We are worthy

When I was younger, I got this idea in my head that I didn't have anything important to say. And the way that this thought manifested was that I wouldn't talk much; in class, with my friends, in public. And when I did talk, I made sure to speak very quickly so as not to waste people's time. It was weird; I clearly remember my 6-year old self going through this thought process. I still don't talk a lot, at work or in social gatherings. Sometimes, if I spend a bit of time talking with a friend, I will say, "Thank you for the talking time. I really appreciate it." I finally had one friend say, "You don't have to thank me! We're friends; friends talk. It's not this great burden to spend time with you." What a concept!

Looking over some of my journals, even current ones, I see that I mostly write about the interactions I had that day, and how they made me feel worthy. What people said to me that day, what they did that touched my heart... Why do I write about these things, instead of world events, or my struggles or successes, or thoughts about life? Time and time again, I see that all I've really written are the wonderful but daily, routine examples of people loving me. It's like I'm somehow still trying to convince myself that I am worthy. When really, I don't need any evidence; I am worthy because God made me, and why would He waste time on making something or someone that wasn't extraordinary?

Recently, in the past couple of months, I've had some challenges and difficulties that I can very easily attribute to this fallacious thinking of personal unworthiness. I can recall times in my life where I felt incredibly unworthy. Like I didn't matter, like I wasn't worth spending time with, and that I was really just garbage and had been cast off to the side. Where these thoughts came from doesn't really matter, but what matters is how I approach them now and try to change them into what is true, and grasp my own innate worthiness. Because not only does the harmful thinking affect me, it affects the people around me, the people I have relationships with. And if I enter into a friendship or partnership with the thinking that I am always unworthy, and spend the entire friendship trying to prove my worthiness, or conversely, looking for ways that people seem to also be saying, "You're unworthy" and thus prove the conclusion I've already come to, then that's a waste. A waste of time, energy, and irreplaceable moments that could be spent embracing our own worthiness and the worthiness of the person we are with. A waste of the gift of the relationship that has been given to me.

All of us are extraordinary, and incredibly worthy. Worthy of love, worthy of time, worthy of each other, and worthy of God's love. No matter what; no matter what we've done, what we've been through, or how we feel about ourselves.

A few years ago, my friend and Christian Science lecturer Marta Greenwood gave a great analogy to demonstrate our worth. She started by taking a $20 bill out of her pocket, and asking who in the audience would like it. Many people raised their hands. Then she rolled it into a ball, threw it on the ground, stomped on it, smashed it below her feet. She picked it up again and told people how dirty it was now. Did anyone still want it? Of course! The worth of the bill hadn't changed; it was still worth just as much as it was before she stomped on it, before it became messy. And Marta explained how our worth was like that. No matter what we had been through, or how the world affected us, we were still just as worthy, being children of God.

Brene Brown, an amazing researcher and speaker, gives a great TED talk where she addresses our worth. She talks about vulnerability, and how a feeling of worthiness as being the tipping point for feeling loved and a sense of belonging. And the inverse is also true: how, if we don't feel worthwhile, we often struggle with feeling loved or like we belong. (Also, I just found out if you type "worthiness" into Google, she is the 4th result to turn up.)

How can we feel worthy when all we can see are our mistakes? Can we get passed what the world may want to say to us, and realize that we are indeed God's amazing creations? No matter what we were told as children, or what people tell us as we grow up, it is our responsibility as adults to reject anything in our thoughts or actions that contradicts that we are God's masterpieces. I need to reject the idea that I am unworthy, and unlovable and unloved. During the past couple months, I heard "Landslide," by Fleetwood Mac a few times, and one of the lines really spoke to me: "Can the child within my heart rise above?" What great self-talk. No matter what the band meant by the lyrics, to me it was a directive to cast off any thought or outdated view that was untrue and did not respect myself as God's. Because I am His. And I can rise above any of the garbage that was told to me, because it's not true.

This all reminds me of the parable of the wineskins in the bible. Casting off the old for the new. Having a newer, better way of thinking about our reality, our identity, our relationship with God. How the old wineskins (our old way of thinking) couldn't hold the new wine (the new truth, the new grace). "Neither do people pour new wine into old wineskins. If they do, the skins will burst; the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved" (Matthew 9:17). When faced with the foolishness of something we have always believed to be true (in this case, my unworthiness), it requires a new way of thinking, a new way of doing things. I talked about this more in a previous blog post called "Fixing the Pecan Pie."

And no matter how hard it may be to radically change our way of thinking, as we all know that the prime age for learning long-lasting beliefs is in our childhood, we can succeed. As e.e. cummings said, "It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." But if we have anything, it's courage. And God. That's all we need.

The good moments

Sometimes the good things in life get so covered up by our present circumstances, or by arguments we have with people, or by a loss we experience. While we don't want to spend our time thinking of the past, sometimes reflecting on a good moment or a shared experience with a loved one can bring a lot of comfort when we need it.

I have been thinking lately of a friendship I have with one of my closest friends. Even though she passed away about a year ago, our friendship is still there; I still feel her presence, I talk to her sometimes, and she will always be such a big part of my life.

Before she passed away, we talked on the phone and had a bit of a miscommunication. It wasn't an argument, or even a disagreement, just a stupid and strange miscommunication. However, since it was the last time we ever talked, it became bigger and more ridiculous in my mind than it probably was in reality. Sometimes it really bothers me that we didn't have a chance to clear things up before she passed, as I know that if we had talked after that phone call, we would have laughed about our own silliness and patched things up.

Our entire friendship was based on love and admiration and tenderness for one another. Affection, compassion, shared interests, very similar backgrounds. There was such richness and fullness of the friendship, such intensity, that when she passed it was like I hit a brick wall. It felt like such a sudden stop to something, someone, that was so lovely in my life. And even though I believe that life goes on and that we don't just stop when we pass away, it still felt like a very abrupt end to one of the best friendships I have ever experienced.

However, what was amazing to me was the love that I felt even after she had passed away. There were so many loving moments in the few weeks after, so many times where I thought of her and felt peace and contentment, times where I felt her presence and felt she was giving me a great big hug. It was like her intense way of loving hadn't stopped; and why should it? If life is eternal and love is this big powerful force that cannot be destroyed or stopped, why wouldn't I feel love from her even after she passed away? It was a hard time in my life but somehow still so full of this overpowering love.

When I want to feel her presence even more, I recall our greatest day together. We didn't see each other very often, but we had this one wonderful day, October 21st, our best day together, and it remains so clear in my mind. I flew in to the East Coast from Seattle and met her in the morning at a hotel. We hugged and chatted and laughed and shared parts of our lives, we went shopping, we talked with people, we joked with each other, teased each other almost relentlessly, sang songs at a church service, played games, traded gifts, had dinner together, talked about our future both in terms of our individual lives and things that we would do together... It was one of the best days of my life. And that was the essence of our friendship, all of those good moments and conversations and love and tenderness. It wasn't about the 10-second miscommunication we had when we were both feeling grumpy, a time when neither of us were our best in that moment.

