What College Taught Me

To my parents- the two people who have sacrificed more than I could ever imagine to give me the best life and the best four years I could have ever had. I love you Mom and Dad. 

People always say that your four years at college should be the greatest four years of your life, but if you would have told me four years ago what my college experience would be like, I would have never believed you.

Oh the last four years-- what a wild ride they've been. How much I've learned. How I've grown from a clueless, invincible 18-year-old into a confident, independent, young woman.

Freshmen Year 

Oh how faithful the Lord has been to me. How He has ordered every step I have taken.

College. What has it been like. What has it taught me.

When I think about college, I think of ridiculous math classes I had to take, and I remember silently cussing at my math book in the library when I couldn't figure out a problem. I think of all the blood, sweat and tears I spent staying up all night writing papers for English, studying the human body for biology class, speeches I gave that made the hair on my back stand up because I was so nervous to give them.

When I think about the last four years, I think of all the hardships I have gone through. My freshman year of college, I remember packing up all the baby pictures of my brother and I that my mom stored in a cabinet beneath the bookshelves my dad built in the little yellow house I grew up in. I remember thinking how my family would never spend another Christmas in that house and how upset I was that the bank was foreclosing it. I think back to my sophomore year when my dad didn't have very much work, and how I had to get a job working 30+ hours a week serving tables just to pay rent so I could go to school. I think about when I fell into depression, and I remember thinking of all the ways I could take my life. I remember hating God. I remember all the sleepless nights I spent weeping and praying after my boyfriend of two and a half years broke my heart. I remember how scared I was one summer night when I got a call that my brother's best friend had tried to commit suicide. I remember laying in a full size bed at my cousin's house with my three best friends in the world with a laptop, desperately trying to fall asleep to Jesus music at three in the morning after Faith died. I think back to last year when my parents made the decision to leave the church we have attended since I was 12 years old.

When I look back on the last four years, I remember all the good times. I remember the day I met my cousin Charles for the first time and wondering how I had lived the last 18 years without knowing him. I remember winning 1st place for having the best costume at an 80's ice skating competition.

Erica & I
October 2010

I remember taking a trip to an apple orchard in the middle of the mountains and running barefoot through the corn fields playing hide-and-go-seek. I remember getting an email from the Dean of the Communications department explaining how impressed he was with an article I had written for the school newspaper.

I remember free-styling with my violin on stage with some random group of musicians to the Red Hot Chili Peppers at a little club downtown Lynchburg. I remember getting my first tattoo at the most ghetto tattoo shop I've ever seen in my life and not being able to walk on my foot for a week.

Isaiah 41:10 "Do not fear, for I am with you always, I am your God,  I hold you with my righteous hand"

I remember peeing my pants from laughing so hard when Candace and I broke into the laundry mat after curfew just to rescue our clean clothes. I remember the spring break I spent in Miami with a group of friends and double dog daring them to go skinny dipping in the ocean after dark. I remember how excited I was when I adopted my six-month-old puppy from the Humane Society and the day I decided to name her after the bakery I always wanted to go to which was next door to my apartment.

Stella, 6 mons

 I remember feeling like a giddy little school girl after touching Jon Foreman's hand at a Switchfoot concert. I remember crashing a wedding with my best friend and dancing to country music all night with him under the most star-filled sky I've ever seen.

When I look back on my last four years at Liberty, I think of all the times I was discouraged or felt lonely; all the times I felt scared or hurt or broken. But then I remember. I remember every time I jumped just a little too low, every time I missed my chance, and every time I lost my temper- every time I lost a friend or failed a test, every time I felt guilty and powerless before God, He never failed to pick me up and take my hand. His love never failed to cover my sin, and His mercy never refused to forgive me.

Yes, college taught me trigonometry. It taught me reading and writing- it improved my thinking skills and gave me an idea of what a Christian worldview should be. It taught me how to follow a seating chart, and how to be responsible. College let me understand the definition of a "deadline" and "motivation".

But it doesn't stop there and college didn't just teach me how to be a television journalist.

College taught me how to love. College taught me how to forgive. College taught me about myself. College taught me how to be a hard worker. It taught me how to save money. It taught me how to survive on  Ramen Noodles and chocolate milk. College taught me how to laugh and how to cry. It taught me I am weak and it taught me I am stronger than I think I am. College taught me not to be a planner- to go with the flow. College taught me that I love being independent, and I love my family more when I miss them. College taught me how to be humble. College showed me what I am capable of.

But most of all, college taught me that no matter what happens, no matter if your heart is broken or if it's pieced together with superglue, no matter who loves you, no matter who hates you, no matter if you're happy or sad, no matter if you're marked by your RA as the "rebellious one" or the "religious one", no matter if it's raining or shining, Jesus will never stop being faithful and His love will never run out.

College taught me to trust Him. I'm so thankful for that.

Psalm 23

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in the path of righteousness for His name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me, Your rod and staff they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. You anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Paralyzed: A Love Story

I kept looking at my phone every two minutes to make sure I knew what time it was. The sound of my fingernails clicking on my wooden desk echoed throughout the classroom. Everything my professor said seemed to go in one ear and out the other. All I wanted to do was get out of there . . . the only thing I wanted to do was run, and it really didn't matter where. All I wanted to do was escape. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.  It was three thirty on a Friday afternoon and I couldn't believe I was still in class, or why.

"I want to show you a short video," she said. Prof Miller's soft voice was making me sleepy.

"I want to show you a video explaining a why factor," she continued. "So many times we focus on what is at hand, that we lose sight of why we do what we do in the first place."

What a mouthful, I thought. She didn't seem to be making any sense and she couldn't have been more confusing. I didn't have anything better to do, I was still a prisoner of the classroom, so instead of falling asleep, I decided to pay attention to the video she was about to show.

"He's not a normal teacher. Everybody loves him." A boy about 16 years old began, "He's the epitome of what a great teacher should be like."

A man referred to as "Mr. Wright" was now on screen- and his arm was on fire. You see, Mr. Wright is a high school science teacher.

 

 "I've been on my own since I was 15 years old. Mr. Wright knows that. He's someone I have been able to tell things to, I can trust him. And I know he cares about his students," a young girl said.

The camera was back on Mr. Wright and this time he was shooting a potato through a pipe across a field.

"I've heard everything from, 'Mr. Wright, I'm pregnant' to 'Mr. Wright, I ran away from home'. I've seen things most people don't even know go on in a young person's life. Some of these kids are just wanting to be loved on, they're different- and that's why one size doesn't fit all inside my classroom," the science teacher said.

I was already intrigued by Professor Pam's video, and I remenisiced about my high school days. Mr. Wright reminded me of my biology teacher I had my sophomore year. But I still couldn't find out what was so special about this guy. What was the underlying reason for his incredibly caring heart? He had a passion for reaching out to high school kids. So what. A lot of teachers do. That's why they're teachers. But I continued to watch.

The interview with Mr. Wright suddenly took a new angle when he began to talk about his family.

"I have two kids," he started. My daughter is 15 going on 25. She's your normal teenage girl, you know, she gets embarrased when I give her a kiss goodbye, and she thinks I am the world's dumbest dad. But I love her to pieces just like any father would," he went on, "And then there's Adam. I was so excited when I found out my wife was pregnant with a boy. It was like I had the best of both worlds. I couldn't wait to go to ball games and thow a football, you know, do men stuff with my son someday," he paused.

"But when Adam was born, he was breathing 180 times a minute. That's more than three times a second. Adam was born with a rare disease similar to cerebral palsy. The doctor told us he was completely blind, and he would never be able to control any muscle in his body. My son has a perfect mind. He can think and he has the ability to learn, but he cannot control the muscles in his body. Sometimes Adam punches himself so hard he bleeds. If he falls out of bed in the middle of the night and I'm not there to help him back up in bed, he'll lay flat on the floor all night long until morning."

It was so quiet in the classroom now that you would have been able to hear a pin drop.

"For a long time, I was pissed at God. I didn't undersand why He would give me a son who couldn't talk to me, who would never be able to stand on his own two feet by himself. I got so angry. . . until this one day when I walked in on my daughter sitting in her room with Adam propped up against the side of one of her dolls. I asked her what in the heck she was doing, and she simply replied, 'Playing with Adam, Daddy'. How was she playing with Adam when he couldn't even  see her, I thought. And then I understood. My daughter was holding up a dollar bill and she was telling Adam to hit it. And he hit it every time. Every single time. . . which meant that Adam couldn't be blind. We decided to teach Adam sign language. And I'll never forget the day he signed this to me."

It was the weirdest thing, I had just learned the sign for "daddy" in sign language class the day before.

"It means, 'Daddy, I love you," Wright said, tears flowing down his cheeks as he continued to tell the story of his son for his students.

If I was holding back the tears before, I wasn't now.

