You know the hip hop trio Naughty by Nature? Well, I'm essentially "Nervous by Nature." I have never been diagnosed with anxiety or depression, but being a counselor, I've experienced enough to know that I definitely struggle from situational anxiety. While most people have a healthy level of anxiety and fear (from an evolutionary standpoint, these things are what can keep people alive), I know that my levels of fear and anxiety tend to go a little above and beyond what is normal and healthy. Need an example? In my senior year of high school, we had to do a fifteen minute presentation in front of a handful of teachers, community members, & district personnel. I thought about crashing my car on the way over to get out of it. I was so nervous for it that I thought I would walk in there and vomit all over. It went fine and I was able to graduate high school (I know, I know, you were really wondering how this story ended!) but the fact of the matter is, that level of fear and anxiety wasn't isolated. It happened whenever there was something big going on and I've realized that it originates from one common place: a fear of being exposed.
When I finished my degree in March, I knew that eventually, if I stayed in Idaho, I'd need to pursue licensure. That meant spending $300 dollars ($70 application fee, $230 test fee) and taking a really big test to determine whether or not I'd receive my license. For a lot of positions, you don't have to be licensed, but for what I want to do and where I see myself going in the future, I'd need it. As soon as I started to think about taking such a big test, I started to feel sick. Eminem stated it well, "His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti."If I were to rewrite that to fit my situation better it would read: Her palms are incredibly sweaty, like an abnormal amount, knees weak, arms are heavy and armpits are tingling in a very uncomfortable way. There's vomit on her sweater already, Los Betos taquitos." TMI? Sorry not sorry. I had resigned myself to failing the test before I even took it. I have becoming very good at convincing myself that I don't deserve to be where I'm at. I struggle heavily with Imposter Syndrome. It's this terrible, horrible thing that means I have this persisting fear of being deemed a fraud. I sort of live my life waiting for someone to discover that I don't deserve any of the things I've accomplished, that somehow, I've been handed everything in my life without me really knowing. That's absurd, right? Well, not to me. Over the past five years or so it's gotten increasingly worse and every time there's something big at stake, I convince myself that I'm undeserving to accomplish it and that if I do, it's a fluke. Getting my job at the university? Handed to me. Getting into a competitive masters program? Only because I worked at the university. Being inducted into the honor society? Easy program, not a real accomplishment. Current job offer? Because they'd rather hire me than interview people. Ya'll, give me anything at all and I will explain the heck out of it until it has nothing to do with me working hard and everything to do with me pulling the wool over everyone's eyes. It's almost as if I've been living in fear of being asked "who do you think you are?" and not having an answer for it.
When I was preparing to take the test, I convinced myself that this would be the thing to expose me. I wouldn't be able to pass it. No amount of studying would prepare me. I shouldn't be where I'm at and this would be the thing that would let it all come crashing down, my perfectly crafted insanely unreal reality. Every time I cracked open the study material, I would feel sick and as the test approached, the anxiety and fear I had sort of overtook me. My original plan was to take the test without telling anyone so that I could fail, retake it, and no one would be able to know that I was a failure. I prepared for this test alone and avoided all concrete questions of when the date was. I had to tell a coworker when I was taking it about a week before the test and it made everything more real. I couldn't focus, I wasn't sleeping well, I was either not really eating or eating really unhealthy food (talk about unhealthy coping mechanisms), and felt wildly unsteady. I started to tell a few people when I was going to take the test because it seemed like maybe I needed to share the burden. If I failed, I would have supporters and if I passed, I would have celebrators. I went out to brunch a week before the test with a group of my dearest girlfriends and after telling them about they test, they reassured me that not only did they believe in me, but they would stand beside me regardless of what the results were. They were confident in my abilities when I had convinced myself that I had no abilities to believe in. There are so many people who had been incredibly supportive of me the week leading up to the test: people who helped me prepare (thank you forever Roberto), people who brought me chocolate and talked to me on the phone while I avoided a nervous breakdown (Lacey gets a gold medal for being the best friend of all time), and people who committed to praying for me and spoke reassuring words (it's a great spot to be when your pastor is also your friend).
Panic attacks are a doozy and I've had maybe one or two in my life, but felt as though I was on the verge of one the entire day before the test. I tried to study, tried to relax, tried to focus my breathing and engage in other healthy self care methods, but I just couldn't seem to find that space of peace and calm. At one point, I walked to the bathroom and started weeping. I was overcome with the fear of failing. I didn't want anyone to believe that I was an imposter, didn't want anyone to think that I was stupid, and didn't want to feel incompetent. I looked at myself in the mirror and very affectionately said, "Get your shit together, Novello." Nothing like a good, 'ol fashioned pep talk to make things better.
