lost in the right direction.

A couple months ago,

I decided to add a year to my time in the program.

This lets me take a lighter class load,

do research in areas I love,

and live overall at a much slower pace.

The way things flowed last year was just not good for me.

I like breathing, and sleeping, and friendship, and prayer...

and it felt like a constant fight to find time for them.

And fighting itself is tiring.

Plus:

I want to like grad school.

I want to live it well and not just view this entire thing I am devoting hours and hours and years to as "something to get through".

But that's what was happening.

I felt crabby and miserable when in class or trying frantically to get my work done.

And I felt like I had no margin to reflect on what I was learning,

or to put as much heart as I wanted to

into the actual work-

the reason, you know,

that I came here at all.

This year:

I am full-time two days a week at a practicum as the school counselor in an elementary school a few miles away, a small school in a rural community.

I love it madly.

I am in meetings and class a few hours each of the remaining work days.

At the moment,

while my cohort is in hour two of their nine or ten hour day,

with homework to do when they finally get home,

I am at Chapters drinking pumpkin coffee,

finishing up notes and taking a quiz.

My heart is not racing.

I slept eight hours last night.

Finding time for a group meeting does not make me feel like I want to hide or bang my head against the wall.

I spent all morning at school yesterday,

and then spent the afternoon picking out pumpkins and non-hurriedly cooking a soup for friends coming for dinner.

I turned in a paper and led a presentation in class this week without feeling like I was flying by the seat of my pants.

I am putting more effort than is required for my practicum,

because I want to,

because it is a privilege to work with these kids,

and because now I have the space and energy to do more than just get by.

I'm going to a conference in February to learn about how to help at-risk families form strong attachments,

something that moves my heart more than practically anything else,

the passion that led me to higher education.

Though it requires some juggling,

I don't feel like I am doomed to fail my classes or play catch-up for months and months to make that trip work.

Did I mention that my heart is not racing?

The other day Breanna asked me,

"What are you doing with the extra time you have now?"

I felt a moment of panic...

what am I doing??

I just added a year of school

(and extra thousands of dollars)-

for what?!!

I answered the first thing that came to mind...

"I'm not really doing that much more...

I'm just doing everything slower."

It's true.

And it feels right.

I am thankful for the freedom and encouragement to make this decision,

and I am hopeful I will be a more thoughtful psychologist

and a more peaceful friend

with these extra hours in my days.

.first day of the semester tomorrow...

but what i have i've offered.

a long day of sad appointments yesterday.

feeling so privileged to be a witness to these families' strength,
wishing so hard to be able to fix their situations,

...and then making goal charts to get a library card and practice deep breathing.

i wrote this when i worked for Head Start...

i go back over and over to the truth in sara groves' song:

there are other glories besides winning battles.

there is beauty and goodness in joining in long defeats.

*******

from October 2010

My sweet friend sits on my couch and cries, for the kids she loves so deeply and works so hard to help. For the lives they return to every night after they leave the after-school program she runs: lives of absent parents, of poverty, of drugs and violence. She cries, and there is no solution to tell her. I hold her hand and she tells me their stories and I hear in her voice and her tears the same realization I am coming to.

So often after a visit full of laughter and finger-painting, when an 18-month-old runs to hug my legs when I walk in the door or a two-year-old knows all his colors, when I make a run to the dentist to act as translator or we successfully get a mom her insurance card, I get that rush of exultation. "YES! This is why I do this job, this is what it's all about."

Except that last week I sat at a kitchen table, while a strong and capable mom wept. They left Mexico because it is so violent, she tells me, they could not let their children grow up there, scared to leave the house. But here they are, without papers, without rights, without money. Without language, without their families- it is too dangerous to go back to visit even a relative dying of cancer, even for a beloved sister's wedding. She weeps with me, finally, this mom whose adorable and thriving kids come home every day to a clean house and her warm hug and help with their homework, because she does everything to protect them. I hold her hand, too... I grasp and pray for something helpful. I tell her she's a good mom... and then I finally just tell her that I'm sorry. And then we just sit together. I have no words for her, either.