Even though I felt so much love surrounding my friend, it took a few months to not be bothered by our last conversation. It was hard to let it go, to release the guilt I was reliving over and over. But when I think of the friendship now, I feel all of the love that is still there, that somehow, amazingly, seems to still be constantly renewing itself. I think about the laughter we had, the way we got such mutual delight out of teasing each other. That is the important stuff, the stuff I can keep in my thought and recall whenever I want to feel her presence. At the very core of our interactions, that was the true essence of our friendship, the only thing that really mattered in our connection to one another.

Loneliness

About 3 years ago I was traveling overseas, visiting some European countries. I love travelling, exploring new countries and cultures, eating new food and hearing new languages. But usually when I travel, whether I am traveling alone or with someone, I spend long periods of time by myself. I write, I take pictures, I think about things... I love this alone time, but because I'm away from home and from everything familiar in my life, I can feel pretty lonely sometimes.

This particular trip was no exception. I even felt so lonely one day that I contacted a Christian Science practitioner in the country I was traveling through, to see if they could pray with me. Unfortunately, they were unavailable as they were in the U.S., doing a series of lectures. Instead of contacting another practitioner to see if they were available, I decided to visit the nearby Christian Science branch church that next Sunday, and to continue praying on my own.

That Sunday, I slept through my alarm and woke up about 45 minutes before the church service was to start. I quickly got dressed and the friend I was staying with walked me over to the church. Neither of us was certain where it was, but somehow we found it. I went inside and my friend walked back home, after making sure I would know how to get back to her place.

I walked in and was immediately greeted with a smile from the usher at the door. He didn't recognize me as a member of that church, and so he asked me where I was from, and how I liked my trip so far. I felt so cared about, just from these simple questions. I then walked into the sanctuary and found a place to sit, but not before a handful of other people all smiled at me and made me feel incredibly welcome.

That week, the bible lesson was, "God the only cause and creator." I remember thinking that each of the bible verses and citations from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, by Mary Baker Eddy, was written specifically for me. Each citation resonated with me, and seemed applicable to what I was dealing with at the time, a deep sense of loneliness. Up until that time, I had felt that much of my sense of worth came from other people; what they thought of me, if they loved me or thought I was lovable. I knew on an intellectual level that God's opinion was the only one that mattered, and I knew He loved me, but I was still struggling with this idea on an emotional level. When I heard, "Without him was not any thing made that was made" (John 1:3), I was reminded that God was the creator of everyone and everything. And when I heard, "There is but one primal cause" (S&H, 207:20), that reminded me that He alone was responsible for all the good in my life. As the bible lesson continued, I was struck by how relevant it was to what I was working on.

After a couple minutes of listening to the lesson, and feeling such love and care from the people, essentially the strangers, around me in the church, I felt this incredible feeling of warmth and wholeness enveloping my entire being. It felt tangible, this feeling of being a complete and loved creation of God, and having everything I needed right there. I no longer felt lonely, or broken, or like I was lacking anything or anyone. It was amazing.

I continued with the rest of my trip, and didn't feel the sense of loneliness that I had been feeling up until that wonderful church service.

The transforming of ingratitude

I was feeling down the past couple of days. I have been having some pain in my back for quite some time (over 2 years now), and have been unable to find the cause or the solution. I have prayed, I have talked with professionals, I have had CT scans, and nothing has relieved the pain, or even shed light on the situation. But finally, a couple of days ago, I went to see a specialist, and he saw what it was that has been causing me so much pain. He offered a couple of solutions, both pretty intense, but said that it could most likely be remedied with one of those options.

After I left his office, I could feel a sadness washing over me. Instead of feeling grateful that after 2+ years, I finally had some idea of what was wrong and what I could do to fix it, I was feeling bitter about the "diagnosis." I felt the methods of getting to the place of healing were too intense, especially when it was only "most likely" going to be a healing, not a 100% guarantee. I had been hoping that it was going to be a quick fix, just simply popping my spine back into place or something of that sort. I was feeling resentful that the physical therapist indicated that a car accident I had 5 years ago was the most likely cause of this pain, and that it had taken a couple of years for the symptoms to catch up to me. I was feeling angry that something as brief and as unlucky as an accident could cause years of pain, especially when the accident wasn't even my fault. And even though I wasn't at fault, I was still the one who was going to have to either suffer with the aftermath of it or go through intense rehabilitation to get better. It felt incredibly unfair.

The interesting thing is, right after I had the car accident (like, a second after my car stopped spinning across I-5), my first feeling was one of extreme gratitude. I was so grateful to be alive, as while my car was careening through 4 lanes of rush-hour traffic, I had thought that that was it. My life flashed before my eyes, I was terrified, and then a few seconds later, I realized I was still alive by the grace of God. And I was SO GRATEFUL. I remember stepping out of my car and pinching myself, checking to see if I was in a dream or if I was in fact still alive. Even though my back and neck muscles were a little sore, I felt like jumping for joy. I wrote about this miraculous experience here.

But in the past couple of days, that gratitude seemed to disappear. Instead of feeling grateful for life and for experiencing all that I have experienced in the past 5 years because I have been alive, I felt hopeless and sad. Where did all the gratitude go for the gift of life that I realized was indeed a gift on the day of the accident all those years ago?

Today, as I was resenting the car accident, I realized that life is complex. Life is short, but also, it is infinite. This material picture is not all there is to life; it doesn't end here when our physical bodies are no more. And on my best days when I am striving to be my highest self, I know that each day is a gift, and each day after the car accident is a day that, for that split second, I didn't think I was ever going to see. It made me view the conversation with the physical therapist a bit differently, and thus it made me feel so much gratitude for life and for all that I have experienced. Instead of feeling ingratitude for what I have to deal with now in the accident aftermath, I suddenly felt grateful for the gift of the past 5 years, and gratitude for all that I have yet to experience because I am alive.

A similar but completely different experience happened a few weeks ago with a friend of mine. The prominent feeling in this friendship, the feeling I have most when I think about this person, is gratitude. I am so grateful they are in my life and so grateful that God felt it fit to cross our paths. But for a few months earlier this year, I started to feel some ingratitude towards this person. Because I could feel this ingratitude seeping in, I decided to start writing a gratitude list, reasons I was grateful for this person. And once I started writing the list, I realized that I had developed an expectation in the friendship a few months prior, and that was skewing the normal gratitude gauge. Once I figured out the ingratitude was coming from the expectation, I eradicated the expectation and all was back to normal. Well, actually, I now feel even more grateful for this person than I ever have, but I think that is because gratitude begets gratitude. And once you start expressing gratitude, there is more in life to be grateful for. It's a wonderful cycle.

