Awakening

I'm baaaa-aacckkk! I’m talking the exuberant, focused, joyful Jessica in full swing. 

Well…I started my Monday morning decorating plates in ceramics and writing a blog – both fine forms of productive procrastination – so maybe I’m not TOTALLY back, but graduation is mere weeks away. It finally feels in my reach, and that keeps me trucking along.  

What a month this has been. Obviously as the semester unfolds, I have not been nearly as diligent in my blogging. I miss it dearly, I’m in “it” – writing – for the long haul, but it just has not been a priority this season. Regardless, here’s a recap of both how the weather has had a hold on me and the incredible things that happened this past weekend.

I am unofficially but probably pretty accurately diagnosing myself with SAD, seasonal affective disorder. The blues have a fairly strong hold on me every winter, and I don’t realize how down I had been until the snow melts. I am still fairly cheerful through those frigid first “-ary” months of the new year, but when the sun’s rays warm my chest, when the flowers begin blooming, when I wake up to the birds chirping in the morning, all feels a little more right in the world. I’m now recalling that the same thing happened last year in DC. When I think of the majority of my experience there, I still sum it up with the word “cold,” but a week before I came home, the cherry blossoms finally bloomed. I meandered around the tidal basin and soaked up the magical combination of flowers and sunshine, and that was the only medicine I needed. Even though the weather continues to hover in the 30 to 50 degree range, (it is the end of MARCH Mother Nature; you have my full permission to respond appropriately with a 35 degree increase whenever you’d like), Spring is officially here. As the calendar page turns over, so, too, does my outlook on life.

In December, I bought an early-bird student ticket to the SPARK conference, which was this past weekend. The docket of leading Christian speakers was impressive, but as it approached, I was not super stoked to go. Had I not already bought my ticket, I probably would have backed out and gone hang gliding with Outdoor Adventures. I’ll always be a believer in Jesus, but I am not always the disciple I have promised Him I would be. Balance is not my strength. By Jessica standards, I was slacking in school for the first half of the semester. Now I have begun giving my honors project the attention it deserves, but it has come at the cost of morning quiet times of Scripture reading and prayer, in giving God the first fruits of my day.

So I dragged my butt over to the conference Friday night. I half-heartedly sang along with the opening concert-style worship music. Yeah, there were flashing lights and mainly white middle class attendees. I suppose that is to be expected… this is Roanoke after all. Regardless, Jesus does not care who you are. He wants your heart, He wants you to serve Him, for His glory. The atrium was set up with over thirty kiosks of well-meaning nonprofits addressing some kind of social world injustice – orphans, poverty, slaves, sex trafficking. I often find myself either paralyzed by the massive need in the world or running away and trying to deny its existence in my first-world America. I deeply care about all of it, so when I am not doing something to address these, I’m wracked with guilt. I know I should be engaging it and being Jesus’ hands and feet. International Justice Mission, where I interned last spring, also had a booth set up, and Roger, who I knew from my time there, was understaffed. He very excitedly invited me to man the table whenever I wanted.

I love helping, and it was a pleasure to be advocating on behalf of IJM as I wish I did more consistently. Being the extrovert I am, it was also a really great cop out to meet people and hear their stories instead of sticking with my Roanoke friends. I'd often end up asking more questions to them than they did about IJM. As I told people about IJM’s work, though, how investigators rescue the poor from violence, prosecute the perpetrators, and provide restoration to victims in aftercare, I knew I was doing something that God cared about, and that felt right. I felt more alive, and the work I do to make A’s – though those are good and my current job right now (for ONE MORE MONTH!!) – it tanks in comparison. He cares about people, and I do too.

I took one other step of action this weekend. Many people are familiar with Compassion, International. It's an organization in which, for $38 a month, you can sponsor a child to go to school and be provided for physically, educationally, and spiritually. You also get to write letters back and forth to each other to keep in touch. I have sponsored a sweet Indian girl named Celcia since 2012. When they invited people to sponsor a child, the idea of sponsoring two kids seemed really financially stretching right now. But I realized that I could go in with my siblings. We could all contribute $10 a month and actually change someone else's life. I shot out a group message.

We're all in, but Cain laughed and gave me a hard time when I talked to him later. "Yeah, no pressure, Jess. Let's just be like Jesus."

Really though, sponsoring a Compassion kid is a lot like Jesus' individual love for us. I get so overwhelmed with all the need in the world, but addressing that need often starts with looking at one person and choosing to help him. "What you cannot do for all, do for the one." So....welcome to the Compton family Aude! We're so excited! (I am, anyway).

