hope – Darkk Horse Travel

Yesterday’s Ceiling Is Today’s Floor

Published on December 21, 2014December 21, 2014 by Emilee1 Comment

Totally not my graduation. But entirely the right graduation picture.

This week I received an invitation from my alma mater to attend my five-year reunion. I had to decline the invite, since I live 5,000 miles away from where I went to college (and flying back to watch a basketball game and drink punch doesn’t really seem worth the $1500 plane ticket), but getting the email made me think. This is year five. When people asked me in college what my five-year plan was, this is where they were asking about.

The same as most twenty-somethings, I remember people frequently asking me where I saw myself in 5 years. I never really had an answer. I knew I wanted to be happy. I knew I wanted to feel like my life was moving, and not static. But beyond those two things, I honestly had no idea.

Going to a small conservative university where “ring by spring” was more the ideal, than a catch phrase, a lot of people had marriage, kids and white picket fences on their list of five year objectives. And while there’s nothing wrong with any of those things, I never felt right saying any of them as an answer (at least not within my 5 year span of time).

Was “having an adventure” an option?

I always want to be in a place where I’m moving forward. I think my biggest fear in life is waking up one morning and realizing that I’ve wasted years of my life hating what I do and who I’ve become. But when I look over the past five years I don’t see that. Did I become the person people thought I would become, while I was in college? Who knows. But I do know that there were dreams, so deeply buried in my heart, that I didn’t even know they were there until they were realized.

The mere fact that I can’t attend my reunion because I live in EUROPE is amazing. I never would have even dreamed that this would be an opportunity for me.

And as I’ve looked back over the past five years I can safely say I’ve had quite a few awesome moments that I’m so proud of.
And, in the spirit of five, here are my top highlights:

I became an artist: I’ve been creating art since I could move my hands, but over the past five years I finally learned to embrace it as who I am. I am an artist. And no matter how much I want to be a doctor, lawyer or astronaut, that’s who I am. Art is what I dream about. What gets me out of bed in the morning. It’s what I think about when I’m riding the metro, it’s what I look at when I’m walking down the street. I never before felt comfortable declaring myself as an artist. But over the past years I’ve been able to make some incredible friends who have helped me embrace that this is my identity.

I became a writer: My whole life I’ve written stories. I used to force my siblings to have story writing competitions with me and we would cut up cereal boxes to “bind” out books together. Libraries were always my second home, so it makes sense that stories became my second language. While I did get my BA in journalism, I never had any idea what I would do with it. I had no interest in brooding news stories. And I used to shock my journalism professor by telling him that the only journalism I was interested in was writing for a tabloid (what no journalism prof. ever wants to hear).
I always felt like everyone else was always just better than me at being a journalist. From editor to fellow writer, they were a beautiful brooding bunch that stayed up late watching CNN and talking about world events and politics. That wasn’t me. And no matter how much I wished I could be like my stylish editors or the praised writers in my classes, I couldn’t change that.
I was pretty lost for direction until the past couple of years when I discovered that writing doesn’t always have to be about reporting world events (although that’s important too!). It can be fun and colorful, it can mean going on adventures and writing about them! And then the best part ever happened: me. Little ‘ole non-journalistically inclined me, became an editor…and I love every minute of it.

I travelled the world: I don’t think I would have ever guessed how much travel would be involved in my future, when I was in college. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always loved to travel and learn about/experience other cultures, but I never thought I would have the opportunities to go out and experience so many of them. I’ve gone with groups, I’ve gone solo, I’ve lived in other states and another country (on another continent!) and I’ve been able to learn so much about myself by looking through the eyes of people around the world.

I worked for organizations that made a global impact: Societal change and sustainable business is SO important to me! And regardless of where I work or what point in my life I’m at, I want to always find a way to give back to the communities around me. Being able to work with non-profits and with small businesses over the past five years has forever changed my outlook on the world and on the way that I interact with it.

I made friends for life: Something great happens when you’re dirt poor and forced to live with three other people in an apartment that should probably only hold two people. I think American society teaches us to fear those growing points in our life; the parts where we have no money and have to work weird jobs to be able to pay our utility bill. But my best memories in my life have come out of times when I had no money, weird jobs and had no idea where my life was going. Was it comfortable? No. Did I cry a lot and ask God why the hell he had put me there. Maybe Yes. But now, looking back, I understand why. I get why in seasons where I thought money was the object, the actual title of the chapter was “Friendship” and I could not be more grateful for the relationships that were molded during these times.

