Can't Sleep, Thoughts Will Eat Me

I had a late-night conversation with a friend recently about relationships, but the conversation itself was over Facebook chat, so I suppose it wasn’t as profound as it could have been.  It started with my ribbing her over an upcoming blind date, and ended when she had to go to bed.  Before leaving, she quick asked me my “top five” things I would want in a potential mate (freakin A, one of THOSE posts).  It’s hard to choose, but writing them down, I realized how much I’ve grown in the past year.  I had to quick consult the list, yes there’s an actual list, and realizing I hadn’t updated it in 12 months I edited a few things before sharing them with her.

A year ago almost this week, I broke up with someone I had been dating for a few months.  At the time, it felt as though I had given up on my only chance at a family someday, but I knew ultimately I would rather be single than be in a dysfunctional marriage.  This relationship was beyond hope.  About a week later, I became sick. Very sick.  Almost to the point of needing a transfusion, and it happened month. after month.  Several excruciating and inconclusive tests later, the anomaly was gone.  100%  and without explanation.  I know the prayers of my friends and family were what did it, Christ healed me and I don’t know why.  I was relieved, but ungrateful. In the aftermath I was left with feeling like I had been emotionally abused by God.  Like the hope of a family and a happy future had been dangled in front of my eyes and then taken from me on all fronts and then surprise! given back?  Months later, the rage at God is abated, and new fears have taken root to actually drive me closer to him.  Funny how that works, I won’t deny my fickle depression.  In all of this, I’ve learned how much I’ve made an idol out of wanting a family someday, and how more consciously than I’d like I’d started hoping my future husband (I HATE that phrase) would fill the gaps of love in my experiences, and show me what love can really be like.  That's not a fair or healthy expectation to place on him.  But then, you know, sometimes it’s hard to conceive of a God who is truly loving to you personally when you’re too weak to sit up on a couch.

I won’t bother you with my list, but I think the one thing I do want most out of a man is fortitude.  I have a mousy demeanor, but I’m the mouse that roared.  This past year’s struggle was the first time in almost 10 years I had truly fallen to pieces, but somewhere along the paths of my life God has given me the strength and wisdom to see how the pieces fit back together, and why they broke in the first place.  I struggle with depression, and I want someone strong enough to weather that, because I could be strong enough to weather his.  I need someone who is secure enough in himself to not be threatened when I pick up the power drill and do the damn job myself, or perhaps I want someone who’ll see the need and pick up the drill before I have a chance to. 

After my experiences, I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that I am not “owed” any sort of relationship at all.  I must reconcile the bouts of profound loneliness with the fact that God is everything I need, albeit I am too finite and flawed to ever truly perceive or fully realize that until his return.   I need to learn to accept that with grace, which means not consigning myself to some sort of emotional spinster-martyrdom.  Far easier said than done; I know I’m not the first Christian girl to blog about “If Jesus is the only one I need, then why…”  I haven’t accepted it yet, and probably never will if I’m honest.  It’s hard to have grown up in an age where marriage was a given, only to come of age (and beyond) in a world where it’s not.  The waiting game sucks.  My life is happening now.

More late-night rambling.

What a year I've had. What a year, indeed. Forgive me for not having posted nearly as often as I was planning; sometimes the words are hard to pull out. In mid-February, one of my classmates, Christina, passed away suddenly. I've experienced loss of someone in my life so young before, but never so physically near that there was a visible hole left behind. She was in my section at school, and our schedule was structured so that all our classes were with the same people. Your section becomes like a family, and our family had an empty seat in each room, each day. I knew her, but not well. I was looking forward to getting to know her that semester, and was purposefully trying to earn her trust so she would talk to me more. :) She was a strong young woman with a strong wall up, but every now and then in class I would be given glimpses of the beautiful, tender heart behind that wall. Sometimes I still see her face on the street, and for a moment I forget.

Christina's passing helped me to realize just how much I have a heart for the students at my school. I am lucky in that, because now that I've graduated, I have been given the position as a staff member down in the costume shop. I earnestly desire to see these kids grow into mature adulthood, and I am glad that I get to be a part, however small, of their journey. I am trying to purposefully be more open--less introverted. I want people to feel like they can come talk to me, because they can. Always.

Just a few weeks ago, I got back from Kenya. Our church took a team of 19 people to run a free summer camp for orphaned/vulnerable children living in a slum outside Nairobi. None of the poverty shocked me too bad, as our team had prepared me adequatly for what to expect, and God had certainly been working on my heart in that. My heart was free from dealing with that pain so that I could be there to love on the kids, and not feel overwhelmed by their circumstances. Praise Him for that. I don't have any major stories of life-changing awesomeness as many may expect, rather just a simple understanding of obedience. Two years ago, the 2009 team gave their presentation in front of the church, the Holy Spirit said "you're going on that trip," and I took that as a given. I felt this year was the appointed time, and I went. The second week of camp, I felt very strongly from God that I was supposed to share my testimony, so I did. I have no idea of the impact any of my words or actions had in those two weeks, and I may never know. I'm ok with that, because I know that I know that I know that I was there because I was supposed to be there, and I trust God to even use my flubs.

