You do not need to be any version of yourself which is not you.

The following are excerpts from my journal during my European travels. They have been edited only for clarity.

January 25th, 2018

I have very distinct memories of participating in The International Fair as a part of homeschooling co-ops as a child. Nothing was more thrilling to me than getting my "passport" and "travelling" from booth to booth set up around a gymnasium, representing different countries, different cultures

I remember feeling awed as I stroked my sister's passport when she prepared to leave for Jamaica on a missions trip, thinking how brave and wonderful she was for leaving the safety of home. And how exciting that was to me.

Now I'm sitting in the Baltimore airport, waiting to fly to Dublin! How crazy is that?

Yesterday...I got a text from Kenny telling me he couldn't find his passport. He was planning to come with me for the first week. I felt absolutely sick and terrified. I prayed and prayed that God would help him find it. I struggled to believe this was happening and I had to push myself to finish getting ready. I did not want to go without him. But I knew I had spent too much money not to go and that I would be mad at myself if I didn't.

...Anyway, Kenny never found his passport and will not be coming. I am doing okay but I'm a little frightened. How will I stay safe? How will I know where to go or what to do? How will I be on my own without companionship for so long? I don't know. But I do know Jesus is good and he is with me. He will protect me.

January 26th, 2018

I made it to Iceland! I will soon be in Dublin

..There was a beautiful mother with her three children who were with me in BWI and also are flying to Dublin. Two of the children were very talkative which was fun for me. The oldest didn't speak to me much but she said something that impressed me. Her little brother was sitting on her lap for a long while. She asked him kindly to get off. He refused. Exasperated, she said, "It's my body, you know!"

Yes, sweetheart. Never forget that.

11:11am

Made it to Dublin...it is amazing to me how vast this world is. I feel incredibly small and humbled to be a part of God's creative story. Already I have heard more accents and languages, and seen more different nationalities that I ever have.

2:53pm

I walked around for a while which was cool. It was peaceful. There's a lot about Dublin that's very lovely. The buildings are charming. I was musing about the contrast of human creation (the architecture) and human destruction (litter).

I'm actually struggling to want to do anything but I don't want to waste this opportunity.

5:06pm

I have showered and put on cleaner, prettier clothes and I already feel better about the world. Still adjusting and nearly terrified for my safety every minute. Trying to let that go. God is in control of me and my life.

The hostel has terrible instant coffee, but some kind traveler left peppermint tea. I know what I will be drinking.

Travelling always reminds me of Nancy Drew.

11:15pm

God is so awesome. Just as I was feeling sorry for myself, a beautiful young woman named Ana sat down across from me at the hostel table. She looked like she was traveling alone so I reached out to her, thinking we could connect on that. Turns out she worked with special needs men in another part of Ireland. She didn't have a place to stay and was getting worried as she had tried other hostels and they were also full. I realized then that she could have Kenny's bed. She was very appreciative.

I am so grateful that God has given me some good gifts, great gifts and has started to ease my anxiety. I feel much more hopeful about this trip now than I did at the start.

January 28th, 2018

You do not need to be any version of yourself which is not you. For some reason, this is something that came into my head as I have struggled to know how to present myself to people here. I spend a lot of energy worrying about how I present myself...more like, will they think I'm this snob who refuses to integrate with others? That I think I'm better than others? Perhaps there is some truth to that, that I do think that way at times. I know I am not superior in any way but it is easy to fall into the wrong mindset that I am morally superior to the people around me because I assume they have no spiritual inclinations. I judge others because they drink more than me or whatnot.

So, the judging part is bad, but I think I get hung up on who I am and who I need to be. When really, I can just be me. And if I get to interact with others, that is a blessing but sometimes I can't and that's okay too.

I want to love others, but there may not be opportunities to express love to everyone.

Today I went to church and heard a good message on true discipleship. The church I visited was very quirky. They did their own version of Family Feud for kids which was hysterical, but ultimately meaningful and instructive.

January 31st, 2018

"Everything is an investment."- Kenny

Yes! Kenny is here! He was able to get a passport and I saw him yesterday as I got home from my trip to The Cliffs of Moher. I had a sneaking suspicion he might be coming by the language of some of his texts. I was still absolutely delighted to see him when I walked into the room at the hostel.

What a relief it is, not to have to be alone.

