Depression.

If you or someone you know struggles with depression or something of that nature, maybe this will help....or maybe not. I'm young and I don't know a whole lot of anything, if I know anything at all. I don't know what I'm doing, I'm still trying to figure all this stuff out.

Stumbling and tripping all along the way.

But this is something that I've been thinking about and maybe it'll be nice to know that you're not alone, because I think that sometimes we are most alike in the ways we try and hide because we feel like we are alone.
Well, dear friend, you're not alone, we're not alone.

---------------------------------------------------------------

“God himself does not give answers. He gives himself.” -Frederick Buechner

I saw a picture with those words emblazoned on it a couple weeks ago.

They sat in the back of my head while I ran around doing life. Ideas percolating, thoughts turning over in the quiet moments I have to pause between work, family, friends and living.

If this is how God responses to our questions, how then should we in turn answer the questions the world throws at us?

Someone close to me struggles with severe depression. When it comes crashing like a wave over them - they want to give up, surrender to the pain and let go in the worst possible sense. And I don't know how to answer the questions they lob at me.

What is the point of living when there is so much pain and ache in the world? What is the point of doing anything if we all die anyway? They say if there is a God, then how can He be good when the world is so clearly marked with evil?

I sit there with ache in my own chest because this world is so broken and my own heart hasn't escaped unscathed. Lines of pain are etched into all of us.

Children die and mothers are left with empty arms, mothers die and children are left to face a scary world without people who love them, suicides happen, cancer is real, starvation is a reality for millions of people, tsunamis wipe out, hurricanes rage, and people steal, kill, rape and destroy others.

And I hear that question echo again, "How can God be good?"

There is so much pain they carry, so much ache I see in their eyes.

This little person I know, I want to infuse life into them, for they are good, smart, wonderful, and brilliant. I want to shield them from pain. I want to peel off those scales that cover their eyes and show them that all the badness in the world isn't even a drop in this ocean of grace that we swim in, but words fall short.

I wish I had an easy answer, I wish I could infuse hope into their soul and bind up those deep wounds I see shining in their eyes. I want a line of words to hand them that will tie up all the questions into neat pretty bows.

I want to fix things.
I want to have answers and I have none.

I want this to be easy, but I'm finding that love in the trenches of life, is hard.

Because of this, on Christmas Eve night, I sat crying in the car. Pain feeling like a solid rock in the center of my chest. I felt like nothing I had done mattered, nothing I do helped, and I felt hopeless sitting in the car on the dark cold night before Christmas. I just want God to fix this whole mess, I'm tired of love and life being so hard.

Sometimes life is a brutal teacher, it feels like a black hole sucking out everything you have and giving nothing back. You feel like you're swimming against a current. You feel like for every step you take forward you get pushed back three. And you wonder how can God possibly be good when everything is falling apart and the absolute last thing you feel like is a beloved child.

So I made cinnamon rolls and as I kneaded the dough, as I turned it over and under, I thought about this idea that God doesn't give us answers, He gives us himself.

What does this mean for me? I think this means I don't have answers and that's alright. I have Jesus and I have this little life He's given to me.

So I'm going to give the only thing I have. I'm going to give myself. I'm not going to just talk about how Jesus is love, I want to be that love. I am going to pour my life out and love this little person to the best of my ability. I'm going to show them that I think they're worth investing love into. Not because I want to fix them or want them to change, but simply because I love them.

I don't know if any of this makes sense and maybe I'm just way off, but I'm holding on tightly with bleeding hands to the knowledge that I am who I am and I am where I am for a reason. And although this is hardly what I would have chosen to walk through--I am here and there must be a reason for all of this.

May we all look back on the most tempestuous times in our life and see loves fingerprints in the midst of chaos, for we are always, always loved and never ever forgotten.

Childlike Eyes

I want eyes that don't just look at the world, I want eyes that see.

I want eyes of a child that look at the world and see it for the wonderful, terrible, ridiculous, beautiful, crazy place it is. I want to wonder at the fact that water falls from the sky, flowers come up from dirt, caterpillars turn into butterflies, every snowflake is a unique work of art, and the sea isn't just a children's story.

