Satisfaction in a Season of Silence

Searching, seeking, praying, wandering, looking, screaming….these words are what I would use to attempt to explain my current walk with God. I am searching for him; I am seeking him; I am praying for guidance; I am wandering; I am looking for him everywhere I can; I am screaming out to him for answers. However, I cannot scream any longer. I cannot search any longer. I cannot look any longer. These things only make me weary, and I experienced the effects of this weariness this past summer. I do not want to go there again. So, I have evaluated my efforts to hear God’s calling on my life, but not only my distant future. I want answers about the near future, like what to do during spring break, what classes to take, what PCM to change to, and what church to settle into as my home church. Anyhow, like I said, I needed to re-evaluate and figure out wherein the error lies.

When I was explaining my desperate situation to a good, (British) ☺ friend, I told her how I was earnestly and consistently praying about these issues. She listened intently like she does, and she replied to me, “Kel, I know you’ve been praying, but have you spent time listening?” Unfortunately, I could not respond with the most desirable answer. I had been praying, but I had certainly not been listening. I had never distinguished the two actions. And so, I decided to make an extra effort to listen to God.

Of course, I ran into a slight problem. I realized I don’t know how to listen to God. I close my eyes, and I attempt to clear my mind of every thing. Every single thing. Somehow, different voices always pop into my complicated and complex mind. I ask God to speak to me, and I hear one voice say something, so I ask, “God is that you or is that me?” And then I hear the opposite of what the other voice just said. Then, I ask the question again, and I hear the original answer. It is ridiculous. I know it is just my own mind conjuring ideas and responses up in my mind. I don’t know how to listen to God, and I don’t know how to hear God.

Granted, I have heard God pretty blatantly in my life...in his Creation, in music, in books, in movies, in conversations, in other people. I have heard him in those ways, but for the questions I am asking now, I have not heard anything concrete in any of those ways. And so, I have been trying to simply listen during the times I set aside to be alone with him. But, apparently, I don’t know how to listen. I am slightly ashamed to even be saying this. I have been a Christian for years, and I don’t know how to listen to and hear God in the silence? What is that? I should be much farther along than this.

Regardless of my shame or where I should be at this point in my faith, I am not hearing God. Possibly, I am not listening intently enough. Or maybe I am not seeking him as earnestly as I should. Or perhaps (and I am almost convinced of this), for some unknown and frustrating reason, God is choosing to be silent in my life. If this is the case, it really frustrates me, because it seems like when I am trying to learn how to listen to him and hear him, he should help me in the process of learning this essential piece of my faith, and speak to me.

So, what do I do? Because, honestly, it is breaking my heart. I want to hear from him. I want to have a more personal relationship with him, where I can hear him speak to me when I call him. I want to reach a higher level in my walk with him. But he chooses to be silent at the very time when I want to learn how to listen to him? Why?

No one can know. He is God. He is, “I AM.” Who can fight that? Who can argue with that? I know I can’t. So, I’m not questioning his plan for me. I’m not questioning his faithfulness and his love. I am only longing to hear from him, and it is frustrating me that I do not know how to listen to him, and that he is not helping me in this endeavor to better my faith. But moaning and groaning about it like I have been for the past six or seven paragraphs is not going to help me in any way.

This is what it comes down to for me right now, there is a song called, “Breathing” sung by who is only one of the GREATEST bands in history—Lifehouse. If you have never heard them, you have not lived. Anyway, one of the lines in the second verse goes like this:

I'm looking past the shadows
Of my mind into the truth and
I'm trying to identify
The voices in my head
God, which one's you?

This identifies how I feel. I am trying to figure out which voice is God, if he is even speaking to me at all. But then, the writer goes on to say this in the chorus:

‘Cause I am hanging on every word you’re saying,
And even if you don’t wanna speak tonight,
That’s alright, alright with me.
‘Cause I want nothing more
Than to sit outside Heaven’s door,
And listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.

So, as I listen to these beautiful lyrics, I picture the writer, on his knees, listening intently and desperately longing to hear God’s voice, yet to no avail. I feel the writer’s emptiness and anxiety in only…wanting…to hear God. That is all he wants. But since he cannot hear him, he will be content with “sitting outside Heaven’s door, and listen to you breathing.” He is okay with being near to God, whether or not he can actually feel God there with him in the silence or in the midst of other voices. And he is okay with just simply, listening to God’s breath. If he can’t hear God’s voice, whatever form God’s voice will take on in his mind, he can be satisfied with only hearing God breathe. I am there. Though I desperately want to hear God, and though I desperately want to know how to listen to him and hear him in return, I am okay with sitting near my Lord, and listening to his breath—whatever that may be. Maybe it is the wind, as cliché as that my sound. But really, it isn’t that cliché; I do believe that you can “hear” God or “feel” him in the wind. “Ruach” is the Hebrew word for “spirit,” “wind,” “breath,” and “air.” I believe that I have had encounters with the Holy Spirit through the wind. And maybe that was God’s “breath.” Or maybe hearing God “breathe” is just sitting back and knowing that he is near, and he is working. And somehow, he will make it clear to you what your next step is before you fail miserably. I can’t doubt God. And to expect him to speak to me in the silence just because I want to learn how to listen to him there, is to limit him. God is bigger than that. He is EVERYTHING.

The song then goes on to say:

I don’t want a thing from you,
Bet you’re tired of me waiting
For the scraps to fall off of your table to the ground,
I just want to be here now.

God has no obligation to speak to me. He has no obligation to love me or to do anything for me, so, even though I cannot hear him momentarily, I am still terribly grateful for the fact that he allows me to be near to him. He shares a relationship with me. And that is enough. He will take care of me. So, I’ll just sit under your table, God. I’ll sit here and wait for you. It is frustrating, but I know you will take care of me.

In conclusion, I still want to hear him speak to me. I want him to make these other voices in my head cease. I want his voice to echo through my mind and reverberate off the walls, and be so clear that there would be no ounce of doubt whether it was him or not. But what can I do? Nothing. He will speak to me however he wishes. And that is his perfect plan, and it is for my benefit. Thus, for as long as necessary, I will be content with being near him, only to hear him breathe. I will cease screaming and wandering and searching. I will continue to shake the other voices and attempt to listen and hear God. I trust that he is working and teaching me something. He is Faithful. He will speak. I will wait. And at least I get to wait with him sitting right next to me.

Love for the Ungrateful

So, one of the requirements as a student at Moody is attending a Practical Christian Ministry (PCM) once a week. You are only allowed one cut, with no make-ups required. If you cut again because of illness, you have to complete two make-ups. If you cut a second time for a reason other than sickness, you have to complete SEVEN make-ups. Moral of the story is: Don’t cut your PCM!

Anyway, choices for a PCM vary. You can tutor kids, work with the homeless, work with a youth group, serve at a church, the list continues. After your freshman year, you are even allowed to request your own PCM. My friend Katie and I are thinking about setting one up with a hospital where we can go spend time with terminally ill children. Anyway, when you are a freshman, the PCM office places you in your first PCM—you don’t get to choose. When I was told my PCM would be serving at a homeless shelter, I was ecstatic. I thought it would be awesome to minister to the homeless. It was exactly what I thought I would love. Boy, was I wrong.

To make a long story short, I basically show up at this homeless shelter, serve food, do dishes, sweep, mop, clean tables, and leave. The people that run the place—cooks, regular volunteers, employees, etc…are not very happy people, it seems. They are not mean, but they just don’t seem like the type of person that would serve at a soup kitchen. They don’t seem to have the volunteer’s heart. Also, the place just reeks. It smells like vomit mixed with rotten eggs or something. Fortunately, it only smells like that in the “dishes” room, and I haven’t been doing the dishes lately. Many of you know how sensitive I am to certain smells, though…how they make me gag uncontrollably and what not. Oh, and just a few weeks ago, as I was putting on my apron, what falls out of the pocket onto my clothes? A COCKROACH. I muted my disgust and initial urge to scream. I was mortified. I carefully checked the other pockets, but no roaches were to be found. Luckily. I check every week now. So, that gives you a slice of what this place is like. After my first two weeks, I had a terrible attitude. I dreaded going (I still don’t really look forward to going). So, I began to pray that God would change my heart for these people. I prayed that he would help me see their needs and just be able to serve them selflessly, no matter the circumstances. The more I prayed for God to change my heart, the more I felt like I needed to serve at the shelter.

Most of the families consist of a mother who is too young to have five kids, a father who doesn’t give a rip about his family, and kids who have no concept of what a family or what real love is. Many of the families are also single mothers, younger than me sometimes, with two to five kids. I’m guessing they probably all have different “baby daddies.” My heart breaks for these people. That is what kept me going back at first (that and the fact that I can’t change my PCM until next semester).

So, as I have dwelt on the bad attitudes of the regular workers, I began to realize that maybe their attitudes stem from the ungrateful people they serve every day. I mean, you would think the homeless people who come through the shelter are the richest, snobbiest people in the world. They act like the world is theirs; they act like they own the shelter; they act like nothing matters but them; they treat us like dirt. I was shocked. They have no right to treat me like that, when I am volunteering my time to come serve them every week! That is how I felt, initially. Seriously, these kids run around like they own the place; they throw all of their food and dishes on the floor. They scream; they demand more dessert; they demand tin foil and cups of ice and plastic bags. (I would like to say, there are some extremely grateful men and women there who thank us every week, and treat us with respect. I respect them greatly in return.) I would never hit a child, but more often than not, I just want to smack these kids and tell them to be more polite and thoughtful; however, they are not to blame for their behavior. But really, the cafeteria, after dinner is served, looks like all of the trays were piled with food, and then a tornado came through—leaving a mess of chili and rice, fruit and veggies, spilt milk, and plastic cups strewn all over the floor, tables, and chairs. The people don’t clean up after their kids or themselves. I loathe their ungratefulness.