Kenny was hungry so we went out to a pub and got dinner. Since Kenny got here, I have spent much more on eating out and alcohol. Then, we walked around Dublin for I don't know how long. We got pretty lost. He wouldn't let me use WI-FI at first to find our way back. By the time he agreed to ti, it was a 40 minute walk back. Needless to say, my feet are very tired this day.

February 4th, 2018

I have journaled more than I expected and less that I hoped I would. I suppose that means I have low expectations yet high hopes. In a way, I think that makes a lot of sense in how I operate. For instance, I set insanely high standards or goals for myself. I have incredible ideals that I want to pursue but in my heart I don't actually expect myself to work toward those goals. I give up before I even start.

3:07pm

After walking the streets a bit, I started making my way back toward my Airbnb. I had no intention of returning quite yet but thought it might be interesting to see what else this town had to offer.

As I returned, I came upon a pathway that led into a set of woods, boasting a beautiful stream. I stopped in here to see the glories of nature. I am finding myself more able to relax my "shoulds" about traveling. "I should see this, I should see that". I am finding that many of the main tourist attractions hold little charm for me. Traveling for me is turning into seeing smaller, quieter places and observing strangers.

I do wish I were able to meet more people and engage with them, but this is not something I have quite mastered yet.

Anyway, the woods were gorgeous. I can't help but think of Aakroveil whenever I'm caught in such scenery.

Naturally, I have a fearful heart. I couldn't help worrying that I might meet some danger, whether human, animal or accident.

This morning, however, as I sat in a cafe, I read a few chapters of 1 Samuel. I am the part of the story where David comes on the scene. I am always so impressed by David's bravery and absolute certainty that God will give him strength and success in all he does. This was challenging for me and an excellent reminder that I serve and also have access to the same God. I do not need to walk in fear for my God is with me always. He hears me always. He loves me always.

February 8th, 2018

I am on my flight home.

There were a lot of things that I wish had been different. There were a lot of really hard moments, but I am grateful for all of it. That's all for now, travel journal. Who knows when I'll pick you up again and where we'll go next?

Self-expression and Self-love

When I was a child, I loved myself. I was by no means shy or shameful or indecisive. I was firm about who I was and what I wanted. I was passionate, I was a dreamer, I had a soul that could not be sated. Now, I was also a brat. I was unruly and sometimes rude, but even those things I had trouble discrediting when my mother told me I shouldn’t be them, because they were part of me and I loved me.  

I was free to love myself because no one had yet told me loving myself was wrong. No one had yet shattered the passion and the dreams. No one had told me that I wasn’t enough.

Over time, I experienced comments and conversations with friends, family, strangers—those who were well-meaning, misguided, or cruel—about my body, my intellect, my talents, my potential, and my personhood:

“You’re so fat!”

“If you gain more weight, I won’t be your friend.”

“You’ll never be a singer.”

“You don’t have what it takes to be a writer.”

“You’re too ambitious.”

“Going to college is too risky.”

“You’re too emotional.”

“You’re inconsiderate of other’s needs.”

“No one wants to around someone who’s bitter and depressed.”

It was amazing how I was either “too much” or “not enough”.

The list goes on. I fought these messages of inferiority and insignificance. But at some point, I broke.  I invited these lies in. I stripped myself of my confidence and my surety. My heart, which I had delightedly worn on my sleeve became battered and bruised. I tucked it away back into my chest and built defensive walls. My heart no longer beat with passion, but with fear.  

I believe my Christian upbringing also played a part in this emotional retreat. Whether this message was taught to me explicitly, or it was something I inferred, I genuinely believed that I didn’t matter. Other’s needs and wants were always more important than mine. I heard every week how sinful I was and how horrible humanity is. I read Matthew 22:39 as “Love your neighbor, not yourself.”

(Now, before anyone freaks out, I have not abandoned my faith. I love Jesus. I love being a Christian. I love the church. And yes, Matthew 22:38 is more important than Matthew 22:39. But the church messes up sometimes. Sorry.)

And you know what I’ve noticed? For me, there is a direct correlation between self-love and self-expression. The first time I stepped on stage to perform, there was no fear. I was four years old. I took my small, non-speaking role incredibly seriously. After that first play, I knew that I was an artist and I would work hard for my art. This was how acting was for me for the majority of my childhood and a good part of my teenage years.