The b-roll continued to show this man caring for his 12-year-old handicapped son. Changing his diapers, and feeding him. Loving him. It was a picture of a completely average man, loving his son in the most incredible way. And that's what broke me.

I finally understood why. I saw a glimpse of what unconditional love looks like- and I felt it. Here was a father who was given a son who could never tangibly repay him- who would never be able to throw a football, or wrestle, who would never be able to tell him all the ways he loved his dad.

I felt my chair sinking to floor. And I thought about all the ways Mr. Wright's story symbolized the story of the cross. How little I felt. How small and irresponsible I am.  How many times I fail, but His blood still covers a multitude of sins. How paralyzed and worthless I am without His forgiveness. How the Lord doesn't need me for a second, but still, He loves me.

Sometimes, what it is we care for, or what we love isn't everything. It's why. Why do we love? Why do we forgive? Why do we do what we do? Is it because we're supposed to? Is it because we can gain something back from who or what we love or forgive?

Mr. Wright's story is something amazing. But how much greater is our Father's love for us?

"The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end." Lamentations 3:22

Nothing Has Changed

All I know now is it's been three months
Since we let the summer
Tell the story of us
And all that I've seen in the back of my head
Are your green eyes and your smile
And when I'll see them again


Oh I'll race you back to the good old days
When I used to deny
All the ways
I fell for you and as nights linger by
I miss your jokes
And your bow ties


I searched all over the world and couldn't find
Something wrong with you or reasons we couldn't try
So let's stay up late come sneak me out
Put Red on repeat
You know me better now
And let's find who we're supposed to be
It's gonna be different, you and me
There could be more to the song we sang
I'm still your "Little Bird"
And nothing's changed
Oh yeah and 'all I know since yesterday',
Oh since yesterday,
Nothing's changed

Let's go back to times last year
When you weren't so far
When you were here
Just come back home so we could pick up
Right where we left off
Let's figure out love


Come back to me, Sir, I'm still waiting to dance
I've waited so long
But we've still got a good chance
And if you've waited too, let's sing from our hearts
Let's finish our song
Yeah let's make it ours

Because  . . .


I searched all over the world and couldn't find
Something wrong with you or reasons we couldn't try
So let's stay up late come sneak me out
Put Red on repeat
You know me better now
And let's find who we're supposed to be
It's gonna be different, you and me
There could be more to the song we sang
I'm still your "Little Bird"
And nothing's changed
Oh yeah and 'all I know since yesterday',
Oh since yesterday,
Nothing's changed.

Learning to Love

"If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything." Malcolm X

My parents always told me to follow my passions, and to stand up for what I believe in-- but it took me almost 21 years to figure out what I am truly passionate about. 

Over the last few months, the Lord has taught me about the power of His amazing love and kindness. A little over four months ago, He shattered my whole world when he took away my biggest idol- and then only a few weeks later, he reminded me about the fragility and shortness of life when I witnessed the death of my 18-year-old dorm mate. 

On the 30 hour bus trip down to Texas, I decided to read some old prayers written by a terrified, brokenhearted girl- the faithful, brokenhearted prayers I prayed while going through two of the darkest times in my entire life. Reading my old prayer journals is something I often do when I am discouraged to remind and  to encourage myself of the Lord's faithfulness and overwhelming love. 

I remember the girl I was only four short months ago. I remember feeling like God couldn't possibly understand my depression which stemmed from my circumstances, and thinking how He probably blocked out the angry prayers I yelled in the shower, or in the middle of the night at the Prayer Garden. I remember thinking things would never go back to being the same. I questioned the Lord's love for me so many times- and every time I questioned it, He just kept on making it more and more apparent in my life. 

And while I've been in Texas, the Lord has been teaching me how to love people the same way He loves me. No one ever said that standing up for the truth would ever be easy. And loving people that hate that the Lord and the truth is something that I've always struggled with.

View from the second floor of the capitol rotunda

A few hours before the bill finally passed, LAN team and I went to capture some of the chaos which was happening inside the capitol.

First floor inside the capitol rotunda

The orange shirts, (pro-abortionists) carried signs which read things like, "pro-choice = pro-life", "Keep your rosaries off my ovaries", "My body, my choice" and "Wendy Davis is my hero". One girl with our group had the back of her shirt ripped by an angry protester, and another lady I interviewed had her things stolen by a mob of people in the overflow chamber. There were threats from the pro-abortionists that human feces and urine would be thrown at people in blue (more than 20 jars were found filled with waste at security) and one even reported a pro-abortionist carrying a semi-automatic rifle. Some orange were smoking- some were spitting and some were cursing at those dressed in blue silently praying and singing hymns. Inside the Senate gallery, women chained themselves to posts and sat down in front of the entrance to block the DPS as well as those inside the senate chambers - up to thirty were arrested and literally carried off the premises kicking and screaming, "Shame on you, shame on you!".

DPS trying to break woman free after she chained herself to the Senate gallery railing

As I fearlessly held up my little video camera in the middle of this orange sea of protesters, ready to catch whatever nonsense may occur (dirty tampons being tossed at blue shirts, fights, etc) someone tapped me on the shoulder.

"Can I interview you, Miss?" A man in a suit holding a microphone and another one with a large video camera with a sticker on the side read ABC News, Channel 12.  It was the one day I decided not to wear any makeup, my hair wasn't washed, and both of the sleeves of my oversized baby blue shirt were  cleverly hemmed up with fire engine red duck tape which bore the word "LIFE" written in black sharpie. The bright light attached to the camera was blinding and I could feel my knees beginning to shake, but my adrenaline rush from the excitement and loudness of the crowd took away my nerves. Without any hesitation I yelled, "Yes!" and the anchor pointed his microphone at me.

"Sources are saying that the bill will be passed by the senate in a few hours," he paused, "So why are you still here?"

I tried desperately to drown out the noise in the background. What did he just say? I thought.

"Pardon?" I yelled back at the anchor. He repeated the question and this time I knew what my answer would be.

"We are undeserving of Your love," Michelle Duggar had prayed at the rally a few days ago. Those words had lingered in my heart all week.

There were more than a few times I almost lost my cool while standing in the middle of the orange sea, and the pro-aborts weren't the only ones I had resentment towards. One woman carried a large cross with a sculpture of the body of Jesus on the front and she was chanting, "Don't mess with Mother Mary, she will kick your a**." The day before, some blue shirts held large, graphic signs of aborted babies, screaming "Murderers go to Hell".

Why was I still here. Good question. We were 90% sure the bill was going to pass. So why was I still fighting for it? The answer was simple. I wasn't fighting for the life of the bill anymore. I had bigger reasons for being in the middle of the life-threatening mob in the Texas capitol.

Preventing the physical deaths of Texan women and children was all it took for me to jump on a bus and head to Austin. But it hit me like a thousand bricks when saw thousands of people whose eternal deaths I knew could never be prevented without the saving blood of Jesus.

Even though I was in Texas to show my support for physical life, I was constantly reminded by the Lord that displaying His unfailing, unconditional love to people who hate Him had to become my first priority.

Students for Life praying outside a Planned Parenthood in Austin

Proverbs 3: 3-8 says, "Let not steadfast love and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck; So you will find favor and good success in the sight of God and man. Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your path. 

We won a political victory in Texas this week, but the Lord's blessings didn't stop there. I haven't slept very much in the past week, and spiritual warfare has been heavy but I have confidence that my God is good and that He has the power to save.

I've learned that He is in control- no matter how big or how small the enemy is, and His precious love has the power to overcome death in even the darkest of places.

"But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: that the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never  come to an end." Lamentations 3:21-22

The Voice

It's one of those times, I've felt lost in this world
No one to listen, no voice to be heard
Losing valuable time, no power to learn
My head and my heart how they ache and they burn

These eyes have seen things too big for my dreams
I let go of my past, it's an immeasurable piece
Of the person I am, what they want me to see
And I can't even remember what I wanted to be

We were caught in a love held up for a time
We danced and we laughed, we kissed and we cried
I wanted to know, to see you as you are
I wondered if you could look past my scars

But- the voice deep in my soul desires to know
What do I love; where do I go?
I've been wandering alone now
Hope's lost, I'm too far now
Too far gone to remember my name.

Becoming An Advocate

As a small town country girl born and raised in a very conservative, Christian home, I didn’t realize the culture shock I was in for when Live Action accepted my application to become an intern for them in Washington, D.C. At first, everything about the city was something new for me to get used to.  There are no dirt roads here, and no rolling hills, but there are a whole lot of career- focused people constantly flooding the streets and subways. Even though some may say the way I grew up was simple, I was taught that there is nothing more important than loving people no matter how “different” or insignificant they seem.  I was taught that the value of life is immeasurable.

So while the largeness and the bustle of city shocked me, one thing was even more astonishing: the considerable number of people who oppose the pro-life movement.

