She might have been talking to me.

I didn’t enroll in the Professional Counseling program just so that I could sort out my own issues, although I will freely confess that when you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail. The more I learn about various ways personality and circumstance can combine to form a perfect storm of maladaptive psychological tendencies, the more I see faults in myself. While it’s interesting to know how the status quo came to be, it’s honestly more useful to know how help people get better.

I haven’t taken those classes yet.

I just returned from another week in Lynchburg and again, it was fantastic. There’s a not-small part of me that wants to move to Lynchburg so that I can be a full-time student, involved in classroom discussions and grading papers and living in a college town. I am fully confident that that is not the right thing for me at this point, no matter how much I like being there. I’m sure part of the reason why I like being there so much is precisely because I don’t actually live there. Being there is like vacation, but with classes and credit hours. (Honestly, that sounds like a completely bitchin’ vacation. And it was. Plus! I got to drive a muscle car.)

I’ve been wrestling with the idea of switching from the 48-hour program to the 60-hour program for several months and I definitely decided to make the leap to the longer program while I was there. The decision was made for several reasons, but what it boils down to is two things: the longer, more comprehensive program gives me more options when I finish. There are only a few states that require a 48-hour degree, with the majority requiring 60 hours of coursework. Texas currently requires 48 hours, but honestly, and don’t tell anyone I said this, I don’t know if I’ll live in Texas forever. I might live someplace else someday and I’d rather get whatever coursework I need while I’m still in school. Yes, it’ll delay my graduation by two semesters, but at this point, what are four more classes? Okay, technically it’s five, but who’s counting?

As long as I’m writing my inaugural post of Twenty Dozen (thank you Justin and Kirt for that fantastic phrase!) I have to admit that I’m having a bit of an existential crisis (loosely defined: a state of anxiety related to the state of being) about the whole school thing. I have long said that being in this program is like having a second job, and last semester, that really felt true. There were things that I did not get to do because I had school obligations. I know that this is all about making choices, giving up something now for something I want more, later; it still kind of stinks. I wonder if all of this sacrifice will have been worth it. Will I be able to find a job? Will said job support me? I feel sort of confident (so maybe not very confident after all) that I could always keep my current job until…until whenever. I am not saying that as a bad thing. Indeed, it is a very good thing. I love my job. I have an awesome boss who supports me and helps me to be a better employee/servant/church member/person. It is a fantastic situation, and ordinarily, I would be happy to be in this job until the cows come home. I just feel like God has placed something else on my heart. How to reconcile the need to make a living while still working in a field quickly becoming oversaturated with new graduates (hey, classmates!)? The whole topic gives me waves of nausea. Yep, one just washed over me. See? Oh, there goes another one.

I often say to people, “Either you trust God or you don’t. He’s not partially sovereign. Either you believe he is who he says he is or you don’t. The Bible is not partially true. It is true or it isn’t.” I should be less glib with those words! Even though I am still two years away from job-seeking, I am having, right at this moment, a full-on panic attack thinking about job searching, finding a position where I can work as an intern, the whole nine yards.

So here I am, back to the beginning, wondering a) if I’m suited for counseling, given the gaggle-pack of insecurities and imperfections I have; b) if the sacrifices I’m making for this program will prove to be worthwhile ones in the end; and c) if ultimately, can I make this work? Do I have the resources to pull this off?

My answers so far: a) Yes, despite the insecurities and imperfections. Perfection is boring. b) Yes, nothing worth having comes easily. c) No, I don’t have the resources, but God does. He will supply all of my needs according to his riches in glory. He will supply what I need regarding wisdom (James 1:5!) as well as the other things I’ll need to do this.

I am overwhelmed and feeling a little unsettled. I love situations where the solution is obvious and tied up with a bow. That is decidedly not what I have here.

I suppose this is one of those faith-making moments.

Huh.

I marvel at what he has done. Even in the darkest night, he reigns.

What was said: You can assign me to a spot, but this is just a really great time for me to shake hands with my key leaders.

What was meant: I’m going to be there, but I will be late and I’m not going to do a lick of work.

[I was born at 6:45 in the morning, but it wasn't yesterday morning.]

Every time I enroll in a class I have a little bit of fear that that will be the class that gets the best of me. So far, I have had success in all of my classes. Great success, even.