The gratitude I feel for this friend has some similarities to the gratitude I feel at being alive. Because I am so grateful for this person in my life, because I have had the opportunity to hang out with this person and talk with them and love them and enjoy their company, feeling any sense of ingratitude doesn't even make any sense. The gratitude of just having this person in my life renders all other expectations or feelings of ingratitude irrelevant. Ridiculous, even.

In both scenarios, I have been given a gift, and in these 2 situations, I momentarily forgot the blessings they offered. And I am so grateful that both times, God pointed me in the direction of what the true essence of each situation was: the love, the gift, the elements of every situation that I am so grateful for, to the exclusion of every other feeling.

Gratitude is a game-changer. Completely turns around the way I look at my circumstances, and replaces resentment or expectations or ingratitude with the sense that I feel so complete, so blessed, and that my cup runneth over.

A Disarming Love



When we are faced with conflict, we have many different ways in which we can respond. With anger, frustration, sadness, compassion, aggression, love, tenderness, or any number of other responses. Lately I have been thinking about how we sometimes respond to conflict with love, and what a difference that can make.

A recent example of what can happen when someone responds with love comes from Georgia, where a bookkeeper thwarted a possible mass school shooting. Antoinette Tuff, the school employee, was inside the school building when the shooter walked in. They had a 10-minute conversation where she helped calm him down, discussed his options, and empathetically opened up to him about her own struggles in life. During that conversation, she was also able to communication with the 911 dispatcher and keep the policemen outside so that she could deescalate the situation. She spoke to him with compassion ("We all go through something in life. You're gonna be okay.") and also with love. "I just explained to him that I loved him. I didn't know his name, but I loved him." You can watch the video here.

Thinking of responding with love, I recently read an article in Scientific American Mind about our negative self-talk. How should we respond to that negative voice? The author, Eleanor Longden, suggested that we treat negative self-talk compassionately, because it usually comes from a place of trauma or of deep pain. She experienced negative self-talk and even heard voices, and instead of responding with more negativity, she explored where it was coming from and responded with love until she didn't experience that kind of self-talk anymore. If I tell myself, "I'm stupid" or "I'm not worthy enough," that may come from a past experience that convinced me of those harmful ideas about myself. Instead of ignoring it or experiencing inner conflict, I can say, "I am worthy, I am loved, but there is a part of me that must still doubt it. Let me explore that so I can heal it from within, with compassion and love." Even the negative self-talk, which I reactively respond to with animosity and aggression, can be treated with love and turned around.

In my own life, there have been a few times where I was having a conflict with a friend and they responded with love, and it completely diffused the situation. In one instance about 6 years ago, a friend and I were talking on the phone, and I was incredibly upset about something. I was emotional, I wasn't thinking rationally, and being in the conversation was like watching a train wreck. But the entire time, my friend was calm and was just listening to what I had to say. And then she gently said:

"Katie, I need to tell you something."
"Okay... what?"
"I love you."

Suddenly the train stopped in its tracks. I took a deep breath and felt so loved in that moment that I didn't have anything else to say. At a time in that friendship where I was being pretty unlovable, definitely not being my highest self, she showed me that I was actually still lovable and that she loved me. We all make mistakes, we all say things we shouldn't say at some point in our lives, and her loving response brought me out of the grave I was digging for myself and up to a place of love and compassion. It was an amazing experience. The other experience I had was a different scenario but similar in the amount of stress present in the conversation, where I came out to my best friend when I was 20 years old. I thought that she was going to end our friendship, or that she was going to be upset or feel uncomfortable around me. I was terrified to tell her. And when I did, her response was simply, "You're my best friend. That's it." Not the response I had expected, but the best one possible, and a reaffirmation that the love was still present and that all was well.

In turn, when I respond in love to someone who is angry or panicked, it tends to soothe the situation. It turns what was seemingly going downhill into a much better outcome. Incorporating love and compassion and tenderness into difficult situations seems to make a huge difference. Even when caring for myself, if I treat myself with tenderness and love, I respond so much better. Instead of becoming angry with myself, I feel loved, I feel confident, and I feel worthy. I don't need to get these messages from anyone else because they are self-generated. And when I treat myself with love and care, I am more productive, happy, and hopeful, because I am not working against myself as often happens with negative self-talk.

Love is transformative. It can turn seemingly dire circumstances around, it can heal conflicts in relationships, and it can diffuse and soothe tense situations. When there is a conflict, it is amazing to see what happens when love is interjected into the situation.

Grief is love unexpressed

Grief is love unexpressed. This is my current view of grief: the seeming inability to express love to someone who has passed, or to feel love expressed from them.

For some reason, the past week I have really been thinking about my friend who passed on. Here I am, almost 8 months later, and some days I feel as if I've made absolutely no progress on this grief. Sometimes I have these deep insights, or moments of peace, or a sense of a loving presence... And then some days I feel as if the grief tidal wave knocks me down again, just as strongly as the first time. It is a strange feeling, to be walking along one day or doing housework or coming home from church, and then suddenly feeling a need to sit down before the wave hits me, my body being thrown completely askew by some memory or strong sense of loss.

I have felt so many things in the past 8 months, so many different types of grief, and this current one seems related to the loss of opportunities for love to be expressed. This relationship was so rich, so deep, and there was so much love present. When someone passes on, there is still so much love present, but no longer an obvious outlet for that love. All this love builds up more and more, and without an outlet, without a way to show my friend all this love, I become overwhelmed by all these built-up feelings. This is the best way I know how to describe it.

I miss all the little ways we interacted, the ways I demonstrated my love for her. When I feel the tidal wave of grief, it is when I feel this regret of not being able to hug her again, or send her an email or call her or tease her or cook for her or... All the ways I know how to express love, that are now unfulfilled and just being tossed around in my brain as lost possibilities.

As much as I miss being loving towards her, I also, selfishly, miss the feeling I got when she was loving towards me. Her boisterous, vibrant, accented voice coming through my phone, telling me I was strong and capable, like a lion! I want to experience more of the intensity of her personality and how it spilled into everything she did, from her emails to her physical presence to the sometimes outlandish things she said, always with love and compassion. Or the way she cared and thought about me, the maternal way she always made sure I was eating enough, the way she asked if I had met anyone "meaningful" in dating. "And you know to only date someone who honors you, who treats you with respect, right? You know that?" Making sure I got enough sleep, "Okay, it's late! Go get some sleep. Sweet dreams", asked if I was feeling well, had enough fun in my life. "Go on some adventures. Live your life. Have fun." I miss how special and important she made me feel. And of course, I miss the loving phrases.

