Thankful.

In all honesty, I have quite a bit to be thankful for.

This August, I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Most people ask me how I cope with these, given I’m the most active person they know. They know me as the runner, the dancer, the swimmer, the girl who never stops reaching for her goals. And I’m still that person. Those things keep me feeling like “me.” That’s what I tell them. What I don’t tell them is that it’s better than the alternative. In February, they thought I had cancer. My diagnoses weren’t death sentences. They were a gift.

I started a new medication this fall. It’s called Cymbalta. Most people know it as an anti-depressant. It’s also been really successful for people with fibromyalgia, as was the case for me. I didn’t know how bad I was feeling until a month after I began taking it. Along with reduced symptoms, my head became much clearer. I became happier. I didn’t realize that it was possible to love life as much as I do now. When I think back to how dark the days prior to this diagnosis were, I cringe at how miserable I was feeling. But I don’t regret it, because I appreciate life so much more, and knowing where I’ve been helps me be better at my job and as a person in general.

I credit this happiness to more than just the diagnoses and the medication. I have a job that makes me excited to get up in the mornings. I’m studying what I love. And I have new aspirations of what I want to do with my future. The possibilities are endless. That is what people have been telling me for years, but I didn’t understand this until a few months ago. I work an amazing job at an excellent school where I have support from family and friends. And now that I am at my best, I get to help others be their best, too.

So despite all of the nastiness that comes along with being a “full time sick person,” my illnesses have me waking up every day filled with gratitude and hope. I’m excited to see what opportunities the day will bring and to conquer my world one step at a time. Some days, that only means getting out of bed and getting dressed. Other days, it’s running a half marathon. But whatever it means, I’m continuously thankful for another day in this life I live :) 

On Word Choice

After publishing the last post I wrote for this blog, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I was terribly worried that I had not gone about the subject the right way. The anxiety over my post continued, yet I refused to take down the post. I knew then and am still trying to understand now that sometimes, you cannot word anything correctly.

That seems to be pretty pertinent in my life right now.

When I enrolled in TESOL 4120 (better known as Introduction to Linguistics), I had no idea that it was going to challenge me the way it does. Yes, it's tough academically, and I've lovingly renamed my instructor "Arduous Linguistics Professor," but it's making a more well rounded person out of me.

(You should know that as I wrote that last paragraph, I silently named all of the parts of speech within the sentences. I've been brainwashed.)

It started with ALP's first email to the class. A packet of a syllabus was attached, along with her general classroom policies and a reminder to "procure our class packet" at Copyworks. I immediately felt intimidated by her words and policies. Much to my chagrin, she talks the way she writes. However, ALP's class is my favorite. Why? Because she's passionate about linguistics and teaching, and she's funny, and she has an odd accent after studying in Vienna and teaching British English to children.

I see it as a reminder that I need to be careful with my words.

Maybe it's that I am talking to someone I've just met, and my vocabulary intimidates them, just as ALP's did to me. 

Maybe it's that I write a blog post and my words say what I intend for them to convey.

Maybe it's that I have posted a photo to Instagram and I haven't shared the whole story behind the caption.

Maybe it's that I'm having a bad pain day and my words (or lack thereof) are hurting one of my friends.

Or maybe it's that I just need to pay more attention to what I am speaking or writing. My brain travels about ten times faster than my mouth, and that can be a blessing and a curse.

In any case, I need to be more cognizant of the fact that words are powerful, which means I need to use them, and I need to use them well.

And, as a general thought, I need to be writing more.

With that, I believe I'll start my linguistics homework.

On Why I Questioned My Faith (And the Answer I Found)

Like many individuals who have grown up in a Christian home and have chosen to attend a public university, I have found myself questioning my faith. I suppose you could claim that this is what happens when one attends a secular school, but spoiler alert: I have not abandoned my faith. I did not expect to be traveling on this journey, and it’s not over yet, but because of everything I am about to describe, my faith is stronger and more passionate than it has ever been.