Since I've been back, I've felt different. I even look different, I'm told. Color in my face, more confidence. I have no specific idea as to what that stems from, but I do feel that during the trip I turned a corner in my learning to trust God and hand things over to him (relinquishing control is always the huge impossible goal). That, and the fact that I have officially beat cancer has finally hit home. I think I'm finally overcoming the shock, or maybe I just need therapy. I sometimes kind of want to grab people and shake them and say in tears "I had f*&%ing cancer! But its GONE!" But Hollywood has enough crazy already, thankyouverymuch. This summer I was sick for a month while I was preparing for the test that would determine if the cancer had come back, and in the midst of that, the doctor realized that the test didn't even need to be performed, I was so in the clear. I woulda been radioactive for 3 days if they went through with it; instead, I only lost about half of my hair. Only my hairdresser and I can tell, though. To everyone else, my hair just looks dry, destroyed and thin. I had a lot of anxiety before that test, partly because of the scary what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-me symptoms from the prep (off my thyroid medicine). Once I was in the clear, I had too much Kenya to think about. Now that I'm home, I'm wavering on this weird emotional tight-rope. I maintain my balance when I remember how God has been taking care of me, and how I have nothing apart from him (which is a hard fact to swallow for me). Home, job, food, clothes, cancer-free body, amazing church community, the list goes on. God is an incredible provider to me. But then I start to lose my balance when I worry about the future: moving soon (will I get the apt?), needing more work (but my car was stolen in Feb and my bike in Aug), student loans due soon (when is that money gonna go thru?), and the list goes on in this direction, too. Church was incredible today. It's a series about maturity, and to be honest, I'm thinking that I'm in an ok place. Sometimes I think my level of trust with God is borderline delusion, but then he always, always meets me. Obviously I need to grow, because I still struggle with so much anxiety that could easily be erased if I just let go. But to hear that some of what I'm experiencing might be considered "maturity," is a self-confidence boost that, quite frankly, I need (me and self-confidence? we're not friends). When I lack self-confidence, I lack the ability to share my experiences and understandings, which means that people miss out on my unique contributions as a human being created in the image of God. I love hearing what others have to say, and what they believe, why should I prevent them from hearing what I have to say? Because I feel that most of what I have to say, most of the way I see and love and experience God, is silly or wrong. Why is speaking up in homegroup so hard for me? Shouldn't be, but is.

Going back to anxiety, this evening I was working on a sewing project, listening to Brave Saint Saturn's album "The Light of Things Hoped For," one of my favorites in college. The last song on the album, "Daylight," came on and I couldn't continue sewing. I felt this weird emotion rising in me, like I wanted to cry--sob, even--but I ended up crying and also laughing (some sobbing, too). I completely lost it at the lyric "a heart of flesh you gave me...," because only just this year have I felt my heart not made of stone anymore. Lately I've been so emtionally on this tight-rope, that its been hard for me to sit down and spend some quiet time with Jesus, because I am so afraid of what seems like everything in my life, and I'm afraid I'll just cry (and why do I think Jesus wouldn't like that?). This song let me do that finally, but what came out instead was this mix of fear of the future (in the face of all the abundant assurance from Christ I am too weak to embrace), joy to see how far I've come (this song used to be a beacon of hope for me), and just plain bewilderment that after all these years, he still cares for me and is only beginning to reveal his love to me. I thought I was so afraid, but I don't think I'm nearly as fearful as I think.

I found this video on youtube to share, and despite the cheesy montage, I cried again. Soo good. Also... from this post, it seems like I cry a lot. I do now, and I'm proud of that fact. I am proud of the fact that I no longer feel like I can't cry, or that I'm incapable of it. It used to be hard for me to get to the point of tears, simply because there was such a strong wall up in front of my own heart. I think it's finally coming down.

"Daylight," Brave Saint Saturn

On Sunday, our pastor read this passage from a Puritan book of devotion called “The Valley of Vision.” I’ve never read any Puritan writing before; despite the bad wrap they’ve gotten in popular culture, everyone I know who’s into theology and has read them seems to like them. I may have to start. This piece struck me for its almost John Donne-ish passion and ecstasy, something I certainly hadn’t associated with that movement.
* * * * * * *

O Father of Jesus,
Help me to approach thee with deepest reverence, not with presumption,
not with servile fear, but with holy boldness.
Thou art beyond the grasp of my understanding,
but not beyond that of my love,
Thou knowest that I love thee supremely,
for thou art supremely adorable, good, perfect.

My heart melts at the love of Jesus,
my brother, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh,
married to me, dead for me, risen for me;
He is mine and I am his,
given to me as well as for me;
I am never so much mine as when I am his,
or so much lost to myself until lost in him;
then I find my true manhood.

But my love is frost and cold, ice and snow;
Let his love warm me,
lighten my burden,
be my heaven;
May it be more revealed to me in all its influences
that my love to him may be more fervent and glowing;
Let the mighty tide of his everlasting love
cover the rocks of my sin and care;
Then let my spirit float above those things
which had else wrecked my life.

