life

Death & Escape are Not Freedom

I now empathize with the notorious Edna Pontelier when she filled her pockets with rocks, walked into the sea, and submitted her life to its waves: experiencing my best friend’s death, losing my great-grandmother, reminiscing of past losses, and struggling each day to know whether or not my brother has made it through the night. The past 365 days have taught me that the waves flow calmer than they appear, that life berates me more than it seems, and that escapism plagues a nation of plummeting addicts.

The waves tranquilize when you’re beneath them; they rage when you’re surfacing and tumbling through them, but they gently rock you when you dive below them. It’s a gentle sway, almost like a cradle. Perhaps that’s why we enjoy the water. Its beats return us to the calming rhythms of childhood: before the loss, before the heartache, before the destitution.

In literature, the ocean symbolizes innocence, danger, sexuality, and complexity—numerous in its expressive nature. Innocence in that its tranquility brings peace. Dangerous in that its murky waves captivate. Sexually in a matter of mystery and addiction: complexity in its many forms.

We see it in our own lives—the ocean that took my beloved friend’s breath away is the same ocean that I cling to when my own thoughts become tumultuous. It surmises me. How can I look upon the waves that robbed me with such joy and solitude? How can I trust them not to carry me down as well?

It’s the resiliency of the human spirit, gifted through God’s mercy. He allows us to endure and strengthens us to persist despite the weight of the world looming at our shoulders and under our feet.

I’m so weary, I’d love to submit to the waves. To give up the fight is to be truly free, isn’t it? That’s the lie Edna Pontelier, a pioneering feminist icon, perpetuates in her iconic death.

But death and escape aren’t freedom. Death finitely robs us of all possibility of freedom, and escape imprisons us from experiencing freedom; attractive as their appeals appear, its their lies that rush us to ultimate despair. Once we begin listening to the lie that to die is to escape and to be free, we begin to give up on the hope that things can change.

Things do change, everyday, and that is why we must remember it is truth that sets us free, not death. Christ said, “and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free,” to Jewish believers in John 8:35.

That is exactly why I started my blog—to share with others with little truths that God revealed to me. I began my blog based on Ephesians 5:13-14: “But when anything is exposed to the light, it becomes visible, for anything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says, ‘Awake, O sleeper, / and arise from the dead, / and Christ will shine on you.’”

Death and escape are not freedom. Truth is freedom. “Who the Son sets free is free indeed,” John 8:36. This life is horrifically hard, but that was promised: “I have said these things to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation,” John 16:33a. Christ does not conclude on a sorrowful word; instead, He adds, “But take heart, because I have overcome the world,” reminding us of the steadfastness of truth and of God’s faithfulness.

In Loving Memory

Life is too precious.

My Grossi met Jesus March 11, 2019. She listened to Him release the words, “Well done, Thy good and faithful servant.” I wonder if He had tears in His eyes as He said it. God watched Mary Ellen endure her deepest joys and most anguished sorrows. She made it—she fought the good fight, and she finished the race with joy. I wonder if it brought tears to His eyes.

He had comforted her when she mourned, as He comforts we who mourn.

I think that the hardest part about grief is knowing that you will never be able to make memories with that person again. Death prompts you to remember all the little things that you didn’t realize you would miss.

Her smile, her laughter, her lipstick, her spunk. Her resolution. She was stubborn, as many of you know, and she was strong. I admired her tenacity.

It’s in those little moments that you grow to love someone—it’s the collection of those small moments that builds our trust and our admiration. Those small, insignificant moments.

And it’s often not until death that we realize the magnificence of all those moments.

Mary Ellen Schraner built her life from a collection of moments that highlighted the importance of faith, family, and friends. This church and these people made those moments. You, here today, were everything to her. She found her foundation in Christ and her blessings and joys in you.

Nine years ago, my mother gave her a notebook entitled Grandmother, Tell Me Your Story. Within it poses the question, “What are some of the things you hope your children and grandchildren have learned from you?”

Her answer: “Faith—the belief in God, Cooking—Hospitality,” which I know many of you inherited, and “peace in the family.” Mary Ellen taught me those three things, and she taught me to have fun and to celebrate when life calls for celebration. She prayed for her family more than anyone I know, she welcomed me to her home many times, and she filled my heart with joy and abundance.

It’s strange that she’s not here with us. It doesn’t resonate well. My mother once said, “We are eternal beings. We were never meant to say goodbye.” I suppose that is why it is so devastatingly painful to miss someone who deposited memories into our own life that made us have a life worth living.