Every sunrise and sunset I see is painted differently.

I want to be mesmerized by the waxing and waning of the smiling old moon, the way the wind dances in the grass and trades secrets with the trees, and those stars I see twinkling like pinpoints are bigger than this spinning rock I live on.

I want to laugh at the beautiful craziness that crickets sing, llamas spit 10 feet away, elephants have long noses, a giraffes neck stretches up so high, and a platypus exists in real life.

I want to remember often that my very existence is remarkable. I have lungs that function and laughter that fills them, a heart that to beats, eyes that can drink in the opulent colors that surround me, and I can feel.

I will bask in the feeling of sunshine on my face. I will savor the smell of fresh bread, I will delight in running and dancing, and I will relish the feeling as the pages of a book flick against my fingers.

I want to see and sense and smell and touch this glory that surrounds me.

So, call me childish, shake your head at me, write me off, fasten labels to me.

But I will not give up, I will be brave and I will always fight the scales that threaten to cover my eyes.

I will hunt for beauty and I will revel in all the glory that I find.

Pain and sorrow will be written into my story, it is unavoidable. A dark thread has been woven into my life. But truer joy and deeper love is born of pain and heartache. When dross is burned away the gold shines all the brighter. And all the pain and ache in the world is but a thin whisper next to Love's bright shout.

And one day it will all be turned backwards into joy.

Such is grace.

There is much to be grateful for here, and all the time.

Disclaimer: I could be way off, I'm only twenty plus three and I know very little. Therefore, I reserve the right at all times to be wrong. Also, I should be sleeping right now, but I find myself here instead. I tend to loose my filter when I am tired and exhaustion works on my courage like I've been told alcohol supposedly would. So don't be surprised if this disappears in the morning.

I feel like there's a disconnect somewhere.

When we feel like standing in line at Chick-fil-a is doing a good deed and we think that sacrifice by going to Cold Stone instead of Ben and Jerry's. And we boycott anywhere the supports A&E and buy Duck Dynasty EVERYTHING. If you really loved Jesus you'd go see whatever movie it is in the theaters that was made by Christians no matter how horrible it is. Tim Tebow is basically Jesus and God wants us to make a stand on everything.!

I feel like we've missed it.

It's easier, I'll give you that. Boycotting Macys and eating chicken sandwiches twice a week seems like an easier gig than loving your enemies, plucking the log in your own eye, and actually loving people to the point it hurts you.

Tonight I had dinner tonight with a young woman who got out of sex trafficking five months ago, I remembered sitting in a garage with her just a few nights after she was rescued, now she now has a job and is going to be starting school in January. Over dinner we talked about how incredible these past months have been and how amazing redemption, grace, and real love are. See, to me that's what Christianity is, healing the broken, setting captive people free, and redeeming the mess. Darkness getting swallowed up by light. Love overcoming all.

I just get the feeling like Jesus really wouldn't take a stand on those other things. Maybe He would, again I could be wrong. But I kind of think that He'd be somewhere loving people instead of holding a sign, and maybe instead of boycotting it, He'd walk into a store and talk to a person behind the counter, maybe?

"Ducks, beards... it's all been said. But what's a bit troubling is this undercurrent where Evangelicals seem obsessed with celebrity validation of what they believe. They run to, champion, defend-at-all-costs and long for someone in the public spotlight to say "I believe what you believe". Why is a hero needed? The resulting responses/defenses then sound a lot more fearful and insecure than you probably realize." 

- Matt Conner

Here is my head, ready? It's a scary, ridiculous place-prepare yourself.

When I decide to do something, I get excited, because plans like this are my favorite. I tend to go a *tad* overboard because I get so caught up in making plans.

Then I carry out my plans and just before I actually hand things away to people is where my head starts running away with me.

What if people think I am doing this for attention and hate me?
What if people think that I am ridiculous and make fun of me?
What if I mess up and everyone laughs at me?
What if people misunderstand what I do?
What if I pour my heart out and then everyone only rolls their eyes?
What if.
What if.
What if.

