"I'll Be There for You"

*clap, clap, clap clap*.

 

So, it’s been 10 years since Friends ended, but the show still makes a dent in the tv line up- the 10 seasons re-run daily on various channels. I know the story lines can have questionable morals, Joey could use some therapy, but you can’t deny the show’s impact on television.

 

How is it that a show that began 20 years ago, ran for a decade, and is a decade old, still resonates? Why do people care about Phoebe’s past? Whether Ross and Rachel will work it out? Why does a show about 6 friends ring true?

 

As I type in my pjs, relaxing on a Friday night, I found myself thinking about how art imitates life. Friends lasted because it echoed what we all crave—consistent community that “will be there for you, when the rain starts to pour…” We all want to be known and loved. The six friends stuck it out through some rough life patches—divorce, unemployment, deaths in the family, and they knew they could count on each other. We all crave that. Everyone wants to be connected and known. We don’t want to be known only on a screen—through the façade we create with facebook posts or doctored Instagram photos where we can omit our bad habits, crop the stains on our shirts, hide our imperfections. 

 

Friends depicted a community where 6 individuals were known, faults and all. Rachel was entitled and ditzy, Monica had OCD, Chandler was struggling to reconcile childhood traumas, Ross shot himself in the foot with relationships, Phoebe was quirky and too idealistic, Joey was a womanizer. But they were loved. Not that they never called each other out on these things—in fact, much of the “humor” centered on the way these faults impacted their lives and the lives of their friends. They often “told it like it was” to each other, they knew what the others struggled with but hung in there—knowing that the others were “there for [them] too”. 

Heart Springs

This is nothing profound or even really my own, just a collection of writing, photos, words that have brought the season of spring to my heart recently.



Greg Lucas and his son, Jacob
 This post by Greg Lucas
 



“Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world.”
― Virgil Kraft

Things my Kindergarteners say: "Miss Elise, do you sneeze when the flowers come out?" I replied "yes, I get stuffy" student: "....like a stuffed animal?"
One of my students spitting out a boysenberry because they thought I said poison berry.

Fieldtrips where I get paid to wander around the arboretum with a dozen adorable kiddos.
 Visiting old workplaces, time with friends, an extra evening with no class this quarter,

"His power may be capable of healing my eyes and filling in your missing pieces, but His authority may not deem it best. I'm learning to respectfully trust His authority as much as I trust His power"- Jennifer Rothschild Missing Pieces

Just Don’t Stop

                I ran (okay, honestly, walked half of) my first 5k this week. As I trudged up a long and steep incline (a 325ft. gain…) my only thought was to just not stop. I kept walking, wiping raindrops out of my eyes, and putting one foot in front of the other. I finished without stopping.

                Today, several days away, and no longer sore—I’m starting to see the application of that race for where I’m at in life. Not simply because I have to “keep walking” but because the last two years have been a lot like the course of the race—steep and difficult in the beginning—feeling like I’ll never make it through the twists and incline of re-entry, grief of so many family and friends dying, entering a crazy busy year of school, friendships changing—but I had to keep walking knowing the hill of those things wouldn’t last forever. Life has a way of leveling out—there is calm after the storm. Additionally, just like I didn’t run the race alone—I was a part of my church team—Team Taproot—I haven’t been on this journey alone either. I’ve had supportive friends, family, and mentors walking this journey with me. It’s seemed impossible, like the incline would never stop, like I would never be able to set to level ground, to be able to look back at how far I climbed—for the hard walk to be hindsight.

                But just like that hill, the hard times may be rollin’ but they don’t last forever. Today, in the middle of my two week break from school, I was having coffee with a friend and surprised myself by saying that “I can’t expect my walk (with Jesus) to look the same after what I went through (in 2012) and it shouldn’t”. Life-changes change life. Relationships ebb and flow, people and seasons change. I can’t expect what “worked” in the past to work now. You walk/run differently on an incline than you do on the plateau. Admittedly, it’s been a very dry and dark season. Life’s gotten busy, I’ve let what others think become too important to me. I’ve drifted, doubted—but I haven’t stopped walking. So as I keep walking, I change my pace, my perspective, and persevere in faith that the race of life takes a lifetime—I don’t have to run the whole way—I just can’t stop til He calls me home.

Wanting to be noticed

               It was while I was scrolling through my pinterest boards, looking for some witty quote or funny picture; something that grabbed my attention, made me laugh or think about a profound truth—that I realized the action was a glimpse of how I want to be noticed.

So much of what we do in life is to be applauded, to be noticed—to get a pat on the back, a “like”, a recognition that our presence is perceived, appreciated. I’m willing to go so far as to say that EVERYTHING we do is to be noticed—we gain or lose weight, change our hair, write a blog post, pursue that degree, date that guy, whatever it takes to share life with someone. We yearn for unity, common ground, a group, a message, a place in the world.

The sad truth is that each moment of attention is fleeting—“the Rachel” becomes a 90’s-has-been-fad, the relationship sours, the weight comes on—and we’re left back at square one. Now what—how can I grab people’s attention, how can I keep it, how do I know I am valued, when have I done enough? These questions plague and drive us. What’s the point?

As I bit into a burrito, the simply profound, and maybe ridiculous thought hit me—I am noticed and loved—Jesus knows I love chicken burritos, he knows my desires, my heart, my motivations (the good, bad, the downright ugly) and still keeps me as the apple of his eye.

I may not have the flattest abs, the letters in front of my name, the family I hope to have—but I am still loved, cherished, noticed.