This makes sense, doesn’t it? Because I loved myself, and I loved being me I had no problem sharing myself and expressing myself through the arts.

Now I’m here. Over the last few years, I have struggled intensely with self-hatred. I have apologized to people for things I didn’t need to out of fear that they would be angry with me and hate me as much as I hated myself, I have lectured myself over actions which were simple mistakes, not heinous crimes, I have taken my attributes and tried to stuff them in a suppressed box because they were so abhorrent to me.

Now, I am afraid to act. I am afraid to sing. I am afraid to engage with people and form relationships. I am afraid to express my opinions.  I am afraid to express myself. How can I express myself, when I hate myself? Why should I express and share myself when the person I am is so unworthy?

These are the lies I fight consistently. Maybe you fight them too. It is a worthy fight, because God desires for us to be whole. He desires for us to enjoy Him, to enjoy ourselves (He sure does), and to enjoy others.

I don’t have the answers. I am not there yet. I don’t completely love myself. I still fall into self-destructing patterns. I find artistic expression daunting and exhausting. Who knows if I will ever again be able to act with the true self-abandon I experienced as a child. But I am working on bring down those walls around my heart. Because self-expression is beautiful and powerful. It is necessary. So is self-love.

“Love your neighbor AS yourself.”

I promise to fight to love myself. And I promise to fight to love you too.

The Lollipop Story

I have a really great brother. It's a good thing God only gave me one because any other brother would have to work hard to compete with Andrew. Andrew and I were best buddies pretty much from the day I was born. At twelve years apart, he was my babysitter, my protector, and my playmate. As I grew up, those roles didn't change, but only intensified.

When Andrew graduated in 1999, it was a big deal. My awesome brother finished school (which I was just starting) and he seemed so impossibly cool and smart. I actually remember his graduation vividly, or rather, I remember the party following. There were blue and white balloons everywhere, a giant graduation cake and these fascinating, tantalizing chocolate lollipops.

This was the first time in my life I had seen chocolate on a stick (and who hasn't remembered that life-changing experience?). The pop was perfectly round, decorated with a head wearing a graduation cap cut in chocolate form. One was milk chocolate, one was white. Clear cellophane was delicately wrapped around them, tied around the stick with blue ribbon. Unfortunately, these delectible morsels were only given to the graduates. I knew I had to use my sisterly powers to persuade Andrew to share them with me. They had to be mine.

And so, day after day when I made my daily trips to Andrew's room for our visits, I badgered him incessantly to give me one of his lollipops. He tortured me, displaying them in the cup of an Awana trophy atop his bed-stand and yet he firmly told me everyday that he wasn't ready to eat them. This ritual continued, but no whining, begging, hugs and cuddles, or cute eyes would do anything. Finally, in a last attempt to hush me up, Andrew told me that we could eat them on his wedding day. This defeated me at last and I gave up any hope I would ever taste those treats.

Fast forward to August 4th, 2007. The day my brother got married. It was a bittersweet day for me as I was saying goodbye to my dear friend. It was hard for me to share Andrew, but I loved his new wife, Elizabeth, and while it was difficult for me to let him go, I was happy for him.

I was very surprised, then, when at the reception, my brother took the mic and started to tell the lollipop story. I hadn't thought about those lollipops in years. I couldn't believe it when he concluded the story with, "Well, Marian, I didn't forget my promise" and he produced the same lollipops, old and totally inedible, in front of all his wedding guests. Then, he also gave me two new lollipops, in the shape of graduation caps, for us to enjoy together.

I still have those old lollipops. So, I guess I got my way in the end after all.  

The Power of the Mediocre Worship Song

*Note: this post was started in January, but due to life I couldn't finish until now. Apologies.

I just had a really amazing weekend, holed up with some of my favorite people in a beautiful home. We were gathered together to read the first draft of my novel, Aakroveil. So many wonderful things happened this weekend that I could probably write a whole new novel just based on the events that occurred. For now, I will per-maybe-haps share some of it over a few blog posts.

Today being Sunday, we took a break from the reading to attend church. The party broke up, some going to their home churches, others opting to stay at home as they had stayed up until 4:30am, another found that he had to go purchase a plunger instead of visiting a house of worship due do to a rather unfortunate circumstance that I'm sure you are savvy enough to understand.