I've held back so much in life because of those stupid fears.

I literally sat outside of an office today thinking I should go throw everything I'd made into the lake, because doing nothing always seems safer than throwing yourself out there and giving pieces of yourself away.

Rejection hurts less if you put on a mask and pretend to me someone you're not.

It's an act of bravery to throw yourself out there, to wipe of the thick layer of paint you've been hiding behind and just dance and revel in who you were created to be. There will be naysayers who whisper as you spin, they will try to fasten those shackles around your ankles - don't let them, run fast and far away, beckoning them to drop those chains and run with you.

Don't listen to the lies that fear will whisper, laugh and say, "Alright then what?"

Alright, if people think I do this for attention-then what?

They misunderstand me, label me, roll their eyes at me, talk behind my back, laugh at me? Then. what. Torture me? Maim me? Kill me? That's all you've got?

Alright, well let me tell you what people can't do.

They cannot strip away the joy and laughter I have in my lungs. They cannot steal the love that I carry and the songs that live on my lips. They cannot destroy all of life and love I've already lived.

Cast your roots into something that is unshakable and you'll find that you can't be shaken.

Alright then. I'm going into that freaking office, I'm going to love those freaking people, I am going to make things and give away more than people think is a good idea, I'm going to write a long freaking facebook status, I'm going to take pictures of the beauty I find, and I'm not going to worry about what you think. I am not going to let fear dictate what I do and say any longer.

Why?

Because gosh darn it - I am free.

People

I meet people and I want to know all the stories that comprise them. The layers of love and heartache, trials and triumphs, pain and joy that each one of us is made of, all the little cells of story that have made us into who we are today.

I think about this often, as I walk around at work and people rush past me and I rush past them. I think about it as a young girl who has blue hair and wears a scowl slides my flour and sugar into bags at the grocery store, when I order food and a man smiles but it never reaches his hurting and empty eyes, and when the cars pass by me and I see a young couple yelling at each other faces twisted with anger.

A story calls out one from the crowd then invites us all to bend down and get to know them. Everyone has an interesting side if only we had the time to find it. There are no such thing as dull people, if only we took the time to get to know them, and they let us do it.

Oh, to be sure there are people who pretend to be boring. They hide their flaws and paste a smile on, pretending to be 'normal'. But if you could but dig a little past the surface, push past who they pretend to be into who they really are--you would be amazed, I think at what you might find and even more so how you might feel.

When you know someone's story I think judging them becomes harder and loving them becomes easier, because as Buechner said, "the story of any one of us is in some measure the story of us all”. Those people we write off, cast aside, and label with words--if we could but read their story from start to finish I think we would see whispers of our own between the pages.

"WE read a good novel not in order to know more people, but in order to know fewer. Instead of the humming swarm of human beings, relatives, customers, servants, postmen, afternoon callers, tradesmen, strangers who tell us the time, strangers who remark on the weather, beggars, waiters, and telegraph-boys--instead of this bewildering human swarm which passes us every day, fiction asks us to follow one figure (say the postman) consistently through his ecstasies and agonies. That is what makes one impatient with that type of pessimistic rebel who is always complaining of the narrowness of his life and demanding a larger sphere. Life is too large for us as it is: we have all too many things to attend to. All true romance is an attempt to simplify it, to cut it down to plainer and more pictorial proportions. What dullness there is in our life arises mostly from its rapidity; people pass us too quickly to show us their interesting side. By the end of the week we have talked to a hundred bores; whereas, if we had stuck to one of them, we might have found ourselves talking to a new friend, or a humorist, or a murderer, or a man who had seen a ghost."

~G.K. Chesterton: 'The Inside of Life.'

Christmas

I don't know where you are or what you've been through.
I would surely write this differently,
If only I knew.
I don't know if Christmas fills your heart with joy and cheer.
Or if it only brings up memories of old pain and new fear.

Christmas comes round
And with all the lights, trees and presents galore.
It's like people don't realize,
Joy simply can't be bought in a store.