Make me fruitful by living to that love,
my character becoming more beautiful every day.
If traces of Christ's love-artistry be upon me,
may he work on with his divine brush
until the complete image be obtained
and I be made a perfect copy of him, my master.

O Lord Jesus, come to me,
O Divine Spirit, rest upon me,
O Holy Father, look on me in mercy for the sake of the well-beloved.

* * * * * * *

I particularly love the phrase “I am never so much mine as when I am his… but my love is frost and cold, ice and snow, let his love warm me…”
Getting lost in my relationship with Jesus this past year or so has helped me immensely to find myself. Where pain and sorrow have sought to carve away at my heart, I’ve found Jesus filling in the canyons, making level the paths in my life. I feel like I see him much more clearly than I ever have, and I am thrilled to know that my whole life is ahead of me on this route. As an actor, connecting to my partner is still a challenge for me, as it probably will be in life. But bit by bit, I am witnessing my own guard begin to be let down, and realizing that I’m not afraid. Reflecting on relationships, I realize my passion for the marriage commitment: I want to know how Christ loves me unconditionally. Brokenness in my life has kept me from fully grasping that, and I want to see it in a way that I can better understand. I am an overcomer. “My heart melts at the love of Jesus.”

On Failing... Again...

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
Inever had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through;
I want God, you, all my friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, reassurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin;
I talk of love--a scholar's parrot may talk Greek--
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.
~CS Lewis

Lately I’ve been continuously reminded of my own sinfulness. And there is a lot of it. These past few weeks for me have been overloaded with stress—spiritual, physical, mental. I broke once; scared all my teachers and half my classmates. I often allow myself to get overwhelmed, and I’ve been realizing more and more lately why that is. I just don’t trust God enough. Still. Of course that sounds a little trite, but here’s what I mean; I keep trying to do things on my own strength. I’ve been reading Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz, and chapter by chapter, I am consistently awed by his frank honesty and willingness to admit things I will rarely, if ever, own up to. I’ve been needing a good hit in the head from a “spiritual 2x4” lately (that’s what we called it in youth group growing up), and I just got a few good ones. My heart has been so raw lately with all the stress from school and some potentially scary test results from my doctor (everything’s fine, btw), I see God is using all that inner turmoil to churn up my heart like tilled soil. I hope. All these scars and ugly blemishes on my life that I’ve allowed to fester unchecked… I hope to be rid of them. Watch me try to do it on my own once again. Watch me as I cry out to God briefly, and then turn to my own strength to try and heal myself. I wonder why I love so much to give to others and do things for others, but I never allow them to serve me. “You want me to help you with that?” “No thanks,” I say, obviously struggling, “I got it.” Not that I don’t want the person to help me, I just don’t want them to inconvenience their own life for me. I don’t want them to waste their energy. I do that with God. A lot. I know my problems aren’t as big as some people’s, I know the things I complain about often prove my gold shoes are too tight. But God still longs to help me carry my burdens, to teach me to give them up to him because he is way stronger than me. But still I insist on carrying them myself, because I feel like he ought to have bigger fish to fry. Like I'm not worth the trouble. When I try to do everything myself, I miss out on letting go of the struggle. When my heart struggles, I get stressed, and I don’t allow the peace of the Holy Spirit to calm my heart. I want my heart calm, so that I can reach out to others and allow that calm and love to flow into their lives. On my own strength, I feel a dam blocking anything flowing out of me. I feel my heart closed off to others, and I get snappy and selfish. In my busy-ness and stress, I let go of relationships and hurt people. I wallow in my own brokenness, walking around in my own open shackles like a fool. I learn of new mistakes, and I beat myself up for them, but I don’t turn to him and his grace. I won’t allow myself to accept it. Accepting it means I’ve failed, and I hate admitting failure. Just ask my teachers. They’ve been trying to cure me of my perfectionism from day 1. I seem to have poisoned myself thoroughly with the American notion of hard work and self-reliance. If I could just pull myself up by my bootstraps, I’d be ok. Such a lie. To borrow a concept from another writer whose name escapes me: without Christ, I would have neither boots, nor straps on which to pull. I wish I could write some sort of resolution at the end of this, but I have nothing. I have only myself, looking to what lies ahead, hoping that I will finally allow Christ to truly be center of my life. I want to stop doing this myself, because it is obvious that I can’t.

One Year in LA

O all wide places, far from feverous towns!
Great shining seas! pine forests! mountains wild!
Rock-bosomed shores! rough heaths! and sheep-cropt downs!
Vast pallid clouds! blue spaces undefiled!
Room! give me room! give loneliness and air!
Free things and plenteous in your regions fair.

O God of mountains, stars, and boundless spaces!
O God of freedom and of joyous hearts!
When thy face looketh forth from all men's faces,
There will be room enough in crowded marts;
Brood thou around me, and the noise is o'er;
Thy universe my closet with shut door.