I usually come out to wipe down the tables and sweep and mop the floor before many of them leave. As I walk around, taking my time so that I don’t have to do the dishes (hehe), sweeping torn Styrofoam cups, mounds of chili, fruit and cookies into the portable trash bin, thing (That was profound) they continue to scream profanely at each other, dropping more food on the ground—completely disregarding my attempts to clean their messes. Every time we make eye contact, I try my best to smile, but many times I found it terribly difficult.

Anyway, this is getting long, so I will cut to the chase. Last week, I was feeling nauseous and only wanted to get back to campus. I was moving slowly because of my upset stomach, and I was listening to a young husband getting all wound up about his wife who was upset about a sugar bowl or something. I never really got the gist of the story, but I do know that he was completely overreacting. I listened to him rant for about a half hour while I swept. I thought I was going to explode. However, I kept sweeping, taking deep breaths—attempting to prevent any vomit from coming up to say hello. I succeeded! ☺ While I walked down the aisles, moving chairs, and sweeping under tables, meditating on the peoples’ ungratefulness, I had an epiphany! I immediately felt disgust for my bad attitude, and my ill feelings for the homeless peoples’ attitudes.

What I realized is that the way these people treat me and the other volunteers and workers, while we are only there to serve them and provide them with food—essential to live—is basically the equivalent to how God is treated every day by his children. God provides us every single day and night, with what we need and more. He blesses us more than we know, every day. And what do I give him in return? Many times it’s, “Oh, I need to spend some time with God…but I also need to have this paper done by tomorrow morning…gosh I really shouldn’t have spent an hour on facebook and whatnot just now…hmm, well, I mean, my grades depend on this paper….so, I guess, ‘God, I promise I’ll set aside extra time for you tomorrow.’” Really, Kelly? I am really going to complain about these people, when I treat God so much worse? I serve these people because I have to, and because I care about a few of them. God provides me with what I need because of his unfathomable love for me. I have no right to claim his love for me. I have no right for him to call me his own. Yet, he does. I frequently compromise my time with him, but he continues to draw me back to himself and prove his love for me. He continually takes me back into his arms. And I continually fight my way out of his embrace, when in reality, his embrace is all I need.

So, where do I get off complaining about others’ ungratefulness for my service, when I ignore God's provision for me? It is my duty to serve others, just as Christ served us and paid our way to freedom. Whether people appreciate my service or not, I have to complete my work with a servant’s heart and a smile. God never denies us what we need. He is faithful. Sometimes, these people really hurt me, because of the way they look at me, when I am only trying to help them. How much more am I hurting my God? My God who sacrificed his ONLY son for me. My God who for some unknown reason, cares for and loves me like his own child. In fact, I am just that. I am his child. I hurt him and break his heart every day. And that, my friends, breaks my heart.

And so, just as he continues to love me, despite my ungratefulness, I am going to make a conscious effort to serve the homeless people out of selfless love. I want to serve them whether they appreciate it or not. Besides, you never know who is observing you, and I don’t want any of them to see a scowl on my face just because I am cleaning up their mess. I am there to serve them, under any circumstances. That is what I am called to do. That is what I am going to do. I love them despite their attitudes. When my dad would ask me to go do something for him, whether I would complain or not, he would say, "Kel, you have such a servant's heart." If I was complaining, he was being sarcastic--trying to make me laugh. If I completed my task cheerfully, he was being serious. I want to work cheerfully. I want to have a true servant's heart. And my heart is changed now. God answered my prayer, and at the same time he opened my eyes to the way I treat him. God, I am striving to serve you with a smile and good heart. I love my God, my faithful God.

Cease Striving (Psalm 46:10)

A year and a half ago, my young, healthy dad died from a heart attack. This past June, my best friend's (Kelsey) 23 (or 24?) year old brother was killed in Afghanistan. A few weeks ago, my uncle died. Last week, my old elementary school nurse, who has a son who is a junior in high school (and some other children...not sure how old they are) and was loved by the whole town died from cancer. Last Sunday night, my best friend's aunt, Lisa--who was also loved by the whole town, her family, and friends (And when my dad died, she basically held my mom together. She and her family helped us and blessed us in more ways than I can say.) died in her sleep. Can I even begin to say how weary I am of death and devastation?

I have spent all day today at Lisa's viewing. I arrived early, so that I could offer my services to the family the whole time. I wanted to be with my best friend--Monica--to comfort her through this time. I also just wanted to hug Lisa's daughters, knowing exactly how they felt. As soon as I entered the front doors of Wakarusa Missionary Church, my eyes welled up with tears. Pictures and videos were displayed along the line. As we moved along slowly, my heart broke more and more for this beloved family.

Lisa was a great woman of faith. She loved God with her whole being, and that was evident in her everyday life. She thought of others before herself. I remember right when my father passed, she and Jeff (her husband) took care of the big and the little things that my family and I were just too exhausted and sad to even think about doing. As time moved on, and the people in our house dwindled, and the cards, letters, flowers, and phone calls became less and less, Lisa and Jeff remained. Lisa would come to our house frequently to check up on my mom. She helped her, cared for her, loved her, supported her, reminded her of God's love, and encouraged her--all things with which I could not help my mother. I am forever blessed by and forever grateful for Lisa.

When I walked into the sanctuary today and saw Lisa in the casket, Jeff standing by her body, Chelsea and Cassie standing next to Jeff, I lost control. Tears streamed down my face, though I tried to blink them back into their ducts. I looked at Lisa's lifeless body, and my own body screamed inside, with rage, with sadness, with hurt, and with fear. What are you doing, God? Give me an answer.

Finally, it was my turn to face Jeff. I walked up to him, looking in his eyes, hating that this was happening to him. He is such a great, caring man. We wrapped our arms around each other, and I began to sob. I could not hold it back anymore. This should not be happening. His young, beautiful, Christian wife should not be in the casket next to us. Jeff spoke encouraging words to me, speaking about how our families were brought together for a reason, and now I can help his daughters. He said how much he loved my family, and I tried to respond. I kept choking on my words as I continued to weep. I felt like he should have been the one crying, and I the one encouraging him. I felt useless, helpless. Eventually, I choked out the words, "I...love...you...too. I'm...so sorry." My heart ached.

I moved down the line to Chelsea, Jeff and Lisa's eldest daughter. This girl, found her mother dead. She thought she was sleeping, so she tried to wake her, but to no avail. Let me tell you, I cannot imagine what that must have felt like. I cannot imagine the fear that gripped her heart and her soul. I held onto Chelsea as we both cried. I could only tell her I loved her, and she could call me anytime she needed to. What a lame condolence. You would think I should know the perfect thing to say, but I did not. I think it's because there is not really a "perfect" thing to say.

Anyway, I held onto Chelsea for awhile, then I hugged Cassie--the youngest daughter, a freshman in high school--and then I made my rounds to the rest of the extended family. That family is so important to me. Oh, how I love them. I watched countless people grieve tonight for a single woman. A single woman that made a vast difference in their lives, in this world. A single woman that made a vast difference in my life. We grieved. And watching others grieve only hurt me even more. My heart broke; my soul ached; my body weakened.

So, as I have been meditating on all of the death surrounding me, my friends, and my family, I search for answers. However, my brother told me the other night that I should not focus on finding meaning for tragedy, but I should just trust God. This was, surprisingly, the best thing anyone has told me in a long time. It seems so obvious and so simple, but it finally hit me in the face. Ever since my dad was ripped away from me, searching for answers has been my primary concern. I have experiences with God, and I try to use them to find meaning in death. However, I now realize that maybe those were his ways of reminding me that I need to trust his faithfulness.

Searching for answers is tiring, and I do not have the strength to do it any longer. It wears me out, and Satan attacks me at those moments. Those moments when I am empty, and I only want to give in to my fear and sadness. Though trusting God is not always easy, it is much less tiring, and much more comforting. And so, though I want answers, I am going to try my best to cease my efforts of finding answers. My effort now all goes towards giving God my trust. Psalm 46:10 is my new life verse.

So, God, I trust you. It hurts, and I ache, but I trust you. I trust you will bring goodness, you will bring healing, you will bring joy, you will always be faithful, and you will always love. I am weary of searching, and I give that to you. I trust you with my future. With my whole life. I. Trust. You.

"Cease striving, and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10

Answer to My Quandary

I wanted to write a quick post informing you that my last post was silly. I was just being difficult...not wanting to believe that God as a Father would watch us hurt when he could prevent it.

I realized what I knew along. (I think I even mentioned it in the last post.) Who defines what a father is? God does. He was the original Father, and it is sin that has distorted humans views of what a "father" is to them.

I finally realized this when I thought about the church body being Christ's "bride." I thought, "Well, if I am questioning the way God loves us as a father, then I have to question the way he loves us as our "groom." Because a vast number of marriages are destroyed by the husband's uncaring attitude towards his wife. Women are beat, abused, neglected, used...etc."

But I know with my whole being that Christ would never treat us like that. Christ can claim us as his "bride," by being the "groom" that husbands are supposed to be. Somewhere along the way, due to sin, marriages fell far from what they were intended to be. However, that is not the type of "marriage" we are entering into with Christ. We are entering into the original type of "marriage" Christ wanted for all of us.

