I almost succeeded at something that one time

For most of my life, I’ve felt like I wasn’t particularly talented at anything. I can get by at most things, but I wanted to have just one special gift. This isn’t a sob story, and I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me. The point of this post is the opposite, in fact. I just believe most people feel this way at least some point in their lives. So bear with me while I use this as an example.

(But first, here are a few examples of my mediocrity.)

B-ball: I kept that bench nice and toasty

Band: where everyone makes the team

Straight up rockin' my third place Math Olympics ribbon

Spelling bees were the only competitions that I ever won. That’s right. I’m a spelling bee champ.Well, almost. I won a few rounds, but I never made it to the bigs in DC. The pressure got to me, and I blew it seven spots away from my fifteen minutes of fame. Akeelah can keep her movie, because there will never be a “Rebekah and the Bee.”

Pre-dream crushing at the Atlanta Regional Spelling Bee

But let’s be honest. Who the heck cares if I can spell the word abecedarian? No, I didn’t have to look that up, but I think I just proved my point. You don’t care that I can spell big words, because neither do I. Being a good speller will not get you very far. Try using it as party trick and see what happens. (Awkward!) It’s not even something you can list on a résumé, because it’s no more than a computer can do. Curse you, spell check, for ruining my only chance in life!!

 

It wasn’t until this past year that I began dabbling with another talent. Turns out I’m an okay writer. Not a brilliant one, but not a terrible one. I have no grand ambitions to become the next C.S. Lewis or J.K. Rowling, or even an R.L. Stine.  I just realized that I enjoy playing around with words and expressing thoughts in written form, and I’ve gotten a positive response from those around me. So unless everyone has been supplying me with empty flattery, and I’m unknowingly the equivalent of one of those first round American Idol contestants that someone has lied to somewhere, I at least have a bit of talent in the writing department. 

And so, I tried my hand at writing this blog. I had a subject on my heart that I wanted to share, and I put it out there for the world to see. I’ve gotten even more positive feedback about my writing since then, and that is thanks to you, dear readers. Some have communicated that they have been encouraged or challenged by my posts, and so I will continue to write them. Every like, comment, and share has been an encouragement to me. I sincerely appreciate your support.

But here’s the dilemma for the day. In case you hadn’t noticed from some of my other posts, I battle insecurity. Sometimes I feel like a crazy person, battling this voice that's constantly in the back of my mind, nagging away. The reason I chose writing as my example here is because it's often the subject of that nagging voice. It's only natural. When we put ourselves out there, we become more vulnerable to criticism, even if that criticism is only coming from within.

I recently got an email that went a little something like this. "We considered your piece and found that it did not meet our editorial needs at this time."They followed that up with something to the effect of, "Blah, blah, blah. You suck." Mind you, that's just a paraphrase.

I'm going to be honest, even though it's embarrassing. I was really disappointed by that email. Couple that with the fact that the email arrived on the same day that my Walking Dead post got the poorest reader response yet, and I became one disheartened writer. And that stupid voice was not helping.

Wow, looks like you’re a lousy writer after all. You thought you might just be gifted at something. Ha! How many times has your work been rejected now? Better stick to just writing that blog, where no one has to approve your submissions. Except that no one wanted to read that today either. What does this bring your grand total of published articles to? Oh, right, zero! Just give it up. Stop writing, because no one cares what you have to say.

Harsh words, and those aren't the worst of them. All because my submission wasn’t chosen, and my post wasn't popular. Lesson learned concerning the latter: not many of my blog readers care about the Walking Dead. (But don't come knocking on my door when the impending zombie apocalypse occurs.)

Back to the point: I recognize that these thoughts are lies. I know that magazine rejections do not define my worth, or even indicate that I’m a lousy writer. The same goes for how many reads one of my blog posts acquires. (I'm not writing for recognition purposes anyway, but that darn voice keeps making an issue of it!)

But the thing is, sometimes my mind doesn’t really care what the truth is. Or at least it doesn’t seem to. On a down day, whatever negative thought pops into my mind reigns supreme. If I hear a voice telling me that I can’t write, or even that my life doesn’t count for anything, then I believe it. One lie kicks down the door for the next.

You waste too much time that you could be spending with your kids. You're a terrible mommy.

You should be doing more to help other people. You're so selfish.

 

Your organic health food friends would cringe to see the meal you just fed your family. What, are you trying to produce a poster child for juvenile diabetes?

