i cannot force someone to change (and that hurts sometimes).

God gave me a huge heart for others. I have a natural desire to help others and sometimes it leaves me completely heartbroken.

I want to see my friends and others around me happy and healthy and whole. I want them to know their value and choose things that bring life instead of hurt. I want them to feel loved and cherished and chosen.

But as much as I want these things for the people I love, I cannot force them to change. And that is a hard truth for me to swallow.

I hate that feeling of helplessness - when you have to idly sit by and watch someone you love continuously run back to the things that bring them pain. But their journey is their's to walk, not mine.

God has been working on me a lot these past few months. I have this bad habit of taking on responsibility for the well-being of my friends, but God is teaching me that I cannot save people. I cannot force someone to change.

What can I do?

I can pray. I can go to God daily with the burdens I am carrying for the people that I love. I can let go of the worry that leaves me empty and cling to the promise that He will bring healing and restoration.

I can speak truth. I cannot change someone, but I can speak truth and encouragement into someone. And in my experience, those two things have transformational power.

I can extend grace. When I am feeling frustrated with their skewed thinking patterns or unhealthy behaviors, I can choose to extend grace. This is hard - really hard. But grace speaks louder than criticism.

I can love. By loving and appreciating them for who they are (faults included) and who they can be, I can give them a glimpse of God's love for them. And that, friends, is pretty awesome.

i am [not] alone.

I struggle with loneliness. Some days I sit in my bed and begin to cry because I have convinced myself that I am completely alone.

You have no friends. 
No one understands what you are feeling right now.
You've just got to suck it up and deal with it. 
You're too much.
You're not enough.

These are just a few of the thoughts that I play on repeat during those bad days. I'm not telling you this for sympathy, but rather because I am confident that I am not the only one who has this struggle.

It's been 2.5 years since I graduated from college, and the transition into the "real world" is still really hard for me. When I moved back to Fort Wayne I had this unrealistic expectation that things would just pick up where I left them. I was so wrong.

My friends have changed, moved away to different cities and states, gotten married. I am in a familiar place, surrounded by familiar people, but I still feel alone.

Tonight at youth group, I forced myself to be vulnerable. I shared with the girls in my small group that I have been struggling with feeling isolated and alone. And that I've been waiting for what seems like an eternity for God to show up and help me.

The response I got from my girls brings tears to my eyes as I write this.
They encouraged me.
Shared their appreciation for me.

Tonight I was reminded that I am not alone.

If you struggle with feeling isolated, please know that you are not alone either. Reach out to someone you trust. (And if you need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to contact me!) Be vulnerable; share your struggles. It's okay to ask for help.

We are not alone.

i see your pain.

Dear friend,

I see the hurt and the heavy baggage of regret that you carry with you each day. I wish my words had the power to change your mind - that you would believe me when I told you that you are valued and you are loved. 

You've mastered the art of pretending to be okay. I know this because I'm good at that game, too. The walls you have built for protection hinder more than help, yet still they stand. I'll start climbing, but I can only climb so far. I am far from a perfect friend, but I hope I can help you understand Christ's love for you. I pray that you'll find healing.

When you feel unwanted, know that Christ is fighting for you. And I'm fighting for you, too.

Stop running, friend. Be still for a moment, take a breath and answer the question "How are you?" with unwavering truth and vulnerability. All those feelings you have hidden behind that wall - feel them. 

And when you're feeling overwhelmed, know that it's okay to ask for help. 

If you take away one thing from this today, please know this:

I see your pain, I hear your story and I love you.

the storm.

My dad loved watching storms. When a storm was passing through, he would almost always walk to the back porch to watch. Me? Well, let's just say that I would "watch" (or hide) from inside the safety of our house. 

I'm not sure when my fear of storms began, but after my dad passed away I would regularly have nightmares about tornadoes. There is one nightmare that I vividly remember. . .

A tornado was approaching our house, and my dad was sitting outside on a porch swing. The wind picked up and branches began to fly through the air. I ran outside and began yelling at my dad to come into the house so he would be safe. He didn't move. With tears running down my face, I continued to yell "Dad, please! Come inside! Please!" Still nothing. 

I fought the fierce gusts of wind to walk closer to him and yelled out again, begging him to come inside. He turned toward me and calmly assured me that everything was going to be alright, but that I should go back inside. I tried to reason with him and convince him to come with me, but it was evident I wasn't going to change his mind. 

"How can he be so calm?!" I thought to myself. "There is a tornado coming!"

The sky darkened and debris began to surround him; the wind made it difficult for me to stand. Before I turned around to run to the house, I looked into his eyes. My heart was breaking. He smiled softly and nodded his head as if he was saying "Go ahead, it's going to be okay." 