My point is, God created everything first. He had an original intent for everything he created, and because of our sin, we destroyed his good intents. So, he loves us as a father should, because he was the first father. He is the definition of a father. We can't create one according to our own standards, because God is. Everything. Including our father and including our "groom."

That's it. :) I have another blog coming in a few minutes. Slightly longer probably.

A Father's Love?

I have a quandary to share. My question isn't why does God not stop our pain; my question is: how can God call himself our "father" when he does not stop our pain?

Something that confuses me is the fact that one of the most common ways God is described is as being our Father. From what I understand and imagine, a parent’s love for their child is something one cannot understand until they are a parent themselves.

I babysat for two twin girls for five years, and I watched them grow from cute, curious four year olds into cute, adventurous, happy, nine year olds. I cannot believe how long I have been a part of their lives. I have a picture of them on my desk, and every time I look at it, a part of my heart aches to be with them, but most of my heart is joyful and ever grateful for their beautiful lives. I never thought I would miss them this much, but our families are close now, and those girls mean so much to me. If anything ever happened to them, I don’t know how I could deal with it. They have so much life and beauty and excitement and hopes and dreams, it just wouldn’t seem fair for anything to happen. And I pray with everything in me that nothing ever does….I don’t even want to imagine it. No doubt, I would sacrifice my life for them if necessary. I love them. My point is, I care for them and love them more than I can say, and they aren’t even my own girls. How much more would I care for them if I were their mother? I can’t imagine. I will never know until I have my own children.

I know with my whole heart that parents NEVER want to see their children in pain. I know they would give anything up for their kids in a heartbeat. My mom has, and my dad did. My dad slept in his car in New York for my family—to provide us the things we needed, and I never heard him complain; I didn’t even know about it for a long time. What kind of love is that? I could give so many more examples that prove how much my parents love me, but this is already excessively long. Anyway, I think you get my point—parents don’t want to see their children in any kind of pain, and if they could take it all away, even if that meant pain or death for him or her, they would instantaneously.

So, if God is our Father, and he is in control, how can he stand to see us endure so much pain, grief, and sorrow? How can he watch us walk down the wrong paths, knowing we are only hurting ourselves? How can he know that someone’s brother is turning onto a certain road at just the right (or wrong) time, and an 18 wheeler slams into his car—killing him or paralyzing him or making him mentally retarded—and not stop it? A woman just hung up her cell phone after an argument with her husband, boards a plane home, and the plane goes down in flames. The last words with the love of her life were filled with anger. How can God know that will happen and not prevent it? How can he watch his people, his children, endure such tragedy and pain?

I have learned throughout different circumstances in my life, that there is an unreal amount of spiritual growth when we encounter something that forces us to make a decision—completely trust God, or try to do it on your own. I have undergone different trials, and I have made different choices, but each time I grew closer to my Lord. Without the trials in my life, I would have no reason to need God. I would have no reason to depend on him for all of my strength—for all of my everything. So, I understand why we have to endure pain and loss and everything else tragic in this world. I just don’t understand how God calls himself a father if he doesn’t prevent us from hurt, because if anyone can stop the pain, he can. I’m not saying I don’t like the image of God being my father. I do, but I think I only do, because my earthly father always stressed the fact that he was my earthly father, and God was and is my Father forever.

It’s always been easy for me to have a positive picture of God being my father, as opposed to someone who may have grown up with an alcoholic as a father or someone whose father abandoned them or beat them, etc. Anyway, it’s easy for me, because my earthly father did such a wonderful job of displaying the type of love a father should have for his child. But, I still come to the fact that my earthly father would have and did, do everything possible he could for his family to keep us happy and content and distant from pain. He did as much as he could, and he was only human. I’m not saying we never went through trials as a family. My dad tried his best, but he was still human, and humans aren’t perfect. But God is. God is perfect, and he can choose to prevent us from hurt if he so chooses. So, once I come to that aspect of God being a father, I really struggle with it. PLUS, what about those kids whose fathers didn't show them anything close to the love a father should express for their child? How are they supposed to ever be able to have a positive image of God as a father? He could have prevented those fathers from ruining their kids' image of a father. I can’t understand it. I know we need pain for growth. I know that. I am a much different person than I was a few years ago. And I am grateful for that. That doesn’t mean I am glad for some situations, and I know I’m still not perfect no matter how much I have grown; however, I have transformed in different aspects, and I appreciate that.

I’m straying from my point. My point is, I understand that without pain, we wouldn’t grow spiritually. And I understand that we are God’s children, and he is our Father. But it just goes in a circle, because, like I said (a few times now) I understand why there is pain in the world (and I know the only reason isn’t for growth, but that’s what I’m focusing on for now) but, I just can’t grasp the fact of a father not doing everything in his power to prevent our hurt. I don’t understand. I’m always open to theories or truths, because I just really struggle with this.

I think that if I can't come to an understanding of the concept of a father not preventing his children from pain, I would rather not consider God as my father. Maybe it is because I am using my worldly view of a father. Who really defines what a "father" is? God does. But, why would he use the image of being our father if the earthly fathers he blesses us with aren't what he wants us to see him as? And again, where does that leave those kids who don't have good, positive images of a father? I don't doubt God's unfailing, unconditional, eternal love for us for one second, it's just hard for me to understand his love as being a father's love. Maybe I'm not making sense. I know what I am trying to say, but I can't figure out how to put it into words.

Anyhow, like I said, if that is how it is going to be, if I don't come to an understanding of a father allowing his children to hurt when he contains all the power in the world to avert it, I think I will discard the image of God being my father. Is that wrong? Does he want us to view him as our father? He will still be the same awesome, loving, powerful, indescribable God that I believe and know he is now, but I just won't consider him my father. Is there any scripture that condemns that mindset?

This is something that has been on my mind frequently, and I just cannot figure it out, as hard as I try. I have no conclusion. I usually have conclusions, but this one has me lost.

So, sorry a lot of this probably isn’t grammatically correct. I still have to finish my Old Testament paper, and I am in no mood to review this post and replace overused words with intelligent words or phrases. I am also in no mood to insert a few commas or delete a few misplaced letters.

Happy Day

Tonight was an experience. I shiver just thinking about it.

Tonight was Thursday night Praise. I was extremely excited for it, because I love worshiping in song. It is a great release for me. It is a way in which I can stand before Jesus and let everything go. The second song we sang tonight was, "Peace Like a River."

I'm not sure if you know what inspired Horatio Spafford to write this song, but I'll go ahead and paraphrase. When his only son was four, he was killed by the scarlet fever. A year later, everything they had was ruined in a fire. Horatio then decided that his family needed a vacation. While his wife and his four daughters were traveling to England, their ship was struck by another ship and it sank. All four of his daughters drowned. All four. All of his children died. He quickly traveled to be with his survived wife. When he was traveling to meet her, he passed over the place where the death of his daughters occurred. That is when he wrote "Peace Like a River."

If someone can endure the death of all of his children and write a song about how despite the troubles and sorrows of this life, it is well with his soul....I can manage to continue to love Jesus and serve him despite the death of my father, broken relationships, sorrows, pain, struggles, etc. I'm not at all saying that it's easy. I am still so hurt, and the pain is still deep and my heart is still broken. But I can heal, and I can continue to serve my Lord. And despite my pain and sorrows now, it is still well with my soul. My soul can ache but still be loving and healing and trusting Jesus--who will one day come back for me, and everything will be worth it. All will be well with my soul.

There are two verses before the two I am going to post on here, and they are powerful verses as well, but the two I am going to post brought tears to my eyes and overwhelmed me.

"My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part, but the WHOLE,
is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord, O my soul!

And Lord, haste the day, when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
even so, it is well with my soul."

As I sang out these words out with a couple hundred other students in the Alumni Auditorium, with no music--just our voices, coming together as one only to praise our sweet Jesus, I was overwhelmed. How much better can it get?

ALL of our sin is nailed to the Cross, so that we DO NOT have to bear it any longer!!! What else can you do but praise the Lord for that?! But so often we fail. And even then, even the sin of turning to materialistic objects and ideas rather than God, is nailed to the cross. Praise him. Just praise him. Thank him right now, with everything you are. Give him thanks.

And to think that one, Glorious day is rapidly approaching, when the clouds. Will. Roll. Back! Can you imagine? The clouds will roll back, and the Lord will descend. We will see him coming with ALL of his GLORY. At that point, all of our struggles and brokenness and pain will be so worth it. It will be so well with our souls. Praise Jesus.

That will be a Happy, Happy day.

Get excited.

Arrogance

I have heard people say they sometimes think God is arrogant, because he wants our obedience and worship and time and trust and love—basically, he wants our whole lives. Sure, if a human demanded these things of us, I may consider them arrogant, but they, unlike God, didn’t send their only son to die the most excruciatingly painful (and that is a complete understatement) death for everyone in the world—for all those people who will disappoint him over and over again. (And may I say, I’m not a parent, but I watched my aunt and uncle suffer the loss of my cousin, and I watched my best friend’s parents suffer the loss of their brave son, and it is not a beautiful sight. It is heart wrenching and horrible. My heart still breaks for them over and over again. Watching them sob and grieve, I was overwhelmed by the parents’ grief. I cannot imagine losing a child.) So, I cannot even begin to imagine what it was like to send an only son to earth, knowing how much he would suffer. I cannot imagine that sacrifice. So, believe me, “arrogant” is NOT a word that describes God.