Sometimes life stings a little more,
When it seems like everyone else has already won the war.
Every person you encounter appears to live in a perfect bubble,
Meanwhile all you ever seem to encounter is deep chasms of trouble.

Pain has a way of making us feel like we are all alone,
We forget this old broken world has a way of making each of us groan.

Hope is such a slippery thing,
It is so hard to hold.

But crawl up to the manger and remember the sight.
God wrapped in flesh, born in the dead of the night.
Born to bring all dead things to life.
And make every broke thing new.
So hold on tight, oh my dear one,
To this true tale that's been spun.

When life throws it's curve ball,
And you want to give up,
Remember the baby has come to heal us all.
Darkness will not win, it will not succeed,
For one day all that is broken will for sure be redeemed.

We encounter trouble in life and it carves a deep scar,
And as we shake with the pain,
It seems like too big a thing to look up at the stars.
So we sit down in the rubble and stare down at the fragments,
It's like we can't leave, for it feels like a magnet.
So we weep over the broken, wondering who will ever fix it.

We all wrestle with doubt but you find only a few who'll admit,
That there are times when we all just want to throw a big fit.

Sometimes pain feels like you're lost in a endless raging sea,
you're chained to the bottom and you've lost the only key.
You keep kicking your legs just to keep your head above water,
And the very last thing you feel like is a dearly beloved daughter.
Every mouthful of salty brine seasoned with tears that you swallow,
Even while drowning you, makes your insides feel hollow.

At times the very act of living seems to big of a thing,
There are so many ways to be hurt, burned and charred.
And there are many times it seems like life only stings
Faith, hope and love are so hard to hold on to.
And so many people tell you that you'll never be new.

We trip over truth and it's so hard to see
How in the world will we ever be free?

I wish I knew how to help, but I have no easy answers.
Not in a world where there is actually cancer.
Where children go hungry, bullets are real,
When innocents is stolen and eaten up like a meal.
And a mothers heart aches at the loss,
At the foot of a cross.

All I know is this, come here, lean in close.
One day all this evil and pain is going to roast.
The sun will break through this darkest of nights,
And we'll go up to see that cities bright lights.

One day there will be no more tears,
No more pain, no more suffering, and not even a hint of our fears.
All that will be banished, we'll see it no more,
For we'll know deep, deep, deep down that there will be no more war.
We'll all sing and dance for we'll finally be free,
For there will never again be a monster that we'll have to flee.

Next time fear comes a knocking,
And the doubts and demons come stalking,
Dash back to be truth, turn tale and run.
With the knowledge that every battle's already been won.
Laugh no matter what happens,
For you have the freedom to stand up to the cannons.
Season your days with story and song,
Be kind and love deeply and you'll never go wrong.

Dear child, love is coming,
I promise this is true,
If you listen real closely,
You can hear it, even here drumming.

"We write to discover this broken hallelujah. Life is a battle, and all victories are bittersweet. We sing our victory songs covered in muck and blood and desperation, down on both knees. The broken hallelujah is pain and resolution in one. When sung together, we catch a glimpse of a long, tumultuous story—the story of humanity—unpleasant but glorious." -Kellen Gorbett

I haven't felt like this in a long time, a long, long time. This place where I doubt the goodness of God, because I can't possibly see how this situation, these circumstances can be used for good.

Sometimes when you're in the middle of something it's hard to see past the wall of pain. We've all had those the days when despair swirls and you wonder how is this ever going to work out. Those days when it is hard to even climb out of bed and let your feet hit the floor. Those days when you smile because you have to but it doesn't ever quite reach your eyes because your heart is aching raw.

Watching someone you love deep in the trenches of depression is hard. You want to scream, light a fire under them, you just want to do anything that would make them get up and live. But they are so scared of just getting up and living that they would probably just let the fire lick them away. If all you want to do is to climb under them and drag them to safety, but it is impossible.

Standing by as someone you love runs hard and fast way from everything good into the clutches of things that destroy is gut wrenching. What do you do when there is nothing you can say or do that will help.

What do you do when you fail again and again and again? When you let selfishness, pride and ugliness control you no matter how hard you try and all you want to do is give up and run far and fast away. When you're so tired of straining and carrying the weight of your world that is falling apart, and you're scared to trust God because deep down you don't know if He is going to come through for you.