I showed up to the testing center on Friday morning an hour early. I didn't bring any study material but found myself googling the difference between Schizoid, Schizotypal, and Schizoaffective. I took a practice test and struggled with understanding the questions and audibly said, "You are going to fail this thing, you have no idea what any of this means." Have you gathered that I'm incredibly gracious and gentle with myself? I took the test and passed. Not just passed, but passed well and as soon as I get a little piece of paper, will be able to add another letter behind my name. When I pressed submit and saw my results, I was overcome by relief and started to get weepy. Weepiness is my spiritual gift. While I wish the story ended at, "Jess passed and never doubted her abilities again and her sense of self sky rocketed after proving to herself that she really CAN do it," it obviously doesn't. I'm relieved to have passed and I know that the reason I passed was because I have been preparing for this test for years. I've been in direct client contact for almost two years and I do know what I'm talking about. I'm a competent social worker who works hard at what she does. Deep down, I know these things to be true, but somehow, I always let the fear of failing and being exposed take over. I started seeing a counselor (thought that it was time to practice what I preach) a few months ago as these bigger transitions started happening in my life. I wanted someone to talk it through that I paid, had to be objective, and would hold me accountable to my irrational thinking. She has been really helpful in calling me out when I fall into these negative, harmful ways of thinking. She stops and forces me to examine what I've just said. She's the worst and I hate her but I'm beyond grateful for how she's helping me grow.
What I'm learning right now, more than anything, is to be gentle and gracious with myself. I left myself a note in my desk before leaving work on Thursday that would remind me on Monday that passing or failing that test doesn't change my inherent worth. On Thursday they just seemed like words that I wrote down to try and find some peace, but deep down, I know that they are true. I wish I could tie this story up with a bow and have some lovely resolution that makes everything seem perfect and wonderful. Unfortunately, I don't. I'm a work in progress and I'm learning that it's okay to be that. I'm slowly but surely working through this whole Imposter Syndrome and self worth thing. If you find yourself feeling this way too, just know that you're not alone. We're going to be alright, we're going to make it.
October 1, 2016
August 29, 2016
just like that
Last time we chatted (and by chatted, I mean I typed and you read), I shared how God was moving in my life and I felt drawn to walk away from something known, comfortable, and good because sometimes I am a crazy human. When I made the decision to step away from my last job, I had no idea what would come next. My worst case scenario plan was to just pick up and move back to California. I'd live with my parents and look for work. The only thing about that situation that would be a worst case scenario is the bed in my parents guest room. It is the worst. Everything other than that would be totally fine because my parents rule, have cable, make delicious food, and live in a beautiful place.
To understand how I ended up exactly where I am, we need to rewind to January of 2015. I had found myself at the part of my graduate program where I had to do a clinical internship. I applied to a couple of different agencies, interviewed, but one day drove past this little place that piqued my interest. It was an organization centered on recovery so I called the number on the sign outside and met with the clinical supervisor. I found out that not only did all of their programs center on recovery (which I care very much about), they had a program in which they contracted with the federal government to provide services to inmates in transition (another thing/population I care a ton about). Insert all the heart eye emojis here. You know that's my jam. I spent roughly nine months working with the most unique individuals and had some triumphant moments and truly devastating moments. Several months into my internship, I was offered a job upon my graduation. I wasn't interested. Thanks but no thanks.
When I started to feel the nudge to leave the university, that offer was in the back of my head but I didn't really want it. I remember telling a friend that it was flattering, but I wasn't interested. I started to look at jobs all over the world essentially. I looked at a school counselor position in Seoul, South Korea, a case manager position in Nashville, a slew of different jobs in Seattle and California, and a job at a school in Washington DC. After applying to the job in DC, I received a letter that they were going in a different direction for hiring and thought to myself, "Uh okay, nice try but you're a small little Quaker school so you'd BE so lucky to have me there." A couple months later, I found out that was the school that President Obama's daughter went to. I take it all back, I would have gone a different direction too. No hard feelings, little Quaker school. I even pursued a couple of positions in Boise, but had my heart set on Seattle or California. Slowly but surely, everything I had pursued failed to pan out the way I wanted it too.
Meanwhile (I know, I know, I should have seen it coming too), the agency I had interned for started mentioning again that they'd love to have me if I was interested. I politely refused again. I'm not sure why I kept refusing. I'm not sure if it was pride or fear, but whatever it was, it kept me thinking that I needed to continue looking elsewhere. Things kind of clicked in mid July when I thought back to a conversation I had with a dear friend as we were walking at Lake Lowell months prior. I said to him, "I think I'm being called to work with the incarcerated population and that scares me a lot." He asked me why it scared me and I told him, "It's really hard work. I want to be called to something more gentle, something easier, a population more receptive..." As I thought back to that conversation, I realized that my next step had been right underneath my nose since January 2015. A few days later, I asked my supervisor there if they were still looking for someone to come on staff and he said yes. I asked if I could be considered and was given the job right away. I started two weeks later.
