on my own (or not)

I wish I could say the reason I haven't written here in more than a month has been because I've been busy having exciting, spirit-filled, Kingdom bringing adventures but in reality, that hasn't been the case.

I've been working (a lot). I've been dancing and cycling and doing yoga. I've been been spending all the money I have (and some that I don't) on car repairs and Christmas gifts and dealing with some unexpected, stressful life circumstances.

I won't/can't get into the details of those unexpected circumstances for a lot of reasons, chief among them being it's not the kind of thing you write about on the Internet. I hate being vague, but what I can say is everything is OK and things are coming together. I considered not mentioning it at all - why bother if all I'm going to say is 'I can't talk about it'? - but in truth, it's part of the reason I haven't been writing.

I've been feeling spiritually stalled - stuck and at times, a little bit lost.

It hit me the weekend my partner went to pick up our car after it received some pretty extensive repairs. I've written about the troubles with the Subaru's gas tank here before. As is always the way with cars, by the time we were in a position to deal with that problem, another more urgent issue sprung up.

For weeks, the car had been making some pretty awful noises, especially when it came to taking corners. Everyone we talked to had a different theory about what it could be - suggestions included a problem with a strut, a busted CV joint or possible issues with the power steering. Estimates for how much it would cost to fix it ranged from a couple hundred dollars to more than I paid for the car.

Other than the noises, the car was handling well so we weren't too worried about it. I made a plan to drive the car to Nova Scotia to have a new gas tank installed and figured I'd ask the mechanic to investigate the noise while it was there. We set a date for the trip, booked off the required time and on a Friday evening, we packed up our things, picked up my partner's brother and made our way to Riverview.

It should be note even as we left Fredericton, nothing about the repair was going the way I planned.  The mechanic was having phone troubles, so I wasn't able to connect with him to verify plans until the day before we were set to leave. When we finally connected, he told me he still hasn't secured the part. It looked very likely we'd be leaving the car in Nova Scotia for a week - a scenario we knew could come up, but one that was still disappointing considering how many weeks in advanced I'd planned for the repair. To top it all off, I was miserably ill with a terrible headache, stuffy nose, all that good stuff.

I didn't think things could get worse. Then we hit the highway.

The noises were louder. I wasn't driving, but I could tell my partner was having trouble controlling the car, especially when it came to passing. His brother, easily the person with the most knowledge about cars in the vehicle, identified the problem as coming from the back of the car as opposed to the front (where we thought it was) and through a combination of his own knowledge about cars and a phone call to a mechanic friend, he diagnosed the problem as a wheel bearing.

When we arrived in Riverview, the boys took the tire off and confirmed the diagnosis. There was no way we could drive the car to Nova or even back to Fredericton until it was repaired.

So much for my plan. To say I was upset would be an understatement; I was gutted. I had worked so hard to pull everything together - I made the calls to the mechanic, gave lots of notice to get the time off and an appointment made, went to the bank to make sure the financials were in order...and none of it made a difference. It didn't stop my plan from falling apart.

I didn't have time to dwell on it, though - before it could pull me down too far, thing changed. My partner's brother found  a new wheel bearing for the car at a decent price and a mechanic who could install it for me at the first of the week. When we brought the car to the mechanic (a  friend of my partner's family) he told me if I could get a gas tank and ship it to him, he could install it for me. I called my grandfather and by the end of the day, a tank had been found and arrangements had been made to ship it to Moncton.

A week later, the car was ready - and the best part? The overall cost was hundreds of dollars less than I expected to spend.

I was elated. Sure, the repair took a little longer and I had to spend a week without wheels as a result, but for the first time in months, I was going to be driving a car without any known problems. Or so I thought.

The drive home wasn't so great. As is always the way with cars, you solve one problem and another arises. This time, the vehicle wasn't accelerating properly at high speeds, creating a very dangerous situation for my partner on the highway. After the stress of the last repair, the news that our car still wasn't working properly was enough to send me into a bit of a tailspin of stress and frustration.

It wasn't until I calmed down a bit that I realized I was dealing with a bigger problem than whatever was happening with the car: somewhere along the way, I became convinced I could take care of this situation on my own. And as a result, I'd shut God out of the process completely and without a second thought.

I made plans without prayerful consideration. When those plans inevitably fell apart, my immediate response was stress and frustration instead of trusting. And when God showed me why my response should have been to trust by providing for me anyway, my attitude was far from gracious.

The situation revealed the thing I struggle most with - fully trusting that God will meet my needs and letting him be in control of everything, not just the minor things.

All I can do is cry to You 'Oh, God! You have to save me!

You're my last and only hope!

All my right answers fail me; 

I can't seem to make it on my own.'

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

Proverbs 3:5 

That night was a wake up call,  but I can't say I've done a perfect job of eliminating my tendency to default into self-reliance. In reference to the unexpected circumstances mentioned at the beginning, my immediate response was distress although I was able to identify it quickly and shift my focus back where it should be. I want this to be a fast process, to operate like a switch, but I don't think it works that way.

I'm going to stumble. I'm going to fall and I'm going to fail. These things are beyond my control, the result of my human nature.

What's within my control is how I react - with stress and despair or trusting God to do what he's said he'll do.

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

Jeremiah 29:11 

do everything

whatever you do, it all matters

so do what you do, don't ever forget 

to do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you

(this video makes me smile every time. Steven Curtis Chapman is awesome)

For many writers, the question "when did you start writing" traces back to early childhood but that wasn't the case for me.

I was 12 years old. I was living with my grandparents, who were jumping through legal hoops to make it so I could continue to stay there instead of returning home and in addition to dealing with my alcoholic father and troubled brother, we had lawyers and judges and social workers in the picture. Things were a bit of a mess. 

While my grandparents dealt with the legal aspects of the situation, I was required to attend counselling. Going to the weekly sessions felt like a waste of time, but I know it would help when it came to convincing a judge that I was capable of deciding where I wanted to live so I went. I can honestly say I don't remember a lot about those sessions. 

Except the homework assignments. 

I don't know how it came up but one of the counsellors I saw decided that a writing activity might be good for me. I couldn't tell you what that first assignment was or what I wrote, but what I do know is that after that first assignment, I started writing all. the. time.

