A Mess and Collection of Thoughts and Reflections this Snowy Morning

I have sat here staring at this blank page for the better part of thirty minutes, trying to gather and collect my thoughts, trying to come up with something cohesive to write that adds to the beauty not the static in life. Words were scarce, not because there is nothing to write about, but because I now realize how different the things that fill my heart are... there is no cohesive way to write all of the things I want to write; at least if there is, the picture of how they come together is yet to be made clear. So for lack of better ties and transitions, I present each piece as a separate, and perhaps in the end they will tie together as so many pieces of my life tend to do as I simply step out (in this case type out) in faith. I call this collection "Morning Reflections"

I. Ferguson, MO

My heart is burdened this mourning, heavily. Grief consumes me in many parts as I think about the reality of events unfolding in our streets. While Michael Brown may be what sparked these reckless acts of violence and demonstration, the actual cry of the situation runs much deeper; the roots stretch deeper and bring forth pain known for generations. It is the voice of the oppressed crying out for justice. I pray my brothers and sisters would hear me when I say the point of these cries and outbreaks, the restorative peace and healing has very little to do with Wilson and Brown (though hear me that that does matter as well). No. This is about a deeper need for systematic restoration. These cries are deeper than one instance. They are about a system of oppression that has existed for generations; a system in which if you are a young black man you are 21 times more likely to be shot than your white counterpart; a system in which 1/3 black men can expect to go to jail in their lifetime;  a system in which a rich CEO can smuggle millions and get a slap on the wrist and some fines, but a young person born on the streets selling drugs is sentenced 5-10 years; a system in which abortion clinics target lower income and minority based neighborhoods; a system that continuously breaks treaties with our indigenous populations when it proves lucrative for our business, wants, and desires.  Regardless of what you believe justice to be in the case of Brown vs. Wilson, the fact is indisputable that there is in existence systemic injustice that needs to be addressed. I believe if we are wise, these tragic, horrific, awful events (from the bloodshed of this young man and thousands unnamed just like him to the rioting and violence and damage) will lead to deeper conversations around the actual issues. Perhaps we will learn to sit with the other, with those not like us, with those holding a different perspective and reality. Perhaps we will seek to understand each other, the plight of those different than us and, as the proverbial saying goes, learn to walk in their shoes...and deeper still learn to walk with them. 

II. Keystone Pipeline

I learned last night that the Rosebud tribe wasn't even notified when this was happened--they learned from it on the the news. I want to be sarcastic and hide my pain, saying "just another broken treaty for the US government, right?" but the cry runs deeper. I will not allow that statement to be made in a dismissive manner. It is 2014 and the oppression that we put on our indigenous populations when we first moved to this land CONTINUES TODAY. And you know what breaks my heart? No one seems to care. It has become normal. 

In both of I and II as I pray the verse that continually comes to me is Ecclesiastes 4:1 

Again I looked and saw all the oppression that was taking place under the sun:

I saw the tears of the oppressed—
    and they have no comforter;
power was on the side of their oppressors—
    and they have no comforter.

The grief that consumes my heart today in these matters is overwhelming. Already in this coffeeshop I have shed tears, and will continue to as I pray and intercede for justice, restoration, and hope to fill our land. 

Nope. Deeper truth exists in me. While the above is true, deeper still this is what I want. I want my brothers and sisters to give a damn. That's what I want. And I know there are those that do. I know I am not alone in this. I have talked with churches, with organizations, and with individuals who care and are doing something. But what saddens me is it is not the majority, because if it was these things would cease to happen, or at least lessen. And that angers me. In life coaching I learned that anger is a demand for something, and my anger a demand for justice and action, and true brotherhood. 

And as I type I am convicted. Of the ways I have not loved, not advocated, not stood with. I am reminded of a Maya Angelou Quotation "I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better I do better." This is all we can do. As we encounter truth and learn, we can do better. Today I know better, so I am doing better. Tomorrow I pray will be better still, and so forth. 

III. I have a lot of really good things happening in life. 

In the midst of this grief over world events, I am reminded of the good things in my life. I spent last night loving on a sweet baby girl that is the offspring of two of my very favorite people. I just moved into a beautiful rental home with two dear friends. I have amazing friends supporting me on this journey of restoration and recovery. I have a job that pays the bills and I enjoy. I am 18 months out from graduating with my doctorate (that is... if the dissertation goes smoothly ;). I have the most beautiful nieces and nephews.  I get to spend my New Years in Cambodia loving on children coming out of trafficking and prostitution, loving on the slums, loving on women coming out of the industry, and being loved on by those I love--all with one of my best friends. I am in recovery and daily being transformed--while I encounter my own personal grief, I find that grief is leading me to joy and wholeness. 

And so it comes together in the end. The reality of this walk with Christ is that it is a path filled with suffering, with heartache, with mourning, with aching and crying out for what could be, for what went wrong, for what is wrong. And yet it is also a path marked with joy... joy abundant, filled with good, good things and smothered in love. 

Oh you guys, I mean it when I say I am the least likely to be chosen as a follower of Christ, and yet he called me. He asked me and I said yes. I am messy and covered in mud and dirt, yet I bathe in the river of the one who can wash me clean. Until the day I die, I will remain a shitty prophet--encountering God in the places shit covers, and watching him plant gardens, turning that shit into fertilizer that springs forth growth. I will rejoice in slums, in brothels, in ghettos, in recovery houses because God is there. As Bono put it: 

"God is in the slums,in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house.God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives.God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war.God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives. And God is with us if we are with them."