Later, in my car, I am silent, even to myself and to God. Because she did not say, "And then, you came and started doing educational activities with my toddler and now our lives are SO MUCH BETTER!!!!".

Yes, it is a good thing, it is an addition. Tamara's after-school program is a good thing, it is an addition. But my "This is what it's all about, this is why we do these jobs!" mindset is changing. It has to be. Because then what do we have, when the strong mom is finally weeping with me about how she doesn't think she can take it anymore- and I have no power to get them the immigration papers they need to make a real better life? What do we have when Tamara helps the kids with their homework- and then they go home to filth and alcohol? If it's "all about" when we win, is it worthless when we can't?


If our hope is based on success, it will fail. Mine did, after Bolivia. I had thought that I was a hopeful person; no. I was optimistic. They are not the same thing. I'm still figuring out what hope is. But it can't be optimism. Sometimes you have love and prayer and hard work- and young parents still weep and children are still not safe. Thank God that sometimes things are made better on earth. But Lord, change my heart, that I fight Your battles because they are Yours, not because I will win. Show us Your heart, here.

Give me gratitude for the privilege of participating.

Give us strength to continue, and to find joy in the long defeat.

"i have joined the long defeat
that falling set in motion
and all my strength and energy
are raindrops in the ocean
so conditioned for the win
to share in victory's story
but in the place of ambition's din
i have heard of other glories."-sara groves, "the long defeat"

100 things I love about grad school: #1-16.

I am truly ashamed of how often I feel and act like this is a punishment

and not an incredible privilege. 

Giving myself stern lectures about how lucky I am to be here

and making commitments to never complain outwardly or inwardly again isn't working,

so I'm pulling an Ann Voskamp. Although we'll start with 100.

1. Professors who acknowledge with us, "This schedule is insane. Tell the registrar to never do it again."

2. Texted coffee orders and group deliveries to grateful recipients for 8 am classes.

3. Four of us knitting in class.

4. Grant money that sent me to Bolivia.


5. Studying in beautiful Oregon. Professors who take us outside.

6. How much my cohort laughs with each other. And at, but always in a warm way.

Sometimes they dress alike by accident. And then sit next to each other.

7. Passionate professor with zillions of letters after her name who could be anywhere more important and impressive, and instead brings her experience and excitement into our afternoons "to pass! psychology! on to the next! generation!", as she beams over her bright red reading glasses at us.

8. The moment when the at-first-glance-random results scattered on an assessment print-out, piece into understanding of a child's functioning...

9. ...Especially when it means we think we can help.

10. Cohort spouses. Love the guys in my program; love their wives even more. Joining this group meant new friends times two.

11. Jaynie.

12. Breanna.

13. Ryan and Jeffrey, guys in my cohort who worked with me at the college counseling center this year. Both became real friends and were huge consistent encouragements to me.

14. Heather, Luann, and Courtney, the other girls in the program who worked with me at the counseling center.  I adore them and we had so much fun together.

Counseling Center Girls' Night Out

15. Courtney.

What a surprise gift this girl was this year.


16. Our statistics professor stared at our confused and miserable faces this morning... "Okay. Hmm. Well.... who knows what mean and mode are??!!". Every hand shot up. "There! See! Don't you all feel better!" We did.

To be continued.