Heart, heart, awake! the love that loveth all
Maketh a deeper calm than Horeb's cave.
God in thee, can his children's folly gall?
Love may be hurt, but shall not love be brave?--
Thy holy silence sinks in dews of balm;
Thou art my solitude, my mountain-calm.

~George MacDonald, from Longing

I came upon this poem shortlybefore moving out here, and it spoke to me through my fears of moving to an urban area. Fears I am still working to overcome, but who isn't a work in progress? I've been here in LA for exactly a year now. Aug 29, 2009 was my first full day in Los Angeles; and also the day I found my home church, Ecclesia, after 10 years of searching for one. I cannot fully express how good God has been to me this past year, although I've been trying to in previous posts. :)

Late Night Thots

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I do not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

~Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVII

i dunno why, but this poem came to mind recently. i haven't read it since college; i always found it so beautiful, but never understood it. it used to call to mind st. john of the cross, and his work "the dark night of the soul." today, i think i understand it, because i think i've come to a place with Christ where i'm beginning to learn what love is. and that final stanza sticks out to me, because that is essentially my prayer as an actor.

[this was hard for me to post.]

Of Bike Baskets and McDonald Park

Have you ever had an experience where you’re not sure if you should laugh or cry? The crying would be joyful, of course, because there’s so much emotion welling up inside of you, that it has to spill out somewhere: might as well be tears. Then you realize that the choice itself is funny, and you start laughing like a maniac; everything that caused this is just so wonderful and beautiful that you can’t help but find it funny. You sit there laughing, and then you laugh because you’re laughing, and then you laugh because you’re afraid someone might see you, but who is going to worry about a person who is laughing?

It was one of those evenings.

I’ve been driving around scouting neighborhoods when I get the chance, hoping to find a good place where Laura and I don’t have an awful commute while still feeling relatively safe. Tonight I decided to try Pasadena. I had been there once before, but it was my first time and I was driving…and I was lost. Bad combination for me learning to like a place. From the maps, the commute seemed easy, so decided to try a commute from school to Pasadena on a Friday evening. As I’ve mentioned before I love driving and adventuring, so I find this sort of thing fun.
Took me 40 minutes, and only because I zig-zagged through traffic-light territory for 20 minutes trying to find a good route. Not bad. From google maps at home, I decided my adventure would be to visit a bike shop there, and possibly buy a pair of gloves. It was pretty hilarious to me that I passed 2 bike shops on the way there. I ended up getting lost, and ended up at another bike shop, where both gloves AND baskets were on sale! I got back on the road, and headed in the direction of a neighborhood where Craig’s List was giving a lot of affordable housing results.

I thought it would be dodgy, but it was actually pretty cute. I didn’t get to the exact spot I wanted to see, but I was pretty close. Here’s where it gets funny (to me).

After the bike shop, I was just in a really good mood. I had been driving through a beautiful section of town full of bungalows and victorian mansions. I happened upon that shop by mistake, but just felt really blessed that I had the money to buy the things I wanted to make my life easier. It made me feel happy, and at the same time a little overwhelmed. Who am I that all this comes my way? Who am I that I have all I need, and sometimes am even able to have things I want? I really wanted to have some “Jesus time” in a park (or parking lot), so I asked him if he could lead me to one. He did. A few turns I felt impressed to make even took me past Fuller, and this idea came to me that even though I let go of some passions in my life (see previous post, I had considered Fuller), that doesn’t mean they are gone forever. Not that I’m planning on going there, but it was just a hope that God sees me and knows my needs and wants, and works in my life accordingly to use them to his glory. That makes me happy. :) But I digress (I do that a lot). As I said, I came to a park. A really nice one, in fact. Reminded me of one near my grandparents’ house in Iowa, and made me happy and remembering family. I wished I had my Bible on me, but instead I took my scrap with directions on it an a pen from my purse, and sat down at a picnic table. That’s when I almost started to cry, and then started laughing like a crazy person. It felt good. Not that I haven’t laughed in a while—hanging out with Laura makes my face hurt. This was different, just a lightness and a joy that I really can’t describe. The hilarity of it all…I asked God to show me a park so I could go talk to him and praise him, and he lead me right to one!! I remembered a verse spoken over me a few years ago that I may have brought up already: Isaiah 30:21. “Your own ears will hear him. Right behind you a voice will say, ‘This is the way you should go,’ whether to the right or the left.”

WOW. I think that’s what made me laugh so much, seeing how literal he could be! I hadn’t even thought about that verse until I was sitting at the table and I just busted out. I can’t believe how much God loves me, and wants to reveal himself to me. I need to spend more time in prayer with him, I need more “face time.” For someone I love so much, I don’t seek him out so often. Sure I’m mindful of him throughout the day, but that’s like being in the same room with someone but not talking to them. When Laura’s in the room, I can’t shut up. Sometimes I wish he’d speak to me, but I guess I don’t really wait to listen. He pursues me in so many ways, but I always want more without giving back. Why do I have to be so selfish about it, so needy?