I have been following this Jesus long enough to know when the Holy Spirit is tangibly present, and He was definitely around at this conference, waking up our hearts to the things that are close to His. If we’re following Him and doing what the Bible says, then we’re being real disciples of Christ. Sometimes there are specific callings, but a lot of the time, He just wants us to go anywhere, do anything that we love, and glorify Him in the process. He loves you, and he wants your love in return. Things may not go the way we plan or think they should, we may not see why something is happening. Those answers only come in with some hindsight. But we have to live our lives going forward, trusting that hindsight will show us why things work out the way they do. 

Beth Guckenberger of Back2Back Ministries is a down-to-earth forty-something mama. She and her husband have officially adopted 10 children and run an orphanage in Mexico. She didn’t sugar coat anything she said, but it was incredible nonetheless. She shared the ways that the city she lives in in Mexico, which was flooded with gang violence and drug cartels in 2013, has been transformed by the power of Jesus. A pastor connected with the new police chief and began speaking to the policemen for five minutes at role call every Saturday. Nothing monumental took place when he came, but the city started changing. Soon he was invited every day for the whole thirty minutes. Eventually peace was restored to the city, and looking back, not one policeman had been killed since the pastor began visiting the headquarters and sharing the gospel. When people felt safe enough to start going out for tacos and playing soccer again, the new mayor asked who to dedicate the keys of the city to. You police chief? You pastor? Nah, they said. Jesus Christ. And they mayor did it! Which just sounds preposterous and kind of silly, but He was to be honored. Seeing that success, all of the other surrounding cities consecutively did the same. Of course, not everyone understood it; the newspapers made jokes that if your faucet started pouring out wine, you could thank Jesus. That’s okay, though. The Lord we serve is still up to incredible things, and even if I don’t feel like I am a part of it sometimes, it is affirming to hear those real-life miracles happening.

Bob Sorge also spoke. For over twenty years, however, following the removal of an ulcer in his throat, the literal act of talking has been a challenge for him, and he has to limit himself to speaking for less than one hour a day before it becomes too painful. If you have fifteen minutes, watch this video his son made for him that he shared with us. Absolutely worth it. I had heard his story before, but the clip shows the way God has worked through Bob, how we can trust that someday He will make us all new creations.

Then there’s Bob Goff, author of Love Does, and one of the most hilarious, free-spirited men I have ever met. As a lawyer, he’s loaded, but he uses his money to love others and have a good time. Like, you know, flying private planes and playing the drums, because why not?

“You know what I do when people don’t like me? – I mean, I’m a pretty likeable guy, I think, but there’re a few out there.”

He bent down and pulled off his shoes and what does he have on? Fuzzy, bright pink socks. This is not surprising at all. It’s just so Bob.

“I take off my shoes. Literally. I get humble. We should hold on to the innocent, eight year old version of ourselves, but we should constantly be striving for the next better, more humble version of ourselves, too.”

“And you know what else? Comparison’s a punk. I mean we just got to listen to an NFL football player talk about loving orphans. How are we supposed to compete with that? You’re not! Be YOUR best self, the person God has made YOU to be. Nobody else. You are awesome!”

The whole time he is just laughing and smiling and you can tell he loves his life. He loves his neighbors – intentionally and extravagantly. He doesn’t think he’s special; he’s just doing his thing.

“You should also hang out with people that really creep you out, that are way different from you. Those are the ones that need you.”

You know who Bob hangs out with? Ugandan witch doctors. Undercover, he asked them if they would sacrifice a child for protection against evil spirits. No problem, $30. This always fills Bob with righteous anger. So he invites them to be a part of his school. They only read the Bible and Love Does. When they’re inducted, Bob kisses them on the forehead. He says he loves them. Then he cups their face and pulls it really close to his.

Whispering, he says, “And if you EVER kill a child, I’ll kill YOU.”

Now that is love. Weird love. But so weird it’s kind of refreshing.

My best friend Kayla, Bob, and Holland.
Oh yeah, his retina just detached and he finds out this week whether he gets a glass eye ball or whether he'll be able to see. That's kind of a big deal. But he doesn't seem to be worried about it at all. He would totally rock the glass eye ball.

Spring and SPARK… they’re responsible for re-awakening my soul after these past few frigid, tough months. I am not only revived, but they have helped remind me of my purpose – to love the downtrodden and the oppressed, to bring hope and restoration to those with whom I interact. I’ve got a lot ahead of me in these next few weeks, but I’ll just keep plugging away at it. As I do, I will not forget that these dwindling days are to be cherished. Sometimes I wish I could go be just like Beth, feel like I’m honoring God and saving little children all in one fell swoop. But as Bob said, comparison’s a punk. I am to be me. Soon I think that will mean pouring into kids at camp and students at school. But right now that means being studious and loving my classmates. It means hiking mountains with them and letting professors know how much they have influenced me. It means doing my very best on my honors project, because it matters, and I believe it will bring a little more peace to the world someday. So here we go. Back to the books for three more weeks!