.grateful down to the marrow of my bones.

i spent all morning at a clinic for farm workers

where i will be working one day a week

through this spring and summer.

hearing fast spanish flowing

makes my heart happier than i can say.

sitting in windowless exam rooms

and twenty-minute appointment slots,

all of a sudden

i couldn't breathe for gratitude

at where He has sent me...

for bolivia,

where i learned this language,

where i got this fire in my bones,

where i met the girls whose faces propel me.

for my year with head start,

where i fell in love with this population

and learned how i can serve and know Him in others,

right here.

for grad school,

where i am so privileged

to be learning,

which lets me get to do this work.

yes,

yes,

yes,

yes,

yes.

thank you for every single one.

for the homesickness

and the nightmares

and the faith crisis,

for the times in that wheaton year

that were long and lonely,

for the exhaustion

and frustrations

and my misfit in this academia world,

yes,

all worth it,

i would take them all again,

to be here, now, with them;

for all the places i can't believe i've gotten to be,

i thank you.

Modern [psychotherapeutic] Family.

Me: I just emailed my parents to tell them I don't like their favorite psychology theory. It's basically exactly like when you told your parents you're gay.

Matt: Wow! What made you decide it was the right time to come out to them?!

Me: I just need to be my real self!!

My mom: Sweetie, lots of people experiment with different theories in grad school. I think this is just a phase.

Me: (facepalm)

My dad: Em, here, please just read this essay I wrote on psychoanalysis!! It will really help you understand this better. I'm sure that what's really going on is that you're confused about what psychoanalysis really means.

Me: (facepalm)

My mom: You know, I think this is really about that you're so deeply psychodynamic that you can't even see it right now. Probably it scares you.

Me: (facepalm)

Matt: Just give them time. It's hard for parents when kids don't turn out how they expected.

like little thieves, we rub our hands/we hold our hearts between them.

(emily freaks out about grad school, part one can be found here)

"The goal is to know God,

not to know more..."

-richard rohr

...At the beginning of January, a few hours before leaving to go curl up by the sea for a few days, I stopped by school for a quick meeting with our program's clinical training director. That conversation turned out to be pivotal. He asked me where I was thinking about applying for practicum next year, and, to my surprise, he suggested I apply for a placement I hadn't even considered. One I'd heard about but quickly dismissed as way too "hard-core" for me.

If I got it, I'd be working with kids, giving them assessments for various learning disabilities. I'd be at a university, in the city, getting excellent training from some of the most skilled and well-known psychologists in Oregon. And (he pointed out with a knowing look) the name of the placement would really open doors in a few years when it came time to apply to internship sites.

I thanked him for the suggestion. I was flattered he thought I should apply, and I was interested. It made sense, right? Think how many options I would have later if I was at a top site now. I'd be working with kids, technically, and that was what I wanted, right? It would be intense... I would definitely learn a ton... I'd grow as a clinician!

I left for my retreat thinking I'd probably apply for it. Why not?

And then I spent three and a half days with God.
I had even more time than I'd had all break to notice just how weary I was. No matter how long I slept, it felt not long enough. When I sat and tried to read, my mind raced, and when I tried to write down my prayers I felt too anxious to follow a thought.
I prayed through a list of spiritual disciplines, wanting to pick a few to concentrate on in 2013. The ones that consistently jumped out at me had a theme: Simplicity. Slowing. Rule for Life.

I pictured spending the next few months writing and re-writing a cover letter. Skipping spring break so I could be available for interviews. Buying a new pair of pumps and trying to convince people who don't know me how professional and together I am.

And if I did get it? I'd be working with kids... who I'd meet once and have to remain blank-faced for. I imagined a year of trying to prove myself in an ultra-competitive environment. Of getting home late every day, exhausted from over an hour commute. Of even more pressure, more "professional development". More feeling like I have to hide my personality to succeed in a field I chose to enter because I felt formed and gifted for it.

And then, unexpectedly, a different picture kept coming into my mind more and more.

A favorite professor, one who knows me well and hugs me when she sees me in the hallways and invited me to a Christmas party at her house, had told me a year ago that she'd take me at her site if I needed a placement this year.
She'd said it almost apologetically: it's in the rural schools, not like a fancy university site.
And she wants me to get whatever I think is the best training for me, so I shouldn't feel obligated.
But she would love to have me. And it's such a special site (her voice got all earnest and excited), working with, for, these kids.