While I was at the table, I wasn't really sure what to say or what to ask for, other than to just keep thanking him for his provision and blessings over and over again. One of the best things I had heard all week was from a friend regarding my apartment, he said "Congratulations on turning a VERY small apartment into a home." That made my heart so happy. My furniture is mostly from the curb and I don't have a "real" kitchen, but I'm glad I can make it comfortable for guests even. Back to the table, I ended up just taking my pen and in the small spaces on the scrap writing the names of God and declaring who he is over my life. I wrote some of it in Greek, and it made me happy that I could draw what I thought was a dead portion of my education in order to praise him. I sucked at Greek, despite how badly I wanted to learn it. One of the many things "I'd like to do" is re-learn it. Seeing Fuller and then just having Greek randomly come out of me again after 7 years was awesome. Just lots of things coming together to speak hope over my life that God has a plan for me and this hodge-podge of education, passions, and interests he's put in me. I still feel selfish for writing that, though, because in all honesty, who AM I that he would sing over me like this!?!?!

(and i want to reiterate that i am NOT planning on going to Fuller, just the sight of it spoke something to me is all!)

Why Acting? (also titled: Why the vow of poverty?)

Babbling to get my thoughts collected and clarified:

Why have I decided the career path of acting? Some days I know with utter certainty, other days (like lately) I ponder the what-ifs of other choices, and on a smattering of days here and there I think I’m completely insane. I graduated college in 2004 with a BA in Bible, and never knew what I was doing with my life until around the spring of 2008 when I decided on acting school—even that was just a next step, please PLEASE don’t ask me what I plan on doing when I graduate.

Throughout my 28 years, I’ve changed quite a lot. Interests have come and gone, but performance in one capacity or another has stuck with me. Music, dance, acting; I’ve always loved it for one reason or another. Usually I love it for the ministry and the beauty, and sometimes in my worse moments I love it for the “look what I can do” factor.

When I got into college, I was solid about being a Youth Pastor. I enrolled at Eastern Nazarene College as a Religion major with an emphasis on youth ministry, but I only took one class towards my major that year. It was interesting, but the class that really hooked me was Intro to Bible. All the professor did was just go through the Bible and tell us what’s in it. I was enthralled. I couldn’t get enough of that class; I hadn’t had much in the way of Bible teaching growing up. The Bible seemed like this huge labyrinthine phonebook to me, but as the semester progressed it seemed to shrink a bit. I transferred schools, and landed at Messiah College. This school was different in the way that it actually offered a major in Bible. I was doubting my call to youth ministry when one of my professors made an excellent point: “If you’re going into the ministry in any capacity, what more important foundation can you have than the Bible? Be a Bible major, and all the technical stuff you can learn in seminary or out in the field.” I switched majors, and never regretted it. Well, what happened to the youth ministry thing?

When I was in high school, our youth pastor was an incredible man of God, and a huge influence in my life. I realized that I was following in his footsteps because I admired him so much. At the time I really thought it was the call of the Holy Spirit on my life, but when I think about the circumstances of what I heard and how, I realize now that it was definitely my own desires. I’m not saying I’ll never be involved in that ministry; I recognize that it is one of, if not THE most important ministries in the church. I definitely have a heart to see children and youth be discipled. Once I left that path, however, I was a little lost. By switching majors, I had given myself a more open-ended career path, and I had no idea where to go other than to finish school.

As a Bible major, I was starving for God. I soaked up my classes like a sponge, always eager to learn more. I fell completely in love with God’s word, but unfortunately I still felt very distant from God himself. A lot of circumstances in my life made understanding him difficult for me, and educational institutions often do not have classes in hearing God’s voice! My second semester of sophomore year (probably one of the more horrible times in my life), God pointed me towards YWAM’s Discipleship Training School by way of an old friend. Through a few conversations with him about it, I saw the different in his life and his newfound passion, and knew immediately that’s what I was so hungry for. I didn’t want to leave school at all, so I decided that after I graduated I would do their DTS, School of Evangelism (the next level up), and School of Performing Arts. All of this was decided over the course of a month or so. DTS is all about knowing God, SOE is all about making him known, and the SOPA was a similarly structured school (3 months classroom training, 2 months outreach) that focused on the heart of the artist, and reclaiming our creativity for God. If we serve the Creator, why are we not the most creative people? This school was a sample of many different aspects of the arts, which was perfect for me because my experiences were spread too thin to really allow me to make an informed decision on what I wanted to develop further.