I told my roommate the other night that I keep waiting to hate my job because I've had a few people tell me I wouldn't like it full time or that I'd get burnt out so quickly, but everyday, I leave loving it. Don't get me wrong, it is hard work. It is messy, emotional, and can sometimes seem hopeless, but for some reason (hey Jess- it's probably because God is good and ordained this and loves you so maybe just lean into that, ok?) I come back excited and grateful every single day. I don't know if this is something I'll do for the rest of my life or maybe it's just for a short season, but here I am.
As I type these words, I'm overcome with gratitude. It is in not lost on me that I have been given such an incredible opportunity to pretty much run my own program and oversee my own clients. I have flexibility, a supervisor who believes in me and trusts me, and clients who trust and respect me. When I think about whether or not I earned this or deserve this, the answer is a resounding no. Of course I don't- there are probably people who are far more qualified than I am or smarter, but again, here I am. Obedience has had an incredible way of opening my eyes to blessings and creating a strong sense of gratitude in me.
I'm confident that there are tough days to come, days where I probably wonder if I made a mistake by leaving my own job, days where I cry and don't want to come back the next, or even days where I contemplate cashing out my savings and driving straight to Mexico to start a new life (yes, I have entertained the thought before..). Even if, nay, even WHEN those days come, I hope that I'm able to remember all of this and see that I have been so incredibly blessed by God's providence.
August 15, 2016
when i move you move
This is a hard post to begin because I have so many thoughts about so many things and want them to be well formulated and eloquent, but I'm not sure how well that will work at this point in time.
Let's go back four years to the spring of 2012. I was living in Korea. I found myself in a place where I knew that my teaching contract would be ending soon and I'd need to figure out what came next. The whole notion of "what comes next?" has always stressed me out. I wish I could convince you that I'm one of those free spirited, go with the flow gals, but anyone who knows me knows that I'm a not so secret control freak. I don't need to have absolute control over everything, but I like direction, planners, consistency, and comfort. I received an email from Karen Pearson who is the Director of Residential Life at my alma mater. She was looking for someone to fill a graduate assistant/internship position in Student Development. I had found my direction. I would spend the next year learning/living alongside some wonderful people while beginning to work on my graduate degree. During that year, two Resident Director positions opened up. There was a long period of unknown where I had applied and interviewed, but was waiting to hear back from the big dogs (bow wow). When I was hired and given the official stamp of approval, I was ecstatic. I had a plan. I knew what I'd be doing. I had direction.
I've spent the last three years of my life living alongside anywhere from 130 to 175 freshmen woman serving as the Resident Director for Ford Hall. This position has been the most incredible, difficult, beautiful, and growing experience of my life. In three years, I have had the pleasure of journeying with young women who are experiencing everything imaginable. I should have started writing down these moments long ago because some of them are so peculiar that I don't think anyone would believe me. There are sentences I've had to say with a straight face that I never imagined ever having to say. It has been a wild job- in all ways imaginable. I am so incredibly grateful for it. As these freshmen woman have grown up during the year they've spent inside of these brick walls, I have also grown up alongside them. My capacity for empathy has increased, I've learned to balance gentleness and boldness better, and I've become far more patient than I was several years ago. I've also learned so much from the people that I've worked with. The Student Development team is the best team I think I'll ever be a part of. It is a strange little family- one that I'll forever be grateful for.
In December of this past year, I was writing about how I felt like this chapter of my story might be coming to an end, but I wasn't sure why I felt that way. I wasn't dissatisfied with my position, I loved the people the that I worked with/for, and the year had been going so smoothly. This feeling didn't make any sense and I tried to ignore it. Why was this happening? I couldn't make sense of the nudging. I communicated about things with my bosses, but ultimately decided to stay. I tried to ignore these strange feelings and committed to another year. I picked a new team, seven fabulous young women who I was incredibly excited about working with, and started dreaming up what the next school year would hold. I had the opportunity to accompany a group of twelve students on a trip to Europe in the spring and while on that trip, realized that the nudging I felt wouldn't go away regardless of how many times I tried to ignore it. It seemed as though the plans I had laid out for myself, however pure my intentions were, were no match for responding to the nudging of the Lord. I'm not a person who can distinctly say I've heard the audible voice of God, but I've felt his nudges. They start out very gentle and the longer you ignore them, the more intense they get. Basically, that had been my last seven months. What started out as a faint whisper (side note: I hate whispering mostly because my mom tries to do it and it's so loud just like when my Grandma tried to whisper plus it's usually so breathy and warm and I'm just getting the gross chills thinking about it not that my mom is gross or anything sorry mom.) turned into a steam roller. Thanks Jesus, you know I'm not one to be in tune with subtlety.
