My Thoughts on Westboro Baptist Church

I disagree wholeheartedly and absolutely oppose what Westboro stands for, but I can't bring myself to say I undeniably hate the people that are associated with that church. Just because they don't know God like I do, doesn't mean I should say they belong in hell or tell them they're worthless. I feel like that's just getting on their belief system's level; To hatefully judge and condemn others. My heart somehow still sees those members as human beings. When I first heard Westboro would be protesting Central, I thought a counter-protest would be awesome, and I even considered not going to class just to be there. But I believe it would be best if there would be as little outside interaction as possible. Giving them attention, and warranting more opportunities to get people riled up, won't stop them. If anything, they'll see it as another reason to say hateful things to everyone who is there. My younger brother attends Central, and I'm sure he will be well protected. I pray for Westboro. I really do.

I've been sittin', waitin', wishin'.

This weekend was too short, and not enough of it was spent with just the person I really wanted to be with. Sometimes he doesn't seem to want to make just "us" time. Saturday it felt like I had an epiphany about it, as if he has gotten used to us being apart, and it doesn't really bother him that it bothers me. That, in of itself, bothers me. Luckily, I was just being my usual self by over-thinking everything and jumping to conclusions.

Today, after I finally got back to my campus and finished putting up the stuff I took home and finished an online quiz for class, I noticed I had missed a call from him. I listened to the voice-mail, and got all teary-eyed. He just wanted to call and tell me he’d gotten back into his town, and wanted to tell me goodnight and that he loves me. Something as simple as that voice-mail makes me remember how blessed I am to have him. He’s mine, and no one else’s. He will forever be my always. And I love him to the moon and back.

Butterflies

I have been actively avoiding writing this post for a few days, but I want to get it done, so here goes it.

It seems I'm at the age where every other post on Facebook is about an engagement, wedding, babies, or moving. So many of my friends are entering a state of change, and I, someone who wishes for the days of yesteryear, am not ready for it.

In two days' time, my best friend in the world will be moving three and a half hours south, on her way to be a college freshman. This change will hit the hardest. Miranda has been with me for eight years, and for the first time we will be in complete opposite ends of the state.

During elementary school and a slim part of middle school, we had it easy, because Miranda lived two blocks from me. We walked home together and I couldn't begin to count how many afternoons I spent at her house. There were numerous sleepovers, one being after Family Fun Night in October that doubled as a Friday the 13th party. No one but me had come, but we made the best of it anyway.

When her family decided to move, she had a painting party, (which also included plenty of Vault, our "energy" drink of choice) and we got mischievous by painting a fly, yes a fly, in her old bedroom. That day we also discovered that the stains from those squishy fake eyeballs that we threw on the ceiling were still there. We had a lot of good times in that house.

During one summer, Miranda had to move to Wyoming with her family because of her dad's job. It was tough, but we were still able to talk on the phone, and we even watched the same TV show at the same time. I was elated when they were able to move back to town. 

When we were younger and were having sleepovers with a bunch of us more often, we were the two that stayed up and had deep, theological discussions. (Well, as deep as tweens could get anyway.) 

Then high school came, and it was crazy. I did my best to be the quiet one who read every spare minute. Mir and I only had band and Geometry together, if I'm remembering correctly, but we still had youth group every week. Youth group is what has always been our constant. She invited me in 7th grade, and the first night I was there, even though I had to be a circle, I knew I'd be coming back. Jessica made the place welcoming and fun. After a few years, Jess would like to point out to Miranda how nearly half the youth group was owed to her. Mir had started a chain reaction for inviting people.

I could go on for days about all of the amazing times we had in youth group together, from finger painting on newspaper taped to the wall, to singing the silliest made-up songs, to playing a life-size scaled Clue game. All of it was incredible, and I'm lucky to have those memories.

To everyone embarking on their next great adventure, I sincerely wish you the best of luck.