I brought a notebook and a pen with me everywhere and wrote whenever I had time. Journal entries, fan fiction, short stories...you name it. The stuff I wrote wasn't very good - cringe-worthy is an appropriate descriptor - but that's OK. Looking at it now, I can see it for what it was: my coping mechanism, my way of dealing with all the craziness going on in my life. 

My relationship with writing has changed a lot over time, but the last couple years have been the most challenging. Although I love my job, I did not anticipate writing every day for work would have a toll on my ability to pursue other creative projects. After writing all day for work, the idea of going home to write left me feeling exhausted, uninspired and unmotivated. 

When I finally finished (a term I use loosely, since the story would require a heavy rewrite before I could ever think of showing it to another person. It's that bad.) a project I'd been working on for at least two years last summer, I thought all those feelings were to blame for the drawn out timeline. My intention was to take some time off from writing, spend some time reading and let that story sit for a while so I could revisit and try to fix it. Instead, I found myself diving into a new project almost immediately and the first draft was finished in months. Of course, that draft is awful and needs so much work but unlike anything I've ever worked on before, I found myself inspired every time I sat at the keyboard. The words to that first draft came easily. 

I've known since university that one of the things I want to do in life is write novels for teen girls. Sarah Dessen has been my favourite writer since I read Someone Like You for the first time when I was nine. I think this age group is so, so important - but it wasn't until I started working on my last project that I realized my aspirations ran deeper.

I want to write faith-based young adult fiction. Christian YA. 

That's not a sentence I ever thought I'd write. I've read a lot of Christian fiction over the years and while some of it has been fantastic, more often than not I've found it incredibly difficult to relate to.  That's what I've always liked about Sarah Dessen - her characters are easy to relate to, the problems they deal with are problems teen girls deal with and generally, the stories feel authentic. She gets her audience and I think that's important. 

I want to write for young adults, but the most important member of my audience is God. I can't rightly say I've given God my heart and then keep something that's such an important part of my life from him. 

Whether anything will come out of this or not, I can't be sure. There's a good chance these stories will just stay hidden away in a folder on my harddrive, collecting virtual dust. That's out of my control and in God's hands. 

And I'm OK with that. I'd rather write for God and go unread by others than keep others from knowing Him by filtering Him out.

And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.

Colossians 3:23-24

three years.

I don't know where I was or what I was doing when you died, but I'll never forget the details of the moment I found out.

It was a Sunday morning and I was in the edit suite at the CBC basement classroom, working on a story for Tuesday's issue of The Aquinian. I was barely two paragraphs into the story when my managing editor appeared in the doorway and told me the news.

One of the first things I did was type your name into Facebook. I recognized your face - we had been in at least one class together - but the most striking thing about your profile was the number of friends we shared.

I didn't know the details then - I didn't know about the party, the alleged hazing or even where your body had been found - but I knew in that moment things were going to be different on campus going forward.

Over the weeks, details about your death were slowly revealed. Six weeks after the fact, police ruled your death the result of an accidental fall where alcohol was a factor and the volleyball team - your team - was suspended for the rest of the season after the school found evidence of hazing.

The case was closed. 

The middle of October, the days leading up to your death, always leave me feeling sad, even though I'm not really sure I have a right to feel that way. I didn't know you the way my friends did when you were alive but there's no single person who has had a greater effect on my life than you have. 

The days, weeks, months after Oct. 24, 2010 presented some of the most challenging and heartbreaking situations I've ever found myself involved in.  Reconciling my identity as a reporter with my duties as a friend was a difficult thing to do - so much so that I never really got it down. While I certainly agreed it was a story and one that needed to be told, if for no other reason than out of respect for your memory, seeing so many of my friends in pain and mourning hurt in ways I wasn't expecting or prepared for.

Although I felt (and continue to feel) our coverage at the Aquinian was done with care and sensitivity, it was done with such a heavy heart and conscience and I didn't know how to shake it. I drank a lot that year, first with friends, then by myself as I slowly withdrew from my social circle. I started going out by myself and looking for anything to make me feel something other than disgusted with myself for being such a sad mess when there were others who had far more reason to be hurting.

The cloud did lift with time. The investigation into your death concluded. I made some new friends, ones who weren't at all connected to the St. Thomas or the paper or even journalism. I was still drinking a lot and I could tell my classmates were still struggling to cope, but I could also see hope on the horizon.

 It would take time, but I knew eventually hurt would give way to healing and we'd be able to celebrate your life instead of mourning your death.

I interviewed your mom a week before graduation, only a few days into my internship at my first daily newspaper job. My hands were sweaty as I held the phone receiver to my ear and when I got the answering machine, I left what I'm sure was a long, rambling message before hanging up and sighing with relief. The last thing I expected was for her to call me back but she did and we talked for about 20 minutes.

It wasn't until the reception at James Dunn Hall that I had the privilege of meeting your mom in person. She was with some of your friends when I approached her and introduced myself. She thanked me for the story I wrote about you receiving your honourary degree before passing me a small pink box. I knew what it was - she told me about the ornaments she was having made for your friends during our interview - but as I pulled out the walnut, dressed like a STU grad with your name and our grad year on the back, it took everything I had not to cry.

I still keep the ornament pinned to the wall that runs along the side of my desk at the office and it reminds me to be compassionate and sensitive to the thoughts, feelings and hurts of others as I do my job.

Those are things four years of university couldn't teach and I look forward to thanking you for those hard learned lessons one day.

and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

Revelation 21: 4

you will find rest.

I did not write a single to-do list last week.

That might not seem noteworthy, but those who know me know that's out of character for me. I like to plan things - I like having a routine, keeping a schedule and having everything around me neat and organized. I'll be the first to admit I often border on anal retentive - I can't sleep if there are dishes in the sink, if I notice a flaw in something I'm wearing (a small stain, a loss string) I'll fixate on it until I can change, and if the polish on one fingernail chips in a way that's noticeable? I'll remove all the polish and repaint.

Yeah, it's a little ridiculous, I know.

But here's the thing: it's effective. If something needs to be done, I make it happen - whether that's taking the apartment from disaster zone to pristine or writing 10 stories at work over the weekend to fill the Monday paper. Productive is my default setting and relaxation isn't something that comes easy to me.  Put simply, I get things done - and until last week, I thought that was a good thing.