It's right here in the county where I make my home.

I'd be working at an elementary school, my favorite age-
but instead of being blank-faced, the focus could be on building relationships
in the "feelings groups" and therapy-through-play we'd be doing together.

I would still need to be professional and on top of things-
with the shared goal with the other staff of getting the best care available
to kids whose parents are farmers, migrant workers, don't speak English at home,
have never seen a psychologist before.

I'd still be getting careful supervision-
from someone who's known me since my first week here and who gets what I'm about.

Instead of spending all semester with my stomach in knots, hoping for a chance to be on the bottom of the totem pole,
I could have everything decided next week. I could spend the next months putting my heart into preparing and planning.

Instead of spending over two hours of my days in city traffic,
I'd be driving just a few miles past farms and fields and mountains.


And this is the part that makes me cry, and that is a whole other topic on its own:
it's a direct answer to another conversation God and I had been having.
About how I could get to know the needs of the people in my little corner of the world.
How I could better know and love those who are marginalized right here,
where I walk and work and play out my days.
It hadn't even occurred to me to pray that that might happen through school.


I got home from the sea, and I scheduled another meeting with the clinical training director.

And I told him thank you so much for this opportunity, but I think what makes the most sense for me right now is to work in the school district. If they'll take me.

He stared at me.
And as I explained my reasoning (I didn't even try to be cool or professional or what not and leave out prayer), he slowly nodded. He assured me my training would be excellent, saying (still blinking in surprise) that maybe the name recognition wouldn't be the same but my experience would certainly be built working with those kids, under this fantastic professor who has such a heart for them. In fact, he said, it sounded like it might... actually... be a really great fit for me.

And then I met with that professor and told her I wanted to do it. After convincing her I was serious, which took some doing, she started to spill over with plans. For groups, for assessments, for me being able to interpret directly for the Mexican parents...

Last week it was confirmed.
I will be a practicum counselor right here in the rural schools, starting Fall 2013...

(...to be continued...)

(part three)

i want only this/i want to live, i want to live a simple life.

(This is a story of recent events that, when all written-out, was way too long for one blog post.

Enjoy part one...)

"The goal is to know God,

not to know more..."

-richard rohr

Once upon a time there was a girl.
In college she majored in coffee dates.

Not really, she majored in psychology. But she spent significantly more time on coffee dates than studying, which is relevant to the rest of this story.

The girl loved lots of things. Like knitting, and hugging, and going for walks. She loved runs on the prairie path and speaking Spanish and eating out with friends. She loved snail-mail, and journaling, and books by Henri Nouwen, and inviting people over for game nights. She loved days with nowhere to be and lots of people to talk to.

So naturally, she did exactly what you'd expect from someone whose entire worldview screams COZY AND RELATIONAL...

She decided to move across the country and enter a freakin' doctoral program.

Surprise! The girl is me. You totally didn't see that coming, did you?

I love a lot of things about grad school. But there are also a lot of things I don't love about it. I tried to write to explain those things three separate times and it kept coming out in a long stream of stressed out consciousness... but basically, to summarize:

The world of academia is intense. And whether you think it's a good world or a bad world, it is not a world for which I am a natural fit.

Graduate school has its difficulties which can be expected: long hours, steep learning curves, needing to stretch oneself in mind and abilities.

But the unique stresses of competition and professionalism, the unkindness that can come with people running on little sleep and fear of failure, and the arrogance that can be bred among a "community" of academics... has not been like anything I've experienced before.

And I've spent a lot of time wondering if I'm in the right place and pursuing the right career.

Last semester contained more stress than I've been under in recent memory. There were tears, and sleeplessness, and a lot of doubts running through my head and heart. Christmas break held a lot of hard prayers, hard conversations with people who know and love me well, and hard questions to ask myself.

Do I want to be here? Is this degree worth this pace and quality of life? Am I going to like myself when I'm done here?!