Relinquishing Control (Again)

This past month has been really weird. It has not at all been what I expected for my last semester of college. I hate it when life does not go the way I think it will.

I rarely cry, but in less than a twenty-four hour period, two weeks ago I broke down into a snotty-nosed sob fest four times. The best part is that a damn government letter set it off. I am not a huge fan of the small-town Wythe County circuit court right now. Apparently my driver improvement course did not count because it was taken online instead of participating in an 8-hour in-person class.

Now I am not a hypersensitive baby. Obviously some deeper heart issues have been simmering. This semester, I have been feeling a little lost, a little sad, a little lonely. The feelings make random, abrupt, short visits. The gray cloud sets in, and I do not understand it. As quickly as it comes, it then blows away. It’s a strange funk. I thought I just needed to settle into the semester, but all of a sudden, spring break is almost upon me, and I still have not figured this period of life out. I try to write it off and move on, but the unwelcome funk just keeps revisiting.

As those feelings simmered, they just needed a catalyst to make them boil over, for which I have Wytheville to thank. While the clouds are held at bay, I am beginning to figure out why some of those feelings have arisen at all.

In high school, one of the best-kept secrets about college is that freshman year is not always the party everyone makes it out to be. Another well-kept secret is that the last semester of college is almost equally as challenging. I was not prepared for that reality.

Last semester was supposed to be the hard semester. This was supposed to be the fun one. Last semester I kept my nose to the grind. My schedule was packed, and I prided myself on being able to handle everything as efficiently and successfully as I did. I thought it was a kind of hell, but last semester I was in the zone – my controlled zone, more precisely. I was doing school. I like school; I’m good at school. I am an expert at school.

This semester has thrown me for a loop, though. I was so excited to come back and have more free time. I knew I had one semester left, and I wanted to make it count. I wanted to do all of the things I had always wanted and not yet done. No regrets. (See my previous blog post for more on that topic.)

Yet, as I embrace outdoor adventure and wedge clay and spend more than fifteen minutes in Commons for meals, I am not satisfied. I am more lost than I have been for the rest of college.

Productivity

Like many, being busy makes me feel like I have purpose and importance. Too much of my self-worth comes from how much I can accomplish in a day. I still have plenty to do this semester, but there is more free time, too. It freaks me out. I am used to designated school breaks where I get to step back from the work and relax. I am not used to a whole semester where I have to decide how to delegate my time and energy with things I’d like to do but don’t have to do. What? Fun clubs and stuff? Is it okay if I do that? My packed schedule and assignments have usually decided what I do for me. I have recently been challenged to intentionally waste time and spend a little time for myself. Because really, is watching a movie wasted time after all? It is probably rejuvenating. I look around and other people are still really stressed. I am not. Simultaneously, I also still have plenty to do in class, but it seems stupid. The thing about being an English major is that you don’t really learn any new skill. You just read new material and analyze it like you have been for all of college. It is getting a little monotonous. There are other graduation requirements like my senior honors project that I have not been investing in as I should; that is starting to cause some anxiety. But I just don’t want to do it and I do not care as much as I have in the past. I think this is called senioritis. Ha.

Failure and Judgment

New activities are hard and challenging, and you are far more susceptible to failure when you do them. I like being good at whatever I do, and obviously that is impossible as I roll a kayak or attempt to center clay. Like any true perfectionist, I like failure as much as cats like taking baths. In truth, a few doses of failure are probably good for me, but that does not make it any less exhausting. I am not easy on myself, either, and I am self-critical. I not only expect to be good at anything I do; I expect to be the best, and I am unsatisfied when that does not happen. Rationally, I know such a standard is preposterous. But this is my hardwiring. I am learning to work with the way God has made me. It is good to be efficient, to be my best. It is not good to constantly condemn myself. I am trying to remember grace.

Transition

I am doing all of the things a first semester freshman would do as a second semester senior. That, friends, will mess with your head. I am trying to be present and take advantage of opportunities and friendships, but I am also ready to move on. I waffle between the two, because I know college is a valuable time and the not-so-fun working world is next. When else will I get to read and hang out with a bunch of my peers all the time? Yet one foot feels like it is already out the door. Even as I invest in people, I wonder, “Why am I doing this? I’ll be out of here in seven weeks!”