Note. None of these things have made me filthy rich, Instagram famous or listed on “America’s most influential 30 under 30.” But if I was asked if I accomplished my five year goal I would say “Yes.”

Because I am happy. And I am free to do the things that make me happy. Over the past five years I’ve gone on too many adventures to count. I have so many stories I could write a novel. I’ve met some of the coolest people I think I could find on this planet, and I have never felt more loved or supported in my life.

I am me. Uninhibited, nonconforming and entirely me. And I think that’s something to celebrate.

And now, it’s time to dream EVEN BIGGER., and to add some new goals for my next “five year list!” I have no idea how I’m supposed to top this one, but here’s to brighter tomorrows and bigger dreams.
What are some of your guys’ dreams from the past or for the future?

Perfect Weakness

Published on September 4, 2014 by Emilee1 Comment

If I asked you who you were, what would you say?

Maybe that sounds weird, but it’s a question that I’ve been running through my mind a lot, lately and today, I stopped to actually think about it. You see, moving to a different country is a pretty intimidating thing. But the moving itself isn’t the hard part.

It’s having no identity once you get there.

Most people don’t really sit around wondering what their identity is. Most of the time it’s inherent. You’re a daughter because you have a mother. You’re a girlfriend because you have a boyfriend. You’re an artist because you make art. You’re an English speaker because you speak English.

But, what happens when you move away from all that?

You’re a daughter, but your mother is 8,000 miles away. You’re an artist, but you have limited supplies, resources and different mediums available. You know English, but you’re not allowed to speak it.

So the question comes up again: Who are you?

I’m the kind of person who believes that regular identity crisis are necessary and a healthy part of my life, but most of the time it’s because I find myself not knowing who I am, or what I want to do at that moment.

This experience is different.

I wouldn’t call this a crisis. I’ve spent the last year figuring out who I am and what direction I want to go in, so those aren’t issues right now. But, like in any witness protection or spy movie, by moving I have suddenly become a person without any identity to those around me.

No one knows who I am. I can walk down the street with 0% possibility of running into someone I know, or grew up with. I go to the store and they eye me warily, wondering where I came from – since they know everyone who lives in this small town.

I don’t have any favorite spots, yet. I don’t have a community, church or friends, yet. I’m a body in this city, but not yet a person.

When I was thinking about this, this morning, it really bothered me. I, like most people, like to be known. I love acknowledgement, and “words of affirmation” is my love language. – not having anyone to talk with in my native (and therefore emotionally comfortable) language makes feeling “whole” pretty difficult.

So, with my identity shifting, and my surroundings foreign, I was wondering today – what makes me…me? Who am I?

“When my identity fails – You will remain. So I will tether myself to you.”

The nearest (non-catholic) church is more than an hour away from where I live, so I’ve been streaming some sermons while going to the Catholic one down the street. It’s an unconvential way of “doing church”, but I’ve never been very good at claiming the conventional, anyway.

Today I was listening to a sermon about anchoring your soul – or having something that grounds you. The pastor was talking about how, to some people, this anchor might be material, and to others it might be another person (such a spouse)…but, the problem is, those things aren’t going to be able to help you when you’re “four inches from sinking.” The first because, being soulless, it can’t relate to your problem, and the latter because they are as broken as we are.

This week I have felt like the top of my boat is four inches from the waves (aka me losing my mind); with too much weight gathered within its structure, my boat is about four inches from being filled and slipping beneath the water: four inches from disaster. Sometimes I feel like I’m just staring at the side of the boat hoping and praying that no bigger waves come and pull me under.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am confident in my decision to move to France, and I have complete peace about where I am right now. But it’s not easy jumping into a family of strangers, working every day and trying desperately to understand 100% of a foreign language when you have about 80% comprehension (80 sounds like a lot, but try reading a book with 80% of each sentence).