God DOES deserve our time and obedience and worship and trust and love—every part of our lives; he deserves it all. So, why it is so hard for me to just sit down and spend some time with him?! He saved me...I'm not afraid of death because of him...I have hope only because of him! Why, on earth, is it difficult to give everything to him?! It just kills me that I can quote countless lines from television shows and movies, and memorize all the lyrics—word for word—of a vast number of songs without even trying, and I can’t even memorize scripture unless I really make an effort—which I rarely do. Why is it so difficult? It shouldn’t be, but I guess I am just not as disciplined as I should be. I am just dumbfounded at how unworthy I am of sharing a relationship with God. And yet, he DESIRES a relationship with me. What is that? I am speechless.

God so desperately desires a healthy, lively relationship with me, and so many times I abuse that, and use it for my own benefit. Then, inevitably, I come crawling back, and he takes me back. EVERY TIME. I am probably repeating myself, but it is such a ridiculous idea…I highly doubt I could be that forgiving—in fact, I know I couldn’t.

I cannot fathom God. Ever. I wish I could describe him, but then again….I’m glad I can’t. If I could, he wouldn’t be God now would he? I am not even sure how to conclude ramblings, so I guess I’ll just say that I am completely and utterly grateful for a God that loves me even though I am nowhere close to being worthy of his love. Maybe that’s a little cheesy, but it’s true, and it’s on my mind. ☺

Complete Brokenness (Like Never Before)

Folks, it’s going to be a long one.
I'm going to go ahead and be honest, which is difficult for me, because this is extremely personal and recent and still pretty raw; this summer has not been the best summer ever. For a while, I was doing pretty well, pretty great, actually. I had been really discouraged about not finding a job, but then Pet Supplies “Plus” hired me. That was awesome. Then a nightmare from my past showed up to say hello. As I was getting ready for my second day of work, I woke up on my bathroom floor—terrified and confused. I wasn’t used to the feeling of all the sudden waking up, not knowing where you are, anymore. I had forgotten that feeling. For a week or so after my seizure, back on my medication, and prohibited from driving, I was depressed. I thought I had that stupid problem beat. Apparently not. However, I realized the enemy was just using this to attack my faith. I decided not to let that happen, and I clung to the strength God was giving me.

I was doing well again. I was happy and off to spend a week with my dad’s side of the family at Magers’ Fest. On the way there, our van broke down, and we were stranded for four hours. My mom was a wreck. About two hours into our struggle of trying to find a rental car, my best friend called me and gave me some terrible news. Her brother was killed by an IED in Afghanistan. No. That was not possible. God would not make me go through this again. He would not make the Hunsbergers endure this pain, the indescribable pain of loss.

But it happened. It was real. Kelsey was hurting in a way I experienced just over a year ago. My heart broke; my soul ached. I spent the next few weeks beside her, helping her in any way possible. I knew how she felt, and I was hurting for her and her family with my whole being. I was overwhelmed—hurting for her, hurting for her family, and hurting for myself. While dealing with my special, special friend, so many emotions from my past were re-surfacing. Emotions that I gave so much effort to bury in order not to deal with them, were smacking me in the face. They were ripping my heart out and tearing it to pieces. For so long, I had been avoiding the pain, and now it was surrounding me. It was difficult to think, to breathe, to love, to smile, to pray, to heal. The next few weeks would be the darkest of dark times for me.

One would think that I would be praying for strength from God at this point. While I would whisper little “prayers” asking for comfort and strength, I wasn’t really giving God the time of day….I wasn’t really, sincerely, talking to Him, asking for His help. I was emotionally, physically, and spiritually exhausted. I had been holding on to that ledge so tightly, but my muscles lost every ounce of strength, and I let go. I began to fall. I fell at a rapid pace. But I was so drained and so weary, I couldn’t even try to grab a hold of anything along the way down to wherever I was falling. The whole time I was free falling, I knew this was what Satan intended. He wanted me to be too weak to cry out for help. He wanted me to be at my breaking point and not be strong enough to hold fast. The stupid thing was, I didn’t care. I stopped caring when I grew so weary. I was weak. I became spiritually unhealthy. I couldn’t worship in my two favorite ways—writing and singing. I couldn’t do it if I tried. I couldn’t envision something beautiful that used to bring such comfort to me. Darkness surrounded me. I felt oppressed, attacked, and just dark. But I didn’t search for the Light.

However, I put on a show, because people still complimented me on my faith. They commended me for how well I was holding up with everything that was happening. I lied to their faces and thanked them. I am ashamed of this.

So, this past week, Axis was fasting and praying for the healing of some friends. I said I would fast on Thursday. I knew that I wasn’t strong at this point, but I hadn’t realized just how far I had fallen from the Truth. Thursday came around, and I fasted and prayed throughout the day, but by noon, I hadn’t heard from God. My prayers, I felt, were one-sided. Consequently, I decided to sit in my room and just pray and try to listen. I begged God for anything. A single word. I heard nothing. I was extremely discouraged. While sitting on my bed for about a half hour, feeling so defeated and at the end of my rope, I suddenly heard the song:

“Please be still. Please be still. Please be still, and know that I am God.”

It was that simple. God just wanted me to sit and be still and know. Just know that He is. God. So, I sat there, and I knew. I didn’t think about anything….just the fact that He was, is, and will be…God. I walked away feeling calm, but still distant from my Lord. I hadn’t walked away from my faith; I just fell, and didn’t make an effort to stop myself from falling any farther (further?). While I was still sitting on my bed, before I heard the song, I examined my life and realized that I was stumbling down a dark path. I realized what was happening. I realized how weary and weak I had become. I was no warrior for Christ that was for sure. My hope was quickly dwindling. My fists that were clenched so firmly around God’s hand just let go. I could have called for help. I could have asked for strength. I could have asked for comfort. But I didn’t. I was defeated. I knew what the enemy was doing, and I didn’t fight; I didn’t defend. I failed.

The rest of that day, like I said, I was calm. But even though I was calm, I was in what may have been the darkest place I had ever experienced. Losing my dad was dark, but I held fast to my hope at that point. In this dark cave, I had little hope left. I had no Light. I was alone. I felt exactly like I did when I came out of my seizures, terrified, confused, and COMPLETELY alone. Let me just say, feeling absolutely one hundred percent alone, may be the worst feeling in the world. I was sick, congested, alone, scared, holding onto what little faith was left, and falling. I went to sleep around one in the morning, crying. I woke up around three in the morning, still congested, alone, scared, hope dwindling, and falling. Oh, and I was incredibly ashamed. I was ashamed, because I had been taught better than this, I knew better than this. I couldn’t believe how far I had let myself fall. I knew enough to have turned to the Lord before I let myself go this far. I felt like a real fool. So ashamed. It was simple; I was broken—completely and utterly broken. I honestly had never felt this literally broken before now.

I cried. I couldn’t fall back asleep. As I lay there in my own puddle of darkness, anguish, and despair, I decided to watch Arrested Development. What else would I do? I couldn’t sleep. But as I pulled out my computer, I remembered reading something one of my good friends wrote when she was posting about her experiences that week. She said she was giving up television for the week, because it had become such a distraction—an “escape.” I really admire and look up to this special friend, so I decided to try her tactics. I pulled out my Bible, not having a clue what to read. When I set it in front of me, I suddenly knew I should turn to Psalms chapter thirty. All of Psalm thirty spoke to me, but when I read verses nine and ten, I knew I wasn’t able to sleep for a reason. I knew I heard “Psalm thirty” for a reason.

“What gain is there in my destruction, in my going down into the pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it proclaim your faithfulness? Hear, O Lord, and be merciful to me; O Lord, be my help.”

I was falling into the pit, but for what? What could that possibly do to better my faith or display God’s love to the world—which was once my desire? It was my desire when just months ago, I was able to stand up in front of the church and speak of an encounter with God and the joy that filled me and the awesome hope that I held onto with everything inside of me. Somewhere along the way, I lost that. And losing it wasn’t doing anything for anyone. So, I knew that these verses were speaking to my situation, but in a way they just made me feel guiltier, more shameful.
But God wasn’t done. I decided to turn back a few pages—my eyes fell upon Psalms chapter twenty-five. I understood when I read verses one through three:

“To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul; in you I trust, O my God. Do not let me be put to shame, nor let my enemies triumph over me. No one whose hope is in you will ever be put to shame, but they will be put to shame who are treacherous without excuse.”

Is it not obvious that turning to these verse wasn’t just coincidence? But even then, I was upset about my loss of strength—my weak bones, my weary soul, my broken heart—my complete brokenness. I read on. Psalm twenty-eight, verses six through eight:

“Praise be to the Lord, for he has heard my cry for mercy. The Lord is my STRENGTH and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song. The Lord is the STRENGTH of his people, a fortress of salvation for his anointed one.”

Seriously?

Then came my favorite, Psalm twenty-nine. Please, read this chapter. It is beautiful and powerful. I love EVERY word, but I won’t quote all of it; however, I am going to quote some of my favorite parts, which is an ample amount.

Verse one: “Ascribe to the Lord, O mighty ones, ascribe to the Lord glory and STRENGTH”

Verses three and four: “The voice of the Lord is over the waters, the God of glory thunders, the Lord thunders over the mighty waters. The voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is majestic.” What powerful imagery! Beautiful.