As an intern for Live Action, I discovered this truth by going out campaigning on the streets of D.C., attempting to speak with people about pro-life matters, and handing out issues of The Advocate, our student magazine. It was not until the fifth or sixth person brushed me off when I realized the greatness of the struggle I signed up for. There I was in the middle of street, on the brink of tears because I couldn’t believe so many people could be so closed off to the idea that unborn babies deserve basic human-rights protection. I still have trouble processing this fact.

But I didn’t come all the way to Washington just to give up, and I didn’t sign up for an internship with Live Action because I thought they couldn’t use my help. So I swallowed the lump in my throat, brushed off my shoulders and spotted a man in a janitor’s uniform leaning against a building. I asked him if he had ever heard of gendercide . . . and he didn’t brush me off. Instead he nodded and asked me why I’d present him with such a question. I could tell he was interested in what I was saying, and for the first time that day, I became filled with confidence.

I started explaining that sex-selection abortions, (gendercide) are happening not only in China; they are happening right here, every day in the States. As I went into detail, I noticed the friendly expression on the man’s face changing to disbelief and concern.

“Why are you telling me about this?” he asked. “That is legal?”

He explained to me that he was from Africa. He had had no idea that abortion is legal in the U.S. He didn’t understand the reason for standing on street corners, handing out flyers about why abortion is wrong. I was still getting over abortion support being more widespread that I’d ever imagined, but to this man, abortion itself was a foreign concept.

“People do this on purpose?” the man asked, pointing to a picture on the back cover of my magazine I was offering him. It was an image of a seven-month-old aborted baby. “How is this okay?”

I kind of just stared at the man for a moment, wondering what to say next.

“It’s not.” That was about all I could get out.

I’ve always known how to tell someone why abortion is wrong; but explaining to someone why it was legal was another thing. How was I supposed to tell him why it was legal, if I didn’t even know the answer myself?

I could tell the man was getting angry now. I wasn’t sure if his anger was directed towards me, or if he was upset about the magazine’s explicit pictures of aborted babies, but either way, I felt embarrassed. Embarrassed for my country. Embarrassed by what is considered legal in the United States of America. I could feel the lump in my throat coming back.

As Americans, I feel like we take life for granted. We are so obsessed with preserving and protecting our “rights” and our freedom to choose the lifestyle that fits our personal worldview. And while I appreciate being able to live in a country which upholds the rights I enjoy every day, no right can be legitimate if we have to murder children to secure it.

I’m still getting used to Washington, D.C. – from figuring out the metro, to the hectic pace, but most of all, to the people’s prevalent dismissal of the rights of our weakest citizens. I learned that if I have a passion for standing up for the rights of the unborn, I can’t go very far unless I act on it. That’s exactly why I came to this city; that’s exactly why I stood on that street corner.

Thirty-five percent of Americans believe in the pro-life movement. Think about what would happen if all those Americans who oppose abortion actually did something about it!

The African man leaning against the wall was not the only person who gave me a moment of his time that day. I planted a seed in hundreds of minds, and it was as easy as handing out a few magazines on a street corner.

For We Walk By Faith and Not By Sight

I could smell the sweat on his body and I could hear his heart pounding like a drum inside his chest as he held me inside of the ambulance. Our grimy hands were clenched so tightly together that I felt the dirt beneath his fingernails. There weren't anymore words left to say. My mind was racing and backtracking over the day; thinking about all the ways how I could have prevented the situation that was before me.

It finally felt like spring in Lynchburg. The sun was out and the birds were chirping. Mark and I were eating a late lunch outside in the courtyard when I got a call from my roommate asking if I wanted to go hike up to Crabtree Falls. It is not like me to skip my classes and my on-air 3 o'clock segment, drive an hour away alone,  and then hike up a mountain in the middle of nowhere with a group of girls who probably had no idea what to expect. So, feeling rather uneasy about the plans, I asked Mark to join us for moral support and to make sure all five girls would be safe while in the mountains.

I hurried back to my dorm to change out of my school clothes, and to gather some things I knew I would need. I flung open my door, and there sat my four beautiful friends. Hair and makeup done. Jewelry on. Wearing insensible hiking shoes and cutoffs over their string bikinis. Pulling a sports bra over my head and then tying up the laces of my hiking shoes, I advised the girls wear something a little more conducive to the occasion.

It didn't quite hit me that the whole trip was probably not a smart idea to begin with until we pulled up to the hiking trails and the sun was already setting. I calculated in my head that we had about 2 hours before it would be completely black outside. Since there were six of us, halfheartedly I told everyone to pick a buddy.

Mark lead the way. Up the mountain we went. Five minutes went by and I already heard complaints coming from behind me. I wasn't sure if the girls knew exactly what they were getting into, and it began to worry me. Stopping every eighth mile to take pictures, Mark and I began to feel extremely uneasy that we would never reach the top of the mountain before dark if we didn't pick up the pace.

Realizing this, I put a distance between myself and Mark and stayed alongside the girls toward the back of our group. We were about three quarters of the way to the top when we decided to stop and take pictures by the falls. It was breathtaking. The rush of the falls echoed through the mountain, flowing nearly five thousand feet down. I looked out across the waterfall and saw a few large, flat rocks that were easily accessible. It was a perfect spot to snap a few photos. Lori went first, then me, and Mark followed, making sure if we fell, he could be there to catch us from behind. We crossed over the safety railing, down the cliff and back up the mossy, wet rocks, careful not to step anywhere too slick.

When Lori and I made it safely to the rock in the middle of the falls, I quickly realized that it was too small for all of us to sit on at once. Lori and I posed like Superman, carefully keeping our balance, while the other girls patiently waited for their turn to come over the falls.

Faith was next. She untied her Vans, pulled off her socks and started over the railing. I never took my eyes off of her as Mark helped me back across the rock holding me tightly and making sure I didn't lose my balance.

The last thing I heard were shrieks of terror. Horrifying screams that rang through the forest. Everything within me froze and I could not wrap my mind around what I had just witnessed.

What I had seen wasn't real. I was so far away from the world; and in a second, Mark let me go and jumped back over the rail to the cliff, screaming at me to call 911.

The next thing I knew I was lifted from the falls, back over the mountain. Lori had managed to climb over one side of the mountain and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me away from the danger of the waterfall. I was shaking so bad that I could feel the blood rushing to my heart, and then my head, my muscles aching and trembling as I darted back down the mountain to try to find the others. Every so often I would stop and dial 911 on three different cell phones all at the same time, hoping one of them would pick up a signal.

It seemed like hours. Days. Years. When I finally reached the bottom of the mountain, I layed flat on the pavement and wept like a baby, screaming out to the Lord at the same time. The earth beneath me was spinning. My vision was blurry. My heart felt numb. My shoes were laced too tightly on my feet. And then I saw them. The paramedics were at the bottom of the hill making the drive up the winding mountain.

It was cold in the ambulance, and it smelled of bleach and sanitizer. I felt alone, even though I sat with a female medic, sobbing and praying aloud. Uncontrollable, the old woman coddled me in her arms and held me close to her chest.

"Do you believe in God?" I remember yelling at the 80-something-year old woman. Her name was Tonya.

"I believe in a higher power," she said, calmly.

"Why not!" I retaliated back, confused by her answer.

"How far down did she fall?" Tonya questioned me. I told her I thought she had fallen 30-40 feet down, reassuring myself that 40 feet wasn't such a high altitude to fall from.

But Tonya shook her head when I told her I watched as Faith bounced down the mountain like a basketball, airborne most of the time.

"She's gonna be okay right? Jesus can save her!" I kept screaming at Tonya, but she only gently grabbed my face and wiped away the dirt from my cheeks and forehead, while another medic took my blood pressure and other vital signs.

"She's in shock." Tonya told the other woman in the ambulance.

"Why don't you believe in Jesus? Do you believe in the Bible?" Hysterically yelling at Tonya this time. "Can I pray for you?"

"No." She replied. And I began to weep some more over the lost, troubled, old woman I had met just minutes ago who I knew had no desire to accept Jesus.

In that moment, I longed to be with my friends, to know they were safe. But Tonya still held onto me, stroking my head and squeezing my hand every so often . . . and then we heard it.

A loud voice from a dispatcher over the radio. And I'll never forget the words that he said.

"I'm calling it a DOA 18:37."

"What does that mean?" I yelled at Tonya. Ariel, my roommate, had her head in her hands and she started crying.

"What does that mean!" I repeated over and over again, even though I knew exactly what it meant.

"Baby, she didn't make it," Tonya said.

Those words. How they sent an arrow right to center of my heart. And I wished it was me. I wished I had dove in the waterfall after her instead of watching her being skipped like pebble across a river. I wished we had never even come here. I wished I hadn't been so immature. I closed my eyes, playing it back, moment by moment, thinking it was a just a dream.