(...to be continued...)

(emily freaks out about grad school, parts two and three)

.moms.

Me: (crying) I'm probably going to be really bad at being a psychologist and I can't keep up with reading and I'm behind on paperwork and I don't understand how to freaking give assessments anyway...

Mom: (in her very best soothing mom voice) I know, sweetie. It's hard to learn to be a therapist, and you're feeling lots of pressure. And it's your favorite season, too, and I bet that makes it extra hard right now because you feel distracted, huh?

Oh man, I just love her.

Having a mother who understands that it's hard to study when there are pumpkins one could be carving... so wonderful.

(I couldn't help it... the mini ones were 2-for-1...)

.things that made me smile yesterday.

It was a full and long workday at my internship.

Learning-filled.

And full. And long.

And after the full and long 8 hours of clients/supervision,

there were three hours of giving an assessment.

At the end of the day I was exhausted, and not all the good kind.

So here are some things that made me smile today.

*******

My day started off lovely:
I got to have a hot chocolate "girls date" with one of my favorite seven-year-olds
on our way to drop her off at school.

Faith was very excited that they put a gummy worm in her drink.
It was a joy to be with her.

*******

Irene brought the kids and LUNCH and met me on my hour between clients.

We got to chat as we pushed toddlers on swings and ate chicken salad and pear.

Fed my body and my soul.

(When I think about the fact that that happened,

I actually feel kind of like a jerk for feeling so weary/crabby just a few hours later.)

*******

Tamara called right when I had a free 15 minutes!

I love that girl so much...
and ten minutes on the phone with her was energy to love on an afternoon of clients.

And I especially enjoyed this sentence:

"I looked at the pictures of your house...
then I went out and bought a candle."

Yessss :-).

*******

A card in the mail from Langdon
beginning "Dear Aunt Emily"
(and signed, "Peace, Langdon". Of course it was.)

*******

Two voicemails from two separate Matts asking me to please change my outgoing message.

Special props go to Matty, who left me this:

(Singsong voice):

"Summer is oo-verrr,

time to make a neww message...

you would like to dooo thisss...

goodbye."

*******

Another thing that made me smile: I did change my message.

(if you haven't called me since July, for the last three months it's been five different voices all listing five different things I may have been doing- Christine: "I might be camping in Colorado", Heather: "I might be doing a research project in Bolivia", Matt: "I might be in my best friend's wedding in Maryland", you get the idea...).

But, I did change it tonight.

So you should all call me and listen to it.*

It's SHORT (okay, everyone? okay?)

but it still makes me happy.

Not to be too self-satisfied or anything.

*******

I woke to this text from my dad
in response to mine saying I had changed my voicemail:
"I'll miss it!"
Love him.

*******

My mood-lifting plan for the evening involved a text to Nancy.

In all seriousness:

I do holistic.

I don't do work-sleep-repeat.

Even though I think my work is meaningful.

"Will you guys be home at 8:30?"

"Yep."

"Can your favorite 24 year old stop by?"

"Sure."

So after work I went straight there and interacted with people I love

as myself: not a professional.

Or a trying-to-be-professional (it's HARD, yall!).

She called before I stopped by to ask if I needed anything from the store
or if I was just coming to hang.

"If I don't come over, I'll just go home and go to bed,
and then have another long day tomorrow.
I need to remember I'm me and not just a psychologist."

She met me on the porch with a mug of hot chocolate and all of them ended up outside with us
as we talked and laughed about nothing for an hour.

I am so blessed.

Then I went home and felt 800% better.

*******

I am back at work.
But it's all good.

Rock out Tuesday.

*******

*I'm serious. Call right now. Text me beforehand if you don't want me to pick up. Extra points if you leave me love on my voicemail.

Gettin' my research on, Bolivia-style.

Godson on hip, and you can’t see it but the sweet girl answering the questions is doing so while nursing her two-month-old.

On data collection, which is significantly harder than one would think!