Even when the steam roller came, I still tried to discern if it meant what I thought it meant. Oh, it did and it was terrifying. I'm a creature of habit. I crave being known and understood. I decided one morning that the day had come and I needed to resign from my position. There was no other position I was going to, I wasn't sure what I would do or where I'd go, I just knew that I couldn't ignore these feelings any longer. I called my mom and filled her in on what I was about to do. She was incredibly supportive and so I went to go tell my boss. I got to her office and several other coworkers were there so I totally chickened out. I am many things but brave is not one of them. I mustered up the courage and came back later that day. I knew that every moment I waited, it would become increasingly difficult to do what I knew needed to happen. My boss was both incredibly gracious and encouraging which helped make me more comfortable than I could have imagined. I was able to tell my VP that day as well. He thought I was crazy and I don't blame him because I felt crazy. There was no reason to leave other than "I think it's time and I have no idea why because I'm not unhappy but I know if I ignore this feeling then I will die a little inside." Side note: My inner monologue frequently communicates in run on sentences. That whole experience was a blur. It's almost like I wasn't in control of my body, like I was watching this calm, cool, and collected human make such a big decision. But, I did it. Well, the Lord did it. He drenched me in peace and gave me the calm I needed in order to leave something good and step out into the unknown, having to practice what I preached about trusting God (isn't that the worst when you have to do that???).
So that's the story of how I became a crazy person who trusted God. I'll have more to share about where He led me but that's enough for now.
Let's go back four years to the spring of 2012. I was living in Korea. I found myself in a place where I knew that my teaching contract would be ending soon and I'd need to figure out what came next. The whole notion of "what comes next?" has always stressed me out. I wish I could convince you that I'm one of those free spirited, go with the flow gals, but anyone who knows me knows that I'm a not so secret control freak. I don't need to have absolute control over everything, but I like direction, planners, consistency, and comfort. I received an email from Karen Pearson who is the Director of Residential Life at my alma mater. She was looking for someone to fill a graduate assistant/internship position in Student Development. I had found my direction. I would spend the next year learning/living alongside some wonderful people while beginning to work on my graduate degree. During that year, two Resident Director positions opened up. There was a long period of unknown where I had applied and interviewed, but was waiting to hear back from the big dogs (bow wow). When I was hired and given the official stamp of approval, I was ecstatic. I had a plan. I knew what I'd be doing. I had direction.
I've spent the last three years of my life living alongside anywhere from 130 to 175 freshmen woman serving as the Resident Director for Ford Hall. This position has been the most incredible, difficult, beautiful, and growing experience of my life. In three years, I have had the pleasure of journeying with young women who are experiencing everything imaginable. I should have started writing down these moments long ago because some of them are so peculiar that I don't think anyone would believe me. There are sentences I've had to say with a straight face that I never imagined ever having to say. It has been a wild job- in all ways imaginable. I am so incredibly grateful for it. As these freshmen woman have grown up during the year they've spent inside of these brick walls, I have also grown up alongside them. My capacity for empathy has increased, I've learned to balance gentleness and boldness better, and I've become far more patient than I was several years ago. I've also learned so much from the people that I've worked with. The Student Development team is the best team I think I'll ever be a part of. It is a strange little family- one that I'll forever be grateful for.
In December of this past year, I was writing about how I felt like this chapter of my story might be coming to an end, but I wasn't sure why I felt that way. I wasn't dissatisfied with my position, I loved the people the that I worked with/for, and the year had been going so smoothly. This feeling didn't make any sense and I tried to ignore it. Why was this happening? I couldn't make sense of the nudging. I communicated about things with my bosses, but ultimately decided to stay. I tried to ignore these strange feelings and committed to another year. I picked a new team, seven fabulous young women who I was incredibly excited about working with, and started dreaming up what the next school year would hold. I had the opportunity to accompany a group of twelve students on a trip to Europe in the spring and while on that trip, realized that the nudging I felt wouldn't go away regardless of how many times I tried to ignore it. It seemed as though the plans I had laid out for myself, however pure my intentions were, were no match for responding to the nudging of the Lord. I'm not a person who can distinctly say I've heard the audible voice of God, but I've felt his nudges. They start out very gentle and the longer you ignore them, the more intense they get. Basically, that had been my last seven months. What started out as a faint whisper (side note: I hate whispering mostly because my mom tries to do it and it's so loud just like when my Grandma tried to whisper plus it's usually so breathy and warm and I'm just getting the gross chills thinking about it not that my mom is gross or anything sorry mom.) turned into a steam roller. Thanks Jesus, you know I'm not one to be in tune with subtlety.
Even when the steam roller came, I still tried to discern if it meant what I thought it meant. Oh, it did and it was terrifying. I'm a creature of habit. I crave being known and understood. I decided one morning that the day had come and I needed to resign from my position. There was no other position I was going to, I wasn't sure what I would do or where I'd go, I just knew that I couldn't ignore these feelings any longer. I called my mom and filled her in on what I was about to do. She was incredibly supportive and so I went to go tell my boss. I got to her office and several other coworkers were there so I totally chickened out. I am many things but brave is not one of them. I mustered up the courage and came back later that day. I knew that every moment I waited, it would become increasingly difficult to do what I knew needed to happen. My boss was both incredibly gracious and encouraging which helped make me more comfortable than I could have imagined. I was able to tell my VP that day as well. He thought I was crazy and I don't blame him because I felt crazy. There was no reason to leave other than "I think it's time and I have no idea why because I'm not unhappy but I know if I ignore this feeling then I will die a little inside." Side note: My inner monologue frequently communicates in run on sentences. That whole experience was a blur. It's almost like I wasn't in control of my body, like I was watching this calm, cool, and collected human make such a big decision. But, I did it. Well, the Lord did it. He drenched me in peace and gave me the calm I needed in order to leave something good and step out into the unknown, having to practice what I preached about trusting God (isn't that the worst when you have to do that???).
