Australia means the following: leaving my family, leaving my church, selling most of my belongings, going through a nine month immigration process that will cost roughly $3000, finding a job and adapting to an area that I know nothing about with little support aside from Harli and his mother who doesn’t really want me around.

If we live in America, we’re on our own quite a bit more as far as finances go, and that scares me. However, when I look at cost of living, and my dreaded loan repayments, it’s the better option. BUT…I’m scared. It means getting my car back, finding another apartment and furnishing it, finding a job in the Iowa City/Cedar Rapids area, trusting that Harli can find a job as well,  and Harli leaving his family.

Why can’t things be simple? I don’t think I’d be happy if my life was simple. I’m used to some level of anxiety and probably wouldn’t know what to do if I didn’t have something to worry about. Pray and pray hard for me in that respect.

To my original point, with all this chaos around me, where do I turn? My panic makes me want to recheck all of my loan amounts and let my worry consume me as I start my final undergraduate semester. My faith tells me to give it up to God and let Him handle the details. That’s what I have to do. There’s really just the one option, right?

How do I rest in God? What does full trust look like? For today, it means not  analyzing things which have yet to happen and playing a game of Deal or No Deal online. What tomorrow will bring isn’t up to me. Thank God for that.

If I’m really as blessed as I proclaim to be, why am I so lonely?

Can God really handle my shit?

It’s so much easier to just give up than fight to be in this with my Creator. It makes a lot more sense to my worldly mind to toss in the towel and spend my life worrying about money, student loans, and letting people down than it does to take a breath, remember that God is God (and I am not,) and trust that He’ll provide. Something inside me clicks off when I start to believe that He won’t let me fall; it makes me feel irresponsible and immature to not constantly worry about how I’ll “make it.”

Gonna need some prayer.

These were the words uttered by an all-too bright five year-old on her first day of Kindergarten. She was scared that she just wouldn’t measure up. Little did she know that was, in fact, smart enough, to be in second grade. Had her mother told her this that morning, perhaps she might not have been so dreadfully terrified. As this girl grew up, she wavered in how much effort she put into school, always loving to learn, but not always enjoying the work.  Somewhere along the way, she pulled herself together and everyone was oh so proud. Fast forward to her high school graduation: she had earned a reputation for being smart, driven, focused, political, and socially-minded. She was going places and had a bright future. She’d tell anyone who listened her plans of being an attorney and changing the world.

Yes, that girl was me. Today, four and half years after that graduation date, I’m nowhere near the student I once was. I’m lazy. I’m an internet addict. I procrastinate. My first semester at UI, I was on the Dean’s List. Currently, my GPA is at 2.26. I’m barely even average. This isn’t because I’m not intelligent; it is solely because I can no longer find the fire to try. My legal dreams have been gone for years, yet my pride wouldn’t allow me to drop the Political Science major that has wrecked my transcript. In May, I’ll have two degrees that I have no intention of ever using. How did I fall so far away from the centered 18 year-old I once was? Sometimes, I wonder why my momma is still talks to me, let alone claims to be proud of me.

A few months ago, I thought that going to seminary would be the right path for me. After realizing that no seminary degree that I have interest in can translate to professional benefit, this decision has been shifted. I have a million passions that I want to pursue. I love Biblical scholarship, social justice, peace studies, mass communciation methodology and travel. Now, how do I combine my passions into a career? How will I pay off my $45,000 student loan debt when I don’t know what I want to do and don’t have the grades to let me pursue graduate work? There are days when I just want to sit down, cry, and wish that time travel were possible. Still, I trust that God is good.

This week, I’ll be dropping my Classical and New Testament Greek class. I should have done this at the start of the semester and picked up something else. I’m not gifted in language learning, let alone that which requires a different alphabet and has no modern relation. Most of the little time I spend studying is spent on this class, just to get a B-, even though it applies to neither of my majors or my minor. Even though I enjoy it immensely, I have to sacrifice the course to give attention where it is more desperately needed.