 

I hope somewhere in these ramblings you found something to dust off and take with you. For today, this is my heart. This is what I have. This is who I am. 

If you read this, leave a comment. Would love to know you, where you are (physically, spiritually, emotionally...however you want to answer that) and who you are. 

In the meantime, may your journey, while laden with grief (because lets be real... thats the reality of this world) be filled with joy and hope, and above all love. 

I love you. 

AZ

Beauty For Ashes

I started counseling last week.

Years have been building to this moment in life; preparation for this season began years ago. Three to be exact. When I returned from Los Angeles the first time is when this season began; this season of deep restorative healing. I remember after nights of binge drinking I would awaken to hear the Lord speak "My mercies are new every morning." I would cry out in anger, wanting to take control, to fix the devastation and mess, to prove myself worthy of something beyond what I was living. In the midst of my broken, angry, hurting, un-understanding cries the Lord broke through to me and firmly whispered to my heart "I want you to sit in your mess and allow me to heal you."

That was my first step of surrender. I surrendered, on some level, that I was powerless to fix or heal myself. And so I resigned to the binges and to drinking, trusting that God would heal me; trusting that I didn't have to heal or fix myself, but that God would be faithful to see me through. I began to engage the faulty foundations that existed in my life, the faulty patterns, etc. I began to reconstruct my frame. I regained my voice and learned to stand up for myself. I learned that I have value and worth; that my viewpoint and perspective indeed do matter and are valuable gifts I offer to the world.

And then the time came when I was ready to confront my crutch, my rock and pillar that destroyed me, my love, my beloved…alcohol. And that revealed an even deeper lesson that I needed to learn.

17 years ago a reoccurring event began in my life that started a ticking time bomb within me. 14 years ago that bomb exploded. The best image I can use to describe my internal reality is this: Imagine a city, quaint and lovely. In the middle of that city a bomb goes off, creating a deep crater and covering the city in ash, paralyzing it from moving, from growing, from breathing, from living. This has been my life. This has been my living reality. Remnants of the beauty remain, but the people live among a sea of ashes.

I have this new theory in life. What is destroyed through relationship can only be restored through relationship.

My bomb was planted and detonated through relationship, a horrifically violating relationship. Rather than invite people into that crater, I blocked the world out and that part of me became ashes.

In my short three weeks on this journey of deep healing, I have learned that if I am going to heal, I have to let people into that ash covered city. I need people to come in, to sit, to touch, to experience, to explore, to help pull forth beauty from the wreckage.  14 years ago when that bomb went off I built a wall around that city; an impenetrable wall to keep anyone from getting in and any emotion from the wreckage from getting out. Thankfully addressing the foundations and starting to remove them has left those walls crumbling down.

It is the scariest thing I have ever done, inviting people into the wreckage of my life to sit, to touch, to speak, to love, to explore, to hold my hand, to meet my needs. There are days I want to bolt back into hiding, rebuild the wall, chuck the phone across the room, pull my hand away (and to be sure there are moments that I do). But that place inside of me is coming to life again. Through their love, their investment, my vulnerability and their fierce love in response, that crater is becoming a garden, and the city is beginning to be restored. There is a journey ahead to be sure, but my heart is coming back to life. I am coming back to life. I am beginning to experience life again. Emotions, feelings, colors, hopes, dreams, butterflies, all of the above. I am encountering deeper levels of who I am and finding that I actually quite enjoy myself. And I am risking everything in love, choosing love and willingly being vulnerable, knowing it may cost me everything, but choosing it none the less.

I am beginning to experience beauty for ashes. And its wonderful. Scary, dangerous, risky, exposed.  Wonderful. Joyous. Beautiful. Adventuresome. Delighting.

Today, I am alive, and awakening to deeper life. Absolutely stunningly breathtakingly wonderful.

Strings of Beauty in Being an Addict

I am an addict. For so long I hated that term, that reality. It's one of the reasons I have refused to go to AA. I hated the fact that every meeting started with "Hi, my name is Annie and I'm an alcoholic." I thought "that's not my identity. I am not an alcoholic. I am not an addict." But I am. And in my short six days of sobriety I have found such beauty in learning to understand what that means.

1. I have limits. 
2. I have flaws. 
3. I am not perfect and that is ok. 
4. I am beautiful in the midst of my flaws. 
5. Scars can be a beautiful and valuable reminders. 
6. I have something that keeps me constantly humble and aware of my brokenness.
7. I have the best, most forgiving, loving and supportive group of friends. Seriously. The best. 
8. I'm stronger than I think I am. 
9. I am braver than I know to be. 
10. While perplexing to my mind, the paradoxical state of our human nature being encountered by the unconditional, never failing/ending/ceasing love of God overwhelms my soul and brings me joy and peace and healing and comfort. 
11. When I give myself to something, I give all of me. 
12. I'm an all or nothing person. 
13. I like what I like when I like it, how I like it. 
14. I need to daily encounter the source of healing. 
15. I need healthy rhythms in my life. 
16. I need the love and support of my friends and family.
17. I am human; fully human. 

The list could go on, and one day probably will. The point is this: I am no longer afraid of the reality that I am an addict. In fact, I have embraced the beauty in it and find life in acknowledging the truth of my human state. It's amazing the life that comes when we stop denying and come out of hiding. It's amazing the strength that can be found in our weakness and embracing our weakness. The fragrance of God is so near as I type this today. 