My friend used terms of endearment to address me, and they were mostly terms in her native language. The past week I've been revisiting those phrases, and even though I've done so several times before, I've been asking a native speaker what the phrases mean. I keep thinking that somehow, by hearing the translation again, there will be some nuance I missed. Some meaning that was previously unknown to me that will suddenly make the grief more bearable. But it's the same translation I've heard before, loving and personal, but offering no key to the grief.

Me: Can you tell me what it means again?
Her: It means my sweetheart, my daughter, my little cutie.
Me: So... you say it to someone you love, right?
Her: Yes! But you already know that; you don't need a phrase to tell you she loved you.

Nonetheless, I ridiculously cling to these phrases, feeling that they are all I have left. I seem to forget that love can be felt on another level, and does not rely on the 5 senses, because love is more than what we can just feel or see or hear.

Grief is such a heart-wrenching emotion or stage of experience, but there is so much beauty in there somewhere, the longing for what was such a gift in our life, the love that had yet to be expressed, the desire to feel that special way that person made you feel, the wish to tell them even if it's for the millionth time, "I love you soooo much. Thank you for being in my life." So much love to give, and when someone passes on, we are left holding all of this love and it seems as though the relationship was cut short, because how could there be all this left-over love?

Today, after a week of feeling a bit heavy with grief, I had an insight: Is the love really unexpressed? Love can never die, nothing good can ever be lost, and even if I can't see my friend, she still knows I love her. I can't hear her voice, but I still know she loves me too. Even though her physical body is no longer living, she is not gone. All the love I have for her and feel towards her isn't wasted. And if nothing good ever can be lost, how could she not feel this love still, even now? In the past few months, I have felt so much love from her, beyond what the 5 senses can tell me. Also, it is not like she is suddenly gone from my life and I have to stop loving her. She is just as present as before, as strange as that sounds, because the friendship transcends the surface ways that we were previously connected.

I still have such a long way to go in dealing with this grief, but I feel that little by little I am making some progress. Realizing, even at the beginning stages, that the love is being expressed even now, seems like a little step forward.

I've posted this poem before, but it fits with this blog so well that I'm posting it again.


Thinking today
About love
And intensity and strength;
And wondering what we all need.

It comes from within
And comes from above
But still, still...
Everyone needs someone in their life
Who says, "I adore you."
"You're the best."
"You make me laugh."
"I love you." 

 Otherwise, God would have made
7 billion little islands
Instead of 7 continents.

The Coin in the Fish's Mouth

In the past year or so, I've been trying to find solutions to some challenges in my life. It seems everywhere I turn, I come up against another roadblock. Last week, I hit the wall and was very frustrated with a couple of long-standing issues. While talking with a friend about what was going on, she reminded me of the story of Jesus and the coin in the fish's mouth.

When Jesus and his disciples came to Capernaum, the tax collectors came to Peter and asked him to pay the taxes. Jesus said to Peter, "Go to the lake and throw out your line. Take the first fish you catch; open its mouth and you will find a 4-drachma coin. Take it and give it to them for my tax and yours" (Matthew 17:27).

My friend supposed that Jesus wanted his disciples to look for answers in unexpected places. To keep an open mind to what good, what possibilities, may be present. To not lose hope even when things seem dark or scary or without a way out. This story of Jesus, and this explanation, brought me so much inspiration and hope.

I thought of other times in my life when an answer came in an unexpected way. One example is that there have been a couple times in my life where people have given me a used but well-running car when I needed transportation. What a gift, to find yourself without a dependable car, and to have someone suddenly say, "Oh, I have an extra car. You can have it." Another example was when I needed some help with something, and the help was donated by a group of people, the majority of whom I didn't even know. It was very unexpected, but so needed and so full of love. That night, after talking with my friend, I immediately thought of many examples of unexpected solutions that had blessed my life, things that seemed unimaginable but nonetheless came into my experience. People who came into my life and helped me and blessed me more than I can say. Healing experiences, moments where I felt God's presence, seemingly impossible situations where the answers were finally uncovered. Such gifts that were there right when I needed them. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning" (James 1:17).

Sometimes when I am so focused on finding the answers to problems, I tend to look at the problems instead of to the solutions. I focus so much on what is before me, the challenge or the pain or the conflict. What I want to do, what would probably be more beneficial, is to keep an open mind about every possible solution that might be out there, and also know that many times, the solution that will come will be something I hadn't even thought of. Maybe Jesus is just encouraging us to think outside the box, and to keep praying, because we never know how the answer will come.

There are still a couple of issues I am facing which I don't know the answers to. And everyone has some challenges, maybe even some incredibly overwhelming problems, that they are dealing with, things that do not seem to have answers. And I think it is common to begin to lose hope after we struggle and fight, and search for solutions, and still the problem doesn't seem to be yielding. But after being reminded of the story of the coin in the fish's mouth, I suddenly felt so much hope again. For myself, for my friends and family, for people in my community who are all searching for answers. God has so much good, so much love, and infinite ways to express it and pour all that good into our lives.

The Little Things

When I graduated from college and my best friend and I had to reluctantly live in 2 different cities, I found that my main concern was that I would miss the little things about our friendship. How, every Tuesday and Thursday, we would go for a walk after school. How we would leave little notes for each other to find, or uncannily be able to track each other down on campus even before either of us had a cell phone. And if I needed anything, how I could just leave my front door, walk 20 steps to the right, and knock on her front door. The day-to-day stuff that was small but enriched the friendship with details that were dear and meaningful to me.

I didn't worry about the big stuff. I knew we were important in each other's lives, and that she was like a sister to me. That she would do anything for me. Those were the big themes, the foundation, the structure and sturdiness, of the friendship. No matter where we ended up in the world, I knew those were unshakable. Why worry about something set in stone? But I knew the little things would disappear once we both moved away. My friend tried to tell me that the little things didn't matter in the overall picture; I somewhat agreed with her, and I still do. But I sort of loved the little things.

I find the same struggle when dealing with grief. Thinking of a friend who passed away a few months ago, I find I am missing the same little minutia of the friendship. The random voicemail or text message that made me laugh and brightened my day, the little jokes we had, the ways we touched each other's hearts and cracked each other up by a small gesture or comment. The phrases we repeated to each other because they were meaningful to the friendship; stupid, ridiculous little things that would mean nothing to anyone else, and yet somehow I attached so much meaning to them. Again, I don't seem too bothered by the big things, as those are solid. I know she loved me, I know she isn't really gone, and I know I will see her again. But what I wouldn't do for 1 more teeny tiny voicemail, one more message that was full of the vibrancy and intensity that was her; as if that encompassed the friendship in any way.