So that's the story of how I became a crazy person who trusted God. I'll have more to share about where He led me but that's enough for now.
November 30, 2015
a thrill of hope
I have felt burdened as of late, an overwhelming burden that I feel entirely powerless against. Every time I log onto the internet or catch the news, it seems as though another tragedy has occurred. School shootings, bombings, persecution, and murders seem so common now that it’s almost as though I’m not fazed anymore. I wrote a post a while back on being mad about school shootings and how it seemed that it was more of a “when” and less of an “if.”
After the attack in Paris, I talked to a friend who loves the city and has spent so much of her life studying the language and traveling through the very city that was all over the news. She talked about balancing between the Christian ideal of forgiveness and grace, but while being entirely angered at the evil that had occurred. I said back to her, “I feel so overwhelmed with the darkness and devastation that I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know how to think about it and not allow myself to become broken and angry and bitter.”
I’ve come to a place where it’s easier to not think about it because thinking about it and really leaning into the pain and brokenness means confronting hard truths. It means asking tough questions- questions that may never be answered and the reality of wrestling with those questions for the rest of my life is terrifying. It’s easier to bury my head in the sand and pretend like nothing is wrong. If it hasn’t happened in my little world, then it’s almost like it didn’t happen. I realize that isn’t healthy and that it’s actually just denial.
To be honest, I’m scared to ask tough questions. I’m scared at what that journey of questioning looks like. I know that God is good- it’s a truth that I cling to, but it’s also hard to look at what is happening all over the world and still proclaim that God is good and is for us. It’s not impossible, but it can just feel really difficult sometimes.
I was driving earlier today and “O Holy Night” came on the radio. I was covered in chills and brought to tears as the song proclaimed, “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” We are a weary world. We are perpetually saddened and broken over the state of our world. That’s something that we can all, regardless of our skin color, culture, or country of origin, can identify with.
This season, the season of advent, is one of hope and anticipation as we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior. In the midst of tragedy and devastation, we can grasp to the promise of restoration. Even though the brokenness feels insurmountable, we are promised that restoration is to come. This season reminds us of that.
Brothers. Sisters. Do not abandon yourselves to despair. Cling to the hope of goodness and truth. Rejoice in that truth. Just as the song says, “for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.”
After the attack in Paris, I talked to a friend who loves the city and has spent so much of her life studying the language and traveling through the very city that was all over the news. She talked about balancing between the Christian ideal of forgiveness and grace, but while being entirely angered at the evil that had occurred. I said back to her, “I feel so overwhelmed with the darkness and devastation that I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know how to think about it and not allow myself to become broken and angry and bitter.”
 |
| s o u r c e |
To be honest, I’m scared to ask tough questions. I’m scared at what that journey of questioning looks like. I know that God is good- it’s a truth that I cling to, but it’s also hard to look at what is happening all over the world and still proclaim that God is good and is for us. It’s not impossible, but it can just feel really difficult sometimes.
I was driving earlier today and “O Holy Night” came on the radio. I was covered in chills and brought to tears as the song proclaimed, “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” We are a weary world. We are perpetually saddened and broken over the state of our world. That’s something that we can all, regardless of our skin color, culture, or country of origin, can identify with.
 |
| s o u r c e |
Brothers. Sisters. Do not abandon yourselves to despair. Cling to the hope of goodness and truth. Rejoice in that truth. Just as the song says, “for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.”
November 7, 2015
you are not being persecuted
A friend showed me a video last night of a loud, aggressive, "Christian" man claiming that the new holiday Starbucks cups were an intentional movement on behalf of Starbucks to take the "Christ" out of Christmas. Now, Christians all over are equating this act with persecution because there aren't any overt references to Christmas on the cups.
Yeah, I'm being entirely serious. I could not wrap my mind around the argument he was trying to make. Red cups are persecution? He also commented that Starbucks employees are banned from saying "Merry Christmas" and that Starbucks "hates Jesus." Those are some pretty lofty, completely unfounded claims. I'm not writing this because I love Starbucks or I want those sweet, sweet Creme Brûlée lattes protected: I'm writing this because American Christians need to stop claiming that they are being persecuted.