I don't have a lot of guilty pleasures but fitness magazines are definitely something I'd file into that category. Some people impulse buy packages of gum or chocolate bars when they're getting groceries, but for me, issues of Yoga Journal, Shape or Women's Health are often the unplanned items that make it into my shopping bags. I keep a big stack of these magazines on the back of the toilet in the bathroom, easy reading material when I'm soaking my sore muscles in the tub after a tough gym session.

I like these magazines because they give my brain a break - while I've learned some interesting things from different articles over the years, it's not exactly hard-hitting journalism that leads to a tremendous amount of thought from me as a reader.

Imagine my surprise when I picked up the most recent issue of Women's Health.

The article was titled The Young and the Restless (it can be read online here) focused on women not getting enough rest. The magazine partnered with The Doctors, a talk show, to conduct a survey to look at the issue and basically the findings were that we're "so perpetually 'on' that our bodies have forgotten how to relax, and that's driving us toward a dangerous type of exhaustion."

The article goes on to talk about the physical problems a lack of rest and living in a constant state of stress can cause by causing adrenal glands to work overtime pumping out cortisol, the stress hormone consistently linked with problems like indigestion and fatigue.  Over time, this leads to burnout. 

Without divulging into too much personal information, I've been dealing with some health related concerns over the last few months. Even though I'm generally pretty open about things here, these are some really intense personal things that I'm really not willing to go into detail about but what I can say is that I am alright and these issues aren't of grave concern. They're more irritating than anything and I've made some lifestyle changes in an effort to address them.

These things have led to some changes but not on the level I'd like to see, which has been tremendously frustrating for me. It didn't really click for me until I read that article that maybe these issues are rooted in something more serious - chronic failure to take adequate rest, to slow down, to relax.


There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God. For he that is entered into his rest, he also hath ceased from his works, as God did from his. Let us labour therefore to enter into that rest, lest any man fall after the same example of unbelief.

Hebrews 4: 9-11

(Translation: GOD rested. He did his work - that whole 'creating all of existence' thing - then he took a break. It's safe to say there's nothing I'm doing that's more time consuming, challenging or important than that, so there's no real excuse for me to not take some down time sometimes.)

And he said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while: for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.

Mark 6:31

(Direction straight from Jesus. Clearly, he knows what's up.)

Taking time to slow down and "do nothing" has not been easy for me. There's an episode of Modern Family where Mitchell tells Cam that he "doesn't find relaxing all that relaxing" and I tend to agree with that, especially when it often seems there are so many things I need to be doing. But I'm hoping forcing myself to live a little less scheduled for a while will help, both in terms of addressing the issues I'm dealing with and make me feel less guilty about not being on 24/7.

I can't say I won't make a to-do list this week, but I'm not going to feel bad leaving the dishes in the sink for a couple extra hours so I can finish watching the first season of The Newsroom. It's all about balance.

When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet.

Proverbs 3:24

24.

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end./ Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you./And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart. 

Jeremiah 29:11-13

I don't like making a big thing out of birthdays.

Actually, that's not true.  I love planning gifts and parties and fun things for others. But when it comes to my own birthday? The more low key the better.

I've always been like this. I think it's because when I was growing up, the first day of school fell on my birthday more often than not. That was exciting when I was in elementary school - it made me feel special - but by the time I was in middle school, it didn't seem all that cool anymore.

I don't think I've had a birthday party since I was maybe 12 years old. And that's more than alright with me.

Yesterday I turned 24. I had the day off work and to mark the day, I slept in, read my bible (I've started a new reading plan. I'll likely write about it later. It's basically awesome) cleaned the bathroom and took a nap.

Later in the evening, Jeff and I went out for dinner with Matt and Joanne then we went downtown to visit with some other friends. I got to talk to many of my favourite people (my grandfather, my best friends who don't live in Fredericton, Jeff's parents in Moncton) and because I have Tuesday off, too, I got to sleep in this morning.

It was low-key and quiet, relaxed and, for the most part, commitment free. It was exactly what I needed- especially since there are a lot of things I'd like to do in the year before I hit 25 - which brings me to the point of this post.

Around the second week of August, I started thinking about what sort of things I'd like to accomplish or do in the coming months. As a rule, I try to keep goal lists short - I find when the list gets too long, it's easy to get overwhelmed and give up.

To avoid that, I debated doing the whole 30 before 30 thing, but I know how that would work out - I'd fill the list with goals that would be challenge (although not impossible) to achieve...and then forget about it until I turn 29. I wanted to take the intention of the exercise - coming up with some goals that will require some work to achieve - and shrink it into a tighter timeline.

So this is...24 while 24. Hopefully this approach will mean some of these items end up crossed off before I reach a quarter century.

Travel somewhere new
and by new, I mean outside New Brunswick. Preferably outside Canada, although there are still some areas I have not been too that I wouldn't mind visiting.

Pay back debt
I took out some money to buy my car. I'd like to have a chunk of that paid back by Sept. 2, 2014.

Adopt another cat

Find a local church
This might be difficult, since I'm going back to working weekends as of this weekend...

Find a ministry to be involved in.
I have some ideas...

Rebuild my emergency fund
I don't care all that much about money. I really don't (otherwise I would have been losing my mind over the last few months as I watched my savings dwindle). But I would like to have a little money in case of an emergency.

Try a new physical activity.
I do a lot of different things - dance, cycling, yoga, etc. - but I've been in a pattern of doing the same things over and over again. Time to vary it up.

Do some serious decorating/design work at the apartment.

Buy a new camera
LONG overdue and one of the few material goals on this list.  I've had my current camera for almost four years and it's in pretty rough shape. We're at the point where the batteries won't stay in and the flash has a piece of tape over it...

Sponsor another child
Likely through Compassion and likely from Burkina Faso, like Ivette. But who knows, really?

Get another tattoo
I know what I want and where. Just need to find the money/time to do it.

Become a better blogger

Give really great gifts to people I love

Read one book every month

Develop a recipe binder
I've seen some really cool ideas for how to do this and I think it might encourage me to start meal planning again instead of just making it up all the time.

Volunteer.

Paint the desk in the living room.
Like the camera thing, this is LONG overdue. I've had that desk since...um, Grade 10? It's in pretty bad shape.

Give smart
This means doing research about causes I give my money to and making sure my "helping" isn't making things worse somewhere.