Hours later, Mark and Lori finally joined me in the ambulance.

The three of us sat there in silence, holding on to each other, nothing to say. Mark rocked me like a baby in his arms and Lori held my hands as we tried to console each other. You could smell the sweat and taste the saltiness in the air. Mud on our shoes and legs. Still soaking wet from the splash of the waterfall. Time dragged on for far too long and sleeping was out of the question. The earlier visions replayed in our minds and we shrieked in fear every time the doors of the ambulance were opened. Soon the darkness of the night crept over the mountain and we hid ourselves under a dirty, white blanket from the news reporters outside of the ambulance like three small children afraid to face a monster under the bed.

When Alyssa and Ariel finally showed up after being questioned by police, a peace finally began to come over me because I knew that they were safe from the dangers of the mountain.

The girls that had located Faith said she looked untouched without a scratch on her body, or even a scar to prove how far she had actually fallen. She was curled up in the fetal position, so peaceful. In Heaven with her Father.

Experiencing this firsthand has been one of the most traumatizing times I have ever had to deal with. The five us of involved have felt like our innocence has been stripped away, no longer children, but adults. We have seen and felt more than most 20-somethings have, and it doesn't even feel close to normal.

We are bonded together by a common tragedy; but we are held together by something far greater than our personal experiences. We are held together by Jesus Christ. We feel each others hurts, and understand the fears that have developed since that night. We were not alone in this.

Sitting in that ambulance made me realize something new about each and every one of the previous trials I have been through in my short life. You cannot change death. My dear friend was in Heaven long before I knew she was, even though I had hoped she wasn't. I could not change the fact that she was already gone, and instead I had to deal with it.

The words from a familiar worship song we often sing in convocation filled my mind.

All of my life, in every season, You are still God, and I have a reason to sing, I have a reason to worship. 

So often I have found myself asking the Lord for ways to change my current state. God, if only You would do something so real, so spiritual and change this who situation around, I would be happy, I would be content. Jesus, how can I change this? Lord if only I can get an opportunity to witness to my unsaved family, maybe then You would save them. If only. . . 

Even though we are hurting, I can honestly say that not for a moment has the Lord not held me tight in His arms during the last week. Not for a moment has He let me go. My heart aches to be normal again, to not feel the pain and the terror of what happened that day. But one thing I am absolutely sure of, is that Faith's little life is now a part of my testimony. I will never be normal again. There is a reason it wasn't me who fell into the arms of Jesus that day. I'm not done doing what the Lord put me on this earth for. I'm left here for a reason.

You see, when you lose a friend, and you understand how fragile life is and how completely helpless we are as humans, you see how big God is. A few days after the accident, Mark and I went for a run together to get our minds off things. Out of breath and tired, we sat down on a curb and looked up at the stars. They were so bright, so beautiful. "She's up there," I whispered. When you look at the stars, and you understand how far away they are, you remember that God put them there. That God is the ruler of even the stars, and He makes them to shine bright when the sun leaves the sky. Sitting there with Mark, it was so amazing to think that Faith is with Paul, and Peter and James and John and Noah, and Abraham. . . and then Mark reminded me that Faith is with Jesus. How my heart beat faster when I pictured the look on Faith's face when she finally saw our Lord Jesus face to face; when she touched His nail-pierced hands, and felt His arms around her. I couldn't even begin to imagine the joy that she must be in. How she wouldn't come back even if she could.

It is only human to be afraid; to fear the unknown, to fear death. I jump every time I have to brake too hard, or hear a playful scream from people far away. The mountains terrify me. The sound of rushing water makes me want to throw up.

But God.

But God is bigger. But God is almighty. But God is sovereign. But God is faithful.

When you experience something like I did, something so traumatizing and real, something so incredibly easily taken away, you understand life as something that is fleeting. As a vapor. The goals and priorities you have are changed, and they are different. What people think of you no longer matters, fears of disease and illness seem to have no effect, hurting and pain stops. According to His great mercy, He has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled and unfading which is kept in Heaven for you! (1 Peter 1:3-4) John Foreman could not have said it better when he wrote, Two things You told me, You are strong and You love me, yes You love me! 

What do you live for? Really. Does the overwhelming love of Jesus make you want to be with Him everyday? Are you content with the trials you are put in? Do you realize that God has a plan that is so much bigger than the event you are apart of? We do not belong in this world! Praise God that we are only here for a short season! I cannot wait to be with my Heavenly Father. I cannot wait to see His face, to finally understand the joy that Faith has!

2 Corinthians 4:13-15,17 says, "Since we all have the same spirit of faith according to what has been written, I believed and so I spoke, we also believe and so we speak, knowing that He who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and bring us with you into His presence. For it is by all for your sake; so that as grace extends to more and more people, it may increase thanksgiving to the glory of God. For this light momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.

For we walk by Faith and not by sight.

Baby girl, you are missed by so many of us, still here on Earth. But I know that one day will be together again, in Heaven.

In loving memory of Faith Beverly Helbig: April 20th, 1994-April 8th, 2013.

In My Dreams

 (First Verse)
As I sit here I am weak
Want to tell you what I feel
I would usually tell you what I felt
but the only one I'm telling is myself

I've spent hours by myself
Finding what is left
Of this broken heart of mine
And I've been told nothing heals but time

 (Chorus)
And in my dreams you're so close
And I can hear you're beating heart
Beats like a drum And then it's gone
And then I wake and I am all alone

 (Second Verse)
Please release me from your arms
Leave alone my empty heart
That's pursuing something dead
And I've already found the end

Please let me go of you're strong hold
That kept me back from being bold
Don't take away this part of me
But keep your thoughts, my memories

 (Bridge)
See you from a distance,
Butterflies at my first glance
Just like I had so many times before
Why don't you get them anymore 

(Chorus)
And in my dreams, you're so close
And I can hear you're beating heart
Beats like a drum and then it's gone
And then I wake and I am all alone
All alone,
All alone,
All alone

Masked

Can't sleep, it's two a.m.
Can't feel my heart, don't know where it's been
Can't close my eyes because I only dream of you
And my reality's a nightmare that keeps on coming true

Get out of bed, I put on a beautiful mask
So no one notices, nobody asks
But I'd rather pull up the covers
Shrivel up here and die
Maybe the world wouldn't notice
They don't really care why

But this mask, oh this beautiful mask
Oh it won't last for long
Just like money and life,
Like our love that went wrong
But I said too many things;
Maybe I asked for too much,
I'm not sure what happened
I loved life how it was 

It pains me to breathe, just to walk on this path
And I'm tortured by seeing myself in this mask
You're still holding on
You're not letting go
I'm weak and I'm lonesome
Still so in love too, so I know

I cannot move on, I am bound by your chains
Paralyzed by your love and I'm still not the same
And this sweet mask of innocence isn't naive anymore
It's worn out on the floor of my deepest encounter
Sir, you say I'm not gentle? You say I'm not kind?
Take off my mask, you know what you'll find.

Oh that mask I was wearing, it's already gone
 Oh it didn't last for long
Just like money, or life,
Like our love that went wrong
You say you don't love me,
How 'bout you remember this
I know you'll come back, because it's me that you miss
Yes it's me that's you'll miss
Oh it's me that you miss

The Sweet Side of Suffering

"It is the fact that there can be true sweetness in the midst of some of our deepest human pain that is so amazing. It may hurt so bad. But it can also hurt so good." -The Sweet Side of Suffering

I recently took a trip to the local Barns & Noble in desperate need of a Christian book to help guide me out of my sadness and into "better" days. Wondering through the Christian Life section like a lost puppy dog, I finally gave up trying to find the perfect book and asked a manager if she could recommend any books about getting over a breakup. Almost instantaneously, she pointed me in the direction where I could have first pointed myself; "self-help and psychology". I let her do her job and show me books like "The Seven Steps to Getting Over a Broken Heart" or "How to Help Yourself Achieve Happiness".

Although the temptation was great to buy a book written by some successful psychologist who probably had some great advice, I knew it wasn't what I needed. I thanked her for her help, (realizing she couldn't really help me at all) and started walking toward the door when something caught my eye.

The title was striking, but intriguing to me, so I picked it up out of curiosity and began to skim the back of the book. The Sweet Side of Suffering: Recognizing God's Best When Facing Life's Worst. 

It was like the Lord had hand picked the book especially for me.

When I got home later on that night, I opened the book and didn't close it until nearly 2 hours and dozens of highlighted quotes later.

M. Esther Lovejoy, the author of The Sweet Side of Suffering, wrote a chapter called "The Sweetness of His Care". In this chapter she talks about all of the different ways that the Lord has provided for her over the years - some of the most astounding words I have ever read.