During college, I went to Japan for a summer on a mission trip. While I was there, I thought that perhaps God was wanting me to be full-time in Japan, and I would have had no problem with that! I loved it there, but struggled with the knowledge that God was not leading me there. Throughout school I kicked around a few career ideas, and was most excited about Biblical Archaeology and/or a Master’s in Old Testament, but I decided that I didn’t want to spend another 10 years in school—not to mention I’d probably end up in a teaching position, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted that. I graduated from Messiah, and had a summer and change to spend before I started YWAM the coming January. I felt God pulling me towards working at a summer camp, and I ended up at Camp Sandy Cove. One summer turned into 3+. In between YWAM schools I worked at camp. While at camp as in Japan, I wrestled with the idea that perhaps that would be my ministry in life. There was only one full-year position open, that of receptionist, and I would have gladly applied for that position and considered it a ministry (it is!). Again, however, God said no. Actually, for every place I ministered in between colleges (and it was a lot, all 3 YWAM outreaches where cross-country mobile team style), I prayed and asked God if that was where he wanted me—and the only place I heard “you belong here” was in Hollywood on SOPA outreach. Last place I ever woulda chosen for myself. Dunno how permanent it is, but having found a home church here after searching for one for 10 years in 3 different states, I hope I get to stay a while. But I digress.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that God tells me what to do and I do it like I’m some kind of robot. What I mean by all this, is that more than anything in my life I want to be in his will. He knows me better than I know myself, and my hidden talents and desires that I am unwilling to search my own heart to find. Listening for his voice is something that comes with practice, and I’ve had my fair turn of hearing it wrong. I know that God leads us down one path to show us another, and that has been the way he has helped me structure my life. I’ve never had more than a 3 year plan in my life, because I’ve never been able to see that far ahead. Some of these paths that he’s taken me off are ones that I recognize he may full well put me back on someday. Some people have it where God presents to them several options for them to choose, each one of them full of promise for fulfilling their purpose in life. For me, I was so spiritually needy in my early 20s, that I needed and wanted him to direct me more than allow me to choose. It worked well for me then, and now I’m in a different place with that relationship.

YWAM’s School of Performing Arts was the time in my life when I really started to embrace my interest and talent in acting. In high school I was involved in our church’s drama team, and I was told that I had a raw talent. However, I also had crippling stage fright. I never did any high school productions because of it. I couldn’t handle anything more than a short sermon illustration skit! My Discipleship Training School, however, turned that upside down.

In high school, I loved doing drama because I loved the thrill of entertaining people. I loved having them laugh with me, while at the same time bringing clarity to abstract concepts. However, I was afraid of being laughed at. I was terrified of messing up and ruining the skit, or having people laugh at me for my own stupidity. Irrational, I know. I still have a lot of dumb, irrational fears, despite the fact that God is the Lord of Hosts. Anyway, during DTS we toured the USA for our outreach and performed a 45-minute drama/dance/multimedia production about the sanctity of human life. We performed in schools, churches, and parking lots. To say it was incredible is an understatement. At our very first performance, the Holy Spirit came down like a heavy downpour. We performed the show about 4 times a week for 8 weeks, and the times we did our worst were the times God used us the most. Being a part of something greater than myself completely (if not mostly) erased my stage fright. By the time I got to SOPA and we performed a one-act version of Pride & Prejudice, I was enthralled to be on the stage. All the fear was more like a rush, like what you feel when you are about to jump off a high dive. And I did well. I was typecast as an elderly villain. So much fun. I finally started considering pursuing acting, but I still wasn’t sure.

Out of all our performing arts training, acting was the one thing I felt I had a good hold on. I had no previous training, but I did well. As far as passion, I think I was more passionate about movement. However, I love words, and I just can’t pursue dance and movement. I still would feel the need to communicate with my words, and I would miss that ability.

One of the things that I love so much about movement was how much of it is out of my control. I remember during our sanctity of human life presentation, we did a movement piece about the creation of the world. I feel like I did nothing but do my part to contribute to a whole, but the picture we created was beautiful. And it wasn’t so much “look at me, I do this well,” but it was more about “see how God placed us here to be a part of this thing that speaks of who he is.” Using my whole self to communicate a message of Truth—that’s what acting is about for me. When I am passionate about something, it resonates through my whole body until I feel like I might explode. Acting is a way of getting that energy out of me in order to make known to the audience what I’m feeling. There it is.

When SOPA was over, I decided to take a year or two off to figure things out. I was trying to decide between acting and costumes, another interest I had. I decided no on costumes, because as fun as sewing can be, the production end of costuming makes me overly-stressed and "snap"py. Clearly not a good "fit" for me (see what i did there? i made a funny). I even took a career test. I thought it might help me decide, but at the top of the list, way ahead of everything else, was Museum Curator. I actually looked into that , too, but didn’t want to do a Master’s program for a highly competitive field. I moved in with two of my best friends, and took an office job at a local car dealership with the intention of doing community theatre. As of then, I still had never been in a full-length production. I auditioned for the musical The Secret Garden, and got an ensemble role. I absolutely loved every minute of it. That spring I decided to attend theatre school. I never thought I would get in to a good school, but I thought “what is the harm in trying?” It was too late to audition for fall entry, so I waited a few months to start on that. That fall, the same theatre company then did Urinetown!, and I won the role of Little Sally. It was one of the best experiences I’ve had in my life, and I knew I made a right decision. They loved me too, and I was voted in as a board member-at-large! A few months later, I was accepted into AADA.