Verses seven through eleven: “ The voice of the Lord strikes with flashes of lightning. The voice of the Lord shakes the desert; the Lord shakes the Desert of Kadesh. The voice of the Lord twists the oaks and strips the forests bare. And in his temple all cry, ‘Glory!’ The Lord sits enthroned as King forever. The Lord gives STRENGTH to his people; the Lord blesses his people with peace.”

You cannot tell me that is not powerful and beautiful. If my God’s VOICE can shake the desert and strip the forests bare, and thunder over mighty waters, and strike with flashes of lightning, how could I ever fall far enough that he won’t catch me? Keep in mind, this is JUST HIS VOICE. Think how much more he could do with more than just his voice. I may have lost all of my strength, but it would just be plain idiotic of me to ever think my Lord doesn’t have enough strength for the both of us.

Then, I read Psalm thirty-one, which tied it all together for me.
Verses one through five:
“In you, O Lord, I have taken refuge; let me NEVER BE PUT TO SHAME; deliver me in your righteousness. Turn your ear to me, come quickly to my rescue; be my rock of refuge, a STRONG fortress to save me. Since you are my rock and my fortress, for the sake of your name lead and guide me. FREE ME from the trap that is set for me, for you are my refuge. Into your hands I commit my spirit; redeem me, O Lord, the God of truth.”

Now, I’ll be honest with you, the bulk of these verses didn’t really hit me until I got home from camping today and re-read them, because Thursday night, I was so far down—I was too weary to fully grasp everything being thrown at me. The rest of the weekend was still a struggle for me. And it has taken me a while to understand exactly why it was such a struggle for me to simply ask for more strength. But I realized I was afraid that if God did strengthen my faith, the enemy would throw something else tragic at me, just to test me again. And I knew there was no way on earth I could deal with anything else at this point. Obviously, I can deal with it, because I have just learned that God will never run out of strength for me, but it is still a fear that if I continue to press on and fight the good fight, terrible things will keep happening. I know that if they do, they will inevitably take a toll on my faith, and me but regardless, I am so much stronger, so much more complete than if I was fighting alone—no matter how weary I am, even with God on my side.

While I am being completely honest with the world and all it’s facebook friends, I need to admit that another reason these times have been so dark for me, is because I am dealing with an insane amount of anger. I am angry about my dad’s death, my seizures, Travis’ death, my mom’s never-ending health issues, the fact that I am heading off to college without my dad, my brother going through high school without a dad, my other brother going through crappy college issues without his best friend—his father, my mom being alone for the rest of her life, not feeling fed spiritually….the list goes on. I am missing my dad more than I have in a long time right now, and I don’t talk about it, and I can’t deal with it, because it is WAY too painful. I avoid it for as long as I can, but I know I can’t avoid it forever. But I can’t even describe how painful it is to sort through my feelings and how to deal with the fact that he is just gone. Gone. I can’t deal with it, and it makes me angry that I even have to deal with it. It makes me angry that anyone has to at all. I am full of anger. I am angry at God for these things, but now that I have had all of these “epiphanies” with Psalms and what not, I am more willingly dealing with these issues with God himself, rather than pushing it all down, day after day—only making it worse when I finally HAVE to deal with the pain. So, though it will be a process—probably a long one—I am on my way to healing. I would even say it feels like starting high school over, because my faith was so strong at the beginning of the summer, and I fell so far—but like I said, I will heal—I am healing. Plus, when I think about it, high school went pretty fast.

To everyone I have been lying to and hurting and disappointing, I am so sorry. It hurts me to know that I may have disappointed anyone. To everyone that taught me better, I am sorry. I wish I didn’t have to admit to you that I have been struggling so much, and I have been in one of the darkest places I have ever experienced. I’m sorry if you thought I was stronger than this, and I am sorry that I disappointed you, but I am doing my best to build my faith back up to where it was a few months ago.

Friends, this is where I have been this summer—in a dark and lonely place. I don’t want to go back, but I know this life isn’t easy, and I know I will stumble again. I may even fall farther than I have this summer, but the beauty of it is, I can always find the Truth somewhere. Eventually, it will hit me in the face, probably when I least expect it.

My anger is still present, but God and I are dealing with it, no matter how long it takes, because it may take awhile. Hope is in sight now, and I am running towards it, full force. With open arms, I embrace it. Joy is creeping into my being. My eyes are open, and I am beginning to see my beautiful vision again. My heart is healing, and I am able to love people again—my only desire is to love like Jesus, again. My strength is re-building, and my soul is excited and yearning. I am climbing out of this pit of darkness, and Light fills me. The journey may be strenuous, but in the end, it is so worth it. It will be worth it.

(I know this is long already, but I need to thank everyone who prays for me and loves me and supports me and cares about me and helps me through this crazy life. I am forever grateful to you. Thank you for teaching me in so many different ways about so many different things and about our awesome, powerful God. Also, I really hope Axis went well on Sunday. I’m sorry I wasn’t there; I just needed to process, and I wasn’t at the right spot. I didn’t want to screw it up, but I am so excited to see how God moves…..Also, I may have technically cited the verses wrong, but I’m not really sure how to “technically” cite verses! I should probably learn that.) Sorry so long! Love.

Proving What's True

I go through phases with my music. I always have my favorites such as Anberlin, Staind, Lifehouse, Third Day, and Relient K...and a few others, but I go through phases with different bands, where I'll listen to only that band for weeks straight. And I listen to them until I discover a new band that is totally awesome. One of my most memorable phases was the Acceptance phase. Too bad they broke up.

Anyway, I recently had an internship with a good friend of mine. He graciously allowed me to invade his photography studio just so I could escape a few hours of the mundane routine of high school. It was really great, because I didn't have any classes I needed to take at this point. So I was...and am very grateful to him. Anyway, during one of my last days there, we were listening to some awesome music...like usual, and I noticed that he had Sleeping At Last, and I was like, "Oh my gosh, you know about Sleeping At Last??!" So, we talked about how awesome they are, and then we resolved to listen to "Ghosts" by this phenomenal band.

As we listened, my heart melted. These guys know how to mix the sweetest melodies with the perfect metaphors and other language devices. My point is I was reminded of a past music phase I experienced that involved Sleeping At Last...that was definitely a good phase. And then I wondered why I ever stopped listening to them?! So, as I was re-introduced to the depth and beauty of the music and lyrics this band produces, I knew I would be continuing a past phase. So, as my Emery phase ceased, I downloaded a large quantity of Sleeping At Last music.

Consequently, my mind has been enraptured by only the lyrics and melodies of one of the greatest bands of all time. I am listening to them even as I am writing this.

One more detail to help tell my tale: last night at Axis, my same friend that gave me the internship, was talking about the wind. And I didn't mention it to anyone, but I absolutely love the wind. I love the wind, because I always seem to find healing in it. I always have experiences and encounters in the wind. And I know it's not coincidence, and I know my mind isn't making things up. I know what I feel. And when I feel the wind, I feel God. So, as I walked home from Axis last night, I lifted my hands to the sky, and blasted "Heaven Breaks" by Sleeping At Last, and I let the wind enfold me. I embraced it. My arms were covered in goose bumps. And my body shivered. But I knew what I was feeling. I was feeling Truth and Security and Love.

The lyrics to the song "Heaven Breaks" are some of my favorite. And I realized why last night. At one point the lead vocalist says, "Only Love proves to be the Truth." Could it be any simpler? People ask me why I believe in God, and I decided I’ll tell them because He is the only One that has proven to be true. Truths may exist in other religions, but none of their gods have ever actually proven themselves to be true to me. My God has…it's so simple. I believe what is true. I realize it's not that simple for others. It hasn't always been so simple for me. But hearing those words and feeling the breeze rush around me...I knew the truth. And I still know it.

Though later on last night, I wept in anguish and desperation for my dad to be back on Earth, in our home, making my family complete. I begged God—for what seemed the ten billionth time—to let my dad hug me one more time. But even as I felt like the loneliest person on the earth, even as those tears streamed down my face, and even as my heart ached for one more warm embrace, one more breakfast, one more day of homemade pizza and Saturday snacks, one more talk on the phone, one more smile, one more: “I’m so proud of you, Kel,”—even as my heart broke every time I called out for my dad, and he didn’t answer me, even as I laid there in the dark, wishing for my heart to stop beating so I could join my daddy in utter bliss, and even as I concluded this pain would never leave me, I was crying out to my Lord. I wasn’t just crying for my pain—I was speaking with God in a more emotional manner. I was communicating with Him in the only way I could—by grieving and crying.

As I was yelling and crying and praying for God to sustain me and comfort me—to carry my pain away, to take me home, to bring my dad back, to do whatever He needed to do to make me stop aching—I suddenly closed my eyes. Then I opened them. No tears spilled forward. My heart was calm. My soul was content. I wasn’t overjoyed or happy, and I didn’t have a warm, fuzzy feeling. But my soul was content, and my heart wasn’t aching. And that’s when I knew I was experiencing God’s comfort more intimately than I ever had. Because it was so sudden—as soon as I let the anger flow out of me, and I asked Jesus to hold me, everything stilled, and I was filled with comfort. It rushed through my bones, and I couldn’t move. I know He has brought me comfort way more times than I can count, but I have rarely felt it as boldly as this time. I was still hurting, and I still missed my dad, but God was answering my calls for comfort. I couldn’t believe it. What kind of love is that? I’m this selfish little girl, thinking I deserve to be comforted—thinking I deserve to have this pain taken away from me, when in reality, I don’t deserve anything. I don’t deserve God to come to me when I call Him, but yet, He does. He never fails, either. He always comes when I call Him, I just don’t always feel it as personally as I did last night. What the heck kind of love is that? How can I ever comprehend that? I can’t. Ever.

