Asking Questions

I’ve never been one to ask questions.

There was a time, I’m sure, where I went through that stage where all I did was ask why. I even remember some of them.

Why is the sky blue?

Why does the sun turn a different color when it sets?

But at some point, I stopped asking. Maybe it was being the oldest, trying to show that I knew more. Maybe it was the Sunday School teachers who would say that I should know things already, since I was the daughter of the pastor. Maybe it was even that every time I would ask a question, it would be taken to my dad as proof that I was struggling in my faith.

Granted that last one happened in my senior year of high school, and was unwarranted. I was talking about my experiences working with people of other beliefs, and how to work with them in love, because ultimately, we are the same as them, and everyone deserves to be treated as human. I also said that some non-Christians were more supportive than self-proclaimed “believers” that I knew. I still stand by this, and my dad knew, I had talked to him about it. The issue was more that I couldn’t have the conversation as an individual, people would try to tie my identity to my parents. But I digress.

Asking questions is a huge part of growth, and I’ve never felt safe asking them. The above along with my various insecurities about being judged needed to be given to God so that I could be free. Free to doubt, to question, and ultimately become stronger in my beliefs.

My faith is not a faith of the brainwashed masses, it’s one that welcomes the hard questions, and grows because of people thinking and learning. It should be personal, not just a tagline of culture or identity.

That’s been my little blessing lately. Despite not knowing sooooooooooooo much, and having no idea what the future holds, I’ve found a place to ask questions, and the people who really believe take them without judgement and try to answer them, not telling me I’m in the wrong, and not running to show someone what’s wrong with me either. It gives me hope, hope that I can keep trying, and eventually, He will show me the right path to walk.

Keep walking on,

Michaela

Opening Up Again

 

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

-C. S. Lewis

Hey All, its been a while!

There have been a lot of ups and downs lately, both in my posts and in my life, and it may seem a little chaotic, but that’s never been more of a blessing than right now.

I’ve noticed that when I’m truly struggling the hardest with my faith, everything is calm. There’s no challenge to grow more, there’s an isolation from healthy community, and it’s like someone flipped a giant off switch on my faith life. The last time I felt nothing so tangibly was that first month after being told by a church that I wasn’t wanted, essentially that I should leave. I stayed in my room, crying not because it hurt, but because I felt like a shell, and I had no emotions other than fear that I was lacking them.

In that moment, three years ago now, I prayed. I prayed that it would come back, because hurting had to be better than this. Hurting you can take to God and work through, but this? This was just a void inside of me, and it was terrifying. I prayed I would never be that apathetic again, that I would never care so little.

But after I came out of it? I started aiming to not care so much, to shut it all down, and to be sure I couldn’t be hurt again. This apathy was different. It was made of brick and mortar, a carefully crafted box to keep my heart safe. It was full of anger, fear, bitterness, and a determination to never ever be taken by surprise.

But what kind of life is that?

Thankfully, little by little, God began to work on my heart.

A year after all this, I could finally walk into a church without sobbing. Six months later I could be at a small group. Two years later I could look at old photos and remember the good parts of the church I had been a part of all the way through high school. Three years later?

I’m working on it. Or rather, God is. He’s showing me not to say “I” so much, to share my struggles, and while I get afraid and panicky whenever there is a direct opportunity to open up, He’s helping me push through, instead of icing over and barreling past the chance for change.

So if you’re out there, hurt by those who claim to follow God, and thinking about walking away, or doing what I did and pretending it doesn’t affect you or your faith, you’re not alone in it. You’re never alone.

Keep walking on,

Michaela

God Squad

I have a story.

I don’t know what it means, or why it happened, but it was a God-Thing ™ from start to finish.

At the very least, I feel blessed.

Tonight I went out with a few sisters to enjoy worship, and God, (in the prayerful way, not the swear) I missed talking to You like that.

Just taking a song and directing it to Him. It makes me smile to think of it.

That alone would have been enough, but so much more happened. I ran into an old friend, got to know my sisters a little better, and made five new ones on top of it. A two hour worship event turned into six hours of prayer, adventuring, laughter, and fellowship.

Thank you God.

It felt so effortless, so truly Spirit-led, and I haven’t been able to claim that in a long while.