In one of my Religious Studies classes today, I saw a guy who is in Greek with me. He never mispronounces a word, always has the answer to grammar lessons, and is fully prepared and engaged. Now, I know that he’s all these things because he studies, comes to class, and goes to office hours, but rationality and I don’t always meet. As he got up to leave, I thought, “I wish I could be like him. Maybe I’m just not smart enough.” Seventeen years of education, and I’m still a scared five year-old.

Daily, I give up my pride and the belief that I know anything. I surrender it to the Lord, trusting that the educational opportunities I have are there for a reason, and that I *must* honor them.  I desperately want to look at my grades and say, “I did what God asked of me. I made the monetary investment worth it. What I did shows His work in me.”

I know that what has to happen is a change in me. I’ve said it for over a year. I just need to pull my head out of my ass and study. I have to start going to office hours and asking questions. I have to remember that the world is not about me, and never has been, so what I do with my time here has to go to benefiting others. I’m not benefiting my professors and TA’s by avoiding them and failing to do what they ask of me; it’s just disrespect. I can’t possibly be a boon to my peers by setting an example of lethargy. I’m so, so sick of being less than what I know He has for me.

God and I have this deal, sort of: I don’t read signs, so He doesn’t give them to me. I rarely have inklings on what needs to happen. I need direct, clear instructions. If ever evidence for the personal relationship that God has with each of us is needed, check this. For the remainder of the week, I am without regular internet access and most of my distractions (Facebook, compulsive email checking, international chatter with an amazing Australian.)

A screwed-up hard drive has granted me the opportunity to start getting back on track. For the next four or five days, I won’t have the chance to get caught up doing much other than studying my Jesus-loving heart out. If this fire stays lit, maybe I can actually get back to feeling like I’m not a total mess. I know that one semester doesn’t undo six bad ones, but at least I can say that I didn’t waste my entire college experience on Facebook.

I have total confidence that I’m where the Lord wants me to be. Now I just have to act like it. I trust that I’m smart enough, not only because my mommy told me so before I climbed on a school bus with my Barbie lunchbox, but because my Father cared enough to keep me around this long. I love parents.

On my way to visit some friends in PA, I made a deal with God. I’d wait on His provision, keeping my heart guarded, until He gave me the sign that I had my someone. I made a list of what I wanted, and needed, from my future husband, from faith to education to integrity. Due to the fact that I am terrible with interpersonal interpretation, I also tossed in a  specific detail that I’d wait on. Whether it was right or wrong, I made the conscious decision I’d only settle for just what was on this list, detail included. I decided to wait for the guy who calls me “Snow White.” It was silly, but it seemed fitting.

I’ve yielded my heart entirely to the Lord, and in return, I’ve been so blessed. I have incredible sisters in Christ, a wonderful family, daily time to spend with the Lord, and constant renewal in my priorities and tests. Nothing can teach you to rely solely on God than a few months spent counting pennies, literally at times, and emotionally tattered. I’m, honestly, to the point of only needing Him- the rest is just tasty, tasty gravy.

Wednesday, as I popped up from the baptismal with a very shocked look on my face, I felt completely adored. This morning, as I laid on my stomach talking via webcam to a remarkable Australian who came into my life about a month ago, I nearly cried. Our relationship was solidified by a single sentence, said in response to Facebook quiz result: “You may be Belle to the world, but I’ve always thought of you as Snow White. The first time I saw you, I started calling you that in my head. Sorry, is that weird?” I just laughed and said, “you have no idea how not weird that is,” and he left it at that.

The Lord is amazing. I trust Him to guide our relationship and will lean on His Word rather than my own unhealthy habits. If He wills it, I’m in. If He takes it away, I’m just fine.

We were almost happy, but there was always just a little bump to maneuver: my insecurity, his passive nature, my dominant streak, his lack of ambition.