So, that line came back to me, “Only Love proves to be true.” Love proved it again. God proved it again. God’s love proved it. He is Love and He is true. Love is true. It has been proven to me over and over again. And I can hardly contain it. It has made me an unusually emotional person. When I feel the slightest bit of love from anyone, a friend, a grandparent, a sibling, a parent, a stranger, I just want to cry. Because what else can I do? I can’t thank anyone enough for their love. So I’ll just cry about it. Sounds good. It’s too great of a thing for me to express my gratitude for it in any other way.

I know this is already super long, but I want to talk about one more thing. In, “Heaven Breaks,” there is also a line that says, “When Heaven meets the earth, we will have no use for numbers to measure who we are and what we’re worth. When Heaven meets the earth, we will have no need for mirrors to tell us who to be and where we fit into this awkward point of view.” And I absolutely love this line, because I hate numbers. I hate math. I hate everything about it—exponential powers, logarithms, frickin algebraic equations, balancing both stupid effing sides—I’ve always been bad at it, and I’ve always been self-conscious of that. And although, the song is not talking about numbers in math, it’s talking about “numbers” with which we “measure ourselves and what we’re worth” to society and what not, still, to imagine a time when we will have no use for numbers, just makes me so overjoyed and excited…I can actually hardly describe it. And also to imagine a time when we won’t need mirrors to see if we are fitting in today, and what we need to change about ourselves, physically, emotionally, spiritually….is so comforting and reassuring. Anyway, that doesn’t really fit in with my whole love spiel, but I wanted to mention that.

I also want to mention that I could write pages and pages about “Hold Still” and “Ghosts” by Sleeping At Last. I could probably just write a book about every single one of their songs, but those two and “Heaven Breaks” are my favorites.

So, those are my most recent thoughts. I hope some of this makes sense to somebody. I hope somebody can sort of understand—I hope I’m not crazy.

The Problem with Change

I think--in fact, I know--that sometimes change sucks. What sucks about it is that usually when you are undergoing a change of some sort--a change of environment, teacher, preacher, friends--usually it is an awesome and positive change at one end of the spectrum, but for the people at the other end....that particular change sucks. Unfortunately, we all have to deal with change. It comes at you fast, and you have to be ready for it, otherwise it sucks even worse. I know...that was deep (just kidding). But seriously, sometimes there is just nothing you can do to stop it, and it sucks for you, but it's awesome for other people involved. It is beneficial to them. But it's a huge bummer for you. You can be happy for them, and you want to be happy for them, because when it is you on the winning end of the "change" spectrum, your desire is that others would be happy for you, too. So we plaster those fake, congratulatory smiles on our faces, give hugs, shake hands, small-talk for awhile, then go on our way--weeping like a child when you drive away alone, or gritting your teeth and blinking back tears at the thought of starting anew in that particular, changed area, or shaking your head at everything you know will go wrong at the onset of this specific change.

But then, when you are the one causing the change, it may be a hard decision, but it's good for you. And you are excited about it, and you have peoples' support--whether they are as happy about the decision as you are or not. And you try to sympathize with them for awhile, because you know it kind of hurts them, but really, you are just so excited, and it is obvious. That is when they put on those smiles and you all pretend that it will be okay. Everything will be fine for everyone. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't. You never can tell, because people want you to be happy. They don't want you to feel guilty for upsetting them and causing them to have a rough time, so they keep it a secret--hidden away, like a time capsule buried in the yard. You keep it buried for so long , that you forget where it is. But you know it's there, buried somewhere, rotting away. Just like that secret. Just rotting away in your mind. Eating at you....blowing all of your issues way out of proportion. It never should have been such a big deal in the first place.

It shouldn't have been a big deal, because everyone has to go through change. EVERYONE DEALS WITH IT. So, you would think it would get easier, right? But everyone also knows that it never, ever, gets easier. Change will always be hard. Granted, changing favorite authors or food or tv shows, is quite a bit easier than changing locations, or break-ups, or losing an activity or animal or a person that you love, but then I'm not really talking about the easy change. The change that matters to you is always difficult. And most of the times, it just slaps you in the face, and you are too stunned and shocked to actually say what you want or need to say. Later, you'll look back at your reaction and you'll wish you had really said what was on your heart. But you didn't get to, and you probably never will, because the opportunity just doesn't present itself the way it did at that first moment--the moment you realized change of some sort was upon you. And you cannot get that moment back. No way. Doesn't work that way.

I've went through a lot of change in my life...especially within the last five or six years. People have come in and out of my life, and it has never been fun, letting go of people. And sure, there has been good that has come out of different situations, but there's also been a lot of hurt and pain and sadness. And I guess in life on this earth, we have to deal with those issues. But sometimes you just feel so alone, and try as you may, you cannot get past those feelings, and you cannot defeat those issues. So you just sit down and stare for awhile. You just hang onto that hope that better days are coming. You hold onto the fact that you will survive, and no matter how bruised, broken, and bleeding you are--no matter how scarred you are--you will come out on the top. As long as you have hope in the right Guy... but it's still incredibly hard.

This is why change sucks. Change can be awesome, but today, I am dwelling upon the negative side of it. Call me a pessimist, but I'm going to write about my authentic, candid feelings. And today I am feeling like change has its "ups" but it most definitely has its "downs."

Really, I wish I could just go back two or three years. That would be great. Then, I wish time would stand still. Or maybe we could just go back to my childhood. Or skip ahead into my future. Really, I just wish Jesus would come. Today, my dear friends, I am sad. Sad about change.

My Heavy Heart

A nice chat with a good friend of mine prompted me to write this as well as how I have felt recently. Lately I've dealt with sort of a hurting heart--not for myself, but for others who are hurting. All I hear from the news anymore is about deaths from the war, bombs blowing innocent people up, brutal stabbings and murders, young children being abducted and molested, sex trafficking, drug trafficking, parents beating their kids, drowing their kids, murdering their kids. I hear about third world countries and their lack of water, education, and health. I hear about the AIDS fiasco, and the staggering number of homeless and unemployed people everywhere. I hear about cruel acts of racism. And it just hurts me. I just can't get away from the devastation and despair. The desperation and brokenness of this world. Then there is the fact that everywhere you look there is sex and drugs and alcohol. Everywhere you look society is telling you to be the opposite of what you already are. You can access the world wide web at any time and pull up hundreds of thousands of promiscuous videos and who knows what else. People are stealing, threatening, destroying, killing--for themselves, for others, or maybe just because they can, for the adrenaline rush, for the feeling of control, for revenge, for whatever--anywhere you go...there is evil--the world is taking a turn for the worst, and I don't see a solution to that, other than Christ coming back....and who knows when that will be--no one. And it's not necessarily the fact that all I hear about is evil and horrendous, but it's the fact that I can't save everyone. I just want to help people. And my heart aches and breaks because there are people hurting, and they aren't getting any help. Nobody is offering them hope. They are at the end of their rope, and they are so close to letting go, and so many times, they do. I'm not sure what the suicide rate is in the US, but I'm sure it's not pretty.

This reminds me of a book I read one time. The title was something about summer, or one of the summer months. But this girl ran away and ended up at these three ladies' house. Their names were August, June, and July (or maybe one of them was May). But anyway, one of the ladies had so much difficulty dealing with all the tragedy in the world that she made a "wailing wall." I think there was like a stone wall, and everyday when she would hear about something terrible that happened, she would write it down on a piece of paper, then she would stick the paper in cracks in the stone wall. And she would go out to the wall and cry and mourn for people she didn't even know--people that lived halfway across the world. This is how she dealt with her despair. But what gets me is the fact that she became so emotional over the tragedy of people she didn't even know. And I feel like I can relate to this. I couldn't before, but recently when I hear a child being raped and murdered, or a fatal car accident, or a teenager committing suicide because she was too scarred and hopeless from an ugly past, or divorces tearing families apart, I have felt so sad for these people....people I don't even know. But I hurt for them and with them, and I wish I could save them. And I wish I could be with them.

I'm not really sure what lesson can be learned, but this is just what's on my heart, and I needed to share. I need to share it, because it's making me so sad. Sometimes it's so hard for me to just smile, and again, I don't even know these people. My heart just aches for them. And I don't want to say I wish it didn't, but I do wish that I could channel this "pain" into something helpful, instead of just feeling useless. Man, I just don't know. I'm not saying there isn't any good in the world. I know there is a lot of good in the world. There is beauty, and love, and hope, and a wonderful promise. I guess if we heard about all of that in the news everyday, the world would be a little happier, a little brighter. Really, all I can say is come, Jesus, come.

But that's not to say I'm just going to sit around until Jesus returns. I'm going to do my part, I will. I mean I strive to now, but I can't help but think what glorious days await me and my fellow "seekers of the Lord." And I'm not, by any means, saying this makes me a good person. I am actually a terribly selfish person. I quite frequently do whatever is the most beneficial for me. And I hate it, but that's just another example of how the world is going down the drain, and why it makes me so sad. So that's what's crackin with me lately.

A Retrospective Day

Well, this may be slightly depressing or sad, but I'm not trying to be a "Debbie-downer." This is just how I have been feeling this past week. It's been a rough one; hopefully, this next week will be a little better.