Have another photoshoot with Jeff
The first one was super fun! I generally HATE being in front of a camera but I like having some photos of the two of us.

Visit home at least once, at a time that isn't Christmas.

Build more core/upper body strength through yoga
I've started focusing on this in my practice lately, finally letting my ego go and admitting there are postures I have been doing wrong for years. I've been taking steps to correct this under the instruction of some really lovely teachers and I hope that with consistent practice, I'll build enough strength to take my practice even farther.

Become a morning person
Other than finding a way to actually go to a church when I work every Sunday, this might be the most challenging thing on this list. I LOVE sleep and I never get enough of it.

Be more intentional
Vague, but sometimes I feel like I'm just...going through the motions, you know? Doing things for the sake of doing things. I want to spend more time thinking about why and doing things that get me where I want to be. Wherever that is...

Which leads me to....

Seek guidance from God re: the future and what I'm going to do with my life. 

It's going to be a busy year, but I have high hopes it'll be a good one.

burn out/strong tower

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.  Proverbs 3:5-6 

If I could only use one word to describe the last couple weeks, it would be draining - physically, emotionally and spiritually.

I was stressed out, trying to cope with living among boxes while Jeff moved in, fighting with the landlord for a storage space and trying to get a huge amount of writing done for a work project. These things threw my routines into total chaos. Add the fact that no matter how much sleep I got, it never felt like enough, and it's safe to say I wasn't exactly "my best self."

I can't pinpoint when things went off the rails, but I'm not sure it matters anyway. What does matter is how I was feeling: unhinged, unglued and unstable.

Or, more simply, burnt out. Entirely. 

It all came to a head Friday. I was sitting at my desk, about an hour and a half after my shift "ended" struggling to finish what should have been a really easy assignment. But I couldn't focus - all I could think about were the things that have been stressing me out. My head was pounding and I tried hard to ignore it, to push through and produceproduceproduce, but I couldn't do it. Creatively, I was zapped.

So I emailed the files I needed to my home address, packed my bag and left. Went home, took some multi-vitamins and a B12 supplement and made supper. Then I grabbed my purse and went shopping.

Four hours later, I had a new dress and jacket, a fridge full of groceries and much clearer head. I sat down with my computer and finished the story I'd been struggling with earlier in the evening and completed a draft of the series I've been stressing about all week.  I went to bed late - probably around 2 a.m. - but woke up early to go to the gym. Jeff made me an awesome breakfast and on the way to my yoga class, we checked the laundry room and found out the storage unit we'd been waiting on for the last week and a half had finally been emptied.

The vacuum cleaner still isn't fixed (which means there is cat hair EVERYWHERE. Sorry, anyone who visits) but within hours, most of the things that had turned me into a total basket case over the last couple weeks had been resolved. To say I am feeling better would be a massive understatement.

But while I'm happy to be feeling calmer, I'm a little disappointed in the way I let all those stupid, small things take over my life.  Spending all my time stressing about those things meant taking away time from other, more important thing - Jeff, my friends, my mental and physical health and, tragically, God and his word.

Foolish, especially since spending time with Jesus, my bible and a cup of tea never fails to make me feel better.

the wind is strong and the water's deep, but I'm not alone here in these open seas

'cause your love never fails.

and he said My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest. Exodus 33:14

Hindsight is always 20/20, of course. Now that  I'm thinking a little clearer, I can look at everything that's been weighing down on me for the last couple weeks and see how crazy it was to lose my head over it all.

I can also see how important it is to not become so focused on the task of the day that I neglect the following things that are, in fact, essential to my sanity:

Exercise. Whether it's in the form of a cardio class like RPM or BodyJam or a yoga class, I always feel better after working out.

Writing. That means working on creative projects, blog posts or writing in my paper journal - things that aren't related to work. I was one of those people who went into journalism because I like to tell stories, because I like to write. There are some days when I come home from work and the last thing I want to think about is writing, but it's always been my release. It's my therapy.

Alone time. I love the people I have in my life - I couldn't ask for better - but it doesn't change the fact that I've become pretty introverted over the last couple years. I wasn't always like this - I think it's a response to the fact that I work in an industry where spending time with people (familiar and unfamiliar) is part of the job description - but I've really come to value my personal time. 

Starbucks. An extension to the last point - this is where I get most of my "alone time" in. It's probably telling that all the baristas at the Starbucks I frequent know my order...

Baths. With tea (hot or cold), a candle, a book and Star 99.1 on the radio app on my phone. 

Time with God. Real, quality time. Not just time spent so I can check another item off a checklist. 

With exception to the last item, it's not necessary to do all these things every day, but a combination of the above certainly makes a difference in terms of my emotional stability. Yet they're always the first things to be put aside when I'm stressed - including the last item. 

Today is Sept. 1. School will be starting over the next couple days and fall is on its way (which I couldn't be more excited about!). I'm feeling ready for a new season, too.

One of more love and less stress.

More prayer and less worry.

More trusting God and less trying to do it on my own. 

Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah. Psalm 32:7

legacy

but in the end, I'd like to hang my hat on more besides the temporary trappings of this world.

I want to leave a legacy - how will they remember me?

If I've learned one lesson over the last two years, it's this: growing up is hard.

I say this as someone who, in many ways, had a pretty seamless transition from university student into life as a "young professional." A lot of things came easy to me, like managing money, grocery shopping and caring for a life other than my own (albeit, a furry one). These things aren't always fun - I don't think I'll ever enjoy watching most of my pay disappear within minutes on bills - but I've always looked a them as part of being an adult. I came complain all I want, but it's not going to make the power bill go away. 

Career-wise, I'll be the first to admit I've been incredibly lucky. I started working for the newspaper about two weeks before graduation and after 16 months of interning, I was offered a full-time position. I often joke that I'll be the junior reporter for my entire time at the paper - I slid into my position just before the hiring freeze in my department and although many editorial positions have been vacated over the last year, that freeze has stayed in place. My company isn't the only one not hiring, either - to say it's challenging to get into the media industry in this province would be an understatement. That's something I'm keenly aware of.

My personal life isn't too bad, either. I have a lot of really amazing friends, a fantastic boyfriend and overall, I'd say I live a pretty comfortable life. 

