Reflection and Resolution

I'm ready for 2013 to be over. I am sooooooooooo ready for 2013 to be over. It was a huge year for discovery and change, but not necessarily all the good kind. In 2013, I discovered a lot of things about myself - a lot of the things about myself that I like to ignore, or hate to admit are there. This year has exposed many insecurities, many weaknesses, has highlighted my tendency to be sullen and despondent whenever things aren't going my way, my laziness, my pride, and the way I can get so annoyed by some tiny little thing, and then lash out with unkind words and a disrespectful attitude for something that really shouldn't matter. This year has opened up the cracks in my faith and revealed my doubts. This year has shown my tendency not toward trust, but toward doubt, self-protection, and isolation.

But that's not all that 2013 taught me. It also taught me I can change, grow, and move forward.

One major event of 2013 was Carnegie Hall. We had literally been looking forward to it all year. My mom got a call New Year's Day from Jason Paulk, the conductor of the concert, asking if her choir would join a few others from around the state to sing Vivaldi's Gloria in Carnegie Hall in November. We were floored. It had challenges - mostly monetary - but this trip was so perfect and came from nowhere, we knew we had to go for it, so we did.

All year long, we were fundraising, planning, and rehearsing. It started to feel unreal, like it was turning into this vague thing somewhere far off in the future that we'd never actually get to. I just kind of got into a rhythm and never really thought about the reality of the thing much.

That seemed to be a pattern of 2013, falling into a rhythm. I fell into habits and took things for granted. I wasn't paying as much attention to my friends and family as I probably should have been, because I was in a relationship - a relationship that was quickly becoming a habit and a pattern too.

I tried to be the perfect girlfriend, and as I felt him slip farther and farther away, I got scared. I wasn't doing it right. There must be something wrong with me. I needed to try harder. I forgot who I was and what I wanted, and I just ended up pushing him away, not giving him what he really needed from me by just being honest and authentic.

So it ended, and I was devastated.

As a result of the emotional trauma, my health really went south. The doctors have run tons of tests, but they still can't figure out what's wrong with my stomach. That was really hard to deal with when I suddenly found myself without the sole person I had been depending on for so long. I sought out my closest friends, but two of them had already moved away earlier that summer, and four more moved away within three weeks of the breakup.

I felt lost and alone. I tried auditioning for a show, because surely that would keep me busy enough to be distracted from my feelings. I didn't even make it into the ensemble. I was upset at first, but then I saw it as an opportunity to really focus on dance again. I even bought a pair of pointe shoes and started practicing with them. It had been my dream to get on pointe for...basically forever. About a week before my instructor was going to let me use them in class, I sprained my back. I couldn't even come back to class for about five weeks, and even then, I could only do about half the things I was able to do before the injury - and forget about going on pointe anytime soon.

Devastation. Again.

For most of the year, I had prettymuch been ignoring God. Mostly because I was afraid of what I might hear if I tried to talk to him. I didn't want him to take anything away. It ended up getting taken away after all. So, I tried visiting a college ministry. Pretty soon, I was involved in projects around campus and found myself on the worship team. I always piped up in discussions and even became the leader of a small prayer group.

One girl from the leadership asked me if I would be interested in taking on a younger girl to disciple in the spring semester. She told me they had thought of me immediately because I seemed to be such a mature Christian. It was that moment that I really started to realize how fake I felt.

All semester long, I had been trying so hard to be this strong Christian with unwavering faith and trust in God, in spite of all the things that had been getting taken away from me. But secretly, I was angry, and I was really really scared. I was questioning a lot of things about my faith, about the validity and relevancy of the Bible, and whether there really was a God at all. I was questioning that maybe if I wasn't a Christian, could things have worked out with my boyfriend? If I wasn't a Christian, would I still be this miserable? But I felt so guilty and horrible for thinking those things, that I pretended I wasn't having any of those thoughts at all. I thought, if I say I believe enough, if I do enough Christian-y ministry things enough, maybe it'll actually start to be true.

But as the year wore on, it wasn't working. I was still mad about the way things had happened to me that fall, and that I was still stuck in the same pain, confusion, and guilt from the end of the relationship that seemed to kick it all off. It was November, and it would have been a year, had he not broken up with me four months earlier. Everything in the air felt like it did back then, and it was driving me insane. He wasn't seeing me, he wasn't recognizing how I felt and how much he had hurt me, and I couldn't let that go. I was going to sing in Carnegie Hall in just a couple of weeks, and it was like it didn't matter.

The trip finally came and I tried so hard to be excited. And I was. It really was exciting, and I saw so many amazing things. But I kept watching my friends. They were in wonderful, sweet, super godly, amazing relationships, and they were seeing all these things too, and sharing them with the person they loved most. I remembered back in March, I think it was Easter actually, when my boyfriend and I went out for pizza and talked about the possibility of him coming along on the trip. Every cool thing we saw in New York, I watched those three pairs of my friends hold hands, whisper, giggle, and kiss, and I felt my loneliness keenly. I wished he was there to see it all with me. I thought of all the places we said we'd travel to. I remembered the trip to Seattle we went on together in the summer, and the absolutely wonderful day we had just exploring the city, getting lost and drenched, but laughing and holding each other as we finally crashed on his mom's couch. I was in New York City with a group of 70 people, and I felt incredibly alone, and I felt like it was my fault. My friends were doing it right. I saw how wonderfully Christian they all were, and became drowned by regret and resentment. I wasn’t happy like them – could never be happy like them – because I had messed up. I didn’t do the relationship thing right, or the Christian thing right, so I was being punished and didn’t deserve another chance. But that wasn’t at all what God was trying to say to me over that trip.