I seem to have met my match in Theories of Counseling.

I am worried about this class, although as I type those very words, God whispers to me, “Oh. Did you think you were doing all of that other stuff? Nope. That was me. Trust me. I haven’t brought you this far to drop you off to fend for yourself now. Trust me, child.”

Oh, Lord, open my mind to receive this information! Give me the ability to think, to concentrate, to focus. Every good thing comes from you, Heavenly Father. Every good thing. You are the creator and giver of all knowledge and wisdom. I need you to help me.

——-

Holiday Song of the Day: I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas
(Because really, who doesn’t?)

I think about death a lot. I didn’t before she died, but since…all of the time. I think about hers; I think about my Dad’s; I think about my own and about my sister’s…I think about death and dying more than maybe I’d like to admit. I wonder how it will happen, where I’ll be, logical steps regarding what should happen next. Essentially I’m trying to think of all of the variables so that I won’t be surprised again; being caught on my heels when my Mom died made it so much worse, somehow. I didn’t see it coming and it knocked me for a loop. I know this is a futile exercise.

As a part of my reading for my class (Theories of Counseling) we were assigned some chapters covering Existential Theory a few weeks ago, and for each theory or general school of thought, we are learning about that theory’s basic philosophical assumptions, model of personality, model of health, model of abnormality, model of psychotherapy (and a few other things as well). While reading about ET (Existential Theory, not the movie), I came across a quote by one of ET’s premier thinkers, Irvin Yalom, a concentration camp survivor, that stopped me in my tracks. He said:

Death itches all the time.

According to Existential Theory, in our quest to be more than a fleeting blip in this life, we must concede that death is always around the corner. The reality of death is a motivating factor in the way that we live. Given Mr. Yalom’s experience in Nazi Germany, his words carry even more weight with me. He had seen hundreds, even thousands of lives carelessly but purposefully ended because of evil thinking. I couldn’t get this phrase out of my head and for me, it has been true. (I’m in a much better place now and think about death far less often than I once did, but maybe still more than the average bear. This time of year I am particularly vulnerable to sad thoughts.)

——–

This week our reading is about Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy and I came across another paragraph today that really made me think. The section of the textbook is about the Models of Personality, Health and Abnormality of CBT and the idea that the things we believe have a tremendous impact on our personal well-being. (Though that seems like such a given, there are models of therapy that don’t recognize the power of our cognitions.) Here it is, in its entirety:

We see this especially in the area of suffering. When we view our temporal lives as primary and have as our highest goals comfort and prosperity, then suffering will be a misery-producing and faith-undermining experience. But if suffering is viewed as an opportunity for testimony for the gospel, as a means for fellowship with Christ in his sufferings, as preparation for eternal glory through learning how to loosen our ties to this life, and as an opportunity to learn to better comfort others, suffering can be transformed into a meaningful path that one treads for the sake of God’s love. (Jones & Butman, 1991, Modern Psychotherapies, p. 211.)

This is particularly poignant to me today as some friends are walking through their worst nightmare, their own version of hell. How is God at the helm with the worst comes to be? Why does he allow awful tragedy to befall those who love him? I don’t know. My heart breaks for my friends and I am reminded of Job and the work that God did in his life. He loved God. He was a faithful, loving servant, and Satan asked for permission to  test his commitment to God.

God assented.

Satan tested.

Job remained steadfast.

Satan was defeated.

God was glorified.

Job was restored.

I don’t know what God is up to. I don’t understand why he works as he does. I can’t wrap my mind around his purposes. If I allow my suffering and the suffering of those I love to take on a purpose, then I can see God at work in places where before I only saw darkness and the itch of death.

Today I give thanks not for death, but for life. I am giving thanks for the life he has given to me and the lives he has seen fit to call “complete.” Our hearts yearn for life, but he has called them home to live with him forever, whole and restored.

Oh father, grant us the wisdom to comfort those who mourn and to use the suffering you have allowed to draw others into fellowship with you. We don’t understand. We don’t like it, but we believe, in the darkest parts of our sorrow, as on the mountaintops, that you are God. You are sovereign. You are righteous. You are wrathful. You are loving. You are just. You are good. There is none like you. We trust you with our whole lives and the things most precious to us. Use these people and these things and use us for your glory.