Dear Mir,

I know I've already written in your yearbook, and I know we don't normally get all mushy, but I just have to tell you how awesome you are. You are the funniest, weirdest person I've ever met. Anyone who has the misfortune to listen in to one of our conversations could never understand this friendship. I'm surprised Dorsey never separated us in math class. 

I'm really no good at goodbyes, and honestly, I hate them. How do you say goodbye to the person you saw every single day for almost a decade? How do you let them leave? You are starting the rest of your life this week, and for the first time, I won't be there to experience it with you. I know we joke about how you'll suck in college, but I know that's a lie. I have seen you grow into the remarkable human being you are today. You will do amazing things in college. You are smart and a beautiful person, inside and out. I will miss you like crazy, but it's not goodbye. It's a see you later. I could never say a goodbye to you, Mir.

Lots of love, 

Ern

P.S.- You really are super-amazing-fantabulous. Never forget it! :-)

Buble Love

As if I couldn't be any more of a sap, here is a new favorite of mine by Michael Buble. :)

I'm not an athlete.

I realize I haven't posted since Mission Trip, and that I left off in the middle of the week without sharing the rest of our journey. I truly wanted to finish those posts, but I found myself becoming unfocused and unable to apply myself to write.

This has been my most boring summer in a long while. The past two years, June through August have been jam-packed. Mission trip, babysitting, New G tour, band camp, etc. As exhausted as I was by the end, and how I felt I had no summer at all, I miss being so busy. I started the summer by getting in extra sleep and going to a few last graduation parties, then I left on mission trip, which was such a different experience than I'm used to. It was our first year without Jessica, and our first year with Scott, the new associate pastor at Wyatt Park. The whole time, I kept comparing my last trip with the three previous ones, and continued to be disappointed when it just wasn't the same.

That's the one regret I have this summer so far... I tried to make this the best mission trip ever by making recreations of past mission trips. I begged to go to Metropolis to see Superman. I was much more disappointed with the big group worship, because I had high hopes it would be exactly like the one in Copperhill. I wanted everything to be like before. I wanted the my past to be my present. I wanted those moments of finding God to come as easily again, because, the truth is, I've felt my faith slip through the cracks for a long while. I let it go, and put it in the corner of my mind that's a little dusty and try not to visit too often.

I've posted quite a few times about being at a crossroad at this point in my life, and I feel the pressure of my choices all at once, when I've barely been able to read the road signs before they're just a blur behind me. There are less than four weeks before I move into my dorm at Northwest, and I freak out more and more about it every day. I think of all the people I need to see again before I leave, and the people I don't want to let go when I say goodbye. I'm trying to be orderly about it all, by making lists of what I'm taking with me and what I need to buy. I do this to keep myself busy so I can't think of all the emotions that threaten to take me over. I do the same when I'm about to go on a scary roller coaster or when I'm cleaning out my closet. I disassociate myself with what I'm doing, that way I can trick my brain into thinking the outcome doesn't matter as long as it gets done.

Sometimes I have to wrestle with myself to become detached. I worry about not having Miranda with me for the first time in seven years. I fear that I'll get to college and realize that it's too much and that I will fail. I am terrified of my anxiety in new places without familiar faces. I want to be good enough, to be good enough for my parents.

Tonight was the New Generation Singers Homecoming. I got to the church right before the buses pulled up with the 80 kids and the sponsors, not used to being on this side of the windows. I held up the modest little welcome home sign I made earlier in the day, and waited for the hugging to commence. First up was Jenny, someone I confide in about nearly everything, and after her there were only a handful of others I knew well enough to embrace. I ended up puppy dog-ing it by following around one person until they had to do something, then switch to someone else. I did this for about fifteen minutes before I realized there wasn't a reason for me to hang around. I wasn't a part of this tour, so I shouldn't act like I was. So I left to eat dinner at my grandma's birthday party, and would come back when the concert began.

As soon as the performance started, I teared up. It didn't seem right sitting in the audience, watching, instead of being on the risers. I sang along to every song and even did some of the choreography with them, although I had to be a little more discreet so as not to disturb anyone sitting near me. 