No one really likes you. What is there to like? 

What exactly are you contributing to the world shut up in your home all the time? You’re worthless.

Your husband and kids would be better off without you. Just end your life. Just do it and get it over with.

I'm not a big fan of that voice. It's not very kind, to say the least. I'm ashamed to even admit that some of those thoughts are entertained in my mind, but indeed they are. I am my own worst enemy.

So there I was last week, feeling sorry for myself as I folded the clean laundry in slow motion. Those thoughts about my writing turned into thoughts about everything else, and I was throwing myself a truly spectacular pity party. And suddenly the voice of God interrupted with an old Steven Curtis Chapman song of all things.

His strength is perfect when our strength is gone. He'll carry us when we can't carry on.

 Yeah, um. Pardon me, God, but I'm trying to wallow in my misery for a little while here. You're crashing my party.

When you sing about my strength being perfect, do you believe it? When you say that it carries you through, is that just out of tradition? Do you trust me or not?

Of course I do. Just not at this moment... You know, because it's really hard and this is exactly the kind of moment when I need You the most. So naturally I'm not going to turn to... You know what? Just leave me alone for a bit. The world can revolve around my petty disappointments for a while longer.

There’s no need for that. I will bring you peace. You've experienced it before, you know. It's overwhelming and inexplicable. It’s your choice, as always. If you like where you’re at, by all means stay put. But when you’re ready to beat this, I’m here. When I said to cast your cares on me, it was so you wouldn’t have to bear the weight of them any longer. It is for freedom that I set you free.

How could I refuse such an offer? Those promises are more than just words on a page or empty lyrics we sing. They are truth, and they are tangible.

Despite the fact that I still battle my demons of insecurity, God has certainly brought me a long way in that department. I’m not allowed to sulk for very long these days before I get a swift kick in the pants. And that’s the way it needs to be. At some point I have to make a choice. I have to ask myself the same questions that God so rudely (fine, lovingly) poses to me.

I can't dwell in my castle on a cloud, as lovely an idea as it may be. It is the fantasy of a child, and I need to put away childish things. I live here. Now. This is reality, and this is where God meets me.

II Corinthians 12:9-10 are some of my favorite verses: "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

Strength in weakness, appropriately enough, requires weakness. God never wants to bring me to a place where my wildest dreams come true, or where I overcome all my struggles. Then I wouldn't need his strength (and quite frankly, wouldn't be learning a thing.) Life is meant to be lived with God, overcoming challenges and winning battles together. This both brings Him glory and draws me ever closer to Him.

Not gonna pretend for one minute that I've reached the "delighting" in my hardships stage. Clearly if my thoughts spiraled out of control over a magazine rejection, then I have a ways to go in that department. But I'm not throwing in the towel this time around.

I have to admit that I feel pretty silly for getting discouraged so easily. But really, I think most of our disappointments are small. The everyday grind can beat us down. And then when it does, it's only too easy to let our thoughts drift even further. Pain from the past creeps back into the present, and all the difficulties we've ever encountered converge on us. They overwhelm and suffocate, choking out all the good that used to be so evident. Suddenly it becomes incredibly difficult to stay focused on what’s important in the grand scheme of life. The world is dark- hasn't it always been?

But it doesn't have to be this way. There is hope beyond the moment. Jesus Christ became flesh and dwelt among us to defeat this pain and darkness. To give us new life. To award us real victory. To give us the strength to get back up again when we fall.

And then again. And again. And still again. No matter how many times we fail, there is hope.

He is the voice that whispers and sometimes shouts the exact opposite of what that crazy lady keeps trying to convince me of. I was fearfully and wonderfully made. I am trying my best. My life has value.

And because of this, I need to put the past, both recent and distant, behind me. I can't move forward if I'm looking over my shoulder. I can't live in the present while I'm dwelling on the past.

If your world is so chaotic right now that you can't even hear God, then let those around you help clear out the clutter. Let them share your burdens. You need not carry them all alone. Not every disappointment is as insignificant as mine. If you need help, don't go another day without seeking it out. A little bit of counseling goes a very long way.

But maybe you find yourself in a situation more like mine at the moment. Sure life is hard, and the disappointments we face are real. The pain from the past is real, too, but it doesn't have to stay that way. We can deal with it (always deal with it), and then we can move on. We can. There's no need to dwell on the negative and fall into the trap of self-pity.

We can fight these lies with truth.