Breath in deep friends. It smells so good. 

With love,

My name is Annie and I'm an alcoholic. 

The Long Journey Home

I am an addict. Through and through it rings in my personality... in my DNA...in the core of who I am. Before you jump down my throat with the "that's your fallen identity and not who you are", please join me in holding tight that until the time comes for me to cross on over to the other side, I live in the fallen world, and while I am a new creation and daily being transformed, I am also very much living in the reality of my fallen self.

As Christians, we tend to live in one camp or the other. "I am a new creation, being made new, perfected in Christ. The old is gone, the new has come. Healing is possible. Heaven on earth is possible." OR "I am a dirty rotten sinner, no good apart from the love and salvation of God. I am horrible, sinful, deceitful, devious, covered in muck and junk in desperate need of someone or something to save me." Both of these hold truth. Both of these can be argued and supported thoroughly with Scripture. But neither is complete. Even when put together these camps hold flaws and beg for deeper revelation. Life isn't that black and white. It's messy...horribly gloriously messy. And it's full of color.

I am an addict. While deep in the recesses of my soul I have known this for almost 10 years, somewhere during the past few years I forgot the implications of what that means. I forgot that "social drinking" isn't really a term that works in my vocabulary. One leads to two leads to ten. Drinking once a month slips into twice a month into once a week into twice a week into daily. As strong as I am, alcohol is stronger. It outsmarts me. "I'm not drinking alone. I'm not out of control." But the truth is with each drink I slip further out of control. And I violate myself when drinking. I do things that, when in my sober mind, devastate me and crush me.

I quit drinking six days ago. It's amazing the clarity that has come in the past six days. My fellow addicts will feel me when I say these statements: "I had no idea how much I wasn't myself when I drank; how far removed from me I actually was. And in six days, while my physical body is somewhat on edge, I haven't felt more like myself in a long time."

I'm an addict. Through and through. And it's not just alcohol. I shared with one of my friends the other day that I haven't done cocaine or snorted a pill in nine-ish years. It is not a thought in my daily life. But if you left me alone in a room with cocaine and/or other pills and a dollar bill for 24 hours, I would be seriously tempted, if not blitzed out of my mind when you returned. I can't change that. I can't change the fact that I haven't been a smoker for 7+ years and in the last week I have had to seriously talk myself through why I don't smoke twice (It came down to my why for sobriety and health: because no matter how much my body screams for the substance, deeper still, at the core of who I am, I do not want to smoke. Or drink. Or do drugs. Or have meaningless sexual encounters. I do not want to throw myself away or dismiss myself in any way, shape or form). Which leads me to the biggy. Food. I quit drinking six days ago. The amount of sugar and fried food I have ingested in that time is, well, more than I quite honestly want to confess or deal with right now. And yet, it's time. It's time to boldly look at and face these areas of hiding, of running, of not dealing in my life.

I was sexually abused as a child. And since I was 14 I have spent my emotional energy building a system of life in which I would never have to confront the emotional terrors with which that reality threatens me. I felt out of control and powerless and so I became out of control and powerless since I wouldn't/couldn't/didn't know how to listen to my feelings. I felt abused and violated and so I became self-abusive and violating. It's time for these patterns to stop. And while I am scared shitless, deeper still  I am ready because I have discovered that at the core of my soul I do no want to live the life I have been living. I want to live a life in harmony with myself; in wholeness with my self; at peace with myself; marked by happiness and health and joy in all circumstances. Gone are the days of choosing despair. I choose joy. I choose life. I choose health.

I bought a journal yesterday to record meal and workout plans as well as dialogue with myself about emotions surrounding or appearing during workouts and meals. I have entitled it "The Long Journey Home." Because it is a journey. It is long. And it's all about finding/going home.

Whoever you are today reading this, you're beautiful. Thanks for taking the time to read my heart, share in my story, and engage my journey. Know you are loved, prayed for, cared for and thought of; wanted and desired. I appreciate you and your love.

From the depths of soul and love,
AZ

A Time to Listen.....

For those of you reading this blog that know me or follow me on social media,  you're already aware that I have spent the last five to six years with an intensity increasing during the last three years on weight loss. I have tried schedules, meal plans, work out plans, a nutritionist, diet, exercise, fasting, cleansing... you name it, I've done it. And it hasn't worked. Not because I don't have will power or determination or the power to see it through or stick it through (a generalized reason given by many health care professionals as to why people don't lose weight). Will power and determination are not really issues for me or areas in which I am lacking. Neither is persistence. I'm what you would call an all or nothing person, and once my mind is made up, I'm all in. My mind has been made up on wanting to address my weight for quite a while now. But what I've tried HAS. NOT. WORKED.  Today, I discovered why.