Starbucks is a company. It is run by a CEO. It is composed of almost two hundred thousand employees who work in stores all over the world. Corporations aren't religious. When we all die and get to those pearly gates, I don't think Starbucks will be standing alongside Chick Fil A waiting to hear if they get to spend eternity worshipping the good Lord. The people who compose the corporation can be religious, but in and of itself, the corporation is not. Why should Starbucks honor one faith above another, when it is not a religious entity? Why should the cups be adorned with messages of Christmas? What about Kwanzaa, Hannukah, or Mawlid? These are all holidays that are incredibly important to individuals from other cultural or religious backgrounds. Why should a secular corporation celebrate one holiday above another? Would people be crying persecution if the cups were blue with little menorahs on them? I would imagine that a significant population, the same individuals who are claiming persecution in this case, would regardless of what the cups looked like. That is, unless the cups were overtly and undeniably "Christian."
Also, do none of these individuals remember that Starbucks, in addition to their annual "Holiday Blend" sell a "Christmas Blend" and an Advent Calendar? They hate Christmas? They hate Jesus? Oh, it really does make my blood boil. It is so ignorant. No, it is more than ignorant... it is asinine. The way this man is encouraging people to make their point to Starbucks is through ordering drinks and saying that their names are "Merry Christmas" so that the cups will have their specific holiday message on it and baristas will be forced to say it. First of all, let's go over "Boycotting 101"- maybe don't send people to spend their money to support the place that you're so angry at. I mean, this just seems so basic, but maybe I'm the one that is backwards. Second of all, it is just so stupid that I'm not actually going to dignify their argument by making another point.
Don't get me wrong- I don't like the cups this year. My dislike for them has absolutely nothing to do with anything other than the fact that minimalism isn't my favorite style of art/design. That is it. It has nothing to do with my own religious beliefs. It simply involves my personal tastes and preferences.
Persecution is such a buzzword right now. So many people, as of late, have claimed persecution and I want to look at them and recite these famous words from "The Princess Bride:"
I am especially bothered by these claims of persecution in light of what is happening to our Christian brothers and sisters all over the globe. Every month, three hundred and twenty-two Christians are killed for their faith and seven hundred and seventy-two acts of violence are committed against Christians because of their faith. These acts of violence can include physical abuse, rape, beatings, false imprisonment, etc. This is persecution. Starbucks having plain red (okay, ombre...) cups is not the same as being imprisoned for over three years in an Iranian prison for your religion like Saeed Abedini.
Persecution is real. It's happening all over the world. It's happening right now. It is brutal, terrible, horrific, and devastating. But, it is not happening at the hand of Starbucks or their red cups.
Yeah, I'm being entirely serious. I could not wrap my mind around the argument he was trying to make. Red cups are persecution? He also commented that Starbucks employees are banned from saying "Merry Christmas" and that Starbucks "hates Jesus." Those are some pretty lofty, completely unfounded claims. I'm not writing this because I love Starbucks or I want those sweet, sweet Creme Brûlée lattes protected: I'm writing this because American Christians need to stop claiming that they are being persecuted.
Starbucks is a company. It is run by a CEO. It is composed of almost two hundred thousand employees who work in stores all over the world. Corporations aren't religious. When we all die and get to those pearly gates, I don't think Starbucks will be standing alongside Chick Fil A waiting to hear if they get to spend eternity worshipping the good Lord. The people who compose the corporation can be religious, but in and of itself, the corporation is not. Why should Starbucks honor one faith above another, when it is not a religious entity? Why should the cups be adorned with messages of Christmas? What about Kwanzaa, Hannukah, or Mawlid? These are all holidays that are incredibly important to individuals from other cultural or religious backgrounds. Why should a secular corporation celebrate one holiday above another? Would people be crying persecution if the cups were blue with little menorahs on them? I would imagine that a significant population, the same individuals who are claiming persecution in this case, would regardless of what the cups looked like. That is, unless the cups were overtly and undeniably "Christian."
Also, do none of these individuals remember that Starbucks, in addition to their annual "Holiday Blend" sell a "Christmas Blend" and an Advent Calendar? They hate Christmas? They hate Jesus? Oh, it really does make my blood boil. It is so ignorant. No, it is more than ignorant... it is asinine. The way this man is encouraging people to make their point to Starbucks is through ordering drinks and saying that their names are "Merry Christmas" so that the cups will have their specific holiday message on it and baristas will be forced to say it. First of all, let's go over "Boycotting 101"- maybe don't send people to spend their money to support the place that you're so angry at. I mean, this just seems so basic, but maybe I'm the one that is backwards. Second of all, it is just so stupid that I'm not actually going to dignify their argument by making another point.
Don't get me wrong- I don't like the cups this year. My dislike for them has absolutely nothing to do with anything other than the fact that minimalism isn't my favorite style of art/design. That is it. It has nothing to do with my own religious beliefs. It simply involves my personal tastes and preferences.