One thing that sealed the deal for me on knowing I had picked the right path was actually my surgery. I had a thyroidectomy in October 2008. I scheduled it for the day after our last show of Urinetown; I wanted that thing out of me as soon as possible. However, there was a (slight) possibility that the surgery could be botched, and I would lose the ability to sing or even speak ever again. That thought terrified me. I knew it wouldn’t happen, but accidents don’t happen on purpose. I knew that performing arts was the right choice for me, because if I could never read another ancient history textbook again, I’d be fine. Which is a ridiculously bad example of me trying to explain my passion for this...but whatever. I would miss expanding that part of me, but I would be ok. But if I lost my voice and could never sing again… well… the thought of it made my heart feel this panicky... desolation and the animal part of my brain hurt from some sort of primeval fear. Or something. Again, bad examples, but I know what I mean. :) I love to use the body God gave me to worship him, and I want to spend my life doing it. However, I recognize that God may call me out of this for whatever reason, and I am full willing to give it up to him should the time come. I gave up playing the bassoon in high school because I held that passion above him. It was hard, but I did it willingly because I didn’t want anything in the way.

Now that I’m in school, it hasn’t been easy. Trying to fulfill a purpose God has placed on your life isn’t something that’s just a cakewalk. School has been hard. I’ve found my weaknesses, and worked so hard to overcome them, only to find that they don’t really want to be overcome. Then there’s the self-esteem. I look back on pictures of myself when I was in high school and college, and I realize that I had the pathological need to be invisible in certain ways, ways that I find still creep into my mind every now and then. As a performer, clearly this is a problem. I’ve been making a conscious effort to act in an opposite spirit. Not in the way of showing off or anything, but more in the way of trying to look nice in public (as opposed to sweatpants), singing in front of others, and even posting my headshots on facebook where everyone can see them. It’s weird, I know, but then again those things never make sense, do they? So here I am, working hard, feeling like I’m not getting anywhere for it, but undeniable, infinitely overjoyed to be doing it. God has a funny sense of humor. Especially evident, because not only am I getting the training I need as an actor, but I'm making a living in the meantime in the school's costume department. :)

Letter of intent repost from Facebook, 6 July 2010

5:07 pm -- I need to get back into writing. I haven't done much since my ill-fated xanga page back in internet dinosaur times. Fortunately I deleted that account, but I should probably print out the saved file and light it on fire. Some good stuff, but also a lot of cathartic crap I regret saying.

Problem with writing is, I hate journalling. At least, writing in a book. I don't write well or descriptively (or legibly, for that matter) when I'm writing for no one but me. Sure, there is a lot of deeper stuff I miss out on expressing, but I guess that's what prayer is for. So unless I post this and totally forget about it and carry on with life, consider this me re-entering the realm of blogging. I love to write, and facebook statuses just don't fill the need.

That being said, yes, I am at work and should probably get back to it.

Fears & Roommates

My fishy loves me. He’s dancing around in his tiny bowl like a crazy person, just like me (substitute bowl for apt). I’m glad I didn’t get a beta; betas are boring. Sorry, beta lovers.

Having a roommate again is great (talking about a human now). Being alone for almost a year was also great, but it certainly had its share of downs in addition to the ups. Laura was supposed to just stay for the summer, but its looking like its going to be a permanent move. Sa-weeeet! I totally expected it would be, my lease is up in Oct and we’re going to start researching new apts tomorrow. Even though right now we have one room and bunk beds w/ the bottom being a futon couch, it’s comfortable. We’ve known each other long enough and lived together, so it works perfectly. One of the best parts, however, is how much our friendship has grown during this time. This year in Los Angeles for me has been a time of learning about myself. I’ve spent so long learning about God & his Word in college & YWAM, that now he’s shown me its time that I learn things about myself (terrifying endeavor, I’ve been putting it off for years). Some of it has been painful memories of who I used to be (the kind where you want to reach through time and punch yourself in the face), but also some awesome revelations of things about myself that I never knew. Having Laura to talk to has been a huge catalyst in this. I tend to hide myself from people at first; I tend to need to warm up to others. With Laura, I don’t feel the need to hide myself in any way. I’ve told her things I’ve never told anyone. I share them because I know that even if what I say is awful, she still loves me. She knows my heart well enough to know that the bad things I say are things that I will eventually outgrow as I seek to become more mature in Christ. I don’t really know where I was going with this, except to say that I consider myself infinitely blessed to call her a friend, and even more so to have her right here experiencing the city with me. I hope one day to possess even a fraction of her sensitivity, as well as the fearlessness with which she loves her friends (even though she won’t admit it).