Let me tell you, if you have never witnessed a New G concert, then you don't know what you're missing. I knew what to expect song-wise, but I wasn't prepared for being so moved. In what direction, I'm still not sure, but I was definitely moved in some way. I was so excited to run up to the stage at the end to sing the Benediction with them, that I was shaking the whole time.

"The Lord, whom we love, whom we worship and adore, we will serve throughout this coming week. He it is, who binds us together, and he it is who sends us apart. To be God's people... Be God's people. Amen."

Watching and taking in this performance, I know I need to find my way back to my faith. Well, to a stronger faith. I've never given up on God, but I find myself ignoring our relationship, because I think that will help me focus on other things. It's the complete opposite. I need to move closer to Him if I want to find this peace I dream about at night. I hate asking for help, because I think it makes me look weak. I want to fix it myself so I can prove to people I'm worth something. But when there's something too broken or too far gone, I can't just give up on it, can I? I have to bring to the ultimate healer. Bring it to Him, and put it at his feet. Wrestling in my head leaves behind a bruised spirit and broken tears. I'm not an athlete, and I think it's time give up this sport.

Day Two: In Which We Arrive

Fathers Day: Once a year for many, but I wish I lived like it was every day for my heavenly Father.

There are very few things I enjoy doing more than worshipping my little heart out, so I was excited to stay for the service at the church in Franklin. It was a little different, but not in a bad way... Just different. I'm not used to people being so ready to put their hands in the air and put their everything into what they're singing. I love it. I love, love, love watching people be passionate. You experience them at their finest moment and become just as passionate as they are.

After some rockin' out and praying, the whole congregation was treated to free snow cones outside, and we were invited as well. Personally, I favored the orange and vanilla combo.

After a lunch of more sandwiches, we loaded up and moved out towards our destination. We arrived a little after six, and first things first, we took all our crap to our living quarters for the next week.

This is all I'll say about our rooms: I've lived in worse, so what we have is, somehow, a blessing. Miranda and I moved in with two other girls we knew fairly well, and I immediately unpacked nearly everything I brought. Clothes went in drawers, toiletries went by the mirror, and notebooks and crayons went in the desk. After the sleeping bag was rolled out, it was just about time for chapel.

When I was with Team Effort the last time, chapel was the highlight of my day. Hello Seattle (Remix) was bumping and the crowd was pumped for the amazing songs we did for worship. I was introduced to so many incredible artists that summer, it's crazy. And I loved afterwords with just our own people, where Jess pulled out the guitar and we continued to sing some of our favorites as well.

This time around is still awesome when we sing, but the mini sermons fall short of carrying weight to me. Funnily enough, these sermons and scriptures are a near perfect copy of the ones they used in Copperhill. More news of what we're being taught will come in later posts.

We headed back to the dorms after being given the schedule for the following day: 7:05 for breakfast, 8:00 leave for work site, 5:35 for dinner, 10:30 lights out. I went to bed, anxious to start the week.

Day One: In Which We Found Super John...Er, Superman!

For the six of us youth who were on the last trip here to Tennessee, a find memory was accidentally ending up in Metropolis, Illinois, home of the incredible Superman. We followed the signs to find him, and sure enough, there he was, standing to protect the police department building. That day we went, no one seemed to be around, and the shops were closed. Also to our disappointment, Superman wasn't that... Super...

On the way into the 6,000 person populated town, you pass a Big John's supermarket, where there is a huge statue of Big John. So huge, in fact, he surpassed Superman's height by landslide.

I poked and prodded our sponsors this year into letting us find Superman again, for nostalgia's sake, and amazingly, they agreed. We ended up there right around dinnertime, so we actually stopped in Big John and got sandwich supplies to eat around Superman. When we got to the police station, Miranda and I noticed the stores were actually open, so we rushed to them and I bought an awesome Wonder Woman cup and a neat postcard for my collection.