By the time I moved to school, I was unsure of what I wanted in a church. I didn’t enjoy church like I used to. It had become something I felt as though I had to do- to attend with my family and listen to sermons and lessons I did not always follow. I wanted to make sure that the church I attended at school was a place where I felt comfortable and could grow in my faith.

The first church I attended was a highly traditional Lutheran church. I went with my roommate, and we both agreed it probably wasn’t the church for us. The next week, I went to a large Baptist church belonging to a different chapter than my church back home. This church was very contemporary, and because I had attended such a conservative church at home, it didn’t feel right either. The next week, I found a church that landed somewhere in the middle. The music was contemporary and upbeat, and while the church was very large (they hold two services at the same time!), the sanctuary service felt like a good fit for me.

I was happy that I had found a church, but there were weeks when I didn’t necessarily want to go. I didn’t want church to become an obligation again, so I decided not to go on those days. It kept church fresh and engaging for me. During this time, I was taking a humanities class that was pushing me to question everything I believed. I was still sure there was a God, but I struggled to understand how some of the events in the Bible actually occurred. I found myself attending less and less as I tried to work through my faith. There was a stretch of time when I did not touch my Bible except to look up a reference for my class.

This was not the only aspect that was contributing to my doubt. I began having health issues, and I couldn’t understand why this was happening after I had finally recovered from a major surgery. I wasn’t necessarily angry with God, but I wasn’t sure why this was happening at a time I was trying to determine what I believed. I prayed that God would show Himself to me somehow, and I told Him I wasn’t sure I would even see Him then, so I needed him to work through me.

The answer didn’t come for a long time. I went back home for Christmas break and slogged through church services, slightly irritated with some of the teachings. It wasn’t until I came back to school that I realized that I had been feeling a tiny bit oppressed, for lack of a better word. It was no one’s fault in particular, but I could not be okay with myself when I was attending that church.

I went to church the day after I got back, and the message was one of the most important I think I will ever hear. The church that I attend when I am here at school has a female teacher on their leadership team. Although I was aware of this, I had not given it much thought, even though it is something that would be condemned at my church back home. The message, taught by this wonderful woman, was about women as teachers. She too, had grown up believing that it was wrong for women to teach men (see verses 1 Corinthians 14:34-35 and 1 Timothy 2:11-14). She then proceeded to show us how these words had been written to improve the church in Corinthian culture, which is highly different from our world in America today. The verses in 1 Timothy should be seen as encouragement for women to learn, as they were not always allowed to study in the same way as men. Take a look at Mary and Martha- Jesus was so excited that Mary sat at his feet to learn, and even told Martha that it was more important than the housework (!!). Even though the words in the Bible are God-breathed and the absolute truth, we have to look at the Bible as a whole, and we cannot just look at one verse without the background. I sat there, stunned. Why hadn’t I seen this before?

I then fought tears as I took communion for the first time in years. According to the beliefs of my church at home, communion was not something for me to take part in (that’s another story, and I’ll save it for another time). I felt encouraged and lifted up by everything about the service- from the worship songs, to the message, to communion. I wanted to come back and do it again.

I know that this is highly controversial, and there are many people who will disagree with my beliefs. That is okay, because my faith is between God and myself. What’s right for one person may not be for someone else (Romans 14). I’m not here to bash my home church or tell other people to believe one thing or another. I’m writing to declare that I believe in God. I believe in the Bible. I believe that I should serve God by living through his words to love others, no matter who they are. I believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross for my sins, and while I should serve him by following His commands, I don’t have to be the perfect Christian.

Because I’m not perfect. I don't always read my Bible or go to church. I don’t always treat others with respect. I tell my lies. I swear, occasionally. And I make lots of other mistakes. But the God I know loves the person he created me to be. The determined, intelligent, caring, passionate me. The eating disordered, anxious, bisexual me.

I did finally let the tears fall as I drove back to my dorm. I had my answer, or the closest I could get for now. My God is a loving, accepting, teaching God. And if I look, I can find Him everywhere. In everything. In everyone.

And that is the God I want to believe in, to follow, and to serve.