I fought back tears as I turned around to race back inside. Then it hit me - he was gone.

When I replay that dream in my head, I always get frustrated that he was so calm right before the tornado hit. In the midst of what I thought was chaos, he was at peace. He was ready for the storm, but I wasn't. And I was definitely not prepared for the aftermath. 

Today marks 8 years since my dad passed away, and the pain is still here. The pain doesn't look the same as it did 8 years ago, but it is still very real. It breaks my heart that he couldn't see me play soccer in high school, graduate from college, or buy my first house. 

One of the hardest realities I had to face was moving forward without him. 

Letting go hurts, but the healing that came afterward was worth that pain.

I love and miss you, daddy.

talking to an empty chair.

What if I told you that talking to an empty chair was one of the most freeing and healing experiences I had during my three years in counseling? You're probably thinking something to the effect of "what in the world? She talked to an empty chair?" Yep, I sure did!

It was my senior year at IWU. I was working with my therapist to find healing from a fragmented relationship in my life. My therapist pointed to an empty chair and said "Pretend that they are sitting in that chair. What would you say to them?" I thought this was simply a rhetorical question to get me thinking, but no. My therapist actually wanted me to talk out loud to an empty chair.

I was hesitant at first, and doubted that this exercise would be beneficial, but I played along. I turned toward the empty chair and began to talk to "them." I shared my hurt, my need to let go of the past and desire to move forward. I asked for forgiveness for the way I treated them. And I forgave them for the way they treated me. Before I knew it, I was crying my eyes out. All because I talked to an empty chair.

Turns out my therapist knew what they were doing. I was finally able to share the thoughts and emotions I had been bottling up for years in a safe environment. It was a major step in making peace with my past.

Past hurts can cripple us.
Broken relationships have the power to leave us empty.
Soon the pain and emptiness becomes our new "normal."
And apathy takes over.

Sometimes we become so comfortable in our pain that the thought of healing can be terrifying. The pain is all we know, so we desperately hold on. We may not even realize that's what we are doing.

If you're hurting today, I pray that God will bring someone in your life to walk alongside you. To encourage you and speak truth into your life. To cry with you, to cry for you. I pray that you can find the strength to unclinch your fists and let go. That you may be able to find peace and walk down the path of healing.

Go ahead. Take that first step toward healing, whatever it may be.
Talk to an empty chair. Write a letter. Ask for forgiveness. Forgive.
Heal.

my semicolon;

Quote from Project Semicolon

I try to avoid this part of my story. Vulnerability is terrifying - I don't want to write out some of my darkest moments, but recently I have felt led by the Holy Spirit to share more of my story. So here I am, typing. 

As many of you know, my father passed away when I was 16. After his death, my life began to unravel. I didn't want anyone to know how badly I was hurting, so I would let all of my emotions out while I was driving to and from work or school. Somedays I would be crying so hard that I could barely see the road ahead. 

I would cry. I would scream at God. 
I was devastated. I was confused. I was angry. 

I vividly remember one day screaming to God that I hated him. 

The days, weeks, months and even years following my father's death were very dark. In all honesty, I was in and out of a state of depression. Just getting out of bed was a challenge some days. I lost myself in a cloud of shame and sadness. 

I didn't want to need anyone. I hate feeling like I am burden to others, so I tried to navigate through the darkness by myself. Sure, I would let people see part of my hurt. But I wouldn't dare let someone completely into my struggling. 

The darkness consumed me, but people continued to praise me for being "so strong." I wasn't strong at all. I walked through those days like a hollow corpse. I wasn't truly living; I was empty. 

On several occasions, I contemplated ending my life. If I were driving and a semi was approaching in the other lane, I would consider swerving into it. I truly believed there was nothing to live for; that my life had no value. 

The pain that life can bring is ugly. It's hard to talk about. So we bury it. 

It wasn't until college that I finally came to a place in my life where I was ready to ask for help. With the encouragement from a friend, I chose to see a therapist. For the longest time, I didn't want people to know about this part of my story. Therapists are only for "crazy people," right? 

Wrong. 

I am so thankful for the friend who encouraged me to seek professional help. With the help of counseling, a wonderful support system, and my always-faithful God, I am sitting here today. 

Going through three years of counseling was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Scratch that - it was THE hardest thing I've ever done. But it was completely worth it. My therapist and I worked together to uncover past hurts and resolve them. I learned to forgive myself and others. 

Do I still struggle with that darkness? Yes. But I am learning that it's okay to ask for help. God did not create us to walk through this life alone; we need each other. 

I guess what I hope you get out of my story is this: If you are struggling today, please don't give up. Let your story continue to be written.