Which is why I always feel a little foolish admitting I have a lot of anxiety about growing up.  I have so much I am grateful for but I've also been experiencing a tremendous amount of personal dissatisfaction. I struggled for a long time to figure out why - that didn't seem to make a lot of sense to me, taking everything above into consideration - but over the last couple months, I've figured it out.

For so long, my focus has been on the now - what I'm doing to advance my education, my career, my social status, etc. - that I haven't put any significant thought into what I want to leave behind. I've spent a long time working on myself and not nearly enough time serving others.

The problem became clear to me in the spring, when I was in Halifax for the Atlantic Journalism Awards. I was nominated alongside four of my colleagues at the paper so a whole crew of us made the trip to the city for the award banquet. We stayed in a hotel paid for by the company, got dressed up and had a fancy dinner. 

 The awards were on a Saturday night but we went up on Friday and made a weekend of it. Halifax is a great city, easily one of my favourites on the east coast, so it was a lot of fun. I did some shopping (oh boy, did I do some shopping), got to sleep in and generally had a chance to relax.

I also drove about a half-hour outside the city to go to an event at a church. Jason Gray was the musical guest and Shane Claiborne was the guest speaker. He talked about working with Mother Teresa in Calcutta, spending time in Iraq during the bombing in 2003 and the general idea of rejecting materialism and nationalism and living in loving, close community that looks out for one another based on the idea of loving God and loving others. 

I had meant to write about seeing him speak but truth be told, it took me a long time to process what he was saying. I read a few of his books afterward - I was halfway through The Irresistible Revolution when I saw him and I picked up Red Letter Revolution at the event. To say those books struck a chord with me would be an understatement. The messages made so much sense to me. 

They also made me think about my own life, the things I think are of value and, perhaps more significantly, the things that matter a lot less than I once thought.

Like material items.

Like a big balance in my bank account.

Like applause and accolades and plaques to hang on my wall.

That's not to say those things aren't nice - I'm certainly not complaining about being able to have nice things or a little financial security or being recognized for hard work. But in the grand scheme of things, they're not all that important - and they're certainly not what I want to be remembered for.

How do I want to be remembered?

I want to be remembered as someone who saw the things in my life as blessings - who trusted God to give me the things I needed and didn't fret too much for the things I didn't have.

I want to be remembered as someone who thought helping others was more important than hoarding my good fortune. 

I want to be remembered as someone who looked for ways to show kindness - to everyone.

I want to be remembered as someone who constantly chose love over hate, peace over war and speaking life and mercy and grace. I want to be remembered for walking my talk. 

And I don't want these traits and qualities to only be attached to my memory. I want to live them now. 

I didn't win the award for my category. In fact, despite having several nominations as a company, we only walked away with one gold at the award ceremony. But while winning would have been nice, losing was OK, too.

Because ultimately, all I want is the kind of legacy that will lead to hearing Jesus say the words "well done, my good and faithful servant" one day.

Earthly awards of silver and gold can't compare to recognition like that. 

well, I don't know about you but I'm sick and tired 

of life with no desire - I don't want a flame, I want a fire.

I wanna be the one who stands up and says 

"I'm gonna do something!"

wanted: community

I don't wanna ride on somebody else's passion

I don't wanna find that I'm just dry bones. 

Truth: I haven't gone to church in years.

Actually, that's not true. I've gone to services on Christmas eve in Moncton, been to a few special events like concerts and speakers and even covered a few different events which have brought me into a place of worship. 

One Easter, I spent the morning in a gymnasium, covering a Catholic service for a church that had burned to the ground in December.  During the local music festival, I went to recitals held in church halls and I've gone to the local synagogue every year since I started working at the newspaper to cover the Holocaust remembrance service. 

But I haven't attended a Sunday service since I stopped going home to Nova Scotia during the summer. 

If you know me from home, this might come as a surprise.

I started going to my home church when I was about eight or nine years old. It wasn't a family thing -  my brother and I started going to youth group with the kids next door and over time, several other kids in the neighbourhood started going, too. The pastor, his wife and a few others at the church would come to our place (no one in the neighbourhood had a car and the church was the next town over) and we'd all pile into the cars for the trip. And when I say pile, I mean pile - we likely broke some occupancy rules making those trips from Porter's Lane to Munroe Avenue. Eventually, the group had grown to such a size that it merited purchasing a 15-passenger van and driving home, there were so many stops to drop people off that it was like riding a transit bus. No one complained, though.

I met Jesus through youth group. I'm not sure exactly when I decided to start going to Sunday services, but it didn't take long for the church to become a big part of my life. I went to teen group, started teaching Sunday school, sang in the choir and became a regular volunteer at vacation bible school. It got to a point where if I wasn't at school, at work or out with friends, there was a pretty good chance I was at church. My church community was really important to me - it still is, even though I don't get home all that often.

For a lot of the friends I've made in Fredericton, this is surprising for a different reason. The first time I talked about teaching Sunday school or singing in church choir, the response was to the effect of "wow, I never would have guessed you were into that." Sad as that is, though, it's not surprising given  the season I ventured into when I went off to university.

Not to mention even if I wanted to go to church, it would have been a challenge - I worked every Sunday, first at the grocery store and later at the campus paper. Between work and travel time, Sunday services haven't fit my schedule in years.

For the body is not one member, but many.

1 Corinthians 12:14

  

Why write about this now? Why does this matter? Because for the last few months, I've been feeling a little stalled and the more I think about it, the more sure I am it's the result of a lack of community.

Since last spring, I've done a lot on my own to encourage spiritual growth. I didn't just start reading my bible - I started studying it. I started taking prayer seriously and actually thinking about what being a follower of Christ should look like.

And it's been great. My commitment to Jesus and his Kingdom is stronger now than it's ever been. But there's only so much you can do on your own.

I just finished reading Shane Claiborne and Tony Campolo's Red Letter Revolution. I've had the book since May, when Jeff and I saw Shane speak at a church in Bedford while we were in Halifax for the Atlantic Journalism Awards, but my to-read pile has been pretty big so it took a while to get to it.

One of the things Shane talks about - when he speaks and in his writing - is the importance of community, which includes the church. The third chapter of the book with Tony addresses the church and essentially says while it's more important to be a follower of Jesus, the church is still a valuable institution despite it's flaws. Although the two men point out the fact that many young people attracted to Red Letter Christianity see this as a reason to turn to "religionless Christianity," they argue it's more beneficial to work toward creating the church we want than complaining about the one we have.