So, as we hold our breath, and as we will the world to stop spinning, let’s take the quietness of grief and utilize it as a reminder to cling to the mundane moments. Let’s hold one another a little closer, for a little longer. Life is far too precious and far too short to cling to anything but those who love us.

I John 2:17 reads, “And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.” This became one of my favorite verses the first time I endured grief from a separation that feels so very permanent, but the reality is that permanence fades when you recall Christ’s three words: “It is finished.”

Mary Ellen was ready to meet the Savior of the world, the God that held her tears in a leger. The God that gave her breath, and the God that took her breath away. The God who allowed tragedy, the God who prepared and encouraged her through devastation. The God who blessed her with so many people and things. The God who allowed her to live a full life—she was not afraid to meet the God she knew so well and loved so dear.

I wonder if she brought tears to her Savior’s eyes—happy tears. Christ knew that He brought her home. The heartache and the pain of this world has left her, and she has been made alive in the fullness of Christ.

While we cry because we miss her, I think that Christ may shed a tear in welcoming her home.

Light-Hearted

Fact: I am insecure about my writing when it’s not demanded from an overflow of desolate emotion[s].

Maybe that’s why pain beguiles me. I don’t like pain, but, somehow, it seems to be the only thing that provides me with enough bravery to inscribe my thoughts. Sorrow composes beauty—I’ve witnessed it create masterpieces in the lives around me, but perhaps I need to gain a similar perspective on lighter emotions.

Today, I do not write from emotions drenched in disappointment, but, rather, from an abundance of joy.

The joy of the LORD is your strength.

God carved this verse in my mind at the beginning of 2017: page after page in various notebooks were etched with the simple eight words. I often scribbled the verse at some of my happiest moments, and thus it seemed peculiar when God reminded me of this verse. It came in moments when I didn’t feel like I needed strength–moments when I was strong. I was so happy, so why would God remind me of a verse that seemed more appropriate for perilous days?

I was such a fool to think I didn’t need those words because I didn’t understand the weight of them at that time.

God allowed those joyous moments, each one meriting my trust and my strength in Him, and He reminded me at those specific times so that I would know exactly where strength proliferates when those perilous days would finally come.

Truthfully, I couldn’t remember where those words came from… Thus, I googled the verse a couple weeks ago, and that’s when I gained a new understanding.

Then he [Nehemiah] said to them, “Go, eat of the fat, drink of the sweet, and send portions to him who has nothing prepared; for this day is holy to our Lord. Do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.

Nehemiah 8:10

I was unaware of the beginning of the verse’s final sentence each time I journaled it.

Do not be grieved,

for the joy of the Lord is your strength.

My eyes opened. Inhale, exhale.

God engraved that verse in my mind when I was strengthened in Him to show me that He was the same God when I was crushed in spirit; He gave me that verse amidst joyous occasions so that I would know where to acquire strength when I felt despairingly weak. He was there with me in those joyous moments, showing me His loving kindness in ways I would not comprehend until nothing else made sense.

The timing that confused me was the exact time that God was pre-preparing to strengthen me again. He knew how events would unfold in my life, and He knew I would need to remember His kindness when I felt that I could no longer bear my circumstances. It’s one of the greatest paradoxes that beautifully played out in my own life: “Therefore I am well content with weakness, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong,” II Corinthians 12:10 (emphasis added).

In joy I write, remembering the sovereignty of a God who continued to remind me of His goodness when life was “good” simply to re-remind me of His goodness when life didn’t feel good.

God reveals His strength gloriously through the depths of my humility. I despaired, but He did not allow me to linger in anguish. He reminds me that He is good, that yesterday and today are temporary, and that I can trust Him with tomorrow.

I received this notebook for Christmas from Victoria Romano, with the verse displayed on its back cover. Tori didn’t know what this verse had meant to me, she was just a dear friend giving a sweet gift. Behind the scenes, Christ was strengthening me through my weakness in the remembrance of this verse and those moments. I felt unbearably weak for so long, but He renews me each day: I feel strong again because that verse permeates my every breath.

Thank you, Lord, for doing in me what I wished would not be done, and for reviving the life I had not known was dead.

The Reset

And it was the end of an era I was not ready to let go of…

Two-Thousand and Eighteen: a year that completed four years of alteration.

– 2014 –

We moved to Virginia days after I graduated high school. I was sixteen, driving from Arkansas to Virginia with Shadow as my copilot, and leaving everything familiar behind except my family. We knew nothing of Virginia nor the East Coast, but I was supremely excited for the anticipated adventure. Though I had many dear friends there, I was ready to leave Arkansas. June 4, 2018, we arrived at our new home and a series of changes rapidly ensued.