If I could go back to the days there were five members in my family, I would get up early on Saturday mornings to learn how to make my dad's delicious breakfasts.
I'd pay close attention to how he made his pizza.
I would ask him if he would be proud of me if I went to Moody.
I would go on walks with him and Sammy in the evenings.
I would call him more often while he was on his trips.
I would go with him on more of his trips.
I would play more games with him.
I would tell him more about my life.
I would do more things that he would appreciate and less things that would disappoint him.
I would always assume he was right, instead of yelling at him and thinking he was stupid.
I would watch more movies with him, go on more daddy/daughter dates, get more vanilla malts from Cooks with him, and then make him walk or run the malt off.
I would make sure he was eating healthy and exercising enough.
I would give him ten second hugs instead of one second hugs.
I would send him more emails, give him more calls, give him a surprise visit at his Mishawaka office.
I would ask him about work.
I would pray for him every day.
I would play more catch with him.
I would cook more with him.
I would make him promise me he would get off that plane and be home by nine-thirty, like he said.
I would watch more sports with him.
When he hugged me early in the mornings before he left on business trips, I would get up and talk to him before he left.
I would beg for us to move to Connecticut, so he didn't have to travel so much, and he wouldn't be so stressed.
I would dance with him.
And I would hug him, and never let go.
That's what I would do if I could go back. I don't want "one more day" because that would only leaving me wanting more. But if I could do it over....I would do everything I could to keep from losing him. I cannot wait to see him again. And I will see him again.

"Death is swallowed up in victory....." 1 Cor. 15:54

I Just Want to Say Thank You....

I just want to take a moment to talk about the people that I love. God has blessed me in countless ways, but my favorite thing that God has blessed me with, is all the people in my life. I would love to sit here and write a page about every person, individually, I care about and how they affect me and what not, but that honestly would take hours. Maybe I'll work on that over the next few months.

Anyway, for real, I have the best friends and family I could ask for. When my dad died, within a half hour, my house was filled with people. People that love me and my family. People that cared enough to jump out of bed, or stop watching their favorite TV show, or put off their homework, etc. People that have lives of their own, but put their "to-do list" aside to come and care for my family and I. I will never know everyone who has prayed for me specifically and for my family. I will never know all the people that sent us cards, and kept us in their thoughts. I will probably never even know all the people that came to my house to show us they care. I will definitely never know all of the people that paid their respects by coming to the viewings and funeral. I cannot begin to say how this makes me feel.

But it isn't just all about my dad's death either. I have this group of really close friends, and we are so comfortable with each other. They are the ones that taught me about confidence and taking chances. They are the ones that I see every day. They are the ones that don't get tired of hanging out with me, because we hang out constantly. A big part of my heart belongs to them. And I couldn't thank God enough for blessing me with such a good, positive, solid group of friends. Sure, we fight and there is tension every now and then, but none of that ever gets in the way of our unbreakable bond. We are more than friends. Nothing could happen that would ever tear us apart permanently. We love each other because we have poured out our hearts and our dreams. We have been vulnerable with each other, and let our true, authentic feelings show. I can always depend on them. I love them more than I can say. And I love them all differently because they contribute to my life in different ways. But I still love them all equally and unconditionally.

And then I have this group of friends who are several years older than me. And if they weren't in my life, I'm not sure where I would be right now. They are so much of my inspiration because they have seen just a little bit more than me, and they have experienced just a little bit more, and they can say, "I have been there..." and I can trust that. They teach me; they feed my spiritual needs; they believe in me; they encourage me; they listen to me; and they love me. These people are awesome, because I can be completely open with them, and they just listen. And they always seem to know when I want or at least need advice. And I can't say that they have ever steered me in the wrong direction. I may have not always listened to them, but generally if that happened, I would later wish that I had listened. But what I really appreciate about these people is the fact that they take time out of their busy lives to spend time with me. And listen to me, and help me when I'm struggling. These people love me. And I love them. I have so much fun with them, and they are always encouraging. In fact, I'm not really scared about my future because most of these people have been so encouraging about my decisions. Anyway, a big part of my heart also belongs to them.

Then (and all of this is in no significant order) I have this wonderful family. Flesh and blood. It's a bond that is something special. First of all, my brothers are amazing, and I have grown so close to them. I depend on them for a lot, especially my little brother, and I sometimes feel bad because he does so much for my mom and I. So, I try to do little things for him every day. Anyway, my brothers are great. And I love them more than I can say. My extended family is so special to me. I have awesome cousins. I just spent the week with one of my fave cousins. :) And I could probably write pages about her and what she has done for me, and how she has contributed to my life. I really look up to her, and she is one of the greatest people I know. She has these two siblings (who are also my cousins, duh...) and they are also some great people. Our two families have always been very close. Half of my childhood memories are with them. Man, I have so much fun with them. I could laugh and talk with them all for hours. They are so special to me. But all of my extended family is great. They all care about me, and keep up with me and my life. And I just cannot express how blessed I am to have such a close family. The cool thing is, with my dad's side of the family--my grandma, aunts, uncles, cousin--even if we don't see each other or even talk for years, when we get together, there is this bond...and it's just there....and it connects us. And it never fails. I always enjoy time with them. My dad's family is so special. Magersfest is seriously the highlight of my year. But I don't want to leave out my mom's family! I love them, too!! I love my cousins and aunts and uncles and grandpas and grandmas on that side, too. I have tons of fun with them when we get together. Seriously, I am just like overcome with emotion right now, talking about all these people that care about me.

Man, my friends and family are so special to me. :) I have said that a lot. There just isn't any other way to say it. Now, I haven't even come close to mentioning all of the people in my life that I love. There are so many people. I just want to tell you all. If you know me or know my family and friends, I want you to know that I care about you, and love you with my whole heart. I love watching you grow and mature. I love being a part of your journeys, and I love that you are a part of mine. I would do anything for you. I love you all. And I thank God for you all every day. I cannot express my gratitude for you. But you are important to me, and I care about you. And I want to say thank you for all that you do. Thanks for taking time to be in my life. I hope I can make you proud in my future endeavors and adventures. All my love....

One Whole Year

Well, the dreaded week is upon me. This Saturday it will be one year since my father—my best friend—my daddy, departed from this earth. Almost one year ago, I got a phone call that would forever change my life; my perspectives, my relationships, my faith, my hope, my family, my future—all forever altered by one phone call, one failing heart, one misdiagnosis. Almost a year ago, at 9:50 pm., I heard my mother cry out in despair—a cry of anguish that will forever linger in my ears; she said the words that will forever haunt me and forever take me back to a confusing and desperate time of my life. Almost a year ago, my neighbor told me the most devastating news I have ever heard. Almost a year ago, I saw my brothers cry (which is a rare occurrence). It was the day that will always bring tears to my eyes, and will always break my heart. It was the day that I wept and wept for hours on end, and said, “Oh, my, God,” over and over again—because that was all I could say to God. It was the day that all hope was lost. And for days and weeks and months after, I would struggle continuously.

The day my father died, is the day my faith took a huge blow; it’s the day I stood completely still, as the rest of the world kept spinning and working and functioning. It seemed like everyone should have stopped, but they didn’t. The world went on fine without me, and I was left, cold, clueless, confused, desperate and not able to function in the least bit. I felt so alone, in the darkest place I have ever been—a place of loss, a place of sadness and despair, a place of hopelessness—I thought I could never leave.

I remember being so fearful of what would happen next. Would my brother react with rage and turn away from his family? Would my mother die from a broken and lonely heart? Would we lose the house? Who would fix my car? Who would call me “beautiful”? Who would email me the “word” and “quote of the day”? Who would email me just to tell me they love me? Who would bring me “Black and Whites”? Who would make me breakfast in the morning? And as time marched on, I began to wonder things like, who would walk me down the aisle when I get married? How could I not dance with my daddy at my wedding? We always talked about what song we would dance to. Now, he won’t even be there. And we always talked about “When I have kids…” now my daddy will never be grandpa to my kids. My kids will never even know my dad. I cannot fathom this.

Most likely, my future husband will not have ever known my dad. This is almost unbearable. Two of the most important men in my life will never know each other. So many questions and so much pain resulting from those questions. They haunt me, they torture me. They always leave me broken and hurting. Who is to fill this void in my life?

I am getting my senior pictures taken tomorrow, and I am okay with that, but I have no doubt about how difficult it may be. I can just hear what my dad would have said when he would see the prints: “Kel, these are BEAUTIFUL.” Then, he would hug me, and say, “I have the best daughter a daddy could ever have.” I realize this is slightly corny, but he told me every day that “I am the best daughter a daddy could ever have,” and it always made me smile. He was the only man to ever make me feel so beautiful. I would be standing in the bathroom doing my hair and make-up, and he would walk by and say, “It’s just not fair is it?” and I would say, “What?” and he would say, “All that beauty in one face.” Then, I would chuckle and say, “Nope.” I miss that so much. Every daughter needs to hear her dad say she is beautiful, and he told me almost every day—even if it was in an email. He would tell me how special I am, and how proud he is of me. My dad was my security. How can I live without that? Who will make me feel pretty? Who will make me feel like the most special girl in the world? Who will tell me I am beautiful?