No matter how many hardships we face, or how many times we fall, God is right there demonstrating his power in our weakness. I know my next fall is going to hurt like the dickens, but I also know that those falls get fewer and farther between when I just let God do what He promises. He is my refuge and strength.

So take heart!! We are more than conquerors through Him who loves us.

Remembering

As a general rule, I find myself unaware of whatever the current date happens to be. Today is one of the exceptions. 

They say that 9/11 is one of those days where everyone remembers exactly what they were doing when they heard the news. At least in my case, they’re correct. I was on my way home from a morning class when I heard the news that a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I didn’t give it a second thought. Sheltered child that I was, I had no idea what the twin towers even were. In my mind, some pilot had gone off course and accidentally hit some building somewhere. I got out of my car and went inside to take a nap. 

It wasn’t until a couple hours later that my husband (then boyfriend) came and knocked on my door to ask what I thought about everything going on. I had been sleeping through all of it- that was apparently what I thought about it. He explained the tragic events to me, and I sat in shock with him on the front porch. For most of the day, we remained glued in front of the news, waiting to hear every single piece of new information. We cried, became angry, and traversed the whole gamut of emotions together.

Over the next few weeks and months, most everyone in the good ole USofA did the same. Emotions ran high, though different folks came to different conclusions.

 

Most agreed that Americans needed to band together during this time of great loss, and patriotism swept the nation. Flags appeared everywhere- little ones secured to car antennas, newspaper printouts taped to front doors, and on all manner of merchandise as far as the eye could see. Even Congress united to sing God Bless America. We were proud to be Americans.

 Just as widespread as that patriotism was a shared grief over all who were lost. Strangers embraced and wept together as the gravity of the situation overwhelmed then. Eventually films explored the process of how life had to go on. So many precious lives lost. And why?

Many Americans considered the terrorist attacks to be a call to arms. Thousands of people died that day, right here on American soil. If the terrorists were intending to pick a fight, then they certainly succeeded. Songs were sung, speeches were given, and calls to action were proclaimed far and wide. Americans wanted blood!

Many saw the tragedy through the lenses of their faith, though even these interpretations varied widely. Some believed God was punishing a sinful nation. Some considered it a wake up call to draw our nation back to God. And still others saw the cross in the rubble as a sign that God was in the midst of our struggles, bringing us hope.



 

A smaller population came to the conclusion that faith had caused this whole mess to begin with. That religion was to blame for the choices of men.




 

And fortunately it was an even smaller population that chose to develop some conspiracy theories about the "truth" of 9/11. Google UFO 9/11 and see what you find. (One word: yikes.)




Still others focused on the heroism of those emergency personnel who rushed into the burning buildings as others were rushing out. They marveled at the bravery of Todd Beamer and the Flight 93 passengers, who refused to go without a fight. Some spoke of the brevity of life, researched the teachings of Islam, emphasized the need for airline security, debated the problems with border control, kept hope alive while searching for the missing, stressed the importance of making peace in the middle east, questioned the goodness of God, supported a search for weapons of mass destruction... The list goes on and on.

9/11 impacted our nation in a unique and terrible and wonderful way. It is a part of our history, and each year we remember the impact that it had on us as a person and a nation. The raw emotion of the moment may be gone, but I hope we've come through stronger as a result. As we see the images and maybe watch the videos today, let's not resort to feeling blind rage, despondent sorrow, or fruitless worry.

Whichever side you found yourself on all those many years ago, whatever feelings were evoked- none of that matters moving forward. There are so many directions of thought this tragedy could take us in, but I submit that the most important one is a question. 

What is the truth at the center of it all? 

We have to find it, and then we can work our way outward to deal with the entirety of what life throws at us. Then even when the worst happens, we need not fear.

Seek the truth. Find it, hidden among all the lies and foolishness and distraction this world has to offer. Test God. See if the promises he's made hold up. Look at them for yourself, and don't take anyone else's word for it. Then cling to the truth you find. Focus on it. Continue to learn about it day by day. Live for it.  

"Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

Where faith and zombies collide

Any true Walking Dead fan can tell you the date of the upcoming season premiere. It’s October 12^th, in case you are not one such fan. That also happens to be my husband’s birthday, but I’m personally more excited about the premiere.