“It’s not you, it’s me”—February 8, 2014

                It’s me—writing in sweats, watching soccer on a Saturday. It’s me, wondering how many more single Valentine’s days I’ll have—made brighter from the hugs of the children I work with and the annual bouquet from my Dad. I sit here writing instead of studying—I can’t clinch my fists when my heart needs to breathe. It’s me, looking back at what I could have said or done differently—knowing I grasped at straws, said stupid things, took that extra sip. It’s easier to look back and regret the smallest things that must have doomed instant connections, instead of brushing them off and knowing that “tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it”. So, it’s not you, it’s me.

                It’s not you—the ones that I look back and give a grateful sigh that a conversation or a friendship was all that I have to regret. It’s not you—the ones who sat in friendships, didn’t clarify—or couldn’t because you did even know. Naw, it’s not you from the past that I miss —everything happens for a reason.

                It’s me. Knowing that my life HAS started—it has purpose, joy, and so much love—right now. It’s me knowing that God has blessed me in numerous ways—and someday, maybe, you’ll be a part of that. It’s me, not expecting prince charming or a romantic comedy—although, let’s be honest—there will be lots of romance and comedy. I know you’ll have chinks in your armor and I’ll have jewels missing from my tiara. I know that it will be a beautiful battle to fight for unity, clarity, honesty. I know there will be days that are more comedic then romantic—where a glass of wine and a prayer are the ways to end the chaotic and clumsy day. But today, it’s me—single but satisfied that someday, maybe—it’ll be we.

When a Diagnosis Re-directs your Dreams—January 31, 2014

                I’ll never forget sitting in that doctor’s chair, my head spinning as I strained to hear the kind man in the blindingly white coat speak the words that changed my life forever—you have degenerative hearing loss. Those words changed everything. It was a pivotal moment in my life that was the end of the beginning. It was the end of a relatively “care-free” life, the end of feeling normal, facing rainy days and swimming outings without anxiety. The end of throwing my hair in a ponytail without a thought, of noticing how quiet my world is when I sleep without aids, the end of life as I knew it.

                Oh, but that day was also the beginning…

                It was the day I began to understand that life is frail, fleeting, that my body will fail. It was the beginning of accepting disability as a part of me not something that dis-ables me from life. It was the beginning of asking for help, of being an advocate for myself. It was the beginning of a new normal—one that has ended up a lot less scary than I imagined.

                That Thursday afternoon I thought a lot of my life was ending—would I have to leave Trinity Western to afford the hearing aids I would need? Would I be able to keep studying psychology—how practical is that when I wouldn’t be able to hear my clients? Who would want to date, much less marry me now—now that I for sure have less and no one seemed to want me before? Where can I go from here? What about my dreams?

                But what I’ve come to realize over the last six years is that the afternoon diagnosis wasn’t when my dreams died—it was when they were refined. I still studied psychology and two years later graduated with an honors degree. I may have dropped the Spanish minor, but I ended up with a Human Services certificate—which was the primary way the path from psychologist turned to behavior analysis—and working with children with disabilities. At the time it sure felt like the end of the world—but so many beginnings start that way. The dead leaf is pushed off to make room for the bud.

                Tonight, in the midst of my second quarter of graduate school—with 6 year anniversary of hearing aids falling on Super bowl Sunday (Go Hawks!)—I read this story and was reminded of and prompted to write about my own. What felt like the end my dream of helping others by listening was actually the beginning of discovering my passion and my mission. My dull ears allowed me to hear so many things—the encouragement of others, the reality of disability and the ability to thrive within it, and the voice of my Father who calls me and comforts me in the midst of storms and strife.

                My hearing loss may have ended life as I knew it—but the life I love now was actually made possible through it—I’m not puking rainbows and saying life is easy and beautiful with hearing loss—it’s often scary and difficult—but a life worth living is one that has valleys and mountains.  I love that I can relate to the families I work with, that I can “turn my ears off” to annoying sounds, that I can sleep like a rock. So, what seems like the end can actually be the start of a beautiful beginning.

I am not a single woman—January 14,2014

                “Whatever it is that is holding you back, you have to let go of the old patterns and replace them with a new one”—Jillian Michaels prodded a teary-eyed contestant. As I watched from my couch I was struck by two things—one, the ever increasing awareness of just how much the principles of my master’s program really are applied in real life—and two, how much Jillian’s words were applicable to me.

                It is so easy to get tunnel vision—to get in a rut of the days, the degree, the routine introduction you roll out at parties or when you run into a blast from the past. I’m in a master’s program at the UW, yeah, it’s busy…nope, still single, yeah, living with my parents is alright, yeah, definitely saving a lot of money. 

                What you choose to say when you first meet someone or are describing your current life to someone from the past, says a lot about how you define yourself.

                Those conversations echo your self-talk, self-concept, and what matters about you…”student, still single, still at home”—we all have mantras that hold us back.

                As the contestant conquered her fears, Jillian’s words encouraged me to remember I am more than the meet and greet conversations. My status is not my worth. They things I tell about myself are just about me—parts but not everything. I realized that my descriptions, and more importantly—my self-talk—were holding me back from really appreciating the gift that this season is.

                I am in the season of being a student, single, still at home—but those things are where, not who or what I am. The reasons are valid—something I, and many other twenty-somethings don’t have to feel embarrassed about or victimized by.

                Tonight, I am choosing to not be defined by where I am. I am so much more than the status of my career, my relationship, or my address. By the grace of God I am not my past and by his sovereign grace I am not defined by where I am. I am not a single woman, I’m a woman who is single, a student, a woman saved by grace. I can look ahead to the future and choose contentment today—not for where I am but whose I am.