After a ham sandwich and Minute Maid lemonade, we gathered around and got pictures taken with the big guy in a cape. Some of the guys played a game of hacky sack with him, too. We made sure we got a seniors picture and a "Super" seniors pictures; one of those who came to Tennessee to Copperhill.

We bid our goodbyes and made our way to Nashville for the night. My mom has a good friend from high school in Franklin, so we stayed with her and her husband at their church.

It was surprisingly cold and it didn't have a shower, but we were worn out, so we just made out the best we could and hunkered down to sleep.

One day down, too many more to go.

New Adventures

Saturday morning, just as the hear and humidity was settling in our lungs, Wyatt Park Christian Youth headed east for my fourth and final mission trip. I was ecstatic to be going back to Tennessee for the fourth time in my life and the second for a mission trip. We went with Team Effort, an organization better preferred by our group.

My bag was packed, snacks bought, and My Little Pony coloring books at the ready. I couldn't wait to get back to the lush greens of Tennessee and to see the beautiful mountains once again. The best part would be to spend time with the people I love the most before I'm forced to leave them when I go to Northwest. The worst part, however, would be to figure out how to handle the noticeable void left by our beloved sponsors Jessica, Gary, and Rylan. I've never been without them, and I wasn't sure what the trip would end up like.

Doubts in mind, an adventure began with those three vans and sixteen hours before us.

Mirrors

I am ugly.

I am a canvas
invaded by graffiti of others.
It is marked by merciless
judgment across my hips
and smeared with sneers
of disgust around my thighs.

My arms are dotted with distrust
from the haste of wearing my
heart on my sleeve.
My feet ache from wandering
down those unforgiving paths,
where the only light I found
came from the
inferno I ignited with
words to ward off those
offering help.

Trained to carry more than
it can handle,
my spine strains to stand straight.
It cries in pain, but it would
never let this facade fall.

No one can know.
They can't see the cracks
covering my chest,
where doubt drips down
and anxiety takes root in a heart predisposed to panic.

A smile,
my weapon of choice,
begins to paint sloppy layers
over the fading mess.

I am drenched in these
oils that suffocate my skin,
clogging pores and
stealing oxygen.
I long to be scrubbed free,
to chip away the peeling
hurt and
begin again.

Out of nowhere,
a hand reaches for mine.
Fingers fly fluidly,
brushing away the stained attempts
of unsuccessful masking.
My skin tingles,
revived and
rubbed raw.

When I raise my
unbelieving eyes to meet theirs,
I see myself for the first time
reflected in those two perfect mirrors.

I am beautiful.

The Call

I am in love with song. I can't seem to get tired of it, and I'm okay with that. I melt every single time I hear it. It also goes along with the Crossroads post, which is a nice bonus.

Crossroads

Unfortunately, graduating from high school does not guarantee a fabulous summer full of checking off everything on your bucket list. For most, it involves the sleep we all lost during those weeks of hell by the name of finals and, even worse, IB and AP testing. For the lucky, summer consists of having a job and saving money for college life; for the luckier, a good chunk of time is spent with best friends. Friends that you know will be going off to another town, far away, where their lives will go on as lives seem to do, even though you gave no consent. But that's the one elephant in the room that has made it a point to move in... Under no circumstances do you start getting all blubbery about not seeing them every day, not having youth group or New G or the weird faces in the hallway in between class periods. Not until that very last moment can you get completely serious and hang on to memories of our past, because what's ahead is unknown and, let's just say it, really flipping terrifying.

My summer, it seems, is on the fast track to getting prescribed bipolar meds. There are long moments that stretch into days of being stuck inside an empty house with no job, no license, and no car, watching and re-watching Gilmore Girls, and eating microwaved lunches everyday at two in the afternoon, because I don't realize my internal clock hasn't been wound correctly since April. And then there are the sweet breaths of relief when there's reason enough to put on socially acceptable clothing, shut the door behind me, and laugh with people who honest to goodness like having me around. I need social interaction, and more so than creeping on people via Twitter or Facebook. I need face to face happenings, or else I'll go crazy of loneliness. 