"Do your best,

pray it will be blessed,

and let God take care of the rest."

-thanks, Keith Green.

And this one time we flew to Bolivia.

Oh yeah so btw I'm in Bolivia. Did I mention?

It's sort of a long story. Basically, I got a grant from my school (I LOVE YOU FOX!!) to come down here to do a research project! (...and I am really, really excited about the research project, but yes, my first thought when I heard about the grant being available was "OMG FREE TRIP TO SEE EVERYONE!!!").

I'm looking at the factors affecting the girls' resilience: why can some girls thrive after our program, even after living through horrible traumas, and some we can't seem to reach no matter what we do??

A wise and lovely friend posted some about it here, along with her thoughts as a parent of children with early trauma backgrounds, on the importance of understanding resilience.

The hopes are that understanding what factors enable some girls to overcome their backgrounds, can help us to better reach all of them... please, Jesus.

And TIM AND ASH are going with me!!!!!!!!!!!

Tim grew up in Coch, they both speak Spanish and love Latin America, and we've always talked about how great it would be to all go down together. A casual text: "Wouldn't it be cool if we went to Bolivia together someday and you could take pictures of my girls?", "OMG yes, when?", "Well actually I'm applying for this grant...", crazy amount of details falling together, and... three plane tickets were purchased.

(More info here).

They will be photographing the girls and the staff, to tell and give dignity to their stories, to show the work Mosoj Yan does day in and day out to love on these precious children of God, and to also provide them with the pictures as means of raising awareness and funds.

So, yup. We met up in Miami, flew to La Paz, spent a crazy day there renewing passports after a stolen backpack (sad :-(), stayed one night in a hotel, and are now in the airport about to fly to Coch. Where the Mosoj Yan staff are picking us up from the airport.

I'M ABOUT TO SEE THE STAFF AND GIRLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I'm with two of my favorite people.

And the air smells like Bolivia.

And I get to steward psychology and my opportunities to bless people that are so important to me.

This girl is thankful.

(Sleep deprived. But thankful.)

We are so appreciative of prayers- pray our projects will bless these girls and staff. Pray for safety and health. Pray all of us will know Him better.

We're keeping a tumblr here, which will exhibit much more frequent updates and also Ash's amazing photography.

xoxoxo

em

On the plane!

 

One of my all-time fave photos. At their wedding in 2010.

"Practice resurrection."

-Wendell Berry

Back in Oregon. New semester.

So grateful to have seen everyone,

a little emotionally (and physically) exhausted,

deeply missing best friends already.
So fed by time and laughter with them.

Lots to pray and process through,

and so grateful to be feeling the peace that somehow God just gives me here.

Pine trees and people I know, everywhere.

 Release of anxiety.

Work I love, everywhere: study, prayer, community.

Grateful.

"Father of Love: You come near to us in your love. 

Your love finds us needy and it does not flee, 

but satisfies our soul. 

Your love comes near to us in your Son..."

Oh snap.

Who just finished her first year of grad school.

 At our program banquet in Portland last weekend;

our clinical skills group with our amazing mentor at our goodbye party on Wedneday.

Pressing Send on the last emailed assignment and closing Word tonight felt amazing.

Now off to WHEATON for eight whole days!!!!

Hey Friday Night.

Josh Garrels' free album is fantastic, and perfect studying company.

My large pumpkin latte was a treat from Esther for watching her children on the spur of the moment last week.

When my brain decides it's done with neuroscience tonight,

I'm going to break in my new sewing machine (!!).

So content right now.

Happy weekend, sweet friends.

A day.

As this day unfolded, just a few hours into it, I realized how perfectly normal it was. I wanted to record it in its ordinary joys, these simple moments which make my life so full.

As it ended, it had become more significant, more notable. But in so many ways still so normal, and making me want to write up the normalcy even more:

so much pain, sorrow, joy, love, prayer, connection, is woven together in this life of ours.