In one such story, Lovejoy mentions how the Lord provided for her even when she did not think she needed it. You see, she used to be a pastor's wife and was recently divorced, living alone and receiving a small check from her ex-husband and working on the side. She was doing well for herself, had a dependable job and a stable income. Then one day she got a check for a substantial amount of money from a friend . . . and a few weeks later she caught mononucleosis and was laid off at work.

There was another one I read about how she had little money to buy new things, even things like towels. Her and her husband were hosting a pastor to stay at their house while he did missions work in the area. The thread-bare towels her family had used were good enough for them, but she thought it was quite embarrassing to offer them to a guest. So a few days before the pastor was supposed to come to their home, she asked the Lord to provide for her need, whispering to Him that yellow towels were her heart's desire. The very next day in church Lovejoy was handed a bag full of brand new towels by an elderly lady. Not only were they new, but they were yellow!

It's stories like these and many more that had me in tears while reading about the sweetness of the Lord's care in this lady's life. Mostly because it was just straight up amazing to see the miracles of the Lord and to watch Him answer prayer, but also because it amazed me how intimate of a relationship this lady had with Him. She asked the Lord for things that I feel like I could never ask Him for- things like yellow towels and something to brighten a gloomy day. This lady had faith in her God, and she trusted that her God could and would take care of her.

Sometimes as Christians I feel like we act like the Lord cannot be summoned, like He cannot be bothered for things that we often desire, and truly need. Like the Lord is only to be praised, not to be used as an ATM. However this is not the case at all.

The sweetness of our God is something that is priceless. It's always there, but we seldom recognize it. I didn't understand this intimacy with the Lord until recently when I gave up trying to understand why! Why God allows what He allows. Why God seems to leave me all alone. Why His will is so difficult to understand. And then in the midst of my suffering, my small insecurities that I am so fearful of, in the times of brokenness and hurting, I began to see the sweet side to my suffering; I saw the Lord's compassion and a picture that is much bigger than myself.

When you're at your worst, it is the smallest blessings that can change your attitude. It's having a friend ask you to lunch, or a random person telling you you're beautiful. It's the ability to eat . . . at all. Enjoying a conversation with a stranger. An unplanned night of fellowship.

But sometimes, and these are the times that are the hardest, sometimes there are the times when the Lord just wants you to be alone. And it is in these times when I have seen the Lord in my suffering. When I have questioned His goodness and begged for His grace. When I have cried over a loss, but have realized how much I have gained. When I have prayed for a mustard seed and have been given a mountain. When my faith is weak, but His power is strong.

If it had not been for these times . . . for these precious times of grieving, there would not be growth, nor intimacy. I could not be able to see the Lord's comfort and His sovereignty in my life.

Oh the sweet side of suffering. "Because of His love, WE ARE NOT CONSUMED! For His compassion never fails!" Lamentations 3:22. Because of His love we are not consumed by the fire, by the hurting and the pain. Because of Jesus' love, we cannot be torn down by the evil in this world. We are not consumed by grief, but broken for a purpose. Broken to be built back up and put together again. Everything that goes up must come down, and the sunshine has to come out after it rains. We will not grieve forever, and the pain will subside. And when it does, we may know that we have been fixed by the Lord, and we are closer to being made whole. That our suffering was not done in vain.

"Come, let us return to the Lord; for He has torn us that He may heal us! He has struck us down that he may bind us up!" Hosea 6:1

Counting It Joy

In high school when I used to come home on a Saturday morning with the stench of Vodka still on my tongue and the evidence of spilled beer on my shoes clearly still hungover from the night before, my mother used to say to me, "What I don't know won't hurt me".

 And when I fell in love for the very first time and I gave everything I had to the boy that I was sure I was going to marry, my father said to me, "Be careful not to give too much away, and guard that heart of yours".

I believe the biggest downfall but my biggest advantage is that I have in life is trying everything out by myself. I have to figure it out on my own without ever following the rules. Heck, I don't even read the rules. I'm that girl who puts all of her "eggs in one basket" and falls too hard for something that never caught me in the first place. For lack of a better term, I'm naive. I haven't lived long enough to be able to say that I am an adult. I know so little about life that I haven't even scratched the surface of living. 

Do you ever have those "AHA!" moments when the light bulb finally turns on? Or those days when something your parents said years ago just clicks all of a sudden? And then when it clicks you want to kick yourself in the butt for not understanding or living by it sooner? Like you wish you could take back what you did to avoid the pain that you inevitably will run into down the road?

"What I don't know won't hurt me" isn't a completely true statement. Before I fell in love, I didn't know what it was like. I didn't know what love was, so it was scary. It was terrifying and nail biting all at the same time, and I remember trying to fight it with every nerve I had. I was scared to fall in love because I was scared to lose it. I remember hating myself for falling for someone so quickly. He was so genuine and real. We could talk for hours, 3, 4, 5 at a time . . . about nothing. He was tenderhearted, and compassionate; the little boy inside of him was still very much alive. There wasn't a reason in the world I could think of that hindered me from considering him as a candidate for marriage- well except maybe one. I was only 17. But that didn't matter. He was my whole world, and even more than that, he was my best friend, and my better half- the one who saw the good in me. It wasn't hard to fall for such a catch as him. Before I knew it, I was reeled in by his charm and his wit, his apparent love for the Lord.

So there I was, 17 and already married in my head. Smitten and living in a place far better than the dreams that I once had. I gave him everything. Probably not at once, but after investing about 3 years and a sixth of my little life into the man that was invincible to me, you can guess that he knew me better than I knew myself. And that's what I regret. I regret not holding on to the sacred part of me that he never deserved in the first place. I didn't belong to him. What I didn't know, did hurt me. It hurt me exactly 2 and a half years after he told me those three little words that I thought he would tell me until the day I died. How embarrassing. How terrifying it is to be haunted by your own worst nightmare and to tell yourself , "I told you so".

Until now, I never understood why keeping your heart to yourself is a crucial part of love- I'm not talking about sex either. I'm talking about something so much deeper than sex- I'm talking about emotional security.

Sometimes we're stubborn. Sometimes we insist on doing it the way "I want to do it". Sometimes, "I" am greater than Him. We never even bother to listen to the grown-ups who know so much more than we do! We are so stuck in our ways that no ones advice or input matters. Life is butterflies and rainbows, galloping on horses through green meadows, when all of a sudden the rainbow fades away and the green meadows just aren't green anymore. A thousand curve balls hit you right between the eyes and you're all alone, heartbroken and shattered. And no one understands how you feel . . . no one but your parents who were once heartbroken and once taken by surprise many years ago . . . and then they found each other.

You see my friends, when life is shocking and rudely interrupts you're fairytale, you can either choose to take it by the horns and get back on the saddle, or sit in a puddle of your own sweat, blood and tears. We can choose to trust that God has it. Or that He doesn't know what He's doing. We can choose. We can choose to hold tight to the truths that our parents diligently taught us while growing up and cling ever so tightly to the promises of God or throw away our dignity and let the enemy win.

While in our times of sadness, those broken times of grieving, of insecurity and weakness, the true Christian can sleep at night because he rests in the promises of God. The true Christian will run into the arms of Jesus with a hopeful future. And when he does this, the true Christian is held up and supported by the Lord's amazing love and power.

What is this life. It is but a vapor. The Lord is good and His mercy endures forever.

"Count it all joy when you meet trials of various kinds; for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness, and let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete lacking in nothing. Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial for when he has stood the test, he will receive the Crown of Life which God has promised to those who love Him."

James 1: 2-3, 12

That Somebody is You

Time keeps on passing by so slowly
My heart is still wishin' it wasn't lonely
But you're not sure, you're insecure and there are some things we can't change
And my sad voice can't seem to find the song that it once sang 
I'm still all alone in the this hotel
Writing a breakup song
And you're still alone in some small town
Just thinking what went wrong.

And I've forgotten how to be myself
I've forgotten who I was
But the only things I can recall
are the memories of us
And I'm tired of losing sleep over the words that you once said
it's time I start remembering myself again instead

Time drags along like the rain before the sun
Like the dawning of a new day
Like a horse that wants to run
One day I'll move on I guess
And I'll meet somebody new
But in my mind I'll always wish
That somebody is you.

Sad are the days ahead of me if you never leave my dreams
Blind have I been in times before, but I don't really want to see
Because if seeing is believing
That you're not coming back
I'd rather hide and seek and keep my heart
Than have it broke again.

And I've forgotten how to be myself
I've forgotten who I was
But the only things I can recall
are memories of us
And I'm tired of losing sleep over the words that you once said
it's time I start remembering myself again instead.