Things began to change on Sunday, the day of our concert. That morning, we went to a service at Times Square Church. I honestly wasn’t looking forward to it at all, but of course I couldn’t let anyone know that. We walked in, and it wasn't at all what I expected - I saw this beautiful refurbished theater with frescoed ceilings and ornate wood carvings all over. The place even had gorgeous bathrooms. There were chandeliers in the freaking bathrooms, people. I started to actually feel a little excited to be there.

When the service started, the massive gospel choir sang with incredible feeling about God’s majesty. I felt like I didn’t belong there. Then, the blind preacher got up to speak. He talked about Peter when he denied Christ, but brought focus to the fact that Jesus told Peter that he would deny him. Jesus knew that Peter’s unbelief, his questions, his shame, and his failure were inevitable. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how vehemently Peter argued his steadfast trust and loyalty, he would fail. But when the rooster crowed, it wasn’t the end of Peter’s story. God wasn’t finished with him. He would go on to do amazing things, far more than he ever could have imagined, partly because of his failure. Jesus knows that if we follow him, we’re going to doubt, be afraid, question who we are and everything we believe in, and fail. But when we do, he’s not finished with us. Yes, we’ll fail, but his purpose is never to leave us there. He loves us, and wants us to become something greater, something more like himself, so that we can show that love to the world.

I felt his love for me in that church, and it was something I hadn’t felt for a long time. I knew I had a concert later that night, but I belted the closing songs louder than I ever had before. I wanted to know that God – the God of love, redemption, and restoration.

When we were finally on stage in Carnegie Hall, I started to grasp God’s love for me. But in the middle of the concert, in a solo movement where we weren’t singing, all the regret and the condemnation that I’d been harboring came back to me. But I was not going to let it ruin that concert for me. The next movement, I concentrated on the words I was singing. Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Hear our supplication. Hear my supplication. You alone are holy. 

You are the only one who can bring victory over the pain and injustice of this world, because one day, we will be with you in the glory of the spirit.

When the last chord reverberated through the hall, the echoes of our voices faded, and the applause began, I recognized the indescribably beautiful moment that God had given me. That moment was made all the more beautiful by the feeling of freedom and triumph over the guilt and condemnation that had been holding me back.

After we sang, we were able to go out into the audience and listen to the other piece on the program, Morten Lauridsen’s Lux Aeterna, one of the most beautiful choral works ever written. This piece spoke of God’s love and redemption, but most of all, hope. I followed along in the translation printed in our programs. I closed my eyes and became wrapped in the sound and the words that told of hope and peace beyond struggle, redemption beyond pain, and I wept. I knew in that moment that I didn’t have to fear the future, that God doesn’t just take things away from us. He had given me that concert, but had spoken to me so gently and so personally to remind me that he will never give up on me no matter what I do or where I go. He loved me at my darkest. He gave me something beautiful, and I know he’s not finished with me, and that I can look forward with hope.

Now, even after all this, I still struggle. I struggle with sadness, doubt, fear, frustration, and I still have massive questions about God and my faith that maybe won't be answered for a while. But I know there is a God, and I know that I am loved. Because I am loved, I need to share that love with the people I come in contact with. Because I am loved, I can hope.

2014 is certainly going to bring its challenges. I'm graduating college in May...with a Creative Writing degree. The prospect is daunting, to say the least. I'm hoping to move out of the state and establish myself on my own. It's really freaking scary, honestly, but I'm actually starting to get excited. Sure, I know this year is going to have challenges, sadness, disappointment, and lots and lots of change, but it's exciting. I want to look forward to it with the hope of new possibility, not look backward at 2013 with regret of the bad choices I made or the stupid things I did or the tactless things I said. I want to be able to use them, remember them, and make better choices, do smarter things, and act with kindness, grace, and love toward those that I share my life with.

Most of all, I want to be joyful. I want to be where I am, wherever I happen to be. I don't want to be stuck in the past or be paralyzed by fear of the future - I don't live in either of those places, so neither should my heart. Sure, I can learn from the past and prepare for the future, but I don't want either of them to rule me. I'm growing and learning and feeling and thinking and loving and being, right where I am. And I want to go out and do things. I want to go places and make life happen. There are endless possibilities and I'm itching to explore and discover - to let go and push my limits farther and farther.

I don't have everything figured out. I don't know exactly where I'm going. I haven't found resolutions to all my problems, pain, and questions, but I guess that's just part of this whole crazy growing up thing.


"This year is a sealed envelope;
With apprehensive hope
We brace for anything.
I swear, I understand that nothing changes that,
The past will be the past,
But the future is brighter than any flashback."

~Sleeping At Last, 'January White'



( I promise, Sleeping At Last is not the only band I ever listen to - their lyrics just happen to be so dang appropriate :P )