I want this summer to matter. I want to check off insane boxes on my bucket list and be with my friends every possible minute. I want to stop dreaming, and make these things happen.

Summer 2013

My Goals for this Summer:

Finish Inheritance series

Actually learn something on the guitar

Not be a bum

Get outside

Get a nice tan

Do my stretches and exercise

Spend as much time as possible with friends

Start a scrapbook

Learn something new

Try new foods

Go on a spontaneous adventure, not knowing where you're going

Stay positive

Write so much more

Keep up with all of this on my blog

Worship

Here's another of my favorite songs, by the Christian group, Luminate. I had the privilege to see these guys in concert a few years ago, and I've loved them ever since. There's something in the lead's voice that gives me goosebumps. He's amazing and I find myself hitting the replay button at least four times.
I get out of sort in stress more frequently than I would like, but when I do, I go straight to my iPod and find my Christian playlist. It brings me back to a calmer state of mind and reminds me that sometimes it's better to let go, and let God, rather than letting the grip of what can't be changed choke you into unconsciousness.

Dark Side

For an example of my last post, here's a song that I love listening to, especially this a capella version by Peter Hollens and Madilyn Bailey.
I connect with this song because I doubt myself sometimes that I am good enough for all the amazing people in my life. Sometimes I want to ask them if they'll still love me, even if they knew my dark side.

Pieces of Me

I'm not quite sure how to explain how important music is to me. No, I'm not the top clarinetist, and no, I can't sing to save my life, but being a part of music runs in my veins. 

My entire family has been all about music for as long as I can remember. My mom's dad played the guitar and keyboard and other instruments that I can't recall clearly, and I can remember going into his den of sorts and wishing I could learn to play them, too. 

One of my dad's brothers owns a music shop here in town, and another of his brother's is a music teacher in another city. Nearly all of his seven siblings participated in Central's musical when they were in high school. 

My older brother just graduated a few weekends ago with a degree in Music Education. He's played the violin for over ten years. 

And so the list goes on and on.

Sometimes I wish I was as talented as my family, but even though I enjoy performing music, I'm much more in love with the feeling of experiencing music. Whether this is through my headphones, speakers at full blast in the car, or being in the audience of a musical or concert. I find appreciating others' work immensely more gratifying than myself performing.

Admittedly, I find myself being protective of the music I listen to in a way where, when I find a song or a group that I think is just the best thing in the entire world, I'm usually unsure if I should share it with people. This is especially true when I really connect with the music. I feel as if I'm exposing myself when I have someone listen to it the first time, which probably sounds somewhat weird. I'm not the type to listen to a lot of music that's full of fluff with no reason behind it other than to have a good time. I have more of a taste for music full of stories, which I suppose comes from the writer in me. 

And I don't discriminate between genres, either. I have anything from Linkin Park to Michael Buble to Imagine Dragons to Martina McBride to Mumford and Sons to P!nk to Backstreet Boys, (don't hate- I am a teenage girl born in the 90s...) to the cast of Rent, and even a little Glee mixed in, too. I could never pick which category I'm more a fan of.

The whole point of all this ranting is to ask a favor. If I ever try to share a song with you, please actually listen to it. Chances are that the lyrics are conveying what I'm feeling in that moment or what I've been feeling for awhile about something. I know my taste isn't everyone's, but I wouldn't ask you to listen to it or have it playing in the car with you if I didn't have good reason. The songs in my playlists are pieces of me, snapshots of my life. I take them to heart.