Bald & Beautiful

There's a reason why girls generally have longer hair and guys generally have short hair. In this day and age, women who have hair shorter than their ears are considered either lesbians, or cancer patients. Point being in this society is, if you're a straight, healthy woman, you have no business having hair that is cut like "a boy's". Another reason we women don't usually just butch our hair, is because it literally acts as our security blanket. We worship it- we brush our hair on a daily basis, spend ridiculous amounts of money on promising shampoos and conditioners, we dye it all kinds of colors, we stick silly things in our hair like head bands,and barrettes and shiny things,  and worst of all, we spend hours in front of the mirror making it look perfect. And some of us. . .and we know who we are . . . we let a boy determine the way we wear it.

So why did I let a clueless, young, inexperienced hair dresser turn me into my worst nightmare of looking like a 12 year old boy who hasn't gone through puberty yet? Well the truth is- I didn't. I didn't want to look like a lesbian, and I really didn't want the last little bit of confidence I had literally stripped from me. But accidents happen, and I think it happened for a reason.

When something is so precious to you, so valuable to you, so cherished by you, you start to place your security in it. And as soon as it's gone, life isn't real, it isn't pretty, and it hurts.

For two days I could not look at myself in the mirror, and something that had been so valuable to me before, was now all gone and there was nothing I could do to get it back. I had to come to terms with reality whether I liked it or not.

Last night I stood in front of the mirror and had to tell myself out loud for 15 minutes that "I am a beautiful creation of God". Sidetrack. .  .shout out to Audrey Ralon for having to say that to me everyday in Evangelism class freshman year. Haha. Good times.

In a weird way, the Lord answered my prayers when I asked Him to show me the idols of my heart. I loved my hair!And if I'm being completely honest with myself, I put my identity in my appearance, in the hair on my head, instead of in the Lord.

And so, after coming to terms with my outward appearance, I gathered all the courage I had left, stuck it under my arm and got on a plane and flew back home to Liberty. While sitting on the plane, I wrestled with God about whether or not to tell the man next to me about Jesus. Finally about half way through the flight, miserable and sad about both of the shocking things that I lost this weekend, I decided to go out of my comfort zone and begin a conversation with a perfect stranger. Heck, I was already out of my comfort zone, what else did I have to lose? What was one more person denying me of attention?

"So are you from Michigan?" I asked him. Michael had just graduated from high school a year ago, and was training to be in the U.S. Marine Corps. He was headed to Georgia for basic training. He asked me where I was in my life, and I told him I am a video broadcasting major and I want to be an anchor someday.

Those next few words out of his mouth were shocking and wonderful all at the same time.

"You are a very beautiful, young woman," he said.

I almost lost it right there in my seat. I could feel the tears beginning to flood in my eyes.

Somewhere between him telling me to re-find my confidence and me telling him about what the Lord had put me through recently, I began to feel a peace rising up inside of me. I began to finally feel beautiful again. Bald, but beautiful. Heartbroken, but comforted. And I knew why the Lord told me to talk to Michael in the first place: to bring me comfort.  I told Michael  I would pray for him, and he told me to never forget what he'd said.

The Lord can be pesty sometimes. Especially when you don't get the lesson he is trying to teach you in the first place.

So here I am. Instead of broken and bald, I have decided to be single and beautiful. Beautiful in my own skin, and unmasked for the first time in forever. Unrestrained by a full head of hair. So take that world, I'm going to conquer you!

Accidents happen. But NOTHING ever takes THE LORD by surprise! The Lord is good. He never leaves us or forsakes us. He brings peace to the brokenhearted and restores the sorrowful. What an amazing God we serve!

"Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." ~ Luke 12:7

My Thoughts Are Not Your Thoughts

Anyone who knows me well enough can tell you that it has been one of my biggest childhood dreams to work for Fox News Network in Washington D.C. That's a big aspiration for a 4th grader, you might say, but my daddy raised me right. As a little girl I remember riding home from school with him in his truck, Sean Hannity blaring loudly over the radio. When the commercials would finally come on in between segments, he would ask me what I though about political issues, fiscal issues, and even the moral issues that had just been discussed on air. At age 9 I knew where I stood politically, and all I wanted to do was tell other people how I felt about it and possibly persuade them to agree with me.

As a nine-year-old, I never thought in my wildest dreams that an opportunity to intern for Fox could possibly be in my future. It was always one of those things you kind of just think about, or push aside as a wish, but don't really think will ever come true.

For those of you who don't know, a little over a month ago I was accepted into a program through my school called "The Washington Fellowship". Basically this program acts as a professional development course as well as an aid in helping students get interns at extremely well known companies, networks, political offices and even research centers in D.C. For the last month and a half I have been tutored and trained under a professional career adviser who has helped with my resume, different cover letters, answered any questions I have and has let me practice my interviewing skills. Not only has he advised me with these skills, but he also acts as my personal "Yoda" (as all the career people like to call him). So as soon as I apply for an internship, he calls, he emails and he gets me on a first name basis. He makes my applications personal so the chances of me getting a good internship go though the roof.

This past Thursday I had my first mock interview with a panel of interviewers. After my interview was over, I conveyed that I was willing to do just about anything to get it in with Fox, but I wasn't sure they would have any interest in my application. I mean, why me right? Seems like that's the question I'm always asking myself. My coordinator responded with some encouraging words about Fox and then asked me if I knew who Lila Rose is and if I would be interested in interning for Live Action.

Lila Rose?! Are you kidding me? Of course I know who she is!

Rabbit trail really quick. Lila Rose works for a pro-life organization called Live Action whose goal is to save the lives of innocent unborn children and to take down as many Planned Parenthood's as possible in the process. In doing this, she is in charge of sending in fake pimps with child prostitutes to these clinics all over the country. She plants hidden cameras on the pimps and young children who are supposed to be no more than 14 or 15 years old and then these pimps ask the clerks behind the counter to aid in giving these young women abortions (which is clearly illegal because a) prostitution is illegal, b) sex abuse is illegal, c) "owning someone and selling them for sex is illegal and d) any person under the age of 18 must have written permission from a parent to get an abortion. The sad thing about this is, that Ms. Rose came to find out that more times than not, Planned Parenthood officials were allowing all of this to go on behind closed doors, committing fraud, and murder in the process. Ms. Rose has put an end to multiple PP clinics around the country by proving this to government officials and has saved potentially millions of lives. She is someone I truly desire to emulate, and I would die to work under her.
 
 It's always funny to me how the Lord does things. This last week also happened to be what Liberty calls, "Missions Emphasis Week" where they bring in speakers and missionaries who have literally reached the ends of the earth with good news of the Gospel. This being like my 5th missions week at LU, I was kind of annoyed with it, and actually became discouraged.

Honestly, I don't feel called to go to Haiti or Korea or South America and tell people about Jesus first hand. I am definitely not opposed to the idea, but I just don't feel like that's what God as in store for my life. So I kind of hated it when today's speaker basically said that every thing else other than missions is pointless. Not gonna lie, it was really discouraging to hear that all of my dreams, my desires, my goals, my wants: they were all for nothing. How could she say that? Was she nuts? Was she so right to assume that all of my good, but perhaps slightly selfish dreams of being an anchor on Fox News were . . . selfish? Selfish? Wait a second. . .

. . . I thought back to yesterday when I told the coordinator in my interview that I would do "pretty much anything" to get the internship at Fox. Pretty much anything. Wow. Let's do a reality check really quick. Was I willing to do pretty much anything for Jesus? Was I willing to put my life in his hands, give it back to him, serve him with it? Was I willing to give up my childhood dreams of working for one of the biggest news networks in the world for the sake of furthering the Kingdom of Heaven?

Just then it hit me like a ton of bricks when I took the speaker's advice and brought it a little closer to home. When I sat back and evaluated my motives for wanting to be on Fox, they always seemed to point back to me. Not that anything is wrong with that desire, it's just that if I were to pick between an internship with either Lila or Fox, which one would I pick and why? And that was exactly the question I had to ask myself. You see, the speaker wasn't trying to attack my dreams, she was only trying to make sure they were aligned with what the Lord had in store for me. And if you look hard enough, there are ministries everywhere you look. People need help, and it's not too hard to find them.

I have always known deep down that I don't have greater passion than putting an end to abortion. It is something that disgusts me more than anything else in this world. To not take an opportunity such as this would be like spilling good milk down the drain: wasted and ineffective.

I was convicted this week. Majorly convicted. What's more important to me? Being a face for a news network or potentially saving millions of lives and sharing the Gospel and ministering to abused and terrified women who have no where to turn?

And oh, for the record, I haven't gotten offered an internship from either place. Not yet. But God is going to do something big with me.

Number one thing I learned this week: God's plans are greater than mine.

Isaiah 55:8 "For My thoughts are not your thoughts and My ways are not your ways" declares the Lord. 

To Honor Those Who Honor Freedom

This is a story I wrote about three different American heroes last week for the newspaper I work for in honor of Veteran's Day. To my dismay, it did not get published, because apparently the editors thought that a stories about Hurricane Sandy were more important. But I know many people asked about it, so I just wanted to put it up because I think it is the best piece I have ever written for the Champion. Not only that, but I think it is extremely important to remember those men and women that have served and continue to serve our country every day. So here it is.