He used to always call me “princess.” Boy, do I miss that. What girl doesn’t want to feel like royalty? When I would stand behind or next to him in a church service and sing, later he would say, “Kel, you girls sounded beautiful during worship, today.” He made me and my brothers the best breakfasts ever. He also made the best pizza ever. I will never taste that delicious food again. I will never stay home on a Saturday night, again, just to help him make his pizza. I will never take Sammy on a walk with him again. I will never hear him speak for Sammy again. I will never hear his voice on the other end of the phone line, saying he would be home soon, or he is in some other state and it is beautiful, and he wishes I was there. I will never get to take that trip to New York with him or that trip to China, or California, or Washington D.C. or Hawaii. We were supposed to go so many places together.

I wonder about these things every day. Every day they hurt me. Every day my heart hurts for the way things used to be. Every day, my soul longs to be in Heaven with my daddy and with my Lord. Every day, new memories present themselves to me. Songs we loved, songs he loved, songs we considered dancing to at my wedding, movies we saw together, restaurants we ate at on our father/daughter dates, books he read, books he wanted to read, places we went to on vacation, letters he wrote, emails he wrote, home videos, so much…so much reminds me of him every day. I could write for days about all the things that remind me of him, and all the things we did together.

So, where am I now? Almost a year later; a year after losing my dad. Well, every day, I feel hurt by God for a little bit, but every day, I am reminded of God’s greatness and glory and the way He works in ways that we could never even begin to understand. And every day, I come to the same conclusion that even if I feel like whatever God’s purpose of taking my dad away from me so early in our lives, even if that reason or plan isn’t worth it to me, God himself is worth trusting. He is worth me putting my faith in Him. He is worth it enough to keep my hope in Him. Knowing that if I keep my faith and hope in Him, someday I will meet God face-to-face and then be reunited with my earthly father, it is so worth it. Believing that when I leave this earth, I will embrace my father again and we will scream and laugh and cry and hug and be full of pure joy, I choose to remain in Jesus Christ. When I picture the day that I will finally meet my dad again, I see us dancing and holding hands and worshipping God and laughing—forever, with God’s glory shining all around us, warm and bright. This day…will be indescribable.

Of course, now I long for this day with every part of my being, every minute of every day—and I long for it so much, many times it hurts, and I just have to stop and weep for that day, because I want it to be now. However, I know that God has work for me to do on earth, and I want to make Him proud and I want to make my dad proud. I have no doubt that my father heard those words: “Well done, good and faithful servant.” And I want to hear those words, too. So, though it is extremely and indescribably difficult to focus on my day-to-day activities, I want to honor God. I allow myself times to just weep for the day that I long for with my whole being, but I am here to do God’s work, and I have committed my life to serving Him wherever He chooses for me to serve.

None of this means that it is easy. Losing someone so close to you is not an easy burden to bear. I still hurt, every day. I still cry, frequently. I still miss my dad like crazy, and I still get angry at others and at God, but I love God, and I never stay angry at Him, because He always proves His unfailing love for me by the end of the day. And that is why I choose to stay faithful to my Savior.

Like I said, this is certainly not an easy journey, but I am not the only one struggling. So many people are broken and struggling and hurting and grieving. So many people are alone and hopeless. And let me tell you, the worst place to be is not sadness or loneliness, but it is hopelessness. When literally all hope is lost for a person—that is the darkest and scariest place a person can be. And that is why I am giving my life to helping those people. I want to help people who are hurting and grieving and are at their wits end. I want to help those kids without a bright future. I want to hold the hand of the hurting, and stand beside the broken and offer them hope. I want to be there for the people who can’t see any way out, and I want to offer them the hope and love that I have. Because hope and love are the only things that saved me from losing it after my father’s death. I want to help these people, because I have been there. I have been to the bottom and back—and there is hope. I know what it feels like to lose everything you thought was true. I know what it feels like to doubt God. I know what it feels like to feel betrayed by the one you thought loved you the most. And my heart still hurts, but that is okay, because I can tell these people that it may always hurt as long as we are on this earth, but it doesn’t have to kill you. You can find salvation. And you can use your pain to help others find hope. And I realize that I want to dedicate my life to helping people find that hope and salvation.

Some might say this is one of the reasons that God had my father die, and maybe it is, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe I would have realized all of this anyway, I don’t really care. It’s not relevant. What is relevant is the fact that there are people hurting and crying out in despair, just like me, except they don’t know about Jesus Christ and how He saves us and frees us and loves us unconditionally and gives us hope for a new and better life. Or else they do know about Him, but have given up, because they lost touch with God a long time ago. Or they are afraid of Him or they aren’t really sure what He is all about. Or they are jaded by those who call themselves “Christians” but don’t really display Christ’s love. Or they are just too sad and hopeless to even care. I want to find these people and lavish God’s love upon them and offer them exactly what they need.

Anyway, that is where I am now. I am still hurting frequently, and still weeping, and still longing to be in my real “home,” but I am more than willing to fulfill my responsibilities on this earth. I wholeheartedly want to do my part, and I believe right now, God is leading me to help others who have been where I have been—“rock bottom” as some might say.

That is what this past year has taught me. That is my journey so far, I may have left out many details, just so that this isn’t unbearably long, but this is the basis of my journey through the pain, but more importantly it’s the basis of my journey through the unfailing love, mercy, grace, and hope of Jesus Christ. This is why I follow Him. This is why life is worth living without my father, and this is why even though my dad may not be here to do all the things I mentioned earlier and more, I can still manage to put a smile on my face and praise Jesus. And I think this is why God blessed me with a father who told me every day that he loved me and thought I was beautiful—because even though I wish I could still hear those words every day, he said those words enough to last a lifetime.

So what will I do this week, and especially this Saturday? I will make as much time for myself as possible. And I will weep, uncontrollably for my daddy. And I will remember him, and I will just use much needed time to myself to laugh and cry and sing and smile and cry some more. And I will talk to my daddy, and I will wish with all my heart that he was here with me. But it will be good for me, because I don’t get much time to grieve anymore, and I need it. So, I will grieve and shake and sob, but it will be okay. I will be okay.

My conclusion…God is worth any pain that we endure. God is worth me not turning my back on Him. Keeping my faith and hope in Him is definitely worth it. Because if I am still hurting while clinging to God, how much more will I hurt without anyone to hold onto? How much more will I struggle? I had a glimpse of that feeling this past year, and I can guarantee you, I’m not going back to that place. I will always cry for my dad, and I will always…always, miss him more than I thought was possible. I will struggle, and I will stumble, but I will hang onto Jesus—because as I said before, He is so worth it.

What a year. (By the way, I have been listening to “Never Let Go” by the David Crowder Band while writing this whole thing. It’s a beautiful song.) Oh, and this is slightly hard for me to be so personal and share all of this, but I feel like we are supposed to share what God is doing in our lives, and I felt like I needed to share this.

A Spiritual Run (1/29/08)

So, today I went for a run, as I have been doing at least every Tuesday and as many other days as possible. I have been struggling with relationships with people that are very close to my heart, and I just needed to have a good run to think about my priorities and what not. Today was semi-cold, but mostly it was just misty and cloudy and gray. As I started out on my run, listening to an old-school Michael W. Smith song (that brings back some childhood memories), I was disappointed that it was so dreary. Still, I walked down my street, then picked up my pace and began to run.

It wasn't until I was closer to the end of my run that I began to actually look around me. I was now listening to another Michael W. Smith song that is very special to me. It's called, "How to Say Goodbye." So I was listening to it, being all sentimental like, and I looked up ahead of me at the sky. It was nothing out of the ordinary for a dreary day in Indiana. The sky was light gray, and it was misting. I was breathing semi-hard by now, and my heart was pounding. As I slowed to a brisk walk, I took deep breaths and tried to focus. I felt like something was supposed to be recognized. I was supposed to hear something, see something, feel something. I looked at the gray sky again, but this time it was different. This time I was taken back to my Christmas vacation in Montana. I was taken back to a moment when I stood in a valley, surrounded by mountains, and I felt God's presence.

As I was looking at the downcast sky, listening to the lines, "Tell me how to fill the space you left behind. And how to laugh instead of cry. And how to say goodbye. Here I stand. Arms open wide...," I saw the beauty in that ugly, gray sky. It wasn't ugly anymore. It didn't disappoint me anymore. I saw that a gray sky is just as beautiful to me as a colorful sunset in the mountains. God created both of them, and they are both beautiful. And I can see God's glory in colorful and rainy skies. I think this is because for me it's not about the way it looks, it's about the way that it makes me feel. I connected with God in both places. I felt Him both times. I thought you had to travel somewhere beautiful to feel and experience God, but today I found that to be false.

I have always thought it to be a little cliche when people talk about feeling people "through the wind," but today I decided that even if it is cliche, it is true. I have been so sad lately, just wanting a single hug from my daddy. It has been over ten months, and I wanted a hug. Just one hug. Anyway, so I'm walking down my street, still listening to the same song (I had it on repeat), staring at the beautiful, gray sky, and no lie, just as I started thinking about my dad, I felt a cool wind rush around me. And I knew then, that my dad was hugging me. Some may not believe this. Some may call it a coincidence. But I don't believe in chance happenings. I don't believe in coincidences. I believe in God. And I believe that He let me hug my dad today. So, I closed my eyes, listened to the words of the song, opened up my arms, and let the wind engulf me. People looking out their windows, may have thought me to be crazy, but I didn't care. I was having a very spiritual moment. And it was awesome. I love these moments. I cherish them.

When I got home, I wasn't ready to go inside and face the music, so I went around back and looked out at the field, and the sky, and the beauty, and I just stood there for, well, i don't know how long. But I embraced that wind. And I saw the beauty, because there is beauty in everything. Because God created it, and He is Beautiful.