Persecution is such a buzzword right now. So many people, as of late, have claimed persecution and I want to look at them and recite these famous words from "The Princess Bride:"
I am especially bothered by these claims of persecution in light of what is happening to our Christian brothers and sisters all over the globe. Every month, three hundred and twenty-two Christians are killed for their faith and seven hundred and seventy-two acts of violence are committed against Christians because of their faith. These acts of violence can include physical abuse, rape, beatings, false imprisonment, etc. This is persecution. Starbucks having plain red (okay, ombre...) cups is not the same as being imprisoned for over three years in an Iranian prison for your religion like Saeed Abedini.
Persecution is real. It's happening all over the world. It's happening right now. It is brutal, terrible, horrific, and devastating. But, it is not happening at the hand of Starbucks or their red cups.
July 13, 2015
worth staying
There has been a lot of pain surrounding me recently. I work at a Christian university and unfortunately, our school has been making the news over the past four months for some really heavy, difficult, and heartbreaking things. This university isn’t just a place of employment for me: it’s my home. When I was a junior in high school, I stumbled across an add for this university in a magazine. I had lived in California for my entire life, but something about moving to another state for college seemed really exciting. I ended up deciding to spend time at a community college and when it came time to transfer, I decided to visit this school. I didn’t have my heart set on coming here, but I thought it would be fun to visit. From the moment I stepped on campus, I knew I was home. I can’t even describe the feeling as anything but instantly having an overwhelming sense of peace that everything was as it should be. In August of 2009, my parents and younger sisters brought me out to Idaho. While it was hard saying goodbye to them when they left, I knew that I was in the right place. I knew I was exactly where God wanted me.
I spent two years studying, experiencing life, and growing at this university. The time I spent in the classroom, residence halls, around campus, and in the community was entirely transformative. Fast forward to 2015: I’m getting ready to begin my fourth school year as an employee for the university. In March, I’ll be finishing my graduate degree. This however-many-acre campus is where I live, work, and study. So much of my life is wrapped up in this space and in the people who also call it home.
Staying and being part of the solution doesn’t mean disregarding what has been done. For me, it means looking right into the face of it, acknowledging it, feeling whatever I need to feel about it, and saying, “Okay, what do I do with all of this?” To me, that means weeping with those who have been hurt, but it doesn’t mean staying in that place of pain. I know that staying in the pain is dangerous. It allows things to fester, and when that happens, I become obsessed with my pain in a way that keeps me distanced from God and goodness. I do not say that to discount what anyone is feeling or the pain that they are experiencing. I don’t say that to smooth over what has happened and propel everyone forward. Everyone grieves in their own way, but for me, I know I can’t remain in the grief, anger, or sorrow.
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God has made it very apparent to me since the moment that I stepped onto this campus as a prospective student that I am supposed to be here. This place, although currently devastated, is so beautiful and special. The staff and faculty give everything they have to the students that decide to call this place home. The Lord works here, both in people and through them. This is a place of transformation. By no means is it perfect, but it is good, and that is because of the humans that compose the heart beat of this place. Even though my natural reaction is to run, I’m learning through this experience, that staying is good. I’m choosing to plant myself here, for however long the Lord calls me to be in this space, and I promise to be a part of the solution.
Regardless of what has happened here and will happen here in the future, I believe in this place. I commit myself to moving forward, through the brokenness, and being a part of reconciliation.
June 20, 2015
i'm mad
I've been trying to formulate my thoughts on the recent events in Charleston, South Carolina, but I can't seem to find anything worth saying.
I keep coming back to feeling mad.
I'm mad that this happened. I'm mad that someone felt like it was their right or job to take the lives of others. I'm mad that hate runs so deep that a person would feel justified in harming others. I'm mad that nine beautiful lives were taken. I'm mad that not even churches are safe. I'm mad that there is so much brokenness and racism in the United States. I'm mad that there are some people who aren't devastated over what's happened. I'm mad that we live in a time where these things continue to happen.
I remember the first time that I realized that the world was not a safe place, it was about one week before my tenth birthday. A girl who lived not far from me in Southern California was found brutally murdered in her bedroom. It took me years to get over this, and that's not an exaggeration. I remember being so shocked that someone could hurt an innocent girl, in her own home. She was about two years older than me and there was something about the closeness in age and the proximity to home that made this so real for me. It really was the first time that I was afraid of murder, harm, and death.
One year later, on my little sister's 9th birthday, the Columbine shooting happened. Twelve high school students were murdered that day, twenty one were injured, and the two shooters committed suicide. I didn't understand. How could something like this happen at a high school? I was eleven years old and remember thinking that maybe school wasn't a safe place. The Columbine shooting stuck with me for a while as well. I remember reading "She Said Yes," the story of Cassie Bernall, one of the murdered students. I remember thinking about what I would have done in her specific situation and what I would have done if I were at that school that day. I was eleven years old and my thoughts were occupied with these types of questions- questions about why people hurt others and why the places I always considered to be safe weren't.