Sometimes I find myself praying out loud because I’m so frustrated with circumstances. Like dogs getting diarrhea and pooping EVERYWHERE, kids throwing punches and middle fingers at their siblings and simultaneous fatigue from a mixture of constantly being around people (introvert alert) and jet lag.

I am not perfect, and situations are not perfect.

But, it’s at times like this, when I realize it’s absolutely essential that my hope is anchored on something stronger than my discouragement.

“This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary.” (Hebrews 6:19)

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes think about just packing my bags and going back home. I miss Seattle like nobody’s business. But I also know that there’s a plan and a reason for me being where I am. And, perhaps more importantly, there’s a promise that my anchor is holding steadfast, even when I can’t see it.

My identity, although feeling unknown, is buried deep within the hope of a savior who promises not that things will be easy, but that he will be present. Right now things are tough, that’s just a reality. But even as an outlier to my present circumstances, I have confidence in knowing that – regardless of the way I feel about things – below the raging water’s surface is an anchor that promises never to let go.

You Never Let Go

Published on July 31, 2014July 31, 2014 by Emilee2 Comments

I’ve been waiting four weeks for paperwork from a French government agency so that I can apply for my visa. After sleepless nights, phone calls, faxes and emails, they finally called me this morning. The woman, her thick French accent filling the phone, told me I had no need of the paperwork I had been waiting for (and had been told to apply for). “Sorry for the delay in getting back to you. We’ve just been so busy.” Four weeks.
Welcome to the bureaucracy.

I’m finally boarding a plane for my visa appointment with the French embassy in San Francisco. It’s been a long road, filled with stress, stress, stress and more stress. I can honestly say that this “adventure” has been more stressful than four years of college… combined. I don’t even know how people do this and live to tell the tale, but I’m still fighting everyday to make it to the end.

The only question now is, when will it be the end? The hope right now is that the embassy will process my application in record time and then I’ll be able to leave on August 18th. The reality is, though, that they might not get it done in time, and that means I’ll have to buy another plane ticket. Something which I have NO budget for. Let the prayers commence.

Miracles don’t generally seem to happen, but when I was sitting in my room yesterday, looking at my stack of paperwork, I realized something – this ALREADY IS A MIRACLE.

If you had told me a year ago I would be applying to move to France, would be accepted into a French university and would be quitting my job, I never would have believed it. Last year, at this time, I was trying not to think about suicide, unhealthy relationships and starving myself. I was on multiple meds, had no plans or direction for my life and was spinning out of control. I remember sitting on my bed, curled up in a ball and thinking that I just wanted to die. Then I thought about that thought for a minute – no I didn’t! And that’s when a little voice said, “You’re going to have to choose. You can’t keep floating between life and death.”
I chose to live.

It’s been a pretty bumpy road getting here, but I think that’s what’s making me realize just how much I want this. Last night I really felt like God was pointing me in the direction of 2 Peter 3:9 where it says, ” The Lord is not slow in keeping His promises, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you.” We’re all given passions and dreams for a reason. On each of our hearts God writes a script that is unique to who we are, and who we’re called to become. Maybe these things seem arbitrary and random, but those are what guide us to find our destiny/calling/purpose. The funny thing is how often it’s US who are causing the roadblocks to getting there.

I think one of the most dangerous things we can do is to ignore what we’re passionate about. But, the reality is, sometimes we just forget. We get so caught up in the societal expectations to ___________ (fill in the blank) that we lose sight of our own path. And, for a really long time, that was me. Afraid to live my life, and trying desperately to follow someone else’s dream to get married, work in an office, get pregnant, volunteer in the kids room at church and only shop at Nordstrom and Anthropologie. Note: There is nothing wrong with these dreams. But they are not mine (although, some might be in the future). Coming to terms with this realization was half the battle. But you know what they say: Acknowledging you have a problem is the first step to recovery. It wasn’t until I was in a place of complete (and essential) surrender, that God reminded me of the dreams HE had planted deep in my heart.

When I was going through some old boxes at my parents’ house a couple of weeks ago, I realized that throughout my life I’ve always wanted to move to France. I have coloring pages from when I’m 9 of the Eiffel tower and every school related binder I ever had has some kind of France theme to it. It was a dream of my heart – my heart’s desire. But, in the chaos of life, I had forgotten, and I almost gave up.