I've been approaching weight loss one dimensionally--focusing on the physical. Calories in vs calories out. Weight training, cardio, etc. Which is good. But the reason I'm heavy isn't physical (at least solely physical...not even the majority of the reason), it's psychological. I grew up in a co-dependent home and was sexually violated at a young age. Both of these contributed to the loss and suppression of my voice, of my ability to speak for myself, my thoughts, my wants, my feelings, my desires, my needs, my boundaries. And so weight became a way to meet my needs.  Distort my body and make it as undesirable as I could. Destroy it. Make sure no body wants it or you. Then everyone will leave you alone and you'll be safe and no one will ever hurt you again. It's the only way I knew how to protect myself as a child--suppress who I am, disappear and become undesirable. But, as I've come to learn, this is all one big bullshit filled lie. (Thank God shit is fertilizer right? Hallelujah for hope). Weight for me is essentially my F You to the world and my invitation for the world to stay as far away from me as possibly. And by world I mean men, specifically men to whom I am attracted or who find me attractive.  Don't touch me, don't even want to touch me.  Because I don't trust you or your touch and I don't want to be touched until I trust you.  My weight issue isn't really about weight. It's about a deep violation that occurred in my life and distorted my relationship with God, food, self, others, etc. And while calories in vs. calories out can address the physicality of it, it does NOTHING to address the emotional realities swimming inside me. Welcome to why I have dropped weight only to gain it back. Until I address the emotional, holistic realities of my weight, the weight lost will not be sustainable for me.

Calories in vs Calories out does nothing to address that being desirable to someone scares the shit out of me. A good workout doesn't address or restore the violation that occurred in my life. My burst training, while bringing me immense joy because I enjoy it (yes, I said it. I enjoy it!) doesn't cultivate my voice in this broken area of my life. It empowers me one dimensionally, but I need to be holistically empowered in this area if the results are going to last. I need to be holistically restored in this area.

I've spent the majority of my adult life working with people who have been deeply devastated and violated in life. And one of the most important lessons I have learned in the process is the power of listening, the restoration of listening. In listening we give the voiceless a chance to take their voice back, to have a voice, to discover their voice and tell their story and in telling their story discover their story and themselves. <------I think this is why I love story (ies) so much.

I'm going to keep working out. And I'm going to keep making healthy choices. But more importantly, I'm going to begin to deeply listen to myself. To create space for the areas of my life that have been devastated, that have been suppressed and oppressed and violated. I'm going to stop denying them their rights and start hearing their stories and learn the wisdom these devastations and violations have to teach me. It's going to be glorious. It's going to be messy. It's going to be difficult. F it. I'm all in. And I'm all in with a God whose promise is to not cause pain without allowing something new to be born. (Isaiah 66:9).

I've spent my whole life scared of this story, of the pain held in these stories of childhood devastation. But I believe too greatly in my right now and future to let my fear of the pain held in these stories to hold me back. It's time for the pain in my life to teach me, and to be restored and healed, and grow and learn. It's time to listen. To not be afraid to hear the ugly lies I believe, or the beautiful truths I've learned. To cry with me, love me, embrace me for who I am today and to hold the parts of me that have been so devastated. It's time to have empathy with myself--to kick perfectionism to the curb and allow myself to be human. It's time to holistically develop my voice and story, and holistically face the day. My story is my story and it's absolutely beautiful and I love it. It's messy. It's unconventional. It's fascinating. And it's mine. Who knows? Maybe one day it will be a best seller. ;)

Letting Go

Letting Go.

Those two words side by side conjure so much in me, especially when it comes to relationships.

Fear. What if I let them go and they never return?  What if they're not who I thought they were?
Failure: I couldn't make the relationship work.

Regret, Heartache, Sorrow, and Shame all words that try to tag along.

And yet, maybe the greater truth is hope; is new beginnings; is a chance to start over, to redefine what has been into what will be. A chance to learn from what was and celebrate the beauty of it, while letting go and pressing into what's next.

I loved my time in California, but had I not been willing to let go, I would not be in St Paul right now, living in a season of beauty, happiness, and joy. I love where I live, the friends I have here and relationships I am building here. I love my job. I love the dreams I am working towards and building. I love the liquor/bar collection we are building atop our fridge. I love our cute cozy little kitchen, and the smell of incense that fills the candlelit apartment. I love walking the streets with the freshly turning leaves displaying vibrant beauty. I love the tattooed beauties running down the streets, coming into my bar, serving me at other establishments, running next to me at the gym. I love the diversity that fills University Ave. I love the Cathedral. I love who I am in this place, and what this place is teaching me. I love what the community surrounding me brings out in me, and the joy and delight I have in being in relationship with them. I love that my basement is a famous bar/burger joint and bowling alley. I love the hipsters that litter my neighborhood, the co-ops, the breweries, the specialty shops. I love that my obscure dreams are starting to form.

It doesn't mean I love California any less. But I let go of what was; of what was not working, and pressed into an unknown that held what I wanted. I took a risk. I let go. And letting go allowed me to be open to this glorious place of life.

Here's to applying this wisdom to the areas in which it scares me most. It's time to let go.

Breaking the Silence: My Thoughts on Ferguson

I'm supposed to be working on my school work right now. I have a course project due in 2 weeks that's already riding a 3-month extension. (What can I say, life has been crazy). But as I sit here reading and reporting on author's such as John M. Perkins, Ray Bakke, Brenda Salter McNeil, and others who have sacrificed their lives for urban work, namely that of racial reconciliation, I can no longer stay silent on the events of Ferguson, MO.

Many thoughts flood my mind around this event. A scene from the movie Crash fills my mind. In it, a white officer who in previous scenes stood up against his partner over racist actions his partner committed ends up drawing his gun and shooting a young black man who is reaching into his pocket to pull out the same patron saint figure said officer has on his dashboard.  Next, the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr fill my mind. "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." And then tears come.