On the other hand, the little things have saved me time and time again. On particularly rough days, when it seems all I can do to just simply work my way through 405 traffic and stumble into my house, I remember all of the little blessings in my life. A kind word from my boss that day, a funny email from a friend, a kiss from my puppy Vinnie. Again, these do not encompass the relationships, but they are the small kindnesses and gifts that actually seem so big at the right moment. Last year, during some rougher times, I didn't seem to be able to see the big gifts in my life, but for some reason I was able to see the smaller ones. After a horrible day, I would sit down and think about what redeeming qualities that day had. A coworker complimented me on a report I had written. Someone sent me a card in the mail. A friend invited me over for ice cream. And I would think, "Okay, this day was okay," and that would allow me to have energy and hope for the next day. I am grateful to be able to see the big gifts now, but appreciate that at that point in my life, at least I was able to see the smaller things. Which, actually, were pretty huge for me. 

There is a part of me that wants to get to a point where I see the big picture, and not get bogged down in the details. And then the other part of me sees so much beauty and love and life in the details. All the little things that I would otherwise take for granted, would not notice, would brush off as being unimportant. I do have a tendency to let the details consume me sometimes, but there has to be a balance between the two. Seeing the big and the little and finding the gifts in each.

For now, I'm so grateful for all of the ways that love is expressed, in the monumental and the minuscule. There is so much love, and so many different ways to see it and experience it.

Forgiveness

If I could change two things about myself (and somehow, these two things are closely related), I would want to be more forgiving of myself, and to be more forgiving of others.

Those of you who know me, who spend a lot of time with me, know that I am constantly apologizing about mistakes that I make, or mistakes that I perceive I make. And often, I apologize more than once about the same thing. It's like I feel guilty about something, something I can't quite figure out, and so am spending my whole life apologizing about every little thing I do. But no matter how much I apologize, I still feel guilty. A part of my heart, maybe my soul, always carries a tinge of guilt. Have you heard the term "apologizing for existing"? Often this term is used to describe people who apologize for everything, almost up to apologizing for breathing. Sometimes I think this is me. In any case, I wish that I would quickly figure out what I need to forgive myself for, and do it already, so I can stop apologizing all the time.

I also want to work on forgiving other people. It seems that the closer a connection I have with the person, the harder it is to forgive them. Maybe because the closer they are to me, the more vulnerable I allow myself to be around them. Any perceived offenses, then, are emotionally deeper than anything that could occur with an acquaintance or a stranger.

I recently went to a lecture on forgiveness. The speaker was Dr. Fred Luskin, a Stanford professor and well-spoken, brilliant man (also author of Forgive for Good, among other books). One thing in particular that he said that stood out to me was, "Jesus was less ruffled by being crucified than we are having to wait 5 minutes in the grocery store." What a shocking, but true, analysis. Even in the last hours of Jesus' life, he said, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34). In comparison, how often do we get bent out of shape if someone takes a little bit longer getting exact change for the checker at Safeway, or cuts us off in traffic? These minor slights, not even personal attacks against us, can often leave us fuming.

A friend recently reminded me of Jesus' words to Peter, to forgive his brother not just 7 times, but 70x7 (Matthew 18:22). My friend hypothesized that maybe it was because someone may offend us once, but we play it over and over in our minds, reliving the offense 70 times, essentially eternity. And what does that do for us? Sometimes I think it is because we are searching for something; a reason behind the offense, some explanation we must have missed. Or maybe we become filled with such righteous indignation and it makes us feel better about ourselves to replay the event, affirming our position as the "wronged" or the "victim." I am not sure, but I do feel that each time I replay an offense, I suffer just like when it first happened.

Dr. Luskin had a different take on 70x7. He said that the act of forgiving someone benefited us; that Jesus asked Peter to forgive his brother 70x7 times because that would be good not only for the offending person but also for Peter, for his character and his soul. The repetitive forgiving would give Peter ample practice, and each time he forgave someone, he would get better at it and it would come more easily the next time. Practice makes perfect, right?

Jesus told his disciples, "If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also" (Matthew 5:39). During a discussion at Luskin's lecture, one of my table mates shared something he had read. It wasn't that Jesus was advising his disciples to let people walk all over them and abuse them, but he was telling them that if someone wanted to hit them a 2nd time, make them think about what they are doing. So many times when people become angry, they lash out verbally or physically, often without even thinking about it. If someone hits you suddenly, and you turn your other cheek towards them, they now have to think about it before hitting you again. What was at first a spontaneous, maybe uncontrolled action, now must become something thought-out. This is especially true if we consider that the left hand was usually used to strike (on the "right cheek") and for a second strike, the offender would have to use their non-dominant hand, making it a little more difficult for them and requiring them to be more conscious about it, and also taking more time to figure out how to strike with their right hand. This argues that Jesus was not advising his disciples to allow others to take advantage of them, but to make it more difficult for the offender to strike again, and maybe eliminating that second action.

As Luskin was preparing a research project at Stanford on Forgiveness, the way to get participants was to make it all about their health. How forgiving people will increase their longevity, lessen their stress levels, improve their complexion, help them lose weight... He thought it was so interesting that people were more concerned about their body than their soul. Maybe, even if we feel we are healthy and don't suffer from any health conditions, maybe we could still improve our capacity to forgive as a way to benefit our soul. Also, Luskin made a point that at times we get so caught up in being right, that being right is more important to us than grieving. For example, if we feel we have lost something (a friendship, a marriage, a possession, an investment, our image), we focus on the fact that we are right and they are wrong, instead of just working through the grief of our loss. If we allowed ourselves to grieve and heal, we wouldn't worry so much about who was right or wrong.

Another person at the lecture brought up the point that we have all done things we wish we hadn't. And we get angry sometimes at other people. But Jesus was clear about what to do: Love God, and love each other. No matter what other people do, we are still to love them. Spiritual writer Anne Lamott talks about the table of eternity in Heaven, and wonders who she will have to sit next to. With horror, she ponders, maybe George W.? She recognizes that he will be at the table as well. What if we had to sit between the 2 people we had the hardest time with? While some people immediately think, "That wouldn't be Heaven, then," I sort of get the idea that that's exactly where God would place us. Wouldn't He want us to evolve past our grudges and hurts, and forgive and love each person as another co-creation of God? God wants us to be the best, and that probably includes forgiving those around us before we can sit at the table. The idea makes me uncomfortable... It seems so much easier to just avoid the problems altogether. As Lamott says in one of her books, "Why couldn't Jesus command us to obsess over everything, to try to control and manipulate people, to stomp away to brood when people annoy us, and then eat a big bag of Hershey's Kisses in bed?" But the idea that God creates the seating chart does make me head more in the direction of forgiveness than righteous indignation.