I would say, being up way too late, and having too much coffee in my system, I won’t write for much longer… I should try and sleep.

But here’s my right now takeaway:

I really miss a constant fellowship of believers. I don’t know if I’ll see half of them ever again, but that level of fellowship is something I’m going to start working on changing. I feel truly, deeply, and boldly loved in this moment, and I want to lean into it.

Obviously I’m on a worship high, and caffeine, and socializing, so tomorrow it might be more of a battle. Convincing myself to go outside and pursue it will be even more of one. But I’ve got the God of angel armies on my side.

Just… wow.

Thank you God. You brought together the most unlikely group, and I can’t even imagine why, but we were there. Thank you for the prayer, and the laughter, but most of all, thank you for being there. You took a moment and made it a night I know I’ll remember for a long while. Thank you for a special brand of crazy.

Keep walking on,

Michaela

The Slow Crawl

You know that feeling after you’ve been walking or running for a while, and your energy is completely sapped? It’s all you can do to lift your leg up the next stair, make it back to your place, and collapse.

This is how it feels to start trying again.

I’ve been in a place where I could feel God before. I’d see Him in nature, in people’s smiles, I could pray aloud and feel heard, and I be with my worship team family in song. Knowing I was there, and having every step towards it be so achingly slow is killing me.

I know, its a journey. A process. The fact that I’m aware of the Sunday-school terms for what I feel doesn’t make it any less annoying and painful as I realize just how easy it is to fall away.

I haven’t served since my last church hurt me, so I’m not around people that live for God. I don’t live with my father (a pastor), haven’t for years, so I can’t have immediate bible and life questions answered, and they get lost in the shuffle. Somewhere in this mess I have scratched down questions for him, I’ll find them someday…

I also live where I work, unintentionally isolating myself by surrounding myself with non-christians 2-3 years younger than myself. I’ve come to care about the people far more than they know, but my bleeding heart can only take so much, and I’ve changed to reflect the people I’m spending the most time with. I have to really fight not to swear, my way of speaking can be down-putting, and I don’t even notice until I enter the church and wince at how much I’m letting the world affect me. That’s the other thing I’m working on, trying to wake up with an A in God’s eyes, to try believing that I’m worth it instead of kicking myself when I’m down. I can’t get up any faster that way.

I don’t mean this to be a downer post though.

One degree of change is still change, as my dear GC leader N would say. And I’ve had several. It took the first six months before I could be in church without crying, and now I sing and smile there. I’ve finally trusted a small group and begun to learn from them, and they draw me back even when the world starts winning and anxiety makes me hide. I’ve slowly started to trust God with the people he places in my life, where I used to claim that I didn’t need them, I could be a christian without anyone. I’m so glad I was so wrong.

Life is so much, and so fleeting. I still have many choices to make, places to go, and battles to fight. But I’m relearning, one inch at a time, that I can’t fight them. I can slash and hack all I want, but all it does is wear me down without God’s help.

The crawl may be slow, but any movement at all brings me a little closer to home.

Keep walking on,

Michaela

How do you fight?

It seems like a simple enough question. Do you use words? Fists? Do you internalize it and debate about it in the safety of your home? All simple answers.

How about this one: Why didn’t you fight?

I haven’t been fighting anything lately. Not apathy, sadness, sin, fear, or the noise I hear all around telling me that God isn’t real.

I’ll admit that I’ve been lax, that I have no motivation. Hell, I’d go as far as to say I might be depressed. But I’ve never had to truly defend my faith. I’ve been fairly protected in that sense. Being home-schooled saved me from half of that, and most of the people at college may not believe you, but if it makes you feel good, why not?

That’s the Modus Operandi nowadays. Just like Agatha Christie remarked:

What a world it was nowadays, he thought. [everyone] used the whole time to arouse emotion. Discipline? Restraint? None of these counted for anything anymore. Nothing mattered but to feel.

-Agatha Christie Passenger to Frankfurt

As long as you don’t judge, watch your words like an astrologist watches the skies, people accept that you’re a little different. And so, thus far, I’ve managed to make it into the world unscathed, save a few nicks from science classes and ethical discussions.

Until this quarter.