I can think of two times I have blatantly been discriminated against because of my physical appearance in my life. One time growing up I overheard a guy say "but she's fat" as a reason not to hang out with me. The second was at a national speech tournament. In the round 2 of the 3 judges gave me the top speaker. The other gave me the bottom ranking. His only note on my score sheet was "make sure your tattoos are covered." Apparently my ankle tattoo was showing through my nylons and he didn't approve--it couldn't be the fact that I was talking about human trafficking and forced prostitution and maybe it hit too close to home....no...  Nonetheless, these are two times I have been judged and dismissed based solely on my physical appearance. And it hurt, deeply. But a tattoo was my choice, and I can lose weight. I cannot imagine what it's like to be a young person of color and be discriminated against for no other reason than you weren't born white. Even as I type this tears silently stream down my face. And what makes me upset is that the world around me seems somewhat undisturbed by this reality, with the exception of my friends of color. Why are we okay with this? Are we that numb to the realities our brothers and sisters face? If it was a blonde haired fair skinned white male would we be so passive?

To my black, brown, olive...to my non white friends, I am so sorry. I'm so sorry for the divides that exist that create this reality in your life. I'm so sorry for my silence and the silence of the white majority.  I'm sorry that more people don't care. And I'm sorry that this is still the status quo today. I know my sorries don't make any of it right, but know my heart is grieving with you today over this reality. And I commit to doing what I can to make racial divides disappear in my lifetime.

I want to say we have come so far as a nation...as a people. I want to say we have made such progress and have grown in brother and sister hood. And in many ways we have. But we have so far to go.

You know what makes me really mad in all of this? I have friends posting about the Middle East (and please keep posting. That situation is a sad reality as well), but where are the posts about Ferguson? Where are the posts about the daily realities of our inner cities?! Where are the posts about the injustice that happens every day in America? Especially from those identifying with the Christian faith. How can you care so much about Israel, Palestine, abortion, and not care about the quality of life and blatant injustice taking place towards a segment of people in your own nation? Why are we not outraged by this and what this reveals? Why aren't we upset about the daily wars taking place in our backyard and inner cities? About the daily wars over our diamonds and resources needed to make our coveted technology? I am sad Robin Williams passed away, and yes we need to become advocates for depression and suicide...but does that deserve more attention than Ferguson and Michael Brown? My newsfeed is still filled with Robin Williams updates daily (and that's fine, I'm not condemning that, I know he was love and cherished by many and it's a deep loss felt). But  where are the posts on Ferguson? Where is the outrage over this injustice? Where is the sense of loss over this young man? And many like him?

This is not an anti-police rant. I know many police officers who really do where the badge to protect and serve. And I know the immense pressures and realities they face daily under the badge. For those that wear the badge, thank you for your service.

Rather this post is an anti-fear and anti-hate post. When will fear stop winning? Fear of the unknown, fear of the other, fear of safety (or unsafety). When will we choose love? When will we learn to embrace the other, the different, realizing how much we have to learn from those different than us... how much their perspective and lifestyle actually means to us and is necessary for us to grow and become more holistic humans?

I choose love. If in that process I die for choosing love, so be it. I would rather die for love than live in fear.

I'm going to post a challenge: If someone scares you, or feels like a stranger/other, or you judge someone based off appearance (color of skin, religion, tattoos, piercings, dyed hair, whatever your hang up is) make an effort to have a 5 minute conversation with them, seeking to find something you have in common. The more I engage with those different than me, the more I understand at the core of who we are we all want the same things: to love and be loved, to know and be known, to be valued, heard, cherished, and sought out. Stop looking for divides and start looking for why we're alike. After all, we're all in this journey together... this journey called life. How much better would it be if we acted like it?

Learning to be

This road trip has been one of the best decisions of my life.

I am so broken and raw and exposed right now. My heart is bleeding and weeping over loss and pain and broken relationships and devastation that I did not know reached as deep as it did in my heart. I hit traffic between Portland and Seattle on Sunday and spent the three-four in-between hours sobbing uncontrollably. Earlier that morning in church I had prayed for God to help me let go of some things I was holding on to.... things that were finally exposed in a way that made it obvious they needed to be let go of. My sobs came as I cried and prayed "Lord, I don't know how to let go." I'm not sure I yet know how to let go. But I know I'm letting go. I'm also pretty certain as I leave Seattle tomorrow and head towards Billings, much of the 13 hour car drive will be filled with sobs and wrestling with fear and uncertainty. But I'm feeling. I'm living. I'm alive.

One of my core life verse is Isaiah 61. In this chapter it is said that the Lord promises to bring "beauty for ashes, joy for mouring, praise for despair." It's what he does.

I have never been as raw and broken as I have on this trip. Yet I have been overwhelmed by the beauty and goodness of Lord. From the scenery, to the sweet moments of favor, to the dialogues with Papa God, to the new freedoms found, to connecting with cherished friends, and reconnecting with old friends, from sweet dinners to baseball games and the space in between, this trip has been marked and defined by beauty, goodness, and joy. To the people in my life who have blessed me along this journey--you have no idea the depth of gratitude and overwhelming love in my heart for you. My heart, in all its brokenness, has been loved and cherished so well through your kindness and love. I am in awe at the love poured out.

It's amazing to me I almost talked myself out of this. There was a more logical route to take. But I needed this trip. I needed this time. I needed this space. To grieve. To love. To transition from the only world I have known into the unknown.