Pond, Sharon, Amanda, Steph and myself all decided to visit a church nearby to the house where we were staying. We were a powerful force. Five gorgeous women-four of whom had sweeping maxi-skirts and flowing long hair and the fifth, rebellious, heathen with a sweater dress, leggings and a boy crop. (We pray for you, Steph.) We all piled into Pond's little car and drove to the church. Pond uncharacteristically pulled into a parking spot instead of backing up in the parking lot behind the church. We had trailed a yellow mini cooper into the little lot. We politely said good morning to the young man as we filed out of the car and headed into the church. Once all five of us had entered the stone building, the man turned to take us in.
             "Did all of you come from that car?" He asked.
             "Yes," I smiled, "we did."
             "That's intense." He replied and went into the sanctuary.

I had been to this church once before with my best friend, Momo. We both had visited when we were having a sleepover. That time, the sermon had been so powerful and just what Mo and I needed. After church that day, we both talked about how awesome it was that God knew that she and I both needed to hear it.

I was excited to visit again. Steph, Betsy, Amanda, and I all slipped into the back pew of the sanctuary as the service started. Sharon had to go to the bathroom, of course. By the time she got back, the band had already started playing and the worship music had begun.

Now, for those of you who don't know, I was raised in a Presbyterian church. My beautiful mother is the music director there so I have to be careful what I say (just kidding, Mum). For the most part, I adored the music at my home church. We sang mostly hymns with a few moderately contemporary jigs thrown it. (Yes, I did just use the word "jig" to describe a Presbyterian service. No, it is not accurate.) I am a big fan of hymns. I think the tunes are pretty singable. Often times the words are both beautiful and thought-provoking and they get me in the mind to worship the Creator of the universe.

So, I stood there, in the back pew with the three chord diddy which reached up to heaven and tugged on God's sleeve and said, "Hey, God! Just so you know, you're AWESOME. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah" pouring into my ears. Thankfully, those weren't the actual words, but that was the message I got. But I brought my attention back to God and asked him to help be stop being so gosh-darn cynical and worship him no matter the medium.

And then, something really cool happened. The band started playing the song "How He Loves Us". I recognized it as a song I didn't absolutely hate and started singing. I'll post some of the words here:

He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree,
Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realize just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us, oh,
Oh, how He loves us,
How He loves us all

Those simple words I had heard dozens of times suddenly hit me. God loves me. He loves me.

Some of you may be reading this thinking that that knowledge should be a given. But for me, it wasn't. As those words kept flashing on the PowerPoint, I felt tears stream down my face as I realized that I had been living for a long time thinking that God and I had a very utilitarian relationship. I knew that he took care of me. I knew that he provided my physical needs and that he provided salvation. I knew he was there if I needed help or someone to talk to. But I genuinely did not believe he loved me.

If you asked me if I believed the God I follow loved me, of course I would have replied with a yes. That's what we do. We're Christians. We're so quick to offer the Sunday School answer without honestly looking at our heart and our relationship with God.

I won't get into the particulars about why I didn't believe God loved me, because this is posted and social media, and hey, y'all don't need to know every intimate detail of my life. But it had been a very sore, open wound for a long time. But I cried and I sang-quietly because I was listening to his love.

Thank you, John Mark McMillan for writing a mediocre worship song. And thank you, Jesus, for getting your message through, no matter what. 

Locaton: Skittles

I was driving to drama today, thinking about restaurants, when a beautiful thought hit me: What if they (and by they I mean Wrigley's) set up a Skittles restaurant? I can see it now: A brightly colored medium-sized building with the Skittles logo blazing across the doorway in big, white, plastic, letters.

You'd walk through the door, and a Skittles dispenser would drop a handful of Skittles on your head. You would advance happily, crunching on the many candies left on the floor by previous patrons, and visit the all-awe-inducing Skittles bar where there would be every Skittle flavor known to man set up in shiny, metal containers with a shiny, metal scoop to put Skittles into a shiny, plastic bag. There would be Original, Tropical, Berry, Sour, Riddles, Carnival, and too many others to name.

Or, you could walk directly up to the counter and order food. Yes, they'd sell real food there too. Pizza, bagels, subs, or whatever. But whenever you're done with your ordering, the teller would be obliged to say, "Do you want Skittles with that?" To which the obvious answer would be, "Absolutely."