We Give and We Take

Everyday I realize more and more that I am the most confusing and crazy person in the world.
To all the guys out there, please understand that the secret to women is quite simple: We have no idea what we want. Like, ever.
We'll want you to leave us alone, but get upset if we don't hear from you.
We want us to have great conversations, but can never think of something to say.
We'll want you to worry if we're upset, but we won't tell you when we're upset.
Likewise, we'll get mad at you if you don't seemed worried, even though you have every right to not worry, because we never said we we're upset in the first place.
We'll do our best to explain ourselves when we are upset, but end up sounding infinitely more confusing.
We'll hate it when you don't respond to a text, but we'll have no problem doing it to you, as if we're giving you a taste of your own medicine. (Which is stupid on our part.)
We want you to show you care, even though there's no reason to ask you to prove yourself.
We want you to know we miss you when you're gone, but we don't always tell you in fear of being clingy/sounding like a crazy stalker person.
We'll yell and get mad and be horrible to you, even though all we're accomplishing is taking our bad days on you, and that is completely unfair to you.
We want you to understand we don't like plans being changed, but we end up being complete jerks and try to guilt trip you.
We never like getting into fights, but we start ones anyway.
Then, we feel absolutely terrible for days on end for making you mad and we realize how stupid we were, and we just want everything to be okay again.

After all is said and done, we just want you, and nothing else.

A New Season is Upon Us

My four years in high school have been made up of seasons. Seasons of friends, of moments, of experiences.

Anyone who knows my last name, knows music runs in my veins. I've love everything music has to offer, and I grasp at any chance to become a part of it in different ways. I knew I would be in band for the long haul since fifth or sixth grade, and I chose the clarinet early on. I couldn't figure out how to play the flute, I didn't have the lung capacity for any lower brass instruments, and honestly, trumpet players just seemed too snooty. So clarinet it was, and I've stuck with it for nearly eight years. When I came to high school, I knew all about the musical from my older brother. I remember seeing The Music Man, Oklahoma, The Sound of Music, Brigadoon, and Crazy for You, long before I was a registered freshman. I fell in love with theater from these productions at Central. 

I had briefly met Mr. VanDyke the summer before my first year, and Daniel encouraged me to take his Stagecraft class. I did, and I had a lot of fun. What I wasn't expecting was for him to approach me and ask if I would be a Student Manager. I knew Daniel had been one and liked, but I hesitated. I didn't know if I could rise to the challenge and do well enough. As you all know, I hate disappointing people. But I accepted, and once again I had fun. There were bumps, hits, and misses, but I'm glad I said yes. Annie Get Your Gun was a great experience, full of people who changed my life and whom I'm still close with.

The next year, for Into the Woods, I not only met new friends, but bonded with ones I already had. Because the cast would be so small, many people weren't able to be on stage, but plenty still helped by being on crew, or in the pit. Carrie was able to play flute that year, and her, Tabby, and I had such a wonderful time. Jessica was also there, making it all the more special. The music was amazing, the set was incredible, the cast was so talented, and I loved the beautiful story it told. Pit was even nominated for a Blue Star, along with set design and others that I can't remember, and won the award.

Les Miserables was a big undertaking, but I faithfully signed on to pit again anyway. Mr. Verbick is a wonderful conductor, and could take on this challenge. I was a tad lost on the story for awhile, because it could get pretty confusing, but in the end, everything pulled together and told the sad tale exquisitely. The cast was immensely talented, and it was sad to see those seniors go. Pit was once again nominated, but didn't end up winning.

Junior came to an end, and I spent the summer of my life with everyone I loved. I didn't want to believe I would soon be a senior, but I did start putting in big effort to make all my moments count. There was no way I would simply float through my last year of high school and not take in all the memories being made.

Therefore, when I heard the musical would be Thoroughly Modern Millie, a show I didn't recognize at all, I sucked up all the preconceived notions I had and signed up for the last time. With Mr. Maxwell directing, I knew we would be buckling down to work right off the bat. During the rehearsals before we played with the leads, I was concerned about how little confidence I had in playing my part. But once we got set up in the theater and watched the show from start to finish, I loved the story and the songs that we performed. Even despite the fact that Daniel came back and also played in pit this year, I had fun. And I made a lot of memories.