"God is restoring all things. Institutions like the church are broken just like people, and they are being healed and redeemed. So I think of the church kind of like a dysfunctional parent. It's been famously said, "The church is a whore, but she's my mother."

The church needs discontentment. It is a gift to the kingdom, but we have to use our discontentment to engage rather than to disengage. We need to be part of repairing what is broken rather than jumping ship. One of the pastors in my neighbourhood said 'I like to think about the church like Noah's Ark. That old boat must have stunk bad inside. But if you try to get out, you'll drown.'"

Red Letter Revolution, Dialogue on the Church, pg. 22

I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to address my situation yet. The nature of my job means planning is a little more complicated and I haven't spent enough time looking at what my area has to offer yet.

But while I haven't worked through the fine details or logistics yet, I do know what I want. I'm not just looking for a congregation where people come together on Sunday morning, spend a few hours together and go their separate ways until next week. I want people who take what Jesus had to say seriously and who speak life and look for ways to bring their faith to life in a way that shows Jesus to others.

What I don't want is lukewarm fellowship with lukewarm people. I want a place where people are passionate about loving Jesus, loving others and loving well. 

compassion for a "waste of time"

Finally, be ye all of one mind, having compassion one of another, love as brethern, be pitiful, be courteous: not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing: but contrariwise blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should inherit a blessing.

1 Peter 3: 8-9

To the paramedic who responded the 9-1-1 call at Sobeys Prospect Street 

just before 10 p.m. this evening, 

Let me start by saying this: I get where you were coming from.

Your assessment of the situation was technically accurate: despite his claims, the subject of the call, a gentleman well-known in the community for his affinity to mouthwash, wasn't having a seizure.

The fire department didn't need to respond with lights-and-sirens and it was fair to deem the situation a non-emergency. In the sense of the word that requires that kind of response, it certainly was not.

What wasn't fair was the way you expressed that to all of us who were waiting with the man on the sidewalk outside the store when you arrived.

When you got out of the ambulance and made your way toward us, you smirked as you greeted him and made it known to all of us standing there that that was the fifth time a 9-1-1 call had been made for him today.

You looked at us - the young couple who had made the call and the older gentleman who crouched down next to him, trying to keep him calm while we waited - and told us not to worry, that it wasn't an emergency ("It's not a seizure if he says he's having a seizure," you said) and that dealing with situations like that is a "waste of time" for paramedics in Fredericton.

Then, you looked down on him and told him to get up - you'd take him to the hospital, but you weren't going to treat it like an emergency.

The fire truck drove by and minutes later, you were gone, too.

I tried not to think too much about the situation, but as I made my way to the front of the store with my carton of eggs and bag of sliced almonds, I couldn't help but feel utterly unimpressed - and even a little bit angry - with the way you responded to the situation.

Like I said, I get where you're coming from - hospitals are crowded enough as is and the last thing we need is people there who don't need to be there - but what an incredible lack of professionalism to announce to a group of people in a very public place that a situation is "a waste of time." Maybe there's a time and a place for a candid assessment like that (although I'm not really convinced there is) but standing in front of a grocery store with people who took note of someone suffering and tried to help isn't it.

But a lack of professionalism wasn't the biggest issue to me: that honour goes to the total lack of compassion you displayed. Was the situation a medical emergency? No. But to say responding to call was a "waste of time" when it couldn't have been more clear the gentleman is dealing with several serious issues (most evident being addiction and homelessness, two incredibly complex problems which have become hot topics in our city in recent months) was such an uncaring response.

You are a public figure, someone people trust with their lives when they're in need. I understand where the thought came form but I couldn't be more disappointed with the way it was expressed. To put it simply, you had an opportunity act in love tonight and you blew it.

But not all is lost in this situation.

To the young couple and the gentleman who stayed until the ambulance arrived,

Thank you for the grace you showed - for making the call, for staying by his side until the ambulance arrived and for not indicating in any way that you agreed with the assessment of the paramedic.

Most of all, thank you for not deciding to care about another was not a "waste of time."

sober (dear Tiffany)

Ah, sun is blinding. I stayed up again.

But oh, I am finding: that's not the way I want my story to end.

Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do it all to the glory of God.

1 Corinthians 10:31

It's been more than six months since I've had a drink.

I should back up a bit, because writing it out like that makes it seem like six months ago I was a raging alcoholic. That's not true.

By that point, I don't even think I'd call myself a social drinker. I'd have a fancy drink at a restaurant or a glass of wine at a special event. At parties, I'd up my limit a bit, but stick mostly to wine and drink only enough to get a little buzzed. And that was fine for me - actually, I would argue compared to the alternative, it was good for me. I was still able to have fun with my friends, enjoy the night and feel good the next day. It felt like a positive shift.

I didn't drink at all in high school nor was I interested, something I'm sure has a lot to do with the way I grew up. I saw the way alcohol robbed my father of everything he had - he spent all his money on beer, became totally dependent on it to function and ultimately, lost his  family as a result. As a teenager, I knew I didn't want that.

I maintained that lack of interest in drinking during my first year of university. I was living away from home for the first time and even though a lot of the people around me in residence drank, I had other things on the go (school, work, the campus paper).  I saw the effects of alcohol on my friends. Some people handled it well, sure, but the overwhelming majority didn't. If that wasn't enough, I wasn't old enough to buy my own booze and I was living in a city with two big universities and several smaller colleges. My experience working in the smoke shop taught me anyone who looks under the age of 25 should be ready to present identification. I could have easily found someone to buy for me, but I decided then that if I was going to drink, I was going to wait until I could buy for myself.

Which is what I did. The first few times weren't anything special. I quickly learned I didn't like beer but I didn't struggle when it came to mixing drinks. I learned what I liked (rum and gin, mostly) and what I couldn't tolerate (vodka. Oh, the awful, awful nights I had with vodka). I wouldn't say I fell into a party scene, but during my last three years of school, I drank on the weekend and went out to bars and parties. I never experienced a "hang over", at least not in the traditional sense. I can count on one hand the number of times I've thrown up due to drinking and I never woke up with a headache or anything like that. Just a little dehydrated and lethargic.

Haley: I don't think I'll ever feel better. Does this happen every time you drink?

Claire: (pause) Yes. Yes it does. 