[Journal Entry, dated July 25, 2015, italicized]

Sometimes I stop myself and take a breath and let it sink in; this is what I wanted, and this is how I imagined it. I have lots of friends who love me…we stay out late and stay up even later. We laugh and cry together, and I’m independent. This is what I always dreamed of. Yes, it’s horrifying, but if I’m really being honest, I’m in love with the constant chaos of everything around me.

Somehow, it’s terrifyingly beautiful.

I love my life, and I’m so thankful for where God has placed me. This past year has been a year of healing that I never could have dreamed of, and of rejuvenating that I didn’t know I needed.

I was exhausted when I left Arkansas. Now, being here has helped me so much. I love it, and I’m not ready to leave. But God is preparing my heart, and He will be with me. I love him, and I love my life. I am mortified of what will become of me, but I’m not afraid of who I will become. If I keep Him centered, what is to fear?

I wrote that a month before I left for Liberty University in a leather-bound journal that Laura Denson gave me. Thanks to the community God provided me with, Hampton was everything that I prayed for when I left Arkansas. I thought that going to LU would terminate many of the friendships I had made over the past year. While some naturally faded, others wonderfully strengthened.

[Journal Entry, dated December 11, 2017, italicized]

By the end of 2017, few people remained in Hampton whom I had met in 2014. Much of what I had grown accustomed to slowly faded away, and I no longer spent ample time with a majority of the people in these photos due to peoples’ moves, church changes, and/or other miscellaneous life transitions.

I was growing restless.

This season pains existence. Questions never cease, and answers never come. The twenties are so much harder than everyone tells you… Unpredictability characterizes this stage. My heart rips between here [Lynchburg] and Hampton… I’m exhausted from being alive. I need something new. I’m not even sure how I’ll make it next semester. I am so burnt out.

And thus, I drove home for Christmas break, and my friends and family reminded me why I held Hampton so dear.

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– 2018 –

[Journal Entry, dated January 1, 2018, itlalicized]

I began the year by running away to Europe—I specialize in running when I’ fear reality—and came back with a refreshed perspective.

The Lord reveals things, not in our timing, but in His; yet He laces hints in unlikely moments. My stubbornness falters me, yet He gives perfect grace to woo me to Him. He called me out from the wilderness of my own mind and brought me back softly to His presence. He’s reminded me of His sovereignty and His plan. That’s right, God has a plan for me. It’s a truth I’ve treated as a lie for quite some time due to my sin of disbelief.

– – –

Walter was with me during my first year in Hampton, and he was the last person from that stage of my life that remained close. When Walter died, so left the last consistent reminder of 2014.

Thus, it was reset.

[Journal Entry, dated January 1, 2018, continued]

I allowed my ignorance and frustration to warp my mind; so I looked to my known God—a good God, a creator, an assigner of work, a loving Father, a sovereign king—and ascribed to Him all of my anxieties…I embraced negativity and ran from my Savior because of the pain in my heart. I hurt, deeply, and I blamed God for it.

Yet, all the while, it was He who spoke kindly to me. It was He who whispered truth, even when I barely listened. All the while, He was stirring up my affections, burdening me with trivial matters, exposing my heart slowly… Slowly, softly, gently, because He knew I could not take it all at once.

I lost Walter, my mini-cooper, the familiarity of Lynchburg and college life within two weeks. My family moved the day I graduated, I quit a job I enjoyed a month later, and Shadow passed away shortly after that.

I’m ready for 2019. I’m excited to see what God will do. He’s growing me and He’s healing me. 2018 made me realize the depths of my weakness, but I am relearning to abide in God’s strength. I feel stronger and braver than I have felt in quite some time.

It’s like one of those movies that ends where it began—when I returned to Hampton in May, everything I became familiarized with in 2014 was gone.

2018 was terrifyingly beautiful.

I moved to Hampton days after I graduated college. I was twenty, driving from Lynchburg to Hampton with Spotify as my copilot, and leaving everything familiar behind except my friends. I grew to love Virginia and embraced the East Coast, but I somberly and optimistically anticipate the next adventure.

Life Without Homework

I will thrive this Thanksgiving for the first time since 2015: I exhausted the past three Thanksgivings pulling all-nighters to write copious amounts of research papers due days following the “break,” and returning to school barely reposed enough to function. Isolation required my presence the past three Thanksgivings, but this Thanksgiving I can fully devote myself to those around me.