People keep asking me what I'm doing in this next season. The only answer I can give is that I'm learning to be. And I'm healing. And I'm following Jesus. But after so many years of suppressing who I truly am for who I thought I needed to be, I am going to be Annie. I don't know what that means. I don't know what it looks like. And honestly, I don't care. I want to live each moment to the fullest, to experience the goodness and sweetness and wholeness of God poured out in my daily life, in all circumstance. I am going to live one day at a time, one moment at a time, the best I can. I am going to enjoy the day and the moments. I am going to breath in the sweetness of each moment and opportunity. I'm going to fall in love with me as I learn to be exactly who I am... no expectations, no limitations.

Always we begin again. I so I begin again. 

The Place Where I am Found

Thursday I started a road trip that I have been dreaming of for almost two years. In February, 2013 I was in an independent study course with a professor whose teaching transformed my life. During that course, as I talked to God about what was next and what I wanted, one of the desires I shared with God was that I wanted to take a massive West Coast road trip, from South Dakota to Seattle, down through Portland, Redding, Napa, Oakland, San Fran, and to Ventura to see this professor. At the time I had no idea that a short six months later I would be working in Ventura. However, due to a summer job in the midst of transitioning, there was no way my West Coast road trip would fit in with the move. 

Here I sit, less than two years later, in the middle of this dream. God's timing again proved better than mine. I am literally typing this from the middle of a dream come true. 

While only on day 3 of this trip, one thing is clear. This trip is marked by beauty. Check out these photos from the drive. 

And these photos don't include the beauty that was the 2 hours spent in the streets of San Francisco, driving through Napa, or the winding curvy breath taking roads of Northern California (lake Shasta). And these photos don't do justice to the beauty that has been.

During my drive I was on the phone with one of my best friends, sharing some of the things the Trinity had been speaking to me along the drive.

I am in the strangest of seasons right now. Everything I know, or have known, is so unclear. I have no idea "what I am going to do with my life." I'm going to borrow the words of a beautiful soul and explain it like this. My whole life I have focused on what I'm doing and what I'm going to do. In this season, my shift is to who I want to be, what do I want to be, what type of person do I want to be in this world. From that, the doing will flow. But in this period I feel lost. Yet I'm not lost. As I scrambled for the words to explain it to my friend, the only way I could describe it is "I am in the place where I am found."

There is something so hauntingly beautiful about that description, and my deep prayer has become that I will always stay in this place: in the place where I am found; in the place where I am discovered; in the place where I am known and can be known; in the place where I am at a loss, fully surrendered and secure in the absence of my own understanding; in the place where my demons hide; in the place where I face said demons; in the place where love wins; in the place where I'm transformed; in the place where my fears and insecurities are exposed; in the place where I create and come to be.

I don't have the answers that I had yesterday. And I no longer seek to know the answers. Rather, I press into the unknown and the mystery, finding that in that place there is only one sure thing.... and that sure thing--more than answers, more than riches, more than jobs, more than plans, more than a husband, more than a partner, more than _____________.....that one thing is more than enough to heal my soul and bring me contentment.

Today, I spend my time surrounded by beauty. As I type this, the second to last picture of the river flows steadily in the background. Birds chirp and sing. The crisp cool air soothes my skin. Friends dining and laughing fill the background noise. An expectant couple snaps a selfie before continuing their breakfast. Two birds, a sign of immense promise for me, land on the table next to me, and hop their way towards me, playing and grabbing bites of food they find along the way. The trees stand tall declaring beauty and time. While still raw and healing, my heart is content. Each breath of fresh air and beauty another piece of healing.


But the most beautiful scenary thus far on this road trip? Old friends reunited after a year and half apart.

Always, We Begin Again

I have been on a journey lately (well, by lately, I mean my entire life with actual understanding of the journey and a precision in focus the last 2-3 years). This journey has been the journey of discovering me; experiencing me; being me. To some of you this idea of discovering yourself may sound foreign or unnecessary or un-relatable. And that's ok. For me? It is everything.

I grew up in an environment of expectations. Unspoken (and sometimes spoken) rules and standards. There were certain ways you did things, and that was how they were done. There were certain expectations of what life looked like, and that's how you lived. In the midst of this environment, my soul encountered deep tragedy early on. My response to that tragedy has been self protection. And self protection took root in me becoming what I thought everyone wanted me to be, and killing/hiding/suppressing the parts of me that didn't fit the mold.

I sought to be the best at everything I did. During my partying days, I was the hardest partier. When I decided to follow Jesus, I became the most hard-core Christian (which for real... let's diagnose EVERYTHING wrong with that concept and understanding... the most "hard-core Christian?" What does that even mean?! here's what it meant to me ------>). There was a mold of what it meant to be a Christian. What it looked like. How you acted. What you did. In the culture I came to know Jesus it looked something like this: I quit drinking, smoking, swearing, using drugs. Sexuality quit existing. Hang outs became prayer meetings, worship sessions, bible studies, evangelism events. I read my Bible everyday, memorized Scripture, and knew my theology and could debate others theological. I stood up for the gospel in class. But in this I lost who I was.

Time out. Before you get all up in my business with your "But the Bible says we are to die to ourselves to gain Christ" business, let me just say YES I KNOW THAT. And yet held tight with that tension is that "Before I was formed, he knew me" and "I am fearfully and wonderfully made". It's this idea that Peter and Paul both died to themselves, but their journeys looked different because of WHO THEY WERE. I became what I thought I was supposed to be, and in that lost who I was...who I am. Then more tragedy and devastations came, and eventually I shut off completely.