And so closing night came, a little later than expected, and with it the nervousness about senior circle. We have a tradition in Central Theater that after every closing night of the spring show, everyone in the company sits in a circle in the gym (our "backstage" to the theater) around the center of the court, which bears an Indian head. I was on the fence about giving a speech the whole night. Not many people know who I am, because it's always felt like the pit isn't truly a part of the company. Sure, I was pretty good friends with a few of the cast members, but not like the other seniors, who are much more of social butterflies than I am.

But, to my own surprise, I summoned the courage to stand up and make my way to the middle of the circle.

I was not expecting the reception I was given. I mean, everyone claps and cheers for everyone, but everyone also knows that they just have to, even for the people they don't know or like. I was expecting the standard applause when I stood up, but not the cheering from all around the circle. There were the ones I knew, of course, but there were also the ones I knew but didn't know they knew me, you know? I looked to all of the faces and realized that I do belong here, as much of an outsider as I felt. I began my speech, somewhat rehearsed, mostly off the cuff, and in the end when I had nothing left to say, I said what I could only feel. That I could never imagine standing there, where so many others did. Where my brother did. Where so many of my friends who had to graduate and leave did. But, I said, I'm so glad I made it here. Thank you all.

Confliction and Adoration

My favorite worship song is Revelation Song.

The chorus has been sticking out to me in particular in the recent weeks:

"Holy, Holy, Holy

Is the Lord God Almighty

Who was, and is, and is to come

With all creation I sing:

Praise to the King of Kings!

You are my everything,

And I will adore You!"

You are my everything, and I will adore you... 

Am I doing enough to show this in my everyday life? Am I adoring God as much as I should? I'm given plenty of opportunities, that I'm sure. 

At the height of musical season, I've been taking less and less time to be thankful, and instead all I seem to remember is how much homework I haven't finished, all the hours I'm going to have to be at rehearsal, and how little hours of sleep I'm going to be getting. 
In the past two months, I've barely been able to go to youth group, which has always been the best place for me to connect to God. With this, I've lapsed on worshiping and spending time with God. I've noticed I have a shorter temper and using profane vocabulary (in my head) toward those who annoy me. Luckily, the musical is finishing up this weekend, and I will be back at Wyatt Park soon enough. In the meantime, I'm finding other ways to come back to my faith at the end of every day.

Faith is for God

I take my faith very seriously. It's become a large part of who I am and I wouldn't be where I am without it. 

Growing up Catholic hasn't been easy, especially when I started going to youth group at WPCC six and a half years ago. I got two different viewpoints on so much and it was hard to pick out what I thought was right. But there isn't a right and a wrong in faith. If what you believe in doesn't fit in just one religion, then that's okay. What's important is figuring out what you believe in and what you yourself stand for. Personally, I look at religion as a relationship, not as something I follow blindly. I need to find comfort and peace in God. I've also never, that I can remember, had a moment of hesitation about my faith. In times of hardship in my life, I don't think my faith has ever been shaken or questioned. I've always turned to Him for support and to give me strength. I can't say it's been a piece of cake, or that I haven't been upset with God about something. I'm saying I know that I could never go through life without Him, so why would I try?

People who know me like to poke fun at the fact that I'm Catholic, and I usually don't mind it. But once in a while, I wonder if they realize my faith and my religion are separate things to me. No, I don't agree with a lot the Catholic church stands for, but that doesn't mean I don't partake in mass every Sunday, or that I dismiss everything I'm taught. The majority of my freshmen year I went through confirmation classes, and was made an official member of the church. I think it's important to go to mass every week, although for different reasons that my dad, family, or priest may have in mind. In eighteen years, it's seemed that I have had to go to church because that's what expected of me. When I was younger, I was expected to dress nicely, or older adults would give me looks. I was expected to genuflect, even though I didn't know why. I was expected to say a prayer, any prayer, before mass started, even though no one had explained how. 

It felt like I was going for everyone else, and not for God.