The massacre at Virginia Tech University happened in April of 2007. I was 19 years old. I was one year into college and working at a golf course. I remember being inside the golf course grill when someone told me to go look at the televisions. Thirty-two people were murdered that day. I sat there with customers, watching the horror and devastation unfold right before our eyes. We sat in silence, our eyes glued to the television. It made no sense to me. How could this happen?
I'm mad that I had to see those things as a child, but more than being mad about seeing it, I'm so mad that it was reality for others. I'm mad that people had to live that. I'm mad that there is such terror and hatred in the world. I'm mad that one day, I'm going to have to explain these events to my children and that I'm going to have to be afraid of what could happen to them.
I'm mad that, in this time and place, mass shootings are not uncommon to hear of.
University of California at Santa Barbara. Century Movie Theater in Aurora, CO. Columbine. Virginia Tech. Santana High School. Sandy Hook. Seattle Pacific University. Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church.
I'm so mad and my heart is broken. I'm mad that children have to grow up being afraid that they could be hurt, whether it is because of their race, where they go to school, where they worship, or just because someone decides that they will harm them. I'm mad that this keeps happening yet it seems like our devastation, as a society, decreases every time. It's almost like we're calloused to the brokenness and the sorrow, whether that be because we don't want to feel the pain or we just don't know what to do with it.
I'm grateful that I serve a God who knows more than I do, that loves in a way I can not understand, and who values all life. There is comfort in that, but the sorrow remains. I hate platitudes and when people try to make beauty in situations where the brokenness needs to be felt and grappled with. All I know is that one day, wrongs will be righted and brokenness will be mended: everything will be restored. I cling to that hope. I wait for that day, but my waiting does not allow me to sit idly by as my brothers and sisters are pain. Lord Jesus, equip me to respond to this brokenness in the right way and please, come in glory.
I keep coming back to feeling mad.
I'm mad that this happened. I'm mad that someone felt like it was their right or job to take the lives of others. I'm mad that hate runs so deep that a person would feel justified in harming others. I'm mad that nine beautiful lives were taken. I'm mad that not even churches are safe. I'm mad that there is so much brokenness and racism in the United States. I'm mad that there are some people who aren't devastated over what's happened. I'm mad that we live in a time where these things continue to happen.
I remember the first time that I realized that the world was not a safe place, it was about one week before my tenth birthday. A girl who lived not far from me in Southern California was found brutally murdered in her bedroom. It took me years to get over this, and that's not an exaggeration. I remember being so shocked that someone could hurt an innocent girl, in her own home. She was about two years older than me and there was something about the closeness in age and the proximity to home that made this so real for me. It really was the first time that I was afraid of murder, harm, and death.
One year later, on my little sister's 9th birthday, the Columbine shooting happened. Twelve high school students were murdered that day, twenty one were injured, and the two shooters committed suicide. I didn't understand. How could something like this happen at a high school? I was eleven years old and remember thinking that maybe school wasn't a safe place. The Columbine shooting stuck with me for a while as well. I remember reading "She Said Yes," the story of Cassie Bernall, one of the murdered students. I remember thinking about what I would have done in her specific situation and what I would have done if I were at that school that day. I was eleven years old and my thoughts were occupied with these types of questions- questions about why people hurt others and why the places I always considered to be safe weren't.
The massacre at Virginia Tech University happened in April of 2007. I was 19 years old. I was one year into college and working at a golf course. I remember being inside the golf course grill when someone told me to go look at the televisions. Thirty-two people were murdered that day. I sat there with customers, watching the horror and devastation unfold right before our eyes. We sat in silence, our eyes glued to the television. It made no sense to me. How could this happen?
I'm mad that I had to see those things as a child, but more than being mad about seeing it, I'm so mad that it was reality for others. I'm mad that people had to live that. I'm mad that there is such terror and hatred in the world. I'm mad that one day, I'm going to have to explain these events to my children and that I'm going to have to be afraid of what could happen to them.
I'm mad that, in this time and place, mass shootings are not uncommon to hear of.
University of California at Santa Barbara. Century Movie Theater in Aurora, CO. Columbine. Virginia Tech. Santana High School. Sandy Hook. Seattle Pacific University. Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church.
I'm so mad and my heart is broken. I'm mad that children have to grow up being afraid that they could be hurt, whether it is because of their race, where they go to school, where they worship, or just because someone decides that they will harm them. I'm mad that this keeps happening yet it seems like our devastation, as a society, decreases every time. It's almost like we're calloused to the brokenness and the sorrow, whether that be because we don't want to feel the pain or we just don't know what to do with it.
I'm grateful that I serve a God who knows more than I do, that loves in a way I can not understand, and who values all life. There is comfort in that, but the sorrow remains. I hate platitudes and when people try to make beauty in situations where the brokenness needs to be felt and grappled with. All I know is that one day, wrongs will be righted and brokenness will be mended: everything will be restored. I cling to that hope. I wait for that day, but my waiting does not allow me to sit idly by as my brothers and sisters are pain. Lord Jesus, equip me to respond to this brokenness in the right way and please, come in glory.