I have two professors. One which takes the bible as literature and all other works surrounding it as supplementary reading, and one fedora’d philosopher who sounds like he may have stepped out of a discussion with Freud and Plato mere moments before class.

With the first, I’ve had to read both really interesting Medieval works that remind me of my faith, and erotic literature that uses biblical themes as euphemism. Disgusting and demoralizing of scripture, but with time, the words will fade.

The second however, is starting to hurt. He says that Plato invented the idea of Christian love, and that someday people have to grow up and stop reading fairy-tales like Noah’s ark. Our summaries don’t allow argument, just summary of the points made, and as much as I am used to placidly framing it in the philosopher’s terms, for some reason it’s eating at me more than it ever has. Every “As _____ thinks, this means ___.” silently screams my disagreement.

And yet, I don’t fight in class. Maybe I’m right not too. It’s 8 am, I’m not thinking clearly, he rambles and postulates and probably percolates too (why not alliterate and rhyme?), but never gives any points, so choosing your battles is important.

But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I should be forming counterpoints and studying harder to disprove things and show him the truth of the matter. But that won’t get me the grade, or satisfaction. If I use the grade to further myself and eventually become someone in the field that teaches without excluding faith, does that make it all worth it?

The answer is that I truly don’t know. All I really know is that this is the first time in years that I’ve felt something that wasn’t brought on by good music or nice people stirring emotions, this went deeper, and I didn’t have to lean into anything to feel it. The very fact that it makes my blood boil makes me feel as if I have something left, that I haven’t lost my faith in Him. If my apathy is only on the surface, I might still have some hope, and that is a battle I’m fighting to care about.

Continue walking on,

Michaela

Changing over time

Oh God, the glory is yours
the kingdom is come and the battle is over

-“Glory is Yours” Elevation Worship

These words have two meanings to me, one for the end of a bitter struggle, and one for celebration in light of changes made because of the past.

My struggles may not measure up to some, but each person feels pain differently, and what might be my worst day might be someone else’s peace in a storm, and vice versa. When I came to Bellingham, it was the first meaning. It hurt, and everything felt like it was falling apart, but God had won the battle in getting me away from the people who were eating away at my love for myself as God’s creation. I had begun to believe that I was unwanted, unneeded, and useless. I still have days where I feel this, it’s one of those human struggles that pulls us away from Him.

When I praised him then, it was out of sheer exhaustion. Hope was on the horizon, but I was too tired to do anything to mutter the words and sink into myself.

The second one comes and goes. It shines through on days when I realize how far I’ve come, that God has carried me to the point of healing. It brightens my day when I looked in the mirror on the way out the door and saw a genuine smile, with no hidden sadness, no guarded bitterness.

I still have baggage, but who doesn’t? Mine is carried by a God who will slowly help me find places to let pieces go, no matter how much more I might try to pick up along the way. He’ll be there until the day I finally walk into his arms, when the last battle is finally won.

Poetry -1

Poetry is my therapy. It lets me get words down without forming full sentences, and it looks deep even if it is a complete mess, which is why I love it so much. Every third post I make will be poetry, as a way of working out creatively. Each piece is my own work, as with anything else I post.

Aging Eyes

Eyes of a infant

shine so bright

innocence

and painless light

Eyes of a child

filled with wonder

looking down

around

under

Eyes of a teen

confused they shine

with tears

and first loves

and texts late at night

Eyes of a woman

filled with rage

at the injustice she sees

and they start to age.

Eyes of a lover

gleaming with warmth in heart

trusting another

to never part

Eyes of betrayal

they deepen like wells

as they lose all their trust

and become empty shells

Eyes of a teacher

or mother at home

with love for the children

they know as their own

Eyes of heartbreak

as teenagers stray

wandering into alleys

seeing where the bodies lay

Eyes of a stranger

just passing by

we don’t know her story

or why she will cry

Eyes of the woman

her children all grown

as she sits in her chair

writing, alone

like the paintings you see

with wise undertones

she finally made it

and her soul had flown.

Things I saw God in – 2
–The sun was out today. I’ve missed the warmth of it
-There was a heart drawn on the sidewalk, it made me smile
-Events gone by. Some things are simply miracles.