The Year of Suck

I have to admit that 2005 was the year of suck for me. I’ve written about this some before, but there was a lot going on in my life (instability at a job I adored, a brief and too-intense fling with a boy who turned out to be a champion heartbreaker, my dog died) during that spring and summer that caused me enormous amounts of anxiety and reignited my battle with depression. Moving out of summer into fall, a season I loved at a place I loved, I honestly thought I was going to be able to move through that rough spot to a new season of happiness.

Then my birthday rolled around, Sunday, October 9.

Pretty much everyone outside of my family forgot my birthday.

I went to church, sang in the choir, went up to the office for a bit and did some work, saw some friends…not a word from anyone. (Before you say it, yes, this was passive-aggressive on my part. Not proud of it, just reporting what happened.)

I remember thinking that I was going to be the recipient of some grand surprise, but no, people just didn’t remember, and I was devastated. It seems so silly to say that now, through the lens of hindsight, but it was true. I remember complaining to my mom about it later and she fussed at me for being so ridiculous and selfish and she also told me that it’s not important who forgets, but who remembers. Wise words from Maxcine, as always, but I wanted her to commiserate with me, dammit! I wanted permission to tar and feather people who didn’t celebrate me as I wished to be celebrated.

Yeah, I know. How ridiculous was I?!

Just six weeks later, my Mom would be gone and forgotten birthday celebrations would fall very, very far down the list of things to be upset about.

The Year of Whoo-hoo!

In the 2191 days since that epic pity party, my life has been completely transformed, and not in the ways I might have thought I needed six years ago.

It has been downright delightful to receive birthday wishes from family, close friends, acquaintances and even a few strangers today, and I won’t be disingenuous and say that those things don’t matter to me. It’s great to hear from people on my birthday! Who doesn’t love a birthday greeting from an old friend? I am certainly no different.

What has changed for me is that in the six years between my last Sunday birthday and today is that I have fallen apart and the Lord has put me back together. Today in church, tears streamed down my face as I considered God’s goodness and his lavish love and the blessings and gifts he has given to me, an often faithless servant. I was overwhelmed! Loving, supportive people surround me and I am so blessed to be a small part of the work that God is doing in my church. He has given me gifts to use for his glory and for use in building his kingdom. What a joy to get to live the life I have! I have a body that (mostly) does what I ask it to do and a mind that allows me to experience fellowship and his natural creation. I can think, I can dream, I can read, write, work. I had my first zip-line experience last week! How awesome was that? I didn’t scoot off of the platform, I didn’t step off of the platform, I leapt off!

Who have I become?!

I am learning to revel in the different experiences life has to offer.

Finally.

I don’t want to just rush through this part to get to the next part. I want to soak it up, drink it in, live it out. I can’t move backward to relive the things I’ve done (oh but if I could, I would…college-era boyfriend, I’m looking at you). I can’t skip ahead to the more interesting, appealing parts (husband? graduation? size 8 10?) so I’m determined to live every experience as fully as possible.

That’s why I rode my bike almost 49 miles two weeks ago.
That’s why I flew through the air on a zip-line.
That’s why I challenged myself to the pamper pole (we have got to get a better name for that thing) while on our staff retreat.
That’s why I continue to pursue this second MA degree, even though I have to remind myself every day that counseling is what I want and feel called to do.

God has been so good to me over these last six years. It took almost three years after my Mom died to completely fall apart, but fall apart I did. Even when I wanted to throw in the towel and give up on life, because it was just so hard, he never stopped pursuing me. He has always had a plan for me, but he needed to put me back together in such a way so as to be useful for his kingdom*. It has been the most singularly painful — necessary — process of my entire life. I thought I had it all together, but my most righteous offering was useless and filthy to an almighty God.

I am so thankful for this birthday! I have another day to be used by God, to experience fellowship with other believers and to live this precious life for him.

My Tribute, Andrae Crouch

How can I say thanks for the things you have done for me?
Things so undeserved, yet you give, to prove your love for me.
The voices of a million angels could not express my gratitude.
All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe it all to thee.
To God be the glory! To God be the glory!
To God be the glory for the things he has done!
With his blood, you have saved me.
With his power, he has raised me.
To God be the glory for the things he has done.
Just let me live my life, and let it be pleasing, Lord, to thee.
And should I gain any praise, let it go to Calvary.
With his blood, he has saved me.
With his power, he has raised me.
To God be the glory for the things he has done!

*Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:12, 14

P.S. I’m probably going to need reminding of this mountaintop experience at some point in the future. I know myself, and I tend to forget the awesome and remember the ugh.

If you would like to entertain yourself with other things, you can read about the time I bought shoes online while I was mostly asleep. That was fun.

I promise that this is not going to become a cycling blog forever, but for now, cycling is the biggest elephant that needs discussion, so cycling it is.

My big bike ride, the Tour de Cure, is scheduled for Saturday. I can’t believe it’s already here! It’s seemed so far off for such a long time that I’m kind of baffled that there are no more Saturdays between now and the big enchilada. 47 miles is a long way. For you local peeps, it is the distance between where I live, in the northwest part of Houston, down to League City. For my Arkansas friends, it is the distance between The Delph and Bryant. It helps to picture it that way. Or maybe it makes it more intimidating? I don’t know.

Last Saturday I headed out to Cypress to ride with the NW Cycling Club. They have groups that ride at various speeds and distances and I rode with the “no-drop” group on the 40 mile route…and I got dropped about 22 miles in. To be fair to the other riders in the group, I simply couldn’t keep up. There were people behind me from my group (I suppose I’d dropped them when I was riding with Tour wannabes, but there was NO WAY ON EARTH I was going to slow down just for company). There were some hills (that I didn’t ever think were ever going to end) and a lovely headwind. The combination was too much for me and in addition to wanting that bike ride to end, the other thing I was thinking about? My plummeting average speed. I have to admit that in those moments, bike riding was not fun. I was most definitely not enjoying it, but once I was out in the middle of nowhere, who was I going to call to come and get me? Humiliating AND inconvenient? No thanks. I finished the ride and I didn’t even have to get off and walk it any (if I did, I thought there was a good chance I’d never get back on), so I just kept pedaling. It was not fast and it was not sexy, but I did it. It was the hardest physical thing I have ever done. And I did it anyway. I don’t write this to be boastful or proud or for pity. I just conquered a personal milestone of some significance and I needed to tell someone. (Thank you for reading, you silent lurkers. I know you’re out there. )

I finished with a respectable average speed, but I’m hoping to best that on Saturday, of course! (The thing with cycling, as in running I imagine, is that there’s always a record to break.) I am nervous about Saturday. I’m nervous about, in no particular order:

• What if it’s really windy? I feel so defeated by wind. I know that’s my problem to solve/make peace with/get over, but that’s what I’m dealing with.
• There’s a fair to middling chance I will get lost if I get separated from my group. I have a map and the route should be well-marked. I shouldn’t worry about this.
• Speaking of my group, did I tell you that I’m riding with my boss? He’s awesome and we have a great relationship and to be honest, he’s one of my favorite people. Having said all of that…I just bought some lycra biking shorts. Need I say more?

My eyes are starting to cross and words aren’t coming out quite right, so I need to wrap this up. Before I go, read the Psalm where I spent my quiet time this morning. Be blessed by the reverence due our holy but accessible father.

But here I am anyway, just 8 days from riding 47 miles.

I have to admit that my palms get a little sweaty when I think about what I’m about to do.

So why do I put myself through this? There are two main reasons.

Firstly, I ride because I can. I don’t mean to sound boastful and I don’t say that in a prideful way. I ride because my body works. I have arms and legs and hands and feet that allow me to not only walk and climb stairs and dance, and that same ability to move means I can physically ride a bike. God helps me to remember that this body is one he has given to me…it’s not my own and I don’t have to look far to see people my age with bodies that don’t work as well. My health is a blessing. How could I not do something with the ability to move? I see people all of the time who have been slowed by injury, illness, age or some combination of the three. While I’m certainly not as young as I once was, I’m also not as old as I’m (hopefully) going to get. Move it or lose it.

The second reason I ride, and this ties in with the first, is that diabetes has impacted my family. My grandfather, Grandpa Charlie, was the first diabetic I knew. I didn’t understand what that meant as a kid, but whenever he was around I kept hearing about how he needed to eat every so often and he had to check his blood and give himself shots. It sounded like a complicated chore to my kid ears. As an insulin-dependent diabetic, my Grandpa had to take care of himself to keep the diabetes in check. Life changes toward the end of his life prevented him from taking the kind of care of himself that he needed to and he eventually died from complications related to diabetes.