7 am and I am out the door to the "living room" of Newberg. Grab a table in the back, wave hello to some regulars, I sip my coffee and push through to the end: 1,500 words, APA style, correctly cite all sources. I drive to campus, slip it in the prof's mailbox by 9:15, chat with the receptionist.

Back to Chapters and it is packed with full-on morning energy. I fold myself into a corner of the couch, session notes out, but first I see a family from church. This mom is hip, friendly, and can frequently be found homeschooling her three children at the coffee shop in the mornings. (Yes. This is everything I desire for my future.) I kneel down to say hello to her two-year-old, who primly turns and drops herself in my lap without a word, then reaches to play with my cell phone. I look at her mom. "I have a cold...". "Perfect. She does too." Wonderful, then we can snuggle with no harm done.

Before I start my homework, her 7-year-old brother shows off the new card game he just got. Highest numbers win, but you have to know your math facts to figure out which are highest. We play a hand. He beats me by a mile.

Two hours. Session notes mostly done. Book for dissertation ordered. A couple fun emails sent (sorry, session notes). Sipping my second mug.

My friend comes to meet me; we pray together every other week. She is in my cohort in the program but several years older than me, quiet, thoughtful, quick with encouragement, described by one professor as "a deep well". I of course adore her and wanted to make her be my friend. I asked her a few months ago if she would be my prayer partner and it's been deeper and more of an encouragement to my heart than I ever expected. We lay out our hearts. Hers is beautiful, and growing. I surprise myself by going into old familiar pains I don't want to still be dealing with. She hears them; and I know that it was good that I shared them with her. We pray. He hears us.

TA group meeting on campus. We snack as we discuss conceptualizing the relationship between client and therapist. We also plan the run we're signing up for as a group, in June: 6 miles, uphill. It's called "Hellacious". Wonderful. It will be bonding. We'll remind ourselves of that three miles in.

Long-distance phone conversation that's supposed to be on my dissertation, and turns into not only precious information and so much wisdom, but laughter, and the promise of a budding friendship that makes me feel so lucky.

A quick half-hour with another friend; I get to be the listener this time. I learn things I hadn't known. I am proud of her.

Back to the coffee shop, back to online; my sister calls as I am buying plane tickets. Purchase confirmed. I love my sister's voice so much.

I am packing up my stuff to walk down the street to church for the Maundy Thursday service; I get the text I knew was coming.

The day looks different now.

I take a deep breath, I text back. I make a phone call for her as requested. Pain and love are shared on that line, too.

Water is poured over my skin: "The love of Christ bless you, Emily." I sit with Heidi and we sing: "Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, and thorns compose so rich a crown?". I think about this coming weekend. Death. Darkness. Yes, in this world, yes. Such pain, someone I love is feeling now. Sunday is coming, He is risen indeed; what will that feel like for their family this week? Sunday is coming: hope. This world has pain, and we are called to be open to that; this world is not the end. "Such love and sorrow meet" feels so relevant right now.


"...Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."

I take Communion.

I know the people who hand it to me, and they know me. I had dinner at their house on Tuesday. We've prayed over each other's burdens and joys. I smile into their familiar eyes as I break off the bread, as I dip it.

"You may leave when you are ready, in worshipful silence."

Now I am in bed. Rain is hitting hard against the roof, the windows. I am praying.

My mattress just fell off my bedframe- this happens weekly or so- and my sweet roommate climbs out of her bed to help me lift it back up. We laugh as we struggle, and decide to call some cohort boys to come over and fix it for us tomorrow.

A day.

And my personality was set.

My mother is a clinical social worker and my dad is a psychiatrist. They spent years and years of their lives studying psychology (insert apple-doesn't-fall-far comments here, yeah, I've heard them).

My mother, when describing how they fell in love and decided to get married, has on more than one occasion explained that they had something crucial in common: they both loved (LOVED) the psychological theory of Object Relations Theory.