Fear is something I’ve been needing to work on, for certain. I overcame so much of it during my discipleship training, yet it seems to have crept up on me again like the bedside nightmares I dreaded as a child. Despite the overwhelming (and hideously undeserved) faithfulness of God, I still let my fears take over. Even if they're stupid, and God blows them out of the water. I remember when I was in high school; I felt this recurring, deathly dread tell me that I wouldn’t live past the age of 26. It was so stupid, but it haunted me well into college until I eventually pushed it out of mind. Well, at age 26 I was diagnosed with cancer, but that diagnosis came after they removed my thyroid thereby beating the cancer before the fear could even take much root at all. I mean, of course I was scared, scared silly about what my body was doing to me, but the Holy Spirit put such a peace in my heart about it that I was able to laugh in the face of the enemy for putting the idea in my head in the first place. And still, despite all the care God has shown me, I still can’t fully give my future into his hands. Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about the past so much lately—it’s amazing to see what God has brought about in my life, but also I am afraid to look forward for fear of the unknown. People have prophesied over me that God has great plans for me, but I think that maybe I’m afraid that if I start forming ideas about the myriad of things that could be, I would totally miss the path he had for me. And yet someone also prophesied Isaiah 30:21 over me which has already come about throughout my whole sojourn to and through LA – “Your own ears will hear him. Right behind you a voice will say, ‘This is the way you should go,’ whether to the right or to the left.”
Another one: Isaiah 46:3,4 “I have carried you since you were born; I have taken care of you from your birth. Even when you are old, I will be the same. Even when your hair has turned gray, I will take care of you. I made you and will take care of you. I will carry you and save you.”
Bam. I need to get back into the Word. I used to read it every morning over my coffee before school, but stress & exhaustion broke that habit despite how much I enjoyed it. Both those verses are written down on notes kept in my Bible box. I need to start speaking more Truth over myself, and allow God to build me up despite all my own attempts at letting my own fears/self-image tear myself down.

[Obligatory lyrics that sparked this pensive mood:]
Creation speaks to me, I’m stricken to my knees in reverence and fear
Forever my Almighty, the heavens in your hand surpass the grains of sand
Who am I before you, Eli Eonai Eli Adullam
My soul will wait, my soul—wait silently for God my God, God my refuge
And I will live and know some destiny still waits for me.
~Stavesacre, At the Moment

Mulholland

I bought my fish tonight! It feels like a momentous occasion, but more on it later. I bought him at a store up in Sherman Oaks, and on the way back home Laura and I took the Cahuenga Pass (mainly due to my inability to pick up one of several 101 ramps). I don't mind driving, and I'm glad I missed the turns, because we ended up driving past Mulholland. We love that road. I would have pulled off right there for a drive, but we had to take Sir Reginald Merriweather Toffee-Nosed Snobbybottom to his new tank, so we decided to come back.

The thought of cruising down Mulholland on a warm night makes us contemplative and peaceful, so Laura (in control of music) put on a song that meant something to her during a previous season in her life, and that got me thinking about my own life and how it's changed. Some songs have come up to my memory that I haven't heard in a long time, and I've been enjoying them on a new level lately. The song "His Eyes Never Close" by Sherri Youngward came to mind, and I couldn't shake those haunting lyrics. I listened to that song on endless repeat during a dark time in my life years ago, and tonight the lyrics just wouldn't leave my head till we played it. We listened to it on the way to Mulholland, I've never had a more relaxing time in traffic on Highland near the Bowl.

When your race is reduced to a crawl
And your hands are weak from holding on
Keep your eyes fixed straight ahead
To the one who walked this way before you
Child stop weeping
God already knows
Even while you are sleeping
His eyes never close
Though the clouds may hide
The stars at night
Still I know, they haven’t lost their shine
Though the rains will come
So will the sun, God’s faithfulness
Is sure as the dawn
Child stop weeping
God already knows
Even while you are sleeping
His eyes never close
So close your eyes
And rest a while
Don’t be afraid
Jesus has walked this way
Before you
Child stop weeping
God already knows
Even while you are sleeping
His eyes never close

I wondered at first why this song would suddenly stick to me so well that I couldn't let it go till I heard it. I'm glad I was driving down Mulholland, because the seemingly aimless curves always clear my head, and there is something so familiar and comforting about my car that makes me feel like its a member of my family. I realized that with this song, my level of appreciation has changed so drastically. In college at Messiah, I used to cling to the warm, faint hope that this song afforded me; that my dark night of the soul would have an end and that I would one day have joy. Sort of like being in a prison cell in a dungeon on unknown charges. Only someone has told you that you won't be there forever, that you will eventually be released. You have no tangible proof, only the trust you've developed in the kind Voice from beyond the bars that tells you with authority and certainty.

I've been released. I trusted it would come (just barely), and it did. These past couple of years have shown to me how much God planted in my life that I've allowed to grow. Now when I hear this song, I hear it with new ears, and it fills my heart up so full. It reminds me of those times when my spirit could do nothing but lay on the ground and listen to the words wash over me. Now I feel like soaring when I look back and find that hope and faith really do bring things to fruition, and that God's faithfulness is "sure as the dawn." Praise Him.

My Apartment

I've been wondering lately why I pathologically talk smack about my apartment, and I've finally figured it out. I am embarassed by how happy I am with so little. I don't have blinders over my eyes, I know my place is tiny and dodgy, however I see God's provision everywhere I look. It's such a paradox, too. I have so much and so little. I am so blessed to have this place, because I know there are so many in my neighborhood that have even less than I do. Sure, money is tight, but I am deliriously happy with what God has provided already. It's hard, on the other hand, to think on that while having peace about the future. The job hunt continues.