My mother was a diabetic, and my father is also diabetic. Though neither parent needed/needs to inject insulin, the reality of parents with this disease means that if I don’t take my health seriously, the chances are high that I will end up with the same diagnosis. Though it’s entirely possible that I will die peacefully in the middle of the night of unknown causes, I have to do my best to take care of myself and for now, that means riding a bike. My diet is still not where it needs to be and I could probably use less caffeine and more sleep, but I am doing myself a solid by riding.

When I ride, I have a chance to clear my mind. I have a chance to be in my skin. My cycling has challenged me to meet, and exceed, various goals and I begin to think differently about myself because I’ve met those goals. It keeps me out of therapy. (Seriously.) It helps me to feel alive. I praise God when I ride simply because I can. I don’t take the ability to move for granted. Every mile ridden with a sore butt or a skinned knee or sweat in my eyes reminds me that the God who made me gave me this opportunity, this luxury. How could I not empty that cup?

So even though I’m a little nervous about the ride next week, I know that I will ride the entire 47 miles. I will enjoy the experience. I will ride because I can. I will ride in honor of, and in memory of, those who can’t.

Thank you to Dad, Aunt Rose, Randy and Kelley for your support!

Though I’ve met the minimum fundraising goal, there’s still time to support me in Houston’s Tour de Cure! Click here to go to my personal page!

I love Ouachita.

I came to know about Ouachita through the people at my church and specifically, Rick. His stories about the experiences he had there piqued my interest, but I had already chosen my college (Hook ‘em Horns!) and that little school in Arkansas was simply not the place for me. It seemed interesting enough, but not the place for me.

During a recruiting reception, I listened to the stories local alums shared about their experiences there and I was fascinated at how immediately personal it all seemed, particularly in contrast with the impersonal feeling I got from UT. The idea of trying to tread water at a school that big, searching for a place to get connected, overwhelmed the 11^th grade version of me. Suddenly I was conflicted. How do I love Austin and everything about it, but go off to someplace else for college?

When I visited campus, I knew I’d have to figure all of that out at some other time. I loved that little campus in that little town. We first visited during Tiger Traks and one of the kids I knew from church was one of the first people we saw. He was covered in mud from head to toe, of course, but there he was, embodying all that Ouachita had to offer. I was hooked. Even though I don’t like to be dirty.

I never applied to my beloved UT, nor did I apply anywhere else. I knew that Ouachita was the place for me within minutes and it has continued to be the place for me. There have certainly been ups and downs, as with any long-term relationship, but my affection for Ouachita has remained ardent.

My experience as a student was littered with professors who got involved in my life, not just my education, and made me a better woman. They challenged me, encouraged me, and stretched me in ways I could not have dreamed of on that first campus visit. Among my fellow students were people who would become some of my very best friends for life. Ouachita has influenced every area of my life and I’m so proud to be a part of the legacy of that great institution.

When I had the opportunity to go back there and work on the staff, it was such a natural move that a part of me wondered, “How could I not go? What is more right for me than this?” I enjoyed my experience there as a staff member even more than I enjoyed my experience as a student, and I think that’s partially because I had been other places and I understood that what happens on that campus is special, personal and intentional. The difference is in the very DNA of the place and it is in every person and in every corner and square inch of the place. I had the chance to do some big things and some little things while I was there, but my very favorite thing was conversations with students. Whether in my office, at Thrio’s (RIP), TaMolly’s, my living room or late nights in JPAC, I loved those moments with students. I love Ouachita’s students. They are so full of promise and wonder and bravado and passion, with a dash of immortality sprinkled on top. My favorite part of the job was the mentoring, being a part of their Ouachita experiences just like my professors were a critical part of mine. There is nothing I would trade for those hundreds, thousands of moments of pouring into the lives of those who came after me. Nothing. Of all the things I miss about being at Ouachita, that is always the first thing that comes to mind. The fact that so many of those students became good friends made that stage of life that much sweeter.

Ouachita was my first great love and some aspect of what I learned there impacts my life every single day. I am a better person for having been there. I can’t wait to see what’s next. Happy birthday, Ouachita. Here’s to 125 more!