(Modern Family,Season 1, Episode 23 - Hawaii)

But while my body seemed to handle alcohol well, my emotions didn't. I wasn't a depressed drinker, but alcohol made me crave affection.  When we went out, I'd dress for the occasion and revel in the attention I'd receive from guys. Even buzzed, the attention made me feel powerful and that's how I rationalized the really foolish decisions I found myself making when it came to guys. In my mind, I was the one controlling the situation. Without sharing too much information or delving too far into very personal territory, I can say it took several instances of heartbreak, of feeling dirty and cheap, used and let down to realize that wasn't true, it was never true and that using your body as a tool for control doesn't make you powerful - it turns you into an object, easy to break and throw away.

That's a whole other topic of discussion, though. This is a post about alcohol.

Luckily, that phase of my life didn't last very long. After a few awful 'relationships' - I use the term loosely -  I met the guy who would become my boyfriend while working at a grocery store, starting out as friends, dating for about a month then becoming a couple in winter 2011. Right away, I knew the relationship was different than the ones I had in the past - he was (and is) thoughtful, kind, sweet and actually interested in my goals, dreams and passions. We're not a perfect couple and we don't always agree on everything, but we support one another, something I think has gone a long way to keeping our relationship strong almost two and a half years later.

This was shortly after we started dating. I've been told I look angry in this picture, but I don't see it. Truthfully, I just wasn't paying attention when it was taken. 

Becoming part of a couple brought an end to the attention-seeking, affection-craving behaviour that came with a night on the town. I gained a new group of friends and while we still partied, it was different. It was fun again, not just another empty effort to fill some kind of void. During this time period, I finished university, started working a full-time job in my field and even though that transition into adulthood meant I was a little less interested in the bars and parties, I still had a few drinks at get togethers and, once in a while, let myself go completely, justifying it by saying I didn't do it often so it was OK.

But I also started taking "breaks" from drinking - the first, a month long stretch one July and another in the winter before going back to just a couple glasses of wine once in a while. It wasn't until Oct. 25, 2012 that I started to seriously question whether or not alcohol was something I wanted to be part of my life or not.

At that point, I had spent about six months reviving my faith, for lack of a better way to put it. After a couple wayward years, that incident with the homeless man under the tree sparked something in that sent me on a passionate pursuit of a deeper relationship with a God I'd been doing a pretty good job of ignoring. Throughout the process, I had really mixed feelings on drinking but I justified the odd glass of wine here and there saying I wasn't doing it to get drunk and there were many instances in the bible where wine was consumed, so it must be alright.

It wasn't something I wrestled with or thought too much about until Oct. 25, when I received a Facebook message from Trudy, a woman I used to babysit for, looking for information about St. Thomas University, the school I graduated from and the school her daughter was planning to attend in the fall.

The idea of Tiffany attending school in the same city I'm living in made me stop and think, for the first time in years, about the way I was living. I had a few regular babysitting clients, but without question, most of my time was spent at her house. It baffled me that the seven year old I used to hang out with on snow days was actually old enough to be going to university, but thanks to the marvel that is Facebook, I'm 100 per cent certain she's not a little girl anymore. She's all grown up now.

And the next stage of her journey is bringing her here, to Fredericton, where she'll get to study at my alma mater. Fredericton is a small city, so the chances of seeing one another - planned and unplanned - are high. And even though she's not a little girl anymore, as I read that message, I realized the root of my conflicted feelings on things like drinking stemmed from something very simple - a concern about what I was teaching others through my actions.

Young girls (and guys) today are exposed to so much questionable behaviour. Drinking and drug use has become a rite of passage and clothes keep getting smaller and smaller. All this behaviour is glorified, championed by celebrities and television and movies, and everything is so connected now thanks to cell phones that act more like small computers. We're sad when teenagers are killed in accidents, but we're rarely surprised if a line like "alcohol was believed to be a factor" is included in the newspaper write up. Teens walk around the mall wearing skin tight leggings as pants paired with shirts that don't leave anything to the imagination. And all of this is normal.

But just because it's normal doesn't mean it's good or even OK. And even though I fell for it, albeit not as hard as many others, it's important for me that I use that experience to get that across.

That means not wearing the too-short skirt or the bikini that leaves nothing to the imagination.

That means not spending every weekend of my life glued to a barstool or dirty dancing in a bar.

That means taking care of myself - eating well, working out and spending one-on-one time with God.

And yeah, for me? That means not drinking or doing drugs.

there is hope for me yet because God won't forget 

all the plans he's made for me, I'll have to wait and see.

He's not finished with me yet. 

Now, as a disclaimer, I should put it out there that I don't think I'm an authority on the moral high ground of alcohol use. That's a personal thing and I'm not really in a position to judge. But for me, it just doesn't line up with the things that are important to me. It doesn't serve me physically, it doesn't benefit me emotionally and I don't feel like it does anything to help my testimony.

(On a biblical level, there's likely an argument to be made from things like the fact that people drank wine in the bible (a less potent version than what we have today), that Jesus's first miracle was turning water into wine to keep the party going, that wine is still used in communion, etc. However, for me, I look at verses like Proverbs 20:1 (Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise) and Romans 14:21(It is good neither to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor any thing whereby thy brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak) for guidance on this.)

Being the only non-drinker in a crowd wasn't easy at first. I got a lot of questions in the beginning and there are some people who I know still don't exactly get it. It doesn't stop me from living my life, from having fun and now that I have a car, I don't really mind being the designated driver.

I don't feel like I'm missing out. I'm a little different, a little bit outside "normal" but that doesn't bother me.

I don't miss it at all. I feel good - physically, emotionally and spiritually - sober.

Tiffany,

In a couple months you're going to be making your way to university. Even though it's a city I know you're familiar with (you have family here), you're going to be on your own for the first time and that can be a challenge for even the strongest people. There will be pressures to fit in and follow the crowd.

I want you to know it's OK to not be "normal."

I want you to know it's OK to question what you see happening around you and it's OK to reject the things that leave your moral compass feeling scrambled.

I want you to know that if you do find yourself falling for the lies so many young women believe, you don't have to let them weigh you down. They don't define you, in the eyes of God or those who care about you most.

More than anything, I want you to know you are beautiful and so very loved. You're going to do amazing things and I can't wait to watch you shine.