MILITARY MEN RETURN TO LIBERTY AFTER BEING DEPLOYED

Often times, military men and women are shown little respect, forgotten for their valiant service and heroic acts of honor, and ignored. These few men, heroes for their acts of service and love for their country explained what it is like to come back to college in the United States after being deployed overseas.
For one 26-year-old Marine, transitioning from the front lines of a battleground to a classroom environment started out as a challenging endeavor. The simple habits of civilian living that were once normalities were all of a sudden a complete culture shock to him.
“Just getting back into the swing of things has been a little more difficult. Most military guys, especially those who have been deployed have to turn themselves off to what they’re doing because while we’re deployed it’s working 24/7—everything is life or death, so when you come to school, it’s hard to shut that down and not stay up all night working when your friends are overseas staying up all night patrolling. It’s kind of a challenge to let yourself rest especially after coming back from a deployment,” U.S. Marine Corp. Sergeant and Liberty junior Jared Delello said.
Delello was deployed twice while enlisted in the Marine Corp—once to Iraq in 2007 and once to Afghanistan in 2008.
While it may be easier for a younger military man such as Delello to make friends with other college students on campus, 42-year-old U.S. Army Sergeant Bruce Wasson said he has struggled with connecting with students and finding colleagues his own age not only to seek counsel from, but to also develop friendships with.
“I have had a couple professors that have taken a particular interest in who I am as a person and understanding my background and that’s helped me kind of fill in that gap of feeling like an outsider, and being an older student here at Liberty,” Wasson said.
According to the director of the Military Affairs Office, Emily Foutz, Liberty University is currently educating 229 residential students and over 18,000 online students who have either served, or who are currently enlisted in the United States Military. One thing that has helped Wasson feel a little more comfortable is the aid of the office counselors which is conveniently located right on campus on the second floor of Green Hall.
”The Military Affairs Office is very quick to answer your phone calls. They will go out of their way to help you resolve a tuition issue, registering for classes, they’re easy to contact, they’re easy to talk to. They meet my particular military needs and that’s been very helpful,” Wasson said.
Apart from being a sergeant in the Army, Wasson is also a licensed minister who is involved in church restoration. Wasson said that he likes to fix problems in the church with military strategies; the military gave him a set of leadership skills that he is able to use in everyday life, whether it is training men to go into harm’s way on a physical battle field or a spiritual one.
David Mitchell, Liberty junior and staff sergeant in the U.S. Army said that military students are people too; sometimes they’re a little more outspoken and confident in leadership positions than others.
Mitchell said that they most of the time, they (military students) need help with learning to overcome and talk about past experiences. He said that the Student Veterans Group is not only a great way to get connected with other veterans and military students on Liberty’s campus, but it is also a great outreach and a way for students who want to support soldiers fighting overseas.

A Conquered Fear

I've never been one to think unnaturally tanning your skin as something that is actually enjoyable or attractive for that matter.  I mean haven't you ever seen Final Destination 3? After watching the scene where two girls are tanning together in the same room in tanning beds that encapsulate them completely from head to toe, and then literally getting fried to death in the beds because of an electric problem gone bad,  I have NEVER had the desire to go tanning. The thought of being trapped in a capsule of light for minutes on end TERRIFIES me. Elevators scare me enough, and I get claustrophobic pretty easily. I've never been ashamed of the paper white shade of my skin, and I am also afraid of getting skin cancer at an early age. However, I am going to Florida for Spring Break this year and a friend told me that I should get a "base tan" so I don't burn like a lobster the first time I sit in the sun for ten minutes. After much persuading, and reassuring me that two or three times in a tanning bed won't kill me, I decided to go with a group a group of girls to Sun Tan City right here in Lynchburg.
So there I went. Having not the slightest idea what to expect, I went right up to counter inside the salon and asked about what kind of bed I should use for my very first time tanning. The very orange girl at the counter obnoxiously chewing her gum handed me a form and a pen and said "Fill this out". I proceeded to fill out a form that asked questions about what color my eyes are, and if I freckles or not. And then I came across the part where you have to sign your name pretty much saying that if anything happens to you, you're not going to sue the company for any harm done to you by the tanning beds. So reluctantly,  I checked the box and signed my name on the dotted line. The orange woman tried to sell me a tanning package, and I told her that I just wanted a glow for Florida so I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb amongst all the other orange and very beautiful dark looking women on the beach. Looking me up and down, she said, "Hunny, one week is not going to turn your pale skin bronze." I thought to myself for a minute about what rude comment I could hurl back at her, and how I didn't want to look like a raw carrot like she did. If "bronze" is attractive nowadays, that's okay with me, I'll keep my ugly white skin. You can keep your orange-ness.

So anyway, minutes later, I finally get called back into the tanning room. I go inside, and close the door, not really sure what to do next. I kind of look at the bed, look at the hooks on the side of the wall, look at the bed, look at the hooks, and finally realize that I have to something, there's no backing out and looking like a chicken on front of all my friends now. Instead of removing any clothing, I call Lori, my roommate, who is sitting outside waiting for her turn to tan. "Lori! What do I do in here!?" I asked. "Do you have all your clothes off?!" she said. I looked down at my body. "Well no!?" I whispered. My hands were getting clammy now. Sweat seemed to be dripping off my forehead. "Well take them off!" She yelled. "Even my underwear?" I asked, "Yes, even your underwear!" When I had finally taken off my clothes, Lori told me to get into the bed and close the lid over my body. Still on the phone, I asked her what to do next. She said to turn on the bed and I asked her if I was going to burn and how did the bed know when to turn itself off. Lori told me the obvious, and I finally got off the phone, extremely embarrassed and still trembling with fear. I counted down from 5 in my head and turned on the bed. The noise and brightness of lights startled me so bad that I shook the bed and let out a whimper of terror. So I began to bake in the human fake baker. Eight minutes, seven, six, five . . . four. The scene from Final Destination played over and over again in my head, but I tried to shew away the thoughts. Soon my fears subsided. And then I started to enjoy the heat, remembering the hot Florida sun and hearing the waves crash against the beach. Maybe tanning wasn't so bad afterall.

Then, right as I started to enjoy myself. . .BAMMM! The bed shut off! And I was awakened from my dreams on the beach! I pushed open the lid of the bed and climbed out. Felt like I was emerging from an egg or something. Like is this what little chickens feel like when they're being born? Hm. Maybe. Standing in front of the mirror, I looked up an down at myself. My freckles seemed to have risen to the surface of my skin. That's it. I wasn't tan, just freckly. Just freckly. 

I wobbled back outside to the waiting room, never more happier to see the actual sunlight in my life. "How was it?" The girls asked, excited. "Hated it", I said.

The funny thing is, I went two more times this week. And I guess it's kind of addictive in a strange way. Whodathunkit. My ginger self in a tanning bed. I did it, I conquered my fears.
That's right my friends, I have temporarily come over to the dark side: literally.

To Hard To Forget

Something I'm Proud Of

Here's a some song lyrics I wrote almost 4 years ago that I always wanted to put to music but never got around to it. A couple months ago, my little brother asked me for some words to put to his guitar chords so I gave them to him. The man I wrote this song about is now recently married. Funny how things work out. Enjoy. 

It's too hard to just forget you
I thought you were an honest guy
But your the one who said "I love you"
and i keep asking myself why
Why did you leave
What did i do
Seems everything
reminds me of you
But then you let me down
and you walked away
and you left me alone..
why couldn't you stay
O why couldn't you stay?

I pull out that old box
every once in a while
and pictures of you
should not make me smile
But oh, how they do
and images trigger
depictions of you.
please just come back and say
i want you again
please, why can't you stay


I reach for your hand
But you just aren't there
I cry out your name
But you just don't care
You never did
Maybe you will
But something pains
Inside me still
O I just want to hold you
Please don't go away
Please don't leave me like he did
Why can't you stay?
O why can't you stay.

I never even saw it coming
But there you were
already running
already leaving
you still decieving
me, still believing
your stupid words
your stupid games
and now all i've got left
is this empty pain.
Why can't you stay? O why can't you stay.

Old memories come back
and oh, on and on they keep lasting
and dreams are still passing
Words you told me
still run in my head
promises vowed and stupid things that you said
but they keep replay in my mind
over and over again
And I've still got this pain
But why can't you stay?

Please why can't you care
please why can't you be there?
You never did then
Now maybe you will
because something still pains inside me still
Because i just want to hold you
please don't go away
please come back to me.

