I Was Told...

I was told to not become the person others tell me I need to be. 


I was told to never apologize for hiding behind the cross.


I was told to let go of those who felt they had a right to be angry with me for doing what I was told. 


I wasn't told that those would be some of the people closest to me...


I wasn't told how hard that would be...


I wasn't told how lonely it would make me feel...

Moving For Something Great

I moved to Los Angeles this past February and I lost count of how many times I was asked the question, "Why are you moving?". I had this readied list of reasons why I was moving and what I was setting out to do. All of those reasons pointed towards something great. All of those reasons were backed with commitment and passion and excitement. But now all of those reasons are sitting back seat to one big reason, one reason that I never gave anyone, one reason that's taken me seven months to see clearly. 


I set out on a journey to do something great, to change the world with my passion for both music and writing. I had visions of revival in Hollywood and at the Grammy's. I had a mental list of A-Listers I was determined to work with. My face and name were going to be everywhere. I still have these dreams, and they still excite me. I won't stop dreaming big, it keeps life exciting, but my focused has shifted slightly. Instead of changing the world, I'm changing MY world, MY little corner of South Pasadena, MY friends, MY family. 


I set out on a mission to do something great, and as usual, what I thought greatness looked like is very different from the greatness that God had in mind. He doesn't want me to become famous first and then tell the world about Him, He wants me to tell the world about Him even now. I don't need a billboard on the side of the freeway to do that (although that would be cool). When I compare our ideas of greatness with an open mind it doesn't take me long to realize that His road to greatness matters more to me then my own does. While I would love to see a Grammy show turn into this incredible healing and worship time I would love to see MY family come to Christ more. And while I would love for Hollywood to regain (if it ever had it to begin with) a moral compass I would rather see that change in MY family. 


I set out to do something great, and I thought that by not coming anywhere close to accomplishing (yet) the things I told my friends and family I was going to meant that I was failing. But I'm not. The greatness that I truly want is the kind that will out last the billboard long after the color has faded and can't be found amongst the company of A-Listers. Why I moved and what I'm doing are different, but what I'm doing is better.

The Second Stage of Grief: ANGER

I have suffered family loss before. I have grieved before. But those losses were different, my relationships with those people did not hold a prominent place in my life; the memories, if any, are fragmented and faded to the point where they could be memories or they could be dreams. I'm not really sure. That's one of the reasons why this time is different. My grandmother helped raise me.

I also seem to be going through the five stages before I have actually lost anything (which I am assuming is no rarity). I live with her and so see her everyday. With the reality of the situation staring you in the face it's hard to deny, but I did try. It's safe to say that I have now moved past that stage.

Which brings me to the third reason why this time it's different (aside from the obvious). I've never gotten angry before. This is a stage that I have always skipped and maybe it has something to do with the fact that I wasn't as close to the others that I have lost, but I have eluded anger in moments like this...until now. Now it seems as though anger was waiting for me to turn my back so it could sink its teeth into my neck, because last night, I got angry.

I hadn't been able to get my grandmother out of the house for almost a week, which wouldn't be so bad if that didn't also mean that I wasn't leaving the house (she can't be left alone). I was going stir crazy and she is completely fine with it. At about 6 o'clock my grandmother had showered and finally gotten dressed so I suggested that we go out to dinner, she didn't want to. I told her that was fine. I lied. And then all the pieces started to fall together. I wasn't fine. I wasn't fine because I wanted to go and she wasn't going to let me. I wasn't fine because she didn't seem to understand that because she was staying home all the time that means so am I. I wasn't fine because I thought she was being selfish, but I couldn't tell her that. I wasn't fine because it's not her fault she is sick, nor is she to blame for the part where I willingly moved, and yet I was still angry with her. In a matter of minutes I realized just how awful of a person I can be.

So now I am cozying up with anger, not by choice, but I haven't figured out how to get rid of it yet. And everything that I have read tells me to just let the stages of grief run their course, (to which I say in my most sarcastic tone) AWESOME!

Why Do I Give A Rat's Ass?