One final thought. Can we forgive someone who doesn't acknowledge that they have offended us or hurt us in some way? What if they have passed on, or are no longer in our lives? Luskin said we can indeed forgive them, as the act of forgiveness doesn't lie with them, but within us. What do they have to do with what happens in our mind? We can choose to forgive at any moment, and in some ways, it has nothing to do with the other person. It is our experience, the unforgiveness or forgiveness in our hearts.

Specific Prayers

I don’t know if I believe in specific prayers: Asking God for something specific, something that I feel I need or desire, and thinking that it will be, likewise, answered very specifically. Well, I believe in it somewhat as I tend to pray in this manner every so often. But sometimes I don’t know if God answers specific prayers, or if He instead responds to “the earnest of the spirit” (2 Cor. 1:22) and gives us what we really need instead of what we think we need.  

I have had many instances in my life where it appears that God has answered a specific prayer. Now, I know that God answers all prayers, but the prayers I am talking about now are the ones that He answers in the way I want them to be answered: either a “Yes,” or an “Of course!” or some bit of information that I need at that moment. And I can think of 2 examples off the top of my head where I felt that God answered my prayers pretty specifically.  

 

The first example is from when I was 17 years old. I was struggling with a major dilemma: I had some information of wrong doings, and I wasn’t sure what to do with this information. If I shared the information with someone, I would negatively affect dozens of lives. If I kept the information to myself, I risked damaging my own sense of well-being, safety, security, as well as a handful of people around me. It was a struggle; each day I woke up with 1 thought in my brain: What should I do? And the problem with situations like that is you can’t ask anyone what the best solution is. First of all, they wouldn’t really know as they are not in the situation, and second, once they know the information, the cat has already been let out of the bag, so to speak. The choice of speaking or not speaking is no longer relevant at that point.

I was stuck, and I was miserable. I wasn't sleeping properly, I couldn’t concentrate on my homework, or on anything. I even remember how I felt at Senior Prom. While I had a good time and am glad I went, that was really the only thing on my mind. I was, and still am, horrendous at compartmentalizing.

Then one day I just said, “God, help me. What should I do?” I closed my eyes and was quiet. And then, about 10 seconds later, the answer came. It was so clear, and it came in the form of an image; no words, no judgment, just an image that portrayed, “You have to tell someone. And this is the person you are going to tell.” I was so certain that it was the right thing to do. I asked the person in the image, an adult mentor of mine (remember, I was still a kid at this time) if we could talk. I shared the information, no lives were ruined, and it was immensely helpful and undoubtedly life-changing for me. Looking back on that time, and how quickly the answer came, I am sorry I didn’t ask God sooner. I was religious, I went to church, I prayed every day… But for some reason, I didn’t pray about this specifically. I was so focused on figuring out the answer by myself, using my own brainpower, that it didn’t even cross my mind to ask God for a specific answer.

When I was 13 years old and in youth group in, I got a bible for attending 3 weeks in a row. Every teen got a bible for fulfilling this easy attendance requirement. It was a great incentive. And in each bible, 1 or 2 verses, specific to the recipient, were outlined. My verses were, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened” (Matthew 7:7-8). I seem to forget about this passage when I’m struggling for an answer, but it’s an important one to keep close.

The second example came a few days ago. I wanted $123 to buy something for a friend. Technically, I had that much money in my bank account, but I knew that using it for this particular thing was maybe not the best choice right now. So I simply said, “God, I want $123. I don’t need it at all, but I’m just going to put it out there and see what You do.” And then nothing happened. About 3 or 4 times that week, I thought about this money; and just said, “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. So, again, it’s $123.” Reminding God of the amount, as if He could ever forget anything. And then I waited some more.

And then a week later, 2 wonderful things happened. I got an increase in hours at my part-time job (I know, probably not exactly the best for me, but it’s only a slight increase in hours), and I also had a change in my financial situation that is going to save me thousands of dollars in the future. Not a monetary gift, but something that will eventually save me quite a bit of money nonetheless.

In the second example, the specificity of the answer is a bit different; I think it's specific because it came relatively soon (1 or 2 weeks after I prayed), but it's also unspecific as it's not like I opened my door and found an envelope with exactly $123 inside. But, as a friend pointed out, the $123 was a limited view of the abundance that is there, that is everything I ever need and want, and more. Why stop at $123? Why limit God to $123?  

I know almost nothing about prayer. I sometimes get answers right away, and other times I have to wait a bit. I’m still waiting on answers to some questions. But I do know that when I pray, when I talk with God, I have peace in my heart. And sometimes it feels like He’s talking to me, or answering me, in a language I can understand. When this happens, it’s an amazing feeling, and I’m so grateful.

A Selfish Grief

So 4 months after I experienced a pretty big loss in my life (a dear friend passing away), I had some major breakthroughs in my grief. In the past couple weeks, I felt like I finally made some progress on dealing with these feelings. 

Recently I realized that there were 2 factors that were making this loss so hard for me:
1) I felt some regret and guilt about the last couple of interactions I had with this person.
2) The reasons I was feeling so much grief seemed very selfish to me. I'll explain below.

The regret factor was easy to figure out: I wished I had handled things differently the last time I talked with this person. Also, there was a time when I should have called, was urged by the circumstances and by my own intuition to call, and I didn't, and that turned out to be a mistake. What I've noticed with loss is that when there is guilt involved, I tend to grieve more... Not only do I miss the person, but I have all this other stuff to deal with as well. The grief becomes sorrow and shame at my own shortcomings and the ways I perceive that I failed the relationship, instead of just remaining as grief with missing the person and having their physical presence in my life.

But really, what use does regret have in our lives? It may prompt us to do things differently in the future, to take opportunities when they come and follow our intuition, but it doesn't change past situations. Regret coupled with someone passing away is, in that way, a pretty cruel emotion. It's like twisting the knife in an already horrible situation, when we are already feeling so much sadness.

The selfish side of the grief? Well, I miss my friend. But at this point, I am not overly concerned for her well-being. What I mean is, I know that she is doing just fine and that she has moved on to the next stage of her existence. I know without a doubt that she is close to God, as she has always been, and that she is surrounded by love and grace. I know that while her physical body has died, her existence, her identity, hasn't really gone anywhere. Love never dies, and she was all about love and she still is. But I am still sad because, although I'm confident that she is doing well and continuing on in her eternal existence, I miss having her physically here. I want to touch her hands, hear her laugh, tease her, hug her. My sadness is not out of worry over how she is doing, but about our friendship and how relationships must necessarily change when one passes on.