What do you do when words fail you?

What do you do when you can't do anything at all.

You fall on battered and bruised knees lifting up a broken hallelujah. You sit on the bathroom floor with you back against cold tile and you cling madly to a hope that there is Good coming, ever coming nearer and nearer, glory is all around even when we don't have the eyes or perspective to see it.

You remember you've been here before and He's always been faithful.

Then you get up, throw away your fears of an vast unknown future and run fast and hard into everything you know to be true. Hope is kindled from your broken pieces of pain.

"Hope that the walls will hold, seasons will change, the refuge will prevail, and the sun will rise despite the seemingly endless and suffocating darkness. Good will win despite all the evidence to the contrary.

So let us spin stories and walk forward through the middle of the raging storms, knowing we are always loved and never forgotten.

And when we look back at the most tempestuous times of our lives; may we see the purposeful and organized fingerprints of love in the midst of chaos--a testament that we were remembered on the darkest days and we were never forgotten even in our most vulnerable moments." -Ming (two months ago)

Gone.

I was driving down to Charlotte last night to meet some people for pizza and improv. And while I was listening to Pete Peterson's talk on legends, the semi next to me started moving into my lane. It was one of those moments that seems to move in slow motion, icy fear poured into me, and I wondered if this was how my life would end.

Would the final page in my story include, "And she died on a cool night in December on highway 85 in a seemingly mindless accident."

(When you love stories and like to write-that is how your brain works)

Thankfully when I quickly glanced over, the lane next to me was wide open so I was able to quickly scoot over without any catastrophe occurring.

But it made me think and remember how incredibly frail I am. Every moment of every day could be my last. I live and walk on a massive rock that spins through space close enough to a burning ball of gas to keep me warm but far enough away so I don't get burned to a crisp. I see a meteor and call it a falling star then make a wish not remembering that if it was a little bigger I could die.

Or I could be killed driving to work by a drunk driver or thoughtless truck driver who is mishandling a hunk of metal and my life could ooze out on the cold asphalt underneath the blinking lights. The soundtrack of my end could be that of sirens.

Most days I forget this, when you're alive and all the pieces of your body are functioning - it's hard to remember how close every single one of us is to the end.

There is a moment in the latest Ashtown book (Empire of Bones) when Cyrus is woken up by his mentor Rupert, to go on a journey back into the heart of the danger they had just flown from and Rupert is telling him that if things go well they will meet up with the rest of his family by lunch. Then Cyrus asks him, "And if things don't go well" and Rupert responded, "Then you'll never see them again, and that mate is the truth every time you set foot outside your door, every time you sleep, every time you blink."

After I read that I just closed the book for a moment and stared out the window. Every time I turn around, every time I blink, it could be the last time I ever see or speak to the people that I love the most.

That's sobering.

It's one of those moments that sits in the back of your head popping in at the most inopportune moments. About a month later I had gotten in an argument with my mom on the phone, she had made some comment and it made me upset. I don't remember exactly what it was but I remember a hot feeling of indignant anger flooding through my veins. I felt like once again that no matter what I do, it was and is never enough and that the rest of the world could get away with anything while I wasn't ever able to make one mistake. I remember I threw some hot burning words through the phone and then quickly said goodnight and hung up.

I stood in my room and vowed that I would stay angry and not go home for a week. I have never been able to stay angry for long, but I assured myself that this time it would be different. Then those lines popped into my head, "Then you'll never see them again, and that mate is the truth every time you set foot outside your door, every time you sleep, every time you blink." and I thought, "Damn it."

Do I really want the last words I say to my mom to be an angry goodnight? What if something were to happen between now and daylight and I never got to see her again? But I'm stubborn sometimes so instead of just doing the right thing, I tried to stay angry, I tried to stoke the fire of my indignation and hurt, but it was too late. Already time and perspective were doing their work and softening my resolve.