I was standing in the shower as ideas for this blog were flooding my already tired brain and as always the title came last. There are several different ways that I could have posed my title (which also serves as the opening statement), but all of the ones prior to the one I chose were fluffy and soft...I wanted something more random and funny! As always I (in my own way) asked God what He thought and in His own way He said, "Really?! That's what you're going to go with?" 
I chuckled (and yes all of this took place while I was in the shower) and said, "Yes!" Then I started to debate with myself as to whether or not God ever says the words that we have deemed of the cursing variety, but I will spare you the details of that. 
Back to the subject at hand, why do I give a rat's ass? This is a question that I have asked myself many times over the course of the last decade or so of my life. I watch people, they do things seemingly with no regard to others and it doesn't seem to effect them at all. Sometimes I find myself feeling jealous, wondering why I have to care when I feel like no one else does (and I say 'have to' because sometimes that is honestly how I feel). I have yet to come accustomed to the fact that I seem entirely content with caring for others more than they care for me. It often results in me getting hurt or disappointed but for whatever reason I am perfectly okay with someone loving me one day and that same someone wanting to clobber for no reason the very next. I honestly CANNOT help it! (And I know that because I have tried to stop!) Caring only seems to get me into hot water with people, or makes me cry, or toss and turn at night; it's truly exhausting. I have fought to stop, I have fought to pretend, I have even cut people out of my life...something to do with that whole 'out of sight out of mind' thing, only to later go back to them and apologize for walking away when they needed me. (Now you all may be thinking that my insufferable need to care about people is an admirable quality and I should stop griping about it, and I would agree with that statement, but there is a point to all of this moaning.)
I am one of those types that needs to know why I do the things I do, why I refuse to do other things, and why others still remain out of my control to help or hinder. As of today I think that I can finally stop asking the question 'Why do I give a rats ass'?
I have been reading the book Soul Cravings by Erwin McManus, and in it he addresses matters of, well...the soul. Our souls desire things that are difficult for our minds to understand and near impossible to put into words. I am halfway through the book and he writes, "Why can't we just leave well enough alone? Why should we care about someone when there's no benefit to us? Why should suffering or tragedy or poverty or injustice move us in any way? It's simple really--because we're human, and humans are created in the image of God." Now, that is by no means a profound statement, he is not the first to say it nor will he be the last. But there is something about the way he connected the two together that made it all make sense for me. In four simple sentences Mr. McManus addresses my entire struggle. The selfishness that I deal with in the moments that I don't want to or wish I didn't, the simple fact that I cannot, under any circumstances, help it; and the very reason for why that is. 
MY SOUL CANNOT HELP BUT CARE BECAUSE THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT IT WAS DESIGNED TO DO AND WHO IT WAS CREATED TO BE LIKE. 
I am always going to care! I might as well get used to it! 

'I'm Trying to be Strong...'

'I'm trying to be strong'...famous last words in my family. Words said with increasing frequency given our current family situation. But when my cousin looks at me with tears in her eyes, when she holds her breath to hold it together, those five words become infamous; and dangerous. I stood there, facing her, for several seconds before I moved to do anything. Most people would have instantly wrapped their arms around her, told her it was going to be okay, but those people wouldn't have taken the five seconds to look at the expression on her face. She wanted to be comforted, she might have even wanted to hear that it was going to be okay, but she didn't want to fall apart, she didn't want to feel out of control, and she didn't want to stop being strong. But strength is only real when you allow yourself to be weak. And comfort only truly works when you let all of your guard down. Today my cousin didn't want to do either. I wrapped one arm around her, kissed her forehead and told her I knew (that she was trying to be strong). Things are going to get difficult, it's going to be stressful and near devastating, but we're going to make sure the phrase 'I'm trying to be strong' goes down in history as the phrase that got us through. But if anyone were to listen very carefully, past the words anyone in my family actually says, then you would hear the other half of that infamous phrase...'I'm trying to be strong, BUT I'M FAILING'.

Nap Time

Ever watch a baby sleep? Count how many times their chest rises and falls until you count so high that you forgot what number you were on? Ever think about how you wish they could just stay as peaceful when they’re awake as when they are sleeping, and not for your sake, but because life is easier when it leaves you uninterrupted? The world, the life, of someone seems easier while they’re sleeping, they aren’t angry or nervous or sad; they’re content. They’re savoring the moment and you do whatever necessary to make sure that moment lasts as long as possible. Yet, somehow, as you watch them live through the next few hours of their lives unaffected by life’s ups and downs a small twinge of jealousy comes over you. You wish that you too could steal away for a few hours while the world spins madly on and simply let it all go. You want to have that same look the baby does while they sleep, they have not one care in the world. As we get older we learn that sleep doesn’t change what’s going on in our lives, it simply has the ability to help change our perspective on the challenges that lay in wait for us.

I am not sure that I have a point to this, but here is why I am writing it:

I know the burdens that life can present. I am familiar with the enormity of the weight they can place on your shoulders and your heart. I have stress, frustration, judgment, and a slew of other emotions/responses in my character speed dial that I call on all too frequently. I am on a first name basis with the overwhelming feeling that keeps you awake at night and I often wish that I could make it all go away. I too have looked upon that baby in envy, wishing that I had it so easy. But this afternoon I realized something. As adults we have those moments too, the ones that wash all the worry right out of our faces. Moments like holding your child for the first time after nine long months of anticipation, sitting with friends at a coffee shop, or doing something completely stupid that makes you laugh until you cry. Moments like sitting around a camp fire making smores, watching the sunrise, or catching an afternoon nap. That carefree, worry-free, stress-free look that we envy in the face of a child and so rarely see in the face of an adult is possible, and for most of us probably happens more often then we think.

As I am writing this my best friend is laying next to me sleeping, as she has been for hours. And if someone were to ask her why she napped all afternoon she would probably explain how she has had little sleep over the last few days and her body needed it, which would be true. But as I try not to wake her with my typing (and when she reads this she will be sure to let me know if I succeeded) I can’t help but do two things. First, smile. Because she gets that same carefree look on her face and I envy it just as much on her as I do the baby. Secondly, I can’t help but think that maybe there’s more to a nap then simply rebooting the body. Maybe a nap is one of God’s ways of telling us, “Hey baby, you aren’t supposed to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, that’s My job. Rest these next few hours of your life and let Me deal with your cares.” God doesn’t want us to nap our lives away, but He doesn’t want us to worry them away either.

Maybe I should try to nap now?! I could use a few carefree hours.