Now I still try to look nice, but I may wear jeans every other Sunday. I feel that it doesn't matter what I'm wearing. God knows that I'm not being disrespectful, just comfortable. I don't genuflect, because... Well, because I never have. I understand what it is now, but I've never became comfortable enough with it. (I would also say I don't because of my joint pain, but since my eighty-something year old grandma still genuflects and kneels every mass, I don't find it a legitimate excuse.)

Praying, on the other hand, I make sure to get right. I talk to God as I would in any conversation with another person. Each time I make sure to give the greatest thanks to God for all I've been blessed with. For a roof over my head, food on the table, and the family in between. I pray thanks for the friends I have and have had. I pray thanks for Tyler, my best friend in the whole world. I also pray for those who I know need prayer, and that God gives them peace and guidance. I pray for my own troubles last. I pray for more understanding and wisdom, instead of less stress and anxiety.

I don't often remember to give my troubles to God in the moment. I think I'm on my own and have to deal with it as such. But when I sit down to pray, I realize I could have given myself so much relief if I had let go, and let God. It feels so wonderful to have that weight off my shoulders. This past week I needed to figure out how to explain something very important to someone, and I prayed for the right words to say. Later I thought to write a letter, an idea I can only credit to God. A letter allows me to say everything I need to just how I need to say it. It allows me the grace of silence, because I always get tongue-tied and worry if I'm being confusing or not.

God is amazing. God is awesome. God is my savior.

Sacrifices

Turning 18 and becoming an adult are two different milestones in life. In one, you are held legally responsible for your actions. You can buy lottery tickets, you can smoke. You are able to vote.

As for the other, it's more a matter of knowing what your choices are, and knowing how to choose. You hold yourself responsible for your decisions, and no one else.

This past December, I myself turned 18. I didn't buy a pack of cigarettes or any lottery tickets, just had a normal school day and went to youth group. I didn't make a big deal out of my birthday, because I didn't feel much different. I felt as if I had already became an adult. I no longer took the easier routes, and I had already made important life decisions that involved sacrificing dreams I held dear. 

I chose to attend Northwest instead of K-State, based on more than just a few factors. I debated on this for several weeks, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. I've had my heart set on K-State for years, most of my life even. But when the time came to choose, I had to step back and look at reality. The cost, the miles, the foreignness... I couldn't bypass them. I didn't want to end up going somewhere where I felt too awkward and lonely, and wasting so much effort and money. I would hate going that much farther away than all of my friends and others I care about. So Northwest won the battle fought inside my raging mind. I'm not saying I feel terrible about this choice, because I know it's a great school with a great English program, I'm only saying I never thought I would be going anywhere other than K-State.

The only reservations I have about Northwest is that Daniel will have graduated from there only a year prior, and I hope I will not have the same issues I have with that as I do in high school. 

Inches by Inches

Do you smell that? The stench is overwhelming.

Second semester is here, pressing itself so closely to me that I feel the weight all the time. 

Musical. Scholarships. NHS. Get a job. IB exams and IAs. TAG movie. College. Get a job. College. College.

Breathe... Breathe... Breathe...

Why do I allow myself to become so overwhelmed? I get out of sorts and forget my capabilities. I let setbacks burden me and analyze every good thing that happens. Will I ever be content?

Too many times I feel compared to my older brother, and it seems like I am living part time in his shadow. I am judged by what he has accomplished and I have not. I am pushed too far to have my bar set higher than his. For this, I fight to have my voice heard everyday, everywhere.
I am not my brother's sister. I am Erin. My own person, with my own limitations, and my own future ahead of me. I make my own path, not follow in someone else's footsteps.

I fight so much more vigorously now that people I've had as mentors have left. I miss them dearly and life doesn't quite work the same as when they were here. I felt myself with them, that I was Erin with them. Now I need to learn to be Erin with everyone else.

So this will be my goal for second semester. Not a resolution, but a goal I can strive for and keep the rest of this year and into my college days.