There’s so much to love about WD, as we refer to it in our household. The story line is captivating, the special effects are well done, no character is guaranteed another episode, and so much more. I don’t even typically like violent shows, or scary ones, yet somehow this is one of my all-time favorites. (Though I do close my eyes when they’re fighting walkers, which is, you know, somewhat frequently.) It took two and a half seasons for my husband to convince me to even watch it, and then I couldn’t stop watching. 

 

It. Is. Incredible.          

 

 

(Just as a side note: If you don’t think Daryl Dixon is the man, then we can’t be friends.)

We’ve been watching through the seasons again in preparation for the big day. (Thirty-eight days to go!) It’s been even better this second time around, especially to watch just how much the characters have grown. We’re pretty close to making it all the way through again. Rick has been reunited with his family, Sophia has been found (and lost), Shane is no longer stirring up trouble, Merle has committed one final, selfless act, and most recently, my least favorite character to ever walk on a set is no more. 

WD fans know which episode I’m referring to. And even though the governor’s death brought such vindication, the remainder of the 44 minutes left me dismayed. The prison has fallen, the group has been splintered apart, and their oldest comrade will share his wisdom no longer.

 And so, today, I am reflecting on the meaningful, albeit fictional, life of Hershel Greene. Hershel is the kind of man that everyone wants around. He was easygoing, but he knew when to put his foot down. He spoke words of wisdom, but he didn’t spout them arrogantly or harshly. He constantly had a positive attitude and a great sense of humor. 

He’s responsible for what I think is the funniest line ever spoken on the WD: “I can't profess to understand God's plan, Christ promised the resurrection of the dead. I just thought he had something a little different in mind.”

It’s hard to fit humor into a life such as the one portrayed here, but Hershel did it seamlessly. Thank God that people like that exist, making the world a better place just by lightening the mood. Reminding us that there is hope for something better beyond the moment. 

Even with so many positives about Hershel, we perhaps learn more from his brief downfall than anything else. After the infamous barn slaughter episode, Hershel falls off the wagon. His hopes that he might be able to bring his family and friends back to their former (well, alive) selves are crushed, and he turns to his old friend to drown out his problems. Twenty-two years of sobriety go down the drain, and he refuses to come back from the bar even to help his daughter recover from a medical emergency. He declares that there is no hope for any of them, and he insists that Rick feels the same way.

Down goes Hershel.

But then. Oh, then. He rises up stronger than ever.

I love the truth this story represents. Sometimes we learn that what we thought was truth was a lie. For Hershel it was that there is no return from the undead state, but hopefully our lesson will be a little different than that. But rest assured, everyone has to face this kind of reality at some point in their life. Maybe someone we trusted betrayed us, maybe the hypocrisy of someone in the church has shaken our faith, maybe life ended up in chaos even though we’ve followed “the rules.” It’s not the falling that defines us. It’s the standing back up, dusting ourselves off, maybe limping at first, but then returning to life with a renewed passion to fight.

This is what I love about Hershel. He was shaken, and he took a fall, but he got back up again and fought hard for the truth. He renewed his faith in God rather than dismissing it. It became stronger through the trials. His outlook changed, but it was for the better. His hope remained, and he was a better man for it. And everyone else around him became better as a result. 

Not only did Hershel change, but he helped Rick change as well. He lent his wisdom and humor and patience to walk Rick through overwhelmingly difficult circumstances, including the death of his wife. Though I must say, I thought Rick might not make it through his journey into crazy town. But he does, and he learns from the wisdom of his old one-legged friend.

It is Rick who gives what ends up being a beautiful tribute to what Hershel stood for just moments before his death. “Now you put down your weapons, walk through those gates... you're one of us. We let go of all of it, and nobody dies. Everyone who's alive right now. Everyone's who's made it this far. We've all done the worst kinds of things just to stay alive. But we can still come back. We're not too far gone. We get to come back. I know...we all…can change.”

 One last smile spreads across Hershel’s face in that moment. I imagine that he is reflecting on how those words ring true, and he glows with pride to know that Rick lived out that truth. And then, the governor wipes that smile from his face. Hershel will grace the screen no more.

But the great thing about real life is that the darkness can never overcome the light. When good men die, their legacy lives on forever. The truth they proclaimed cannot be erased, even though their body fades away. 

Even though our faith is sometimes shaken, we can come back. We can enjoy life again and live it to the fullest. We can hold on to hope and live each day with a positive outlook. We can keep our integrity even when the world around us falls to chaos. So fictional zombie show or not, we can still glean some wisdom-filled life lessons here. 

I know…we all…can change.