Over the next two years, my relationship became my God. It was all I cared about; all my energy, time, and emotion was poured into the fantasy of life with the sweet and patient man who called me “Pumpkin.” There were too many break-ups and reunions to remember accurately, and issues like who would be immigrating, how we’d pay for two weddings, and what I was supposed to do for a career in Ireland became daily stresses. No matter how many warning signs were there or unhealthy we became, I always knew that I was supposed to marry him- I was convinced that no matter what, I’d always have him to fall back on. Somewhere along the way, it fell apart. I quit wanting him and he quit needing me. Ten days short of our two year anniversary, we quietly ended our engagement. He went off on a summer mission trip while I began what became the most difficult year of my life, though at the time I was nothing but joyful to finally have some freedom back.

That summer, he fell in love with a woman he met on his mission trip. I didn’t care. By the time he told me about her, I was in the process of stupidly falling for the person who is now commonly referred to as “Officer Asshat.” A few months later, as I sat on my bed, tears streaming down my cheeks, all I wanted was to be engaged again, to know just who I’d be with and where my future would lie. Another message was sent. He loved her. He didn’t want to speak to me until I could understand that he’d always welcome my friendship, but wanted no part of my life.

That wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He’d always taken me back. Even when I was terrible to him, he’d always just smiled and said, “I love you, too, Pumpkin. Let’s try to be better.” He’d come to know what a relationship centered around Christ can be, and had no desire to return to my drama.

Over the next few months, I started to spiral. Without exaggeration, I think I cried at least four times a week for seven months. There were really positive moments- the first time I walked in the doors of Creekside Sanctuary and was greeted by John and Jade Sokoll’s smiling faces, early morning accountability groups with Stacy and Jessica, a bus trip to Pennsylvania to see some dear friends who know my heart- but I couldn’t shake the sadness that overwhelmed me when I stopped daydreaming long enough to look at my life. The more I grew in my relationship with the Lord, the more I saw how badly I had messed up in the past. I finally had a church family, and relationships to model my hopes after, yet I still felt empty at times. There were moments when I needed to call my Irishman, to have him explain a piece of Scripture or suggest a book (he was going to be a pastor and introduced me to authors like Rob Bell, Don Miller, and NT Wright,) and knowing that I couldn’t was really difficult.

Sometime in the Spring, my former fiance became someone’s husband. That wasn’t supposed to happen. There were nights when my prayers were marred by swirling thoughts of him and the life he now had without me, and I couldn’t stop crying long enough to say much to my Father. Suddenly, the relationships that were so inspiring became constant reminders of what my life was “supposed” to be. Church became painful.

As Summer came, and I realized that my “wedding day” was approaching, I became a very, very hot mess. At one point, my mom threatened to hospitalize me. One night in August,  I sat explaining to my pastor and his wife why my heart was sitting in so many pieces. I poured it all out, including the 9/9/9 date that was plaguing me and that I wanted to be baptized again, as my first baptism had very little of my heart in it. Joe smiled, and asked, “how about we put them together? You can make some vows to God, instead.” No suggestion could have healed me more.

Tonight, I’ll be declaring in front of my church family, and maybe a few friends, that my worth comes only from the Lord, that my heart belongs first and foremost to Him, and that the only man I’ll ever desperately need is the one who hung on a cross for me. No longer will the opposite sex dominate my decisions. Never again will I tie my faith in God to my faith in another person. I can see now that I don’t miss the Irishman- I just refused to move on for fear of facing the Lord alone. Now, I’m ready for whatever He has for me, no matter how difficult.

9/9/9 is a joyful day, just as it was always meant to be.

I am tired of relying on Facebook statuses to communicate my joy and confusion, and desperately in need of a way to restore and maintain my writing abilities. Insert this blog. I hope to share my thoughts on faith, relationships, passions, and all that other stuff that fits together to make up life.

Enjoy