Suffice it to say, she has compared how she and my dad feel about object relations theory to how I feel about Christianity. As in, "You know how it's really important to you that you marry a guy who's a Christian? Well, that's how Daddy and I felt about object relations." (That is verbatim.)

Getting into exactly what object relations means is long and not really the point. But in class today, our professor explained it with this sentence written on the Powerpoint:

"Object relations theorists propose that the need for relationship is a basic human need."

Object relations: the need for relationship is a basic human need.

I was raised by two people who believed so strongly in this theory that they married based on it.

Do we all understand how I work now?

Only when.

Last week I made a friend turn off a rerun of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, because there was a torture scene and I couldn't handle it.

They were gracious and a little confused. I tried to laugh and make light of it, but was panicking inside a little bit, and was clear that, sorry, but I need to turn this off, now. Her husband pointed out, "Um, I mean this is from the 90s. I don't think they're going to put anything really graphic on..."

I know it probably wasn't going to be graphic. I know that it, honestly, is a silly TV show, and the fact that it was involving vampires and an overly-dramatic David Boreanaz should have meant that I could continue eating my ice cream as I gave the screen my half-attention and chatted with my friends.

But I can't do torture. I can't do a person looking up at someone with fear- even badly-acted, clearly fake, for-the-sake-of-ratings fear. I can't do screams or grimaces or any visual of knowing someone is about to hurt you and being unable to get away.

Those are real girls to me. Those are real faces, and that is real terror. People I know felt that terror and knew that pain. And so I cannot watch it, or listen to it, or think about it.


I can't watch it or listen to it or think about it unless.

Last night, I sat on the phone with a new, precious friend. We talked for over an hour and it was one of those conversations where you're both falling over each other with excitement and shared passion and ideas and understanding.

And at one point, she started a sentence and I knew what I was about to hear.

I felt the familiar clenching in my stomach- that I feel when a friend suggests watching a movie I know has violence in it, when I know I'm about to be in a group situation where there may be kids crying and I won't be able to physically turn and see: they're safe, they're fine, no one is hurting them, they're just crying because they're kids.

Normally I pay attention to that clenching in my stomach as a sign to get myself out of a situation. But I didn't stop her this time. Because she has held so much more than I have, because it was important, because I took a deep breath and knew, I can handle it, when I really have to.

We talked and I heard the stories. And a few minutes later in the conversation I realized something.

Yes, this makes me sick. Yes, I hate this. Yes, this is everything horrible and evil and full of death and the fall, just like my girls' stories are, just like Buffy the Vampire Slayer's producers' lame representations of someone scared are.


But I knew that I wouldn't be waking up in a nightmare... not tonight.


We talked and laughed (only crazy people who understand what it is to have loved street kids can laugh in a conversation that includes rape, by the way) and understood each other and groaned over stories and figured out how we can combine our resources to get more information, more help, more healing, more redemption, more love, to these kids.

We were talking to heal. We were talking to help. We were talking because we want to use our gifts and resources to contribute to His work of bringing all things right: even street kids, even rape, even torture, even terror, even death.

When I'm hearing it then?
My stomach clenches. My heart races and my skin gets clammy. I want to throw up and I want to scream.
But I don't want to hide. I don't need to leave the room.

Not when it's to, in some tiny way, be a part of the redemption.

"And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
"Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man...

He will wipe every tear from their eyes,
and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning,
nor crying, nor pain anymore,
for the former things have passed away."

And He who was seated on the throne said,

"Behold, I am making all things new."

Revelation 21:3-5

Wonder what your psychologist was like in grad school?

I've written before about my beautiful friend Chelsea, who is one of my favorite favorite people here. We hang out all the time and she is my coffee date buddy and walk-vent-need fulfiller of Newberg. Her husband Ryan and I were assigned to be therapy partners for each other this week and after our respective "sessions" we got slightly unprofessional...

Good psycholog-izing, right?

We love you, Chels!!