From the inside out it shows

you're worth more than gold 

thankful

Two are better than one ; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up. Again, if two lie together, then they have heart: but how can one be warm alone?

Ecclesiastes 4:9-11

I need to take a moment to say thank you to everyone for their kind words  about the last post.
The feedback, in comments, in private messages and in face-to-face conversations, has been beyond anything I was expected when I sat down to write it. I appreciate each of you for taking the time to read what's been on my heart and I'm hopeful sharing a difficult piece of my testimony will help someone else someday.

I could not ask for better people to have in my life. God has blessed me and I'm so thankful for that.

when I thought hope had ended, I always find a little bit more. 

It's not like I'm trying to be optimistic - if the truth be told, I'd rather dismiss it

and be free of the burden of living that hoping requires.

To bring my heart to every day

and run the risk of fearlessly loving without running away. 

forgiveness

My parents and I on their wedding day. 

This is one of the only photos I have of the three of us together 

I can't remember the specific details - the date, time or even the season - of when I left home for good, but the feelings surrounding that period of my life have stayed remarkably clear over the years.

I would have been about 13 or 14 years old. I remember this because I walked to school during the last half of my Grade 8 year instead of taking the bus, which I would have had to do if I was still living with my father on the other side of town.

It was my second time staying with my grandparents over a two year period, the first stay setting a series of events into motion that never slowed despite assurances and promises things would be better. Even at a young age, I could look at everything that happened and know things weren't going to be as easy to fix as the lawyers, social workers and counsellors thought. Family issues rarely are.

The night of the first incident, I was on the phone. I can't remember who I was talking to or what prompted the altercation, but what I can recall is how drunk my father was.

He had started drinking much earlier in the evening, an entire 24-case of empty, amber bottles lined up along the side of the stove. Our phone hung from the wall next to the fridge with a chair moved underneath it to sit after the cord started to crackle from being stretched around the corner and into the living room.

The cord stretched a different way that night when he came at me, angry and tried to wrap it around my neck. I remember dropping the phone and running to my room, shutting the door only to have him push it in before I could lock it. That was the night he told me to leave, since obviously I didn't like the way he was choosing to run the house.

So I did.

Even though my mother hadn't been in the picture for several years, my brother and I remained close to her parents, our maternal grandparents and they were the first people I called. I remember walking down the end of my street to meet them after my father passed out. There were red marks on my neck and the police were called. I knew that night that going forward, things were going to be different.

Everything had changed. During the two years it took for my grandparents to be named my guardians, there were court dates, visits to counsellors and a period of time where I was sent back to live with my father because the courts said I was too young to make a decision about where I wanted to live. My father said he wanted to get his life together, to get his addictions under control and even though I didn't believe it, I went along with it. I knew it was only a matter of time - I'd either turn 16 and be able to leave on my own or he'd slip up. The latter seemed just as likely as the former since I knew he didn't really intend to change his ways, so I waited.

Within less than a year, I was back at my grandparents house. Barely a teenager, I learned how to be disappointed and how to be let down by someone who was supposed to love me unconditionally. And while I didn't think the situation had a big effect on me as a teen, looking back as an adult, I can see the way my relationship with my father coloured the way I looked at other relationships during my teens and early 20s. Even after severing ties with my father, our relationship gave me a really twisted idea of what love should look like and for a long time, I looked for it in all the wrong places.

I will not break the way you did, you fell so far/ I've learned the hard way to never let it get that far

I spoke with my father at Christmas during my first year of university. He called my grandfather's house, wanting to talk to me. Drunk, as usual, he spent most of our time on the phone talking about how miserable he was and how drinking was making him unhappy. I felt like a broken record, answering back with "if it's not making you happy, then stop." Each time he'd say he didn't need to stop because he didn't have a problem. I wasn't even 20 years old and he was expecting me to be the adult in our relationship. I eventually gave up. That was the last time I talked to him.

I used to get a lot of questions about my family and for those who didn't know me growing up, the answers usually surprise them. Considering what I've been given to work with - a mother who was absent for most of my life, an alcoholic father and a brother who's constantly in trouble with the law -the direction my life went doesn't seem to make a lot of sense.

Instead of staying in the town I grew up in, I left as soon as I was able to and have only returned for brief stays - Christmas breaks, summer vacations. Instead of dropping out of school in Grade 9, I worked hard at my schooling, got a scholarship and completed a university degree. Instead of drawing welfare or expecting someone else to take care of me, my professional career began two weeks before I graduated. Instead of going nowhere, I decided I would do something with my life. I wouldn't be like my parents.

Because here's the thing: while I would often come off indifferent when people asked me about my parents, I was actually holding on to a lot of hurt and hatred.

To my mother, both for leaving when I was younger and reappearing in my teens. It felt like she'd brushed off the responsibility of actually raising me, coming back when the heavy lifting was done and expecting things to be fine when there was no way they could ever be.

To my brother, for the way he let what we went through destroy him when he could have done so much with his life and to all those working in child protective services who did nothing to help him because let's face it: unless you go through these kinds of things, you have no idea how to handle them. The type of problems kids like us deal with can't be learned from a textbook.

Most of all, to my father for all the ways he let me down. For the way he chose alcohol over my brother and I time and time again. For every time he spent all day in bed, sleeping off a hangover. For the way he treated the women in his life. For every time there wasn't enough food in the house because he drank every cheque that came in. My experience with my father had me convinced the only thing I could ever really count on was myself.

But the trouble with holding onto those feelings is they don't serve you. While I was busy hating my parents, my family and everything about where I came from, my growth was stalled. And in that stalled place, I made some pretty bad decisions. It wasn't until I let those feelings go - for real, not just for show - that things started changing.

For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.

Matthew 6:14-15

Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.

Colossians 3:13 

I didn't stop hating my immediate family overnight. It was a process that happened in stages - dishonesty with regard to my real feelings, actual indifference, sadness, pity then - finally - forgiveness and yes, love. Love, even though my relationships with my mother, brother and father are likely to stay exactly where they are, at least for now. I have more growing to do and I'm not sure I can do that inside their circle of influence.

But I can keep wanting the best for them. I can keep praying. And I can keep looking to God for strength and wisdom so one day I'll be able to pick up my tools and start repairing the bridges that we've burned.

so let it go and be amazed by what you see through eyes of grace

the prisoner that it really frees is you.