There is another part of the grief that seems selfish to me. My dear friend thought well of me, of course, as our dear friends tend to do. She was so effusive in her compliments of me, so loving and tender in her comments, always seeing the best side of me. When she passed away, I felt part of my good was lost as well. This makes about as much sense as if some part of a person can be lost just because their mirror breaks. But because she saw so much good in me, and I was doubting how much good other people saw, it was like I lost part of my self-esteem. Another friend of mine told me that all my good was not wrapped up in her. Her passing didn't mean that I suddenly lost some of my own innate worth. I don't know if this makes sense to anyone else, but my friend's comments helped me immensely.

Another friend asked me if I ever talked with my friend even though she had passed away. I could still talk with her; she wasn't really gone so why not? And my friend asked me if I had let her know that I was going to be okay. This was a new insight for me; I didn't realize that maybe my friend, although she had passed on, might realize or be cognizant of the fact that I was having a hard time with this grief. Suddenly, I didn't want my friend to worry about me anymore (if people can even worry after they've passed). I wanted her to feel content and continue on down her path, not worry about her family or friends still here. That same afternoon, I talked with her and let her know that although I missed her, I was going to be fine. And I told her that I would see her again sometime, so all was well. I got a wonderful sense of peace after this. I'm not exactly sure why this was, but I was so grateful.

Finally, another friend recently told me that this existence, this reality, was not all about the mortal. If that was all we had, this mortal experience that was in front of us, what was the point? What was our purpose? This was very helpful as well. There is so much more than can be seen with our human views.

As strange as it may sound, realizing that my grief was selfish was sort of comforting. It almost made the sadness seem less intense. With this realization, I can now remind myself that she is doing fine, that I just miss the connections we had when she was occupying a material body. It is reassuring to remind myself that, although I am struggling with the grief sometimes, it is not a bigger issue (eternity, her love, our emotional connection) that is in question here. Those things are all intact and are part of the truth of God and the truth of our friendship.

Gay and Christian

"Everything you are, God loves you no matter what, so don’t let (the criticism) ever come in your loving and close and intimate relationship with God. Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you can’t be a Christian and be gay. You never let Him go."

 

Some of the best advice I've gotten.

For me, coming out as gay was a spiritual experience. While my friend (of the quote, above) and I were talking, I had a revelation: God loved me, no matter what. I had always heard, in church and in bible studies, that God loved us, Jesus loved us, but I wasn’t sure if He loved me. I had felt, known really, that I was gay ever since I was 5 years old, the same age where I was cognizant of a relationship with God, and started learning about Christianity and its importance in my life. Yet every church I had ever been to had told me that being gay was a sin. See a problem here?

There is still a lot of controversy regarding religion and homosexuality. There probably will be for quite some time, maybe forever. But my friend’s advice rings true; whatever we do, whoever we are, we should always include God. Most of the work has been done for us; God is already there, already included, as He is omnipresent. How could He not be somewhere, especially in a loving relationship? It is our job to embrace that and make sure He is at the forefront of our thoughts and actions.

When I was 18, a dear friend gave me a ride home from our bible study. On the way there, I tentatively voiced the idea that I didn’t think that being gay was wrong. What I was really doing was testing the waters, seeing if she would still be my friend if I “came out” to her. She gently told me that she thought that it was a sin, and that God intended men to be with women and not with other men, or women with women. We talked for a few more minutes, but I was crushed; I hadn’t told her outright that I was gay, but if she had given me a different answer, that was going to be the next thing out of my mouth. And I so desperately wanted to confide in someone.

Two years later, at age 20, I was really questioning my life. I had tried dating men, hadn’t had any luck, and it always felt so fake, like I was living a lie every time I went on a date with a guy. But I thought that was the lie that I had to live, the role I had to play. Let’s try an experiment: For a second, imagine that you are asked (by your family, your fellow church members, your society) to date/kiss/marry a person of the gender that you are not naturally drawn to. Could you do it for a minute? For a month? A year, a lifetime? This was the future that I saw ahead of me, having to fit into a box that was just so unnatural and uncomfortable for me. I saw that I could either be gay, or be Christian, but I could not be both.

Fast forward 8 more years and a few more failed dating adventures with men. I finally reached a point of desperation. I called an out-of-town friend, one of the most spiritual, kind, loving, Christian people I know, to “confess” that I was gay. I was sure she was going to hate me. I even told her, before coming out to her, that she may never want to talk with me again. I stuttered and hemmed and hawed in my attempt to tell her, not able to get the words out.

“What is it? Just tell me.”

“Well, um, I, like,--”

And by some miracle, she misinterpreted my speech filler, “like”, (“I, like, went to the park”) as a verb, as in “I like ice cream.” One of the greatest moments of miscommunication in my life, as I didn't have to say the very word that I was scared of saying.

“You like women, you don’t like men, you are gay. Is this what you are trying to tell me?”

“Well… yes.”

“Well, that’s okay. That’s perfectly lovely! No big deal. You really had me worried!” Laughter. And that was that, the big scary moment that really wasn’t scary at all.

And then she proceeded to assure me that God loved me. Something that, after my decades of bible studies and church attendance and moments of God speaking to me, I hadn’t fully grasped because of the common interpretation that being gay was wrong. As if the love of God, the most powerful truth/presence/reality of our lives, could be deterred by such a material/temporary/insignificant thing as one’s sexuality. As if a thought in our minds could make God change His mind about how He felt about us.

This conversation with my friend was a turning point for me. It is an amazing feeling when you finally realize that God loves you, that you are worthy of being called His beloved creation, as all of us are. It was one of the best days of my life.

 

One more significant example of God's love for me was when I came out on Facebook a month ago. I have never received so many loving, wonderful, kind messages in my life. There was so much love on my Facebook page, in my email inbox, people who ran up to me in parking lots after meetings and events, people telling me, "You know, you are awesome and I am proud of you," people pouring so much love into my life. And if love is from God, as we know it is, then He was so present there when I came out. I am still just amazed by the amount of love I witnessed and experienced.

We are all here trying our best, trying to do what is right. And no matter where we are on the path of our lives, God loves us because that is His nature. God is Love. I hope that now that I realize that, I will never forget it. I hope I keep that close, as my identity as a beloved child of God.

13 ideas for 2013 - and a poem

Not exactly resolutions, but ideas to incorporate into my day-to-day actions and behaviors and thoughts.


13 ideas for 2013:

1. Giving up fear.
We're not here to be afraid of life. Cue Teddy Roosevelt's famous quote about nothing to fear. :)

2. Gratitude for the overwhelming quantity of good that is present.
There is always something we can be grateful for, and usually more than we could ever count.
 