It’s a rare season. Life post-college thwarts my previous expectations—they said it would be demanding, but I did comprehend why—how moderate our imagination articulates itself when considering the future. Life bustles with business, but not in the sense of ever-pervading papers and deadlines. I anticipated a consistent routine once I settled into a job, but correlations of events tease me each Monday as I recognize no two weeks mirror; every week acts as its own epic, presenting new themes, characters, events, and settings, each authored by me. I invite the atmosphere and the characters based on what I choose to do instead of what is required of me from a syllabus or standardized set of expectations placed upon me by another. However, let me not deceive the reader into believing I have limitless control; much does not go according to plan and many uninvited characters and circumstances and conflicts invade the picturesque plan I envisioned at the beginning of the week, nevertheless, a majority of the time I choose what and who enters the realm of my existence. It’s a new freedom unknown to the exhausted student—one’s schedule predominantly depends on his or her desires for the moment—it’s quite odd not to arrange my schedule based on anyone or anything external.

I am only beginning to recognize and to indulge in this new freedom, as it is both structured and unstructured. I suppose I am slowly grasping that the consistency I yearned for in college is unattainable, and, perhaps, that is a good thing.

How gracious that I might not become ensnared in the monotony of life—“mundane” seems like an imaginative state instead of something that could be known. I am sure that I will experience a season of uniformity, but not yet, and I have come to terms with that. Perhaps God has created me for much more than the routine I crave: the inconsistency surrounding me reminds me that God consistently upholds me throughout every change and every season.

This Thanksgiving I rejoice that I am freed from past responsibilities—the season of being a student has ended, now I must relearn the glories of Thanksgiving—and I will attempt to enjoy the holiday free from distraction. The past three years make this fourth year significantly sweeter. These are the moments I worked terribly hard to arrive at. I made it. I finally made it to the Thanksgiving I cried and prayed for each all-nighter. The song emanates through my earphones:

Your promise still stands, great is Your faithfulness

I’m still in Your hands, this is my confidence:

You’ve never failed me yet.

I never imagined that this is what it would be like—I rarely do—but I will remember the faithfulness of God. He was faithful in that season, He has been faithful in this season, and He will be faithful in the next season.

This is the Thanksgiving I can finally be present for—this is the season of abundance God has carried me into.

Life is good, even when tragedy pervades, stress overwhelms, and inconsistency controls. We serve a faithful God who knows and overcomes our sorrows, struggles, and sins.
All is well, for we have been set free.

The Splendor of Benevolence

While concluding our third (and presumed final) book, Candace and I enthusiastically agreed that we must begin another; though graduation looms within months, we couldn’t handle the possibility of not studying another text together. Candace drove us to Lifeway to select a new book, however, we couldn’t imagine what would happen once we arrived.

Sitting on the floor in the bookstore with inquisitive spirits and incessant laughter while searching for our subsequent book, a middle-aged woman approached us:

“You have no idea how much encouragement it brings me to see you two young ladies sitting on the floor of the Women’s section laughing and looking at all the different books,” Julia graciously stated. Candace and I thanked her and introduced ourselves to meet our new friend and with tears welling in her eyes she commended us for simply being our silly selves. Once we parted ways, Candace and I browsed the bookstore, but, after we decided upon a text, we returned to our original section and Julia found us once more.

She thanked us again, but this time she released the tears to recede as she described the hardships she’s enduring. We were able to pray with her and perceive the weight being lifted from her mind as her demeanor melted from a deep sorrow into a gentle joy. Julia informed us that God provided exactly what she needed, and thanked us for inspiring her. This courageously vulnerable woman thanked us, simply for sitting on the floor of a bookstore: instantly, we were humbled.

We parted again but met her at the checkout but said our final goodbyes by happily waving to our new friend as she walked out the door. Candace and I brimmed with gratitude about our encounter with Julia—she was so vulnerable and so encouraging even while enduring such pain. Moments after Julia left, we reached the front of the line and the clerk handed us gift cards that Julia left for us; awe overtook Candace and I as we processed the clerk’s gesture—what a sweet woman to leave a gift to two strangers.

We beamed with joy on the car ride home. That’s the Church—that’s the body of Christ—we uplift one another when sorrow submerges us and we exhort one another when we perceive the Holy Spirit’s work in one’s life. This was one of the most beautiful moments I have experienced in quite some time. I was so blessed to meet Julia, and I know Candace was too. She began addressing us with kind encouragement, and she completed the conversation with a gracious gift.