But once again, I'm stubborn so I tried to get away with sending a short insincere text that said, "I'm sorry. Goodnight." I threw my phone across the room into a pile of blankets and tried to read, the Molehill from Hutchmoot, stupid reading choice when you're tried to hold on to your anger and in about thirty minutes I was on the phone with my mom, apologizing for getting upset.

(sigh)

Maybe one day I'll learn.

Confession: Growing up my idea of a good time was a trip to the library, reading young american biographies, and paging through survival books.

I loved playing in the creek, catching crayfish and minnows, cracking acorns open and pulverizing the meat, learning different knots, stringing twine and sharpening the end of sticks to make a bow and arrows - all while pretending I was the kid from My Side of the Mountain. I just needed a pet peregrine falcon to complete my ensemble.

Also.

I never understood the obsession with that talking sponge or barbies.

Epiphany

I was driving down to Charlotte last night to meet some people for pizza and improv and while I was listening to Pete Peterson's talk on legends, the semi next to me started quickly moving into my lane. It was one of those moments that seems to move in slow motion, icy fear poured through my core, and I wondered if this was how my life would end and if I had lived my life in the way I want to be remembered.

Would the final page in my story include, "And she died on a cool night in December on highway 85 in a seemingly mindless accident."

(When you love stories and like to write-I guess that is how your brain works, at least that's how mine does.)

Thankfully when I quickly glanced over, the lane next to me was wide open so I was able to quickly scoot over without any catastrophe occurring.

But it made me think and remember how incredibly frail I am. Every moment of every day could be my last. I live and walk on a massive rock that spins through space close enough to a burning ball of gas to keep me warm but far enough away so I don't get burned to a crisp. I see a meteor and call it a falling star, make a wish; not remembering that if it was a little bigger I could die.

Or I could be killed driving to work by a college student who's drank one to many shots of whiskey or thoughtless truck driver who is mishandling a hunk of metal and my life could ooze out on the cold asphalt underneath the blinking lights. The soundtrack of my end could be that of sirens.

I am a small, dependent, feed me three times a day, give me oxygen, and keep my electrolytes balanced: human.

Most days I forget this, when you're alive and all the parts and pieces of your body are functioning - it's hard to remember how much has to go right to keep us alive.

There is a moment in the latest Ashtown book (Empire of Bones) when Cyrus is woken up by his mentor Rupert, to go on a journey back into the heart of the danger they had just flown from and Rupert is telling him that if things go well they will meet up with the rest of his family by lunch.

Then there is a question: "And if things don't go well?" Cyrus asked. "Then you'll never see them again," Rupert said, "And that mate is the truth every time you set foot outside your door, every time you sleep, every time you blink."

After I read that for the first time a few months ago, I just closed the book for a moment and stared out the window.

Every time I turn around, every time I blink: it could be the last time I ever see or speak to the people that I love the most.

Every word that I toss, every glance that I throw: could be the last that land on the people that I love.

What do you want to be known and remembered for? Start doing whatever it is, because you never know when you're going to end.

That's sobering.

Welcome to a 40 minute car ride with Ming and her head.

(And people say you can't learn anything from fiction or children's books. PSHHHHHHHHHHH. Silly people.)

I wrote this because I needed to remind myself.
----------------------------------------------------
The world does not need you or I straining to be everyone we are not. It needs us, you and I in all our glorious mess, with all our failures, shortcomings, and lack.

The world doesn't need us to hide in dark corners, covering our tattered edges in a cloak of darkness and it doesn't need us to zip on the personality of another in an attempt to conceal our holes.

The world needs us to embrace who are and dance in the sunshine, allowing it to illuminate and transform the frayed edges of our character into a liquid beauty. It needs us to allow the Light to shoot golden beams of hope through the holes in our lives.

This broken words needs us, you and me to be who we were created to be.

To create something and then give it to world can be a terrifying endeavor. To pour your heart and soul into something and then allow people to peer into the depths of it...is enough to make one's bones turn to jelly.

But we must do it anyways because it matters. Down to the tiniest iota, it matters.

Because in the Kingdom that is upside down, it's the most broken people who hold the most beauty and it's the smallest coins that are really worth the most.