Control & Trust

Ultimately, a lot of this restlessness comes from my tendency to be the conductor of everything in my life. Usually things go the way I intend for them to. Despite my directions, life seems to have steered a different path this time. Not being in control is hard and scary. Fortunately, I remember that I am not totally in charge after all. Through whatever weird period this is, I am reminded that God is good, all the time, no matter my circumstances. Particularly as I have these slower moments, I look to him, and he speaks. He wants me to trust him. He is the captain of my ship, but I have been monopolizing the steering wheel. As I seek him, I am rediscovering the power of prayer. I never stopped relying on him, but he is proving to be faithful when I depend on him. I have been trying to do life a little too independently. These past few weeks, I have seen so much more clearly the way he moves and the way he provides for me, even if my struggles are small and “first world.” Random people have dropped into my life, and they have provided so much guidance and reassurance. There are mountains and valleys, and when I am in the valley, the mountain becomes higher. A lyric line in one of my favorite worship songs says “I lean not on my own understanding. My life is in the hands of the maker of heaven.” It’s true. He is far greater than I. I am going to let him be the director he is and allow him to work through me. He is faithful. His mercies are new every morning, and I will hope in Him.

This post is pretty personal, but I still publish it for two reasons. I like updating those that care about me, and this is life right now, unawesome as it is. Second, honesty is important, especially when the standard “How are you?” response is “Good,” regardless of the way one actually feels. If you’re not good, that’s okay. I hope by being vulnerable I am opening opportunities for others to know that they are not alone. Expectations of how life “should” be are often not how life actually is.

I am doing alright. The funk comes and goes. Either way, I am re-learning that regardless of how I feel, this is where I am. The Lord can make good out of that. He will be my daily portion.

98 Days of Rolling

An Apology

Last night I enjoyed Roanoke’s open mic night, where students - many of impressive talent, some courageously oblivious to their lack of talent - performed songs, poems, and improv skits.

Kudos to my friend and favorite folk musician Daniel Osborne.

A lot of the people prefaced their performance with something like:

Well I haven’t picked up my guitar since senior year of high school. We’ll see how this goes.

or

I never read my poetry to anyone.

or

I just decided to do this an hour ago, so I’m going to be performing a Capella tonight.

It bothered me more than it should. I admire the fact that they are up on stage at all, but I don’t like it when people try to justify themselves or apologize before they have even done anything wrong. Just show me what you can do. Let your performance speak for itself.

And yet, here I am, finally pulling up a Word document, and the first thing I want to write is an apology for not being more diligent in my blogging over the last two months. I have missed writing; I’d like to think you have missed it too? So many good things have happened, and I have wanted to share them with you. The California road trip with my fun and spunky study abroad friends Tracey and Mariah will not go unwritten, I promise. It was too incredible to not translate into words. Things have been pretty crazy, though. Such is life, I suppose.

After being dropped off at the LAX airport on Saturday, I had a more-than-convenient layover in Houston, where my boyfriend Dan now lives. I stretched it out to be twenty-four hours rather than three so I could spend a little time with him before returning to school. On Sunday, I flew into Charleston around 10:30 pm, and I hit the road Monday morning at 5:30 to make it back up to Roanoke in time for class. I had two hours to scarf down some sustenance, read several poems, and complete a mini report before Seminar started. That was almost two weeks ago, and I have not really stopped since. 

That’s the thing though…I really like writing, but the extrovert in me would still rather pass my time with people than spend a day doing solitary activities. The same was true over winter break. I had an ambitious list of books I wanted to read, and I only ended up getting through a book and a half. I did, however, make time for over twenty friend get-togethers. So I'm sorry. I hope this is the start of a more regular pattern of blogging.

New Year, New Semester, New Life Philosophy

Now that I am back at school, I do not have the academic challenge that I faced in the fall, but I am still always doing something. When I was drowning in work last semester, I remember thinking to myself, “What the heck did I do with myself freshman year?! I had so much time.” Now that I have less classes, it is all coming back to me. I had fun. I immersed myself in campus life. I looked at the table tents in Commons and I took advantage of all the school had to offer. 

And now I can do it again!

As of late, that just had not been feasible. I was stuck in class or doing homework all. the dang. time.

But I declare - no more! I entered Roanoke as an 18-year-old thinking I would dive into Outdoor Adventures. I did homework instead. Academics should be a priority in college, but it's not all of college. By being so focused on school, I actually neglected another huge facet of my education. I will never be a lead guide in OA like I thought I would be four years ago, but I decided to take advantage of all the activities I can this semester, and my facial expression below is generally how I have been approaching them.