My weight is the physical manifestation of this reality. A few months ago I was talking with Jesus about weight loss and one of the things he said to me in response to my heart was that it's going to take a while because this is a holistic journey. You see, I focus on weight loss at a physical level. But God is restoring me holistically in this journey. This is the journey of taking back what I shut off. What I lost. What I let go of but should have held on to. This is the journey of Annie. This is the journey of Andrea.  This is the journey of fullness and becoming me. And it's going to take time.

I am always so quick to want to get to the finish line. I rush everything. I want to arrive before I've even left. But in this process God is slowing me down to teach me. To show me. To help me enjoy me.

Always, we begin again.

I feel like I'm starting over today. But the truth is, we are starting over in each moment. Each moment of life is a moment pregnant with newness. I am restructuring my life and how I view and see things; how I dream and go after the world. I am learning to stop and smell the roses. I am learning to enjoy each moment. In that, I am learning to embrace and accept myself as I am in this moment. My tendency is to focus on where I am going (my top strengths on Strengthsfinders and Futuristic and Strategic...so this is like breathing to me).  And in that tendency I tend to see what I want and where I want to get to and focus on that and become disappointed when today I'm not in that, rather than stepping back and celebrating and acknowledging where I am today and basking in the glorious moment that is now; the glorious me that is now; this moment in time I will never get again.

There is so much to learn from rivers. Constantly flowing.

This is not where I intended to go with this post. I was going to write about the passions and emotions I have discovered and how I'm learning to listen to my desires to understand more of who I am and how I tick. And that post will probably come. Perhaps even later tonight. Perhaps next week. Perhaps over the course of my life. But this is where this post went, and that's ok.

Until next time, Know you are loved and valued and cherished and treasured and wanted and desired for no other reason than you are you.

I love you.

The Space In Between

I hate in betweens. I know they are good and have purpose. But I don't like them. I don't like the tension they create, the back and forth of it all.

It's like seasons. I like summer. I like fall. I like winter. I don't like the in between days of the seasons...where it snows for two days and then disappears into 70 degree weather. Make up your mind weather. Are we wearing shorts or is it time for the boots to come out?! And I don't like spring. I know that sounds crazy, because I should like spring, right? That's when new things are born, we come out of the rest and slumber of winter and reawaken into the beauty of nature and creation.

Maybe the deeper truth is I don't like change. And yet if things didn't change I would get so bored. Ugh, I am a walking paradox. Think about it. I don't like the cold frigid winters, or the muddy turmoil of the thawing into spring. Yet (and please know you can all quote me and remind me of this when i'm back in the Minnesota winter) sunny and 70 all year gets boring!

I am a walking contradiction. I don't like change, yet I love new things. I value security and steadiness and yet am not fully me if I'm not laying it all on the line and going after bigger, deeper things.

The in betweens prepare us right? They prepare us for what is next. The warn us of what's coming. They beckon us to celebrate what is and has been as we prepare to move forward into what is next.

I think what I don't like in the in betweens is the loss. Even though it's preparing you for a new season and that is exciting, there is still the loss of the old season.

It's like Starbucks--I love that Christmas means peppermint mochas, but it also means the retirement of the pumpkin spice latte (yes I know you can technically order this all year round, but I don't... I roll with the seasons). Or it's like an expectant mother. Gone are the full nights of sleep. And while it's preparing you for post-baby, the baby isn't there yet... it's a sleepless night because of the discomfort of the end of the in between season... you're living out the reality of the next season while still waiting on the promise of the little one to arrive.

Ugh the in betweens. Perhaps I'm bad at them because I lack patience. I'm always wanting to get to the next thing, to move forward, to master the season or training or learning and move forward. But perhaps the training to be mastered in the in between is that things constantly change and we have to learn to roll with the change.

I feel like with my personal life I have been sitting in an in between for quite some time. And I feel strongly that the time has come to step out of the in between and move forward into this next season. But it means things are going to change. And it means things I valued in the season are going to be lost. I can't step into the next season still living the way I do in this one. I can't have a total physical transformation and not change what life looks like today... otherwise it would already be happening.
I have to say good-bye to what I've known and who I've been so that I can step into what I know and who I am.

I don't know what I look like on the other side of this journey. I don't know what life holds on the other side of this journey. I just know I cannot stay here in this place any longer.

It's time to move forward...into a new in between... out of the old in between.

It's everything I want...and everything I fear. All at the same time.

I'm stepping into love. I'm stepping into me. And letting go of all I've known.

A Writer's/Prophet's Wrestle.

I shouldn't be typing this blog right now. I should be working on my school work. I should be working on my organization assessment. I should be doing a lot of things. But truthfully, I want to bitch a little instead. That's not even true. I don't want to bitch. I want to spill my heart on canvas. I want to spill my heart and what I just realized about myself, even though it exposes so much in me that I long to keep disclosed, from being revealed. Because I want to be perfect. I want to appear perfect. I want to do and say the right things. I want to keep everyone happy always. But that is not a reality in life. That is unhealthy. That is a by-product of being raised in a co-dependent environment, where the lie was implanted deep within me that as long as everyone was happy and everything was smooth I would be ok. But you know what? That has a price-tag on it too. And that price tag is me. And I am done paying the price for others happiness with rejection of myself: my wants, my needs, my feelings, my emotions, my reality, my experience.

I think what's hard is it's a fine line right? Like, I don't want to become this hard hearted mega bitch who disregards others. No. That's not the point at all.

The point is, I want to learn how to really love and embrace me and accept the deep pits of who I am and how I feel while still fully loving others.