I wrote the poem “Aging Eyes” after catching my gaze in a mirror. The last time I really looked at myself in a mirror (without the intention of applying makeup), I was fifteen. I remember looking at my eyes and thinking about how much younger they were than some of the people I knew. They hadn’t seen things, they hadn’t felt heartbreak or loss. It’s been six years since then, and my eyes are thoughtful and wary, but the smiles I have are reaching them for the first time in a long while. Twenty-one isn’t old by any means, but seeing my eyes change to reflect my heart shows that time has passed, and that leads me to think about all the things that brought me here, and thank God for change and healing alike.

 

Learning to See Him

Lately I’ve been having a hard time seeing God in things. I suppose you could compare me to the verses in Zephaniah about complacency, feeling almost as if God is one of my parents back home (1:12). He’s able to help, and loves me, but is kind of just… there.

Obviously if you look up the verse, there’s a lot of destruction and judgement inflicted upon those people, and its also in the New Testament that apathy towards God is bad (Rev. 3:16), so it’s something I’m trying to work on.

I know that a life of faith isn’t all fireworks, so I’m not trying to get to a place where I feel God and witness miracles all the time (however cool that would be). I just want to be in a place that I know I am actively working on my relationship with God, fighting the motions of Christianity and trying to live wholly for him. Easier said than done.

I don’t want to feel this way, and I know that’s a good step. It just feels seperate more often than not. Like I’m looking down at myself and thinking I really should care about this, but I don’t. I feel disconnected, and I don’t care, which is not good.

So.

I am starting a thing, and you are welcome to do it with me. I’m going to start making a list of places/people/events I see God in. I don’t know how long I’ll do it, but I’ll put a few of the things I noticed at the bottom of my posts for a week or so, and try to continue it outside of this beyond that.

I know it’s a small step, but I’m hoping if I look for Him in things, I’ll talk to Him about them too. We’ll see.

The I saw God’s Work List – 1
-My 3 coworkers. I love being around them, it wouldn’t be the same without them.
-Writing. I’ve been able to put thoughts on paper for the first time in a year.
-Classes. God’s blessed me with professors and being able to study literature.
-Surprises. I get to see some family this week, and I really needed that.

Even writing these down made me thankful, so maybe this will be good. My next post is going to be a poem, I’m calling it my “third post poetry” (every third post), and I’ll either include something from my Instagram, or put something longer and new on it.

Continue walking on,

Michaela

The First Step

 

Sam: “This is it”
Frodo: “This is what?”
Sam: “If I take one more step, it’ll be the farthest from home I’ve ever been.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien The Lord of the Rings

Life is a series of “this is it” moments. Some you see, choices that loom on the horizon, and others slip past you, and you look in the mirror to find that your eyes have aged, that you have grown.

This quote says to me that each furthest step is a chance to stop, look around, and see how far you’ve climbed (or fallen).

Are you the furthest from God?

Are you the furthest from the person you used to be?

Are you the furthest from a physical place or person you’ve ever been?

Then maybe this is for you as well as me.

I’m writing this as an exploration of how far I’ve come, and you’re welcome to follow along. I want to understand my relationship with God, my feelings about life, and how my faith can be something I stand on rather than my accessory or hashtag. Life takes us places we wouldn’t expect, and I hope to find God in this more than anything.

Here’s a little about me:

I grew up as the daughter of a pastor with two siblings. Both my parents love each other and the Lord, and inspire me every day to do the same, even when I fail. I spent the first eleven years of my life in Asian churches where my dad was the pastor to the English-speaking/second and third generation congregants. He stopped being a pastor from then until my senior year of high school, and I attended a different church with very little diversity. I was home-schooled until 10th grade, when I attended and graduated community college, took a year off and struggled with being hurt by the church and the people within, then left my hometown for good. I served as a camp counselor at a Christian camp, then came to Western. I’m in my second and second to last year right now, getting a degree in English Literature with my eye on graduate studies in Library Science.

As far as my faith goes, it’s a journey. I came to Bellingham with little trust in the church or people, but knowing God was and is my savior. Each day feels like a battle lately, but I’m learning to trust again, and fighting to hold on to my Lord. He is my one true friend, the love of my life, and I want to serve Him with all my heart.

Continue walking on,

Michaela