A YES attitude, my friends. A Let’s Do This, I’m Game, Bring It On philosophy. It can lead to feelings of exhaustion. It oftentimes puts you in situations that are intimidating, if not downright scary. So far, though, it has been really rewarding. 

I have not had an art class since eighth grade, but I enrolled in Ceramics pass/fail so I could try something new without being stressed out. 

I am spending a lot of time in here.

Of course, I still put a lot of pressure on myself, and it is way more demanding than I thought it would be. Every time I lift the lid of the 500-pound industrial bin filled with all that moist earthy potential, the clay challenges me. 

What will you make out of me, Jessica?

I don’t know! Stop it, alright? I’m just trying something new. Why are all my classmates so creative? What if mine sucks? I hate being bad at things.

But I refuse to be controlled by fear or the dread of failure. The whole point of this class is to re-learn an art that I used to love. I grab a hunk of that clay and start molding. 

I am also taking part in the OA assistant guide training each week so I can still learn how to lead in the outdoors. Hopefully I can apply that information soon after college. I finally went to kayak rolling clinic, which has been offered every Thursday night since I have been at Roanoke, but I never made it out. As I changed into my bathing suit beforehand, I both recognized and disregarded the inkling of fear knotting up in my gut. Stepping out of one’s comfort zone is hard. You almost guarantee the bruising of your confidence, and with physical activities, you run an equally high risk of bruising your body. I entered the Alumni Gym pool room with a smile and as much fortitude as I could muster.

It was a blast. With an enthusiastic teacher, I had rolled by myself before the end of the night. The following day I also discovered muscles in my hips that I did not know I had.  It is a strange sensation to intentionally capsize and surround yourself with water, something we humans were not made to be under for more than a few minutes. It certainly is not natural, and it is a little uncomfortable. But I assume eventually you get the hang of kayak rolling, and it prepares you for bigger adventures on a real river.

Last Saturday, that same bit of nervousness crept over me as I walked across campus through the early morning darkness. Over the last week I had gathered a rag-tag assortment of winter gear that I, as a warm-weather South Carolinian, certainly did not own. In three hours, I would be in a West Virginia winter wonderland: Snowshoe Ski Resort. 

I have been down-hill skiing once in my life on a middle school youth group retreat. I stuck to the bunny slope, so I don’t think that even counts. I don’t know when green trails became so steep, but as I peered down the first slope, this one certainly seemed more perilous than necessary for a beginner. What the hell am I doing? 

“You ready?” Chris, my patient and reassuring Roanoke guide asked me.

“Yep,” I half lie. “Just pizza slice. Got it.”

What the hell am I doing?

But I was off. I also was totally not in control and definitely did not pizza slice and of course ended that first run by crashing ungracefully to the ground, because how else is one supposed to stop? Thank heavens I did not run into a tree. I got awfully close. Twice.

I still do not understand how to fully control speed, and I am nowhere near mastering a hockey stop. As the day progressed, though, I improved, shifting my weight, leaning forward, drifting from side to side. I will be returning to the slopes.

Despite the challenge – or perhaps, more accurately, because of the challenge – all of these new activities have been rewarding experiences. With my extra time, I have also found myself enjoying power yoga, zumba, Insanity, and running. I am more diligent in my morning quiet times with the Lord. Some of my freshman residents and I have begun meeting once a week as a small group to read Mere Christianity together. I can go to evening lectures and partake in discussions over a beer at Theology on Tap. I now stop by friends’ rooms just to chat, or let my food digest over good dinner conversation as I linger a bit longer in Commons. I don’t like sports, but I even watched the women’s basketball game today.

On Thursday, the seniors celebrated the 100 Days 'til Graduation party hosted by Roanoke.

The joys of a small liberal arts college!

The countdown is officially on, and increasingly so, people ask me how I feel about graduating. I am content. I am excited about the future, so for that reason, I am glad I am nearing the end. But I love that I have this final redeeming semester to do all of the things I always wanted to do in college.

I have 98 days, and with them, I am going to metaphorically roll. Kayak rolling was (is) scary and new, but I did it, and I will keep doing it. The same goes for myriad other hobbies and activities this final semester. Tonight I am going to listen to the Kandinsky Trio. Soon I will be at the climbing gym and horseback riding.  I don’t want a day to go by that I have not "rolled" into in some significant way. Like rolling clinics, such moments are preparing me for bigger, potentially scarier experiences after graduation. This is the end of college. I have 98 more days to make it count.