My weakness and one reason I call myself a shitty prophet is that I care SO MUCH about the opinions and perspectives of others, because I genuinely love people and want them to be happy. But the second someone else's wants take precedence over my needs, a dangerous line has been crossed.

I'm not sure why I just went on that ramble, but I'm going to leave it there. Raw and exposed. Shitty prophet style. Because maybe by exposing my mess and chaos and wrestle you can find peace and confidence in yours.

Do you want to know why being a prophet is so hard for me? At least today's reason? Because I love wrapping things up with neat bows. I love order. No no, that's not the right word. I love compartmentalizing. I love it. I love everything to have its place and to not be messy. But you know what? LIFE IS MESSY

And do you want to know why I like it that way? BECAUSE THERE IS FALSE SAFETY IN THAT. I get a sense of safety from everything having its place. But it's false safety because I was born and created to take risks. Big risks. And to get messy and play and explore. And yet this need for safety hinders me at times because I have to choose: safety that breeds contentment that births parts of my soul falling asleep or Risk, that causes me to confront and address every lingering fear inside of me, that causes me to cut parts of my soul (that yes produce growth and health, but the cut fucking hurts more than anything in that moment), that causes me to stretch myself and go beyond myself and risk every safety and security measure I have known to protect myself with.

Self protection man. Ugh that's a weakness I possess. And I think sometimes in the Christian world we like to call self protection "wisdom" or " guarding our hearts" or "self control". And while wisdom, heart guarding and self control are good, they are NOT self protection. We are called to be vulnerable. Self protection is not vulnerable. We are called to love. Self protection does not love... it seeks self. It seeks me. We are called to love ourselves, but there is a difference between loving myself and protecting myself. I'm tired you guys. I'm tired of constantly being on guard. I'm so tired. And yet I'm so afraid. I'm so afraid to really love with complete abandon. I'm so afraid to press into my dreams because it means risking EVERYTHING.

By why hold on to what I cannot keep?

Oh, and I am so tired of the Christianese of it all. "Just have faith" "Just trust God". Yeah. I get it. But as Peter Steinke writes in his book "How Your Church Family Works" " Those who insist on a 'pure' faith unstained by human emotionality make the denial of reality a condition of faith."

Here's the deal. I can trust God and be scared shitless and want to run away all at the same time. I can have faith in Jesus and yet holistically and authentically acknowledge every part of me that resists him that moment. I can want to run full steam into every dream I have and yet be aware of how afraid I am of everything going wrong and falling flat on my face. I can choose to jump off the cliff in faith and yet hold tight that if I somehow don't manage to fly in that moment, there is a good chance that I'm going to  die. I can follow Jesus and yet realistically acknowledge that while I am willing to pay the cost, I'm aware it may completely destroy me.

I don't like addressing hard truths with people. Especially when I know they just don't understand them.  Because let's get real. The human condition when we don't understand is to either reject what's presented or turn on the one presenting it.

The call of a prophet is this: To hold out vulnerably exposed the precious heart God has given you, repeatedly hoping someone picks it up and celebrating when they do with great joy. Yet experiencing more often than not the deep rejection of the things found in the heart, and in turn then the rejection of the messenger.

And yet for me, to not fully expose my heart with what God has put there is to kill myself before you get a chance to. That's a dangerous line. Because in that I destroy myself, I hinder what God wants to do in my life, and I make a poor assumption about you--that you are going to reject my heart/message, reject God, and/or reject me. What a horrible thing right? Isn't that the very thing I fear? So in protecting myself, I do the very thing to you that I don't want you to do to me. That's horrible. And yet let's get real. Isn't that the by-product of fear in all of us?

You want to know why I don't like being a prophet? Because more than anything it makes me get real with the condition of my own heart. And my heart, while full of beauty, has a bunch of ugly shit that needs to get worked out. But you know what I love about shit? It's the best fertilizer for growth. But when dealing with it... it's still shit. It still smells. It's still disgusting. It still has the potential to spread disease and health issues. And yet I enter my shit and expose it with the hopes that it really will turn out to be fertilizer and will grow a crop of beauty.

Why "The Shitty Prophet"

One of the obscure dreams I've held in my heart for a long time is to publish a book entitled "The Shitty Prophets", which would be a book comprised of stories of encountering God in the most unthought of and unimaginable places in the most not what you would expect ways.

Today when I woke up I thought "What am I waiting for? Permission to entitle something 'shitty'? Permission to fully be me and express my worldview and thoughts? Someone to tell me it's ok to be who I am and say what I think, how I think it and see it?" Because this is my life. My life is a series of God showing up in all of the places that religion says he won't go in ways it says he won't operate. It's the story of God speaking to me and calling me when I was drunk and high on cocaine and pot. It's him using a summer of binge drinking to heal my soul. It's God's pursuing love encompassing me in the places that if I was God I wouldn't go.

Essentially, the premise for this blog is that I am the worst person God could call to be his ambassador. Seriously. I just don't fit the stereotypical mold. And yet I'm called. And while I grumble and bitch and moan about it from time to time, and while I don't walk it perfectly, I have indeed accepted the call to follow God anyplace. And I've given God my entire heart.

So this blog will be my stories. Some crazy ones. Some raw, intimate, real ones. Some theological ramblings and musings. And the space in between. Whoever you are reading this, if you decided to come along for the ride, I hope you enjoy it. But moreso, I hope you encounter God through it.