Candace and I reflected on God’s faithfulness, occupied with awe and humility. Joy invaded our hearts and strength replenished our minds—this is why we pray and study God’s word—these moments are why we faithfully serve Christ and commend one another to do likewise: because Jesus changes lives. From the moment one surrenders their life to Christ, He does not stop radically impacting them and gently beckoning them into His presence. We saw that in Julia’s life and we felt that in our own lives; we serve such a faithful God who constantly reminds us of His steadfast love.

You Taught, I Listened

This year I’ve had the privilege to listen to world-famous speakers such as Pastor Alistar Begg, Pat Williams, Brian Kilemade, Pastor David Nasser, and so many others. I’ve also been able to listen to our wonderful pastors Grant Ethridge and Tim Whitney, Chip Dean and my dear friends Tyler LeClear, Zachary Goodwyn, and Joel Austin preach the gospel! These men continually allow God to use them to teach many people about His glory. I have hundreds of pages of notes on messages from these men and many other men and women.

I’ve been traveling quite a bit lately, and I love the plane rides because I have so much time to study! On these past few trips, I’ve been reading through my most recent book of notes which started March 30^th. I wrote down a theme from each message and found four prevalent themes: Leadership, Communication, Adversity, and Serving.

Dr. John C. Maxwell taught that “Leadership is nothing more than influence.” A grand leader must be characterized by integrity, communication, boldness, having the competence to learn from failure, and defined as a servant. It is a struggle to live out one’s life for the Lord. As He shows love and grace, so we must also. There is no strength or growth without faith and struggle. We are ambassadors for Christ (II Corinthians 5:20), showing and leading the world towards Him. Pastor Tim Whitney asserted “Our actions can change peoples’ opinion of God.” What seems like a daunting statement—and it is a serious matter—we aren’t on our own in this. Regarding Ephesians 2:10, my friend Tyler simply stated: “God has already created the good works, all we have to do is live them out.” Each day we should strive to lead others to Christ in “such a manner that others could get saved” (Pastor Chip Dean).

Communication influences just about every situation. Something I find difficult to learn is the ability to be vulnerable. It’s uncomfortable to share what your deepest thoughts are, but often it is that which is needed. It’s okay to ask for help. Chris Deaton, an RD at Liberty University, spoke saying that one must “understand that we are flawed, troubled people, and that God designed us to have deep, genuine relationships. This process of becoming vulnerable takes patience, as I’m learning. Patience in oneself and patience with others. It takes courage to show this type of love, and it is worth it.” Vulnerability brings people closer, creates an authentic relationship, and sharing our weakness can help others understand how you can grow together and serve God to your best abilities. Author Annie Downs defines courage as “the quality of spirit the mind is in while enduring fear.” It is these little acts of bravery and endurance that can change relationships tremendously.

The products of suffering are praise, glory, and honor. The delayed gratification we must endure produces boldness. No matter what, our God is King. In times of hardship, we must remember that God’s truth holds us. Christ has given us peace (John 14:27), which is the “inner wholeness in the presence of Christ” (Pastor David Nasser), and, because of this, we can have joy, “delight in God for God” (Pastor David Nasser), amidst the trials of this life. “For this is a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly” I Peter 2:19. This struggle is God’s grace being displayed in your life.

Through these times of conflict and times of peace, we must serve the people God has placed in our lives. As Christ came to serve, we must do likewise (Mark 10:45). Pastor Tim stated that pretending someone did not hurt you is not a product of forgiveness; we must behold “extravagant forgiveness” and bless those who have hurt us (Matthew 5:43-46). God has gifted us beyond what we deserve, and Pastor David Stone reminds us that we can serve using our spiritual gifts, personality, abilities, and experiences to spread God’s love and His grace. Pray to the Lord; give and give thanks, for He is a merciful God. Serve and give love. Give mercy to those hard to love and remember who has shown you great mercy. Persevere when it is hard and you feel as though you have accomplished nothing. “What we do does not go unnoticed by God.”—Tim Whitney. Serve faithfully.

Be aware of the influence you have. Take risks to show the love of Christ. Never give up on the ones who you pray for—a task I find somehow hard to continue. Prayer is powerful. Open up to those around you and join me in the pursuit of becoming vulnerable. Endure the hardship and trust in the Most High God. Make your mission to serve Christ and His people. Give and forgive. Make serving come naturally, and allow the Lord to work in you.

For Further Reading:

I Corinthians 9:24-27

I Peter 4:8,10

Romans 5:1

Ephesians 4:1-2

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