This Old House

They say a house has to be at least 25 years or older to be considered an "old" house. But to me, the house that I grew up in is older than what feels like a lifetime. As a young child I remember catching frogs in the pond behind my house until it was dark outside in the summer, capturing lightning bugs in mason jars and eating a worm I dug out of a mud pie because my neighbor told me it would give me super powers. I remember the first and only time my dad and my Uncle Joe went swimming in that scum layered, green pond and coming out covered with leeches. Summers were magical in this house, and my memories are endless.
   Winters were just as fun as summers on Hinchey road. When the pond finally froze over and the snow had been cleared away with a bulldozer, it was time to break out the ice skates. Dad bought me hockey skates one year before Christmas and taught me how to ice skate on the pond. I always told him I wanted the figure skates instead and sometimes I would even pretend to be a figure skater, attempting to do twirls and spins when no one was looking. When it really snows in Michigan, basically every school in the state is closed for two days. Literally people cannot get out of their drive ways. Jack and I loved playing in the snow. Every Christmas we would hook up the toboggan to the back of dad's old four door pick up truck with some rope and he would take us in the back forty acres and drive in circles until we either fell off or our hands were too cold to hold on anymore. I used to love going outside after a fresh snow fall and scooping it up from the cleanest place I could find. Then I would bring it inside, put sprinkles and whipped cream on it and eat it out of a bowl like ice cream. I'll never forget Mom's snow animals either. Mom, Jack and I created a life size whale out of snow one year. There are pictures of us sitting on top of it, almost four feet high.
   Mom has told me that when I was little I used to love to make cookies for my dad on Valentine's day. She told me about one particular time that my sugar cookies were more special than usual because I had added a secret ingredient to them. Apparently I had been mashing the dough of the cookies with my fingers, stuck one finger up my nose and shoved it right back in the cookie dough and said "Boy is daddy gonna love these". Yes, you guessed it right, shes has it on video.
  Birthdays and holidays were my favorite when they were celebrated at my house because that meant that Mom had to do all the cooking. The day before somebody's birthday she would stay up all night baking and frosting a spectacular 3D cake of some sort. One year she made a standing up 3D race car cake for my brother, the Elmo cake was pretty cool too. Mom always made everything from scratch, and to this day, she is the best cook in Livingston County.
   In the middle of the kitchen was a small table with two hand painted chairs that my mother had probably painted at least a dozen times. My brother and I sat at that tiny table everyday until I was at least 12 years old. We would eat at it together, play games, and everyday my little adorable brother would draw a picture of something. One day, Mom and I caught him singing his own version of "Jesus Loves Me" to himself while he was drawing. He was probably only three years old at the time. Mom has it recorded on a tape somewhere.
  Mom designed everything in our house, from the curtains, to the comforters, to the striped walls and the hand made couch covers, my mother is one of the most talented and creative people that I have ever known. She hated "store bought" anything. Everything had to be custom, or it was tacky to her. Dad would come home from a long weekend vacation somewhere or a work outing and the dining room would be red instead of yellow, the floors would be stained black and white checkered instead of their natural wooden brown color, and the furniture would be completely reupholstered. Of course dad was usually upset or annoyed with her at first, but soon it didn't come as a surprise to him when something was completely decorated differently the next time he came home.
  I remember watching the birth of my first horse out by the barn one spring day in April. My Papa taught me how to ride, how to train and take care of the horses he boarded for his friends and neighbors. Riding was my favorite thing to do in the fall. I loved the adrenaline rush of racing the horses down the road and through the fields, most of the time riding bare back with nothing but a bridle and an old pair of cowboy boots. I used to climb up on top of the metal fence, shake a bucket of grain and yell at the top of my lungs, "Butterscotch!" and she would come running up over the hill, along with the rest of the stampede. A grown man was more afraid of her than I was. Horses didn't intimidate me much, I had been raised around them my entire life. Growing up on a farm had its advantages and disadvantages as well. We had goats and chickens, horses and barn cats and of course dogs. There would occasionally be the wild animal that Mom would feel sorry for and bring home to sort of "bring back to life" and love. Of all the animals we had in my house from the baby bunny named Christopher that Mom caught in the woods to the chickens running around in the basement, I would have to say the craziest animal we ever had was a two day old fawn that was found in the middle of the dirt road driving home from school one day. It was so tiny and frail laying in the middle of the road and it was no surprise to any of us that my mother's bleeding heart wanted to keep the poor thing. She was like a little kid that was at the pound desperately wanting to take home a cute little puppy. Well, we brought the little thing home and I gave her the name Eleanor. People never believed me when I told them that my mother's new pet was a baby deer that she carried around like a dog in the front seat of her car everywhere she went. Eleanor used to cuddle up to my very vicious, small Jack Russell Terrier, fondly named Lulu. Now Lulu wasn't exactly the epitome of a fun loving, caring dog that everyone adored, not to mention she hated any other living, breathing, animal that even glimpsed her way for a second. But for some odd reason, Lulu was a mother to Eleanor and treated her as her baby. You would find them snuggled up next to each other in a blanket behind a doorway in the house at night before bedtime. I swear the sight was the darnest thing.
  There was something about coming home to my house that gave me comfort, or a kind of "phew!" feeling after traveling back from a long vacation or being gone all throughout the day. For a long time, the walls in my bedroom were painted cherry red and I had a red and white duvet cover to match that my mother had sewn when I was little. On the walls hung art that Mom painted when she was a teenager and my white dressers and maple wood bed were hers when she was a kid. I remember the new wood floors that my daddy installed and the way that they creaked loudly when I would try to tiptoe into the living room on Christmas morning to peak at what Santa had brought me. As I got older, the color of my bedroom walls changed from red to yellow, yellow to lime green, and finally lime green to watermelon pink which is what they still are to this day. I loved pictures of any kind, from magazine ads and celebrity shoots to old pictures of the family and shots taken in Paris and London of my grandmother. My walls were covered with them from the ceiling to the base boards until a few years ago when Mom decided to take them all down and repaint again. Now, almost a twenty year old, I still come home to visit my hot pink room with bright yellow curtains and an eighties picture of Johnny Depp hanging on my old memo board.
  As a kid, I loved to be alone. Because my house was practically in the middle of no where, this was not a difficult thing to do. When I was little I used to run away from my parents up in my tree house that Dad built me when we first moved in. It was complete with a pole and a yellow slide and a ladder leading down into a sand box where I hid all of my treasures that were usually found in the pond. I'd take a blanket and some candy from the candy jar and usually stay up there until I got tired or hungry or my German Shepherd would come and get me and bark til I came down. When I was probably 12 or 13 I started "running away" a little further down the street to the old cemetery on the corner of Schafer and Hinchey. I used to read the gravestones and sit under the huge oak tree and write poems or read chapter books there. I love that old cemetery and I cried the day that they cut my oak tree down because it was growing to far into the road. I still walk down there every once in a while to think and even pray.
   In Michigan, there are 7 months of winter, 2 months of summer, a month of fall, and 2 months that I like to call the rainy season, also known as spring. Since my house was built on marsh, rain made the pond overflow and spill into the yard, causing the back yard to be a swamp until late July. Since before I can remember every birthday party I ever had was rained out. It rained like it snowed in Michigan. My friends and I used to put our bathing suits on and stand under the gutters on the front porch and wash each others hair with the water that collected on the roof during a thunderstorm after jumping in just about every puddle we could jump in on Hinchey road. I remember taking the old go-karts out on the dirt roads and sloshing through the mud all the way around the block until finally we were covered from head to toe in swamp water.
  The older I became, the more I desired to leave that old farm house and never come back. I suppose most teenagers go through the same experience. I never ran too far away from home though, and I always came back. My teenage years on the farm seemed endless sometimes, but I wouldn't trade my memories for anything.
  I remember getting ready for my very first date. I was sixteen years old with lipstick and red hair that hung to the middle of my back. I had spent all day looking into the mirror that once hung above my crib, perfecting the art of makeup. He was finally here, and I was finally ready. Tucker's green car pulled in the driveway and I could tell my daddy wasn't the least bit excited as I was. Tucker came to the transparent front door and I opened it, my hands shaking and sweaty. Of course, there was Dad, sitting at a bar stool just waiting and staring. Dad sat there then, and has always sat in the same stool, waiting for my dates to arrive.
 So, in a nutshell, my house has become my home- I suppose it's not because Momma painted the walls a dozen times, and redecorated the basement, but because of my memories made there growing up. I'll miss that house dearly because I blew out the candles on my 5th birthday there, learned how to ride a bike in the driveway, got a sunburn on the back deck, took a shower under the gutters in the rain, lost my dog under my bed, and knelt beside my bed and became a Christian.
  My memories will go on, and my house will stay put. Perhaps a little girl or boy will occupy my old room with the faded wooden floors, and the yardstick written in the closet on the wall. But wherever I am, whatever I do, the little yellow house with the big oak tree out back, and the address missing on the mailbox will always be my home.