3. Loving intensely, even if it also means being vulnerable.
Henri Nouwen has a great meditation about this:
"Do not hesitate to love and to love deeply. You might be afraid of the pain that deep love can cause. When those you love deeply reject you, leave you, or die, your heart will be broken. But that should not hold you back from loving deeply. The pain that comes from deep love makes your love ever more fruitful. It is like a plow that breaks the ground to allow the seed to take root and grow into a strong plant. Every time you experience the pain of rejection, absence, or death, you are faced with a choice. You can become bitter and decide not to love again, or you can stand straight in your pain and let the soil on which you stand become richer and more able to give life to new seeds."
Also, Leo Buscaglia talks about this as well. "All of us have this incredible potential to love, but it is only a potential... unless it's realized, unless you do something about it, it's not going to happen." http://youtu.be/87DRpZ1Ac0s

4. Honesty.
Not being afraid (#1) of letting people know how much I love them (#3). Trading my safety for my authenticity. (This last part is an idea from Brene Brown.)

5. Knowing that we are all loved unconditionally, we are worthy, and we belong.
This is undeniably true, no matter how we feel on our worst days. There is One who loves us unconditionally. And no matter how different we may feel, how much of an outcast or however unworthy, it is all bullshit. We are amazing and the Beloved.

 

6. Spending some time alone, quiet and intentional, instead of go-go-go.
I have a hard time slowing down. It's almost impossible for me to sit down on my couch and chill for more than 2 minutes. But this is important. When I have some solitude, without my phone or distractions, I seem to be more in tune with what God is saying. So I guess this is not really time alone, but time with God.
 

7. More green juice, less sugar.
Well, I just love www.rawfamily.com.
 

8. Read more, especially by Anne Lamott, Brene Brown, and Henri Nouwen.
Any other amazing spiritually-driven authors you guys know about? Please let me know!
 

9. Talk with myself in the same manner that I talk with my best friend.
It amazes me how mean we are to ourselves. The manner in which I talk with myself, I wouldn't talk with my worst enemy. And why aren't we a bit more compassionate with ourselves? This will be a big one for me this year.
 

10. More dog parks for Vin.
He agrees.
 

11. Listening to/watching more TED talks.
These are amazing. I love TED.
 

12. More journaling.
Somehow I figure out solutions to things when I write about them. The same happens when I go on a bike ride or a walk.
 

13. More time with what matters: family, friends, God.
While still honoring #6.


 

And the poem.

Others

Thinking today
About love
And intensity and strength;
And wondering what we all need.

It comes from within
And comes from above
But still, still...
Everyone needs someone in their life
Who says, "I adore you."

"You're the best."
"You make me laugh."
"I love you." 

 Otherwise, God would have made
7 billion little islands
Instead of 7 continents.

Letting Go

 

The year 2012 came to a close, and 2013 is the current "Now." But it was a bit hard for me to say goodbye to 2012.

As I've written before, 2012 was a pretty tough year, the toughest of my 30 years so far. But it was also the best. So many gifts, so much love, so many kind and generous gestures and happenings... it was overwhelming in all of its goodness. So much happened, too; it's definitely been the year where I've written the most blog posts, sent the most emails -- all long, sentimental, intense -- and posted the most on Facebook. There was a lot going on, both externally with my experiences and internally with how I was processing all of it.

So why is it hard to say goodbye to 2012? I had so many good times, and since those are all a part of me, I don't have to say goodbye to those experiences. For the struggles I faced in 2012, those are easy to let go of; I will not miss them. But there was one aspect of 2012 that I was anxious about saying goodbye to.

A couple months ago I learned that I had lost a very dear friend ("All is well."). I was shocked; it was an unexpected loss. And as the year started to come to a close, I suddenly felt a bit of panic; I didn't want this year to ever end, a year when she was here on earth and alive and well. In all of our human-created arbitrary numbers and timetables and calendars, I was clinging to 2012 because it was a time in my life, a frame of reference, where I could say, "She was here. And if she's not going to be in 2013, then I don't want anything to do with 2013 either." Looking back on this, it seems a bit comical, as if 2012 was a bathroom stall and my friend had written "I was here" on its wall. As if there were ever a time, or ever will be a time, where she won't be present... as if her identity could ever cease to be. But I remember I felt the same thing about November even; on November 1st I found out that she had passed away, and I didn't want November to ever end, because for a couple of waking hours that month, in the early morning hours before the phone call and the news, I had thought she was alive and well. And I wanted to forever remain in that mindset.

I know that seems a bit strange; desperately clinging to a time frame... Especially when we consider that God is timeless and our identities as God's children are also timeless. Even just thinking about the concept of time, we are the ones that think about days and years and birthdays and anniversaries (Time and Anniversaries). But within our human perspectives and thoughts, it can be hard to break away from the structures and foundations that we have built up, many having to do with time.

As I was thinking about not wanting to let go of 2012 (because I was sure I would feel even further from my friend than I currently did if we had to change years), I suddenly had a recovered memory of a moment with her. It was something that had happened over a year ago, in October 2011, and something I probably hadn't thought of since then. We were in a group, and she kept introducing me to people, and telling people things about me that she seemed proud of. Just little things, but the way she talked about me and introduced me to these people, I could feel her love and her admiration. I felt so loved by her then in that moment of 2011. And a couple days ago, when I was feeling like she was getting further and further away, this memory stopped me in my mental tracks and brought me such a sense of peace and love. I felt like she was right there, and again felt so much love from her. (Also, fun random unexpected fact: I was watching a movie at a friend's house this New Year's Eve, and we started the movie in 2012 and finished it in 2013. The setting of the movie? The exact city my friend lived in. Just another sign that merely moving from 1 year to the next couldn't change anything about my friend's identity or her presence in my life.)

One more thought: Sometimes our friends or family see us for what we're worth. They see all of our good and all of our value, and see us as God must see us. And when that friend or family member is away or maybe not even a part of our life anymore, it can be hard for us to remember that we are valuable and worthy. It is good to remember that we are valuable not because that person saw our value, but because that is how God made us. A friend of mine had some wise words of encouragement. "All your good is not wrapped up in that person." When my friend passed on, I felt my personal worth go down. But it's important to realize that my value is not as shifty or unpredictable as the stock market; I, along with all of God's other sons and daughters, am His beautiful creation and He knows that I am precious, unique, and full of worth. And my value has nothing to do with what another person thinks of me, and it cannot be lost just because the person affirming our worth seems to not be as accessible as they once were. There is a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt that I love: "What other people think of me is none of my business." It really doesn't matter what other people think, as God's opinion of us is the only one that matters.

On earth, we grieve. We sometimes feel sad. We experience loss. When thinking about our spiritual identity, no one can be lost. And love, good, is never lost. With these thoughts, I felt a sense of peace as our human calendar changed from Dec. 31, 2012, to Jan. 1, 2013. And I felt that all the love that was ever present was right there, undiminished and stronger than ever.