I’m so thankful that life is full of second chances. And that right now I am on a plane to go apply for a visa to FRANCE. That, in itself, is a miracle. And I think it’s important that I declare that. Everything might not be working out according to the plan in my mind, but it is going to work out, because this wasn’t my plan to begin with.

This dream comes from somewhere so much deeper than my mind or my heart. In truth, I think it comes down to following a path that’s been waiting for me for quite a while, now. To find it, I simply had to stop looking so hard for a path that was someone else’s “right one.”

Hope Unswervingly

Published on July 21, 2014July 21, 2014 by Emilee1 Comment

It’s against my nature to hope for things. I was raised to analyze facts, statistics and data, calculate a potential result, analyze that result and then still never fully put faith in the final solution.

It seems illogical to get your “hopes up” for something that may not come about. Statistically speaking there aren’t any certainties, so why hope for things?

But, last night I was reading 1 Corinthians 13 and, while I’m normally enraptured by the verses everyone remembers, “love is patient, love is kind…” this time my attention was grabbed by the very end of the verse:

“Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly.”

Trust God? Ok, I can do that. Love people? Ok, working on that. Hope unswervingly? WHAT.

I literally muttered, under my breath, “Why?”

Why does God command that we hope (and not only just hope, but hope UNSWERVINGLY)?

Hoping is dangerous. It puts you in a place of trusting the uncertainty of life. When you hope, it generally means there’s something out of your control. We hope for success, for things to go in the direction of our favor. We hope things work out, or that we’ll figure out a solution to an overwhelming problem.

The only issue is, these things will fade. They’ll break our heart. They’ll hurt us and make us never want to hope in anything, again.

This week has been kind of a hard one for me. A lot of personal things have come up that I thought had been dealt with in the past, but resurfaced, resulting in a lot of confusion and chaos.

But, while I’m praying and crying and trying to figure out things, I’ve continually been pointed to the idea of hoping in impossible things. For the first couple of days I thought, “No, I need something that will actually HELP me through this.”

But it kept coming, again and again: Hope.

I’ve never really realized how many bible verses there are about hope, but to save you the trouble of looking – there are a lot.

And after reading a few of them today, I noticed something. God doesn’t tell us to hope in or about things. He tells us to hope in Him, to find rest in Him, to know Him.

While I’m running around wondering how I’m expected to trust people, trust situations; hope in impossible endings, or extend impossible forgiveness, God says, “Put your hope in me.”

Like a lot of people, the Psalms are some of my favorite pieces of poetry.

In Psalm 42 we read “The prayer of someone who is in exile.”

This is one of my favorite chapters, because it’s raw and it’s human. In it the author talks about the emotional rollercoaster of leaning on God, and then remembering the past. They talk about heartbreak, they talk about “waves of sorrow” and questioning whether God has forgotten about them. In a nutshell, this has been my week.

But then, at the very end comes:

“I will put my hope in God,

And once again I will praise him,

My savior and my God.”

Life has a way of kicking us in the face. And I mean broken nose, blood and cracked bones, kicking. It happens to everyone at some point. Part of life is then getting up and still walking forward. But sometimes, if you’re really lucky, you’re also faced with having to forgive the beating. (Matthew 6:14-15)

As Christians, it’s not suggested – it’s required.

But, it’s not easy. And that’s what I’ve been wrestling with this week. And I do mean WRESTLING. I don’t like being put in vulnerable positions (who does?) I want to be in control of my life, and know what’s going on and when it’s going to happen.

But I don’t always. And even then God tells me to trust him. To hope in the promises that he has given me. To remember the little whispers he told me a year ago, while I was curled up gasping for breath from crying so hard.

It’s hard to hope.

It’s hard to remember.

It’s hard to keep walking, in faith, toward the things God has called us to.

Sometimes it’s with no directions. Sometimes we barely have a path we’re following.

But still he tells us to hope.

I can’t see what the outcome of situations will be. Sometimes I think I’ve got everything handled and in a good place, and then I get slammed with a curve ball like this week. I get knocked down. I get bruised and my heart feels like it’s going to tear in half. But I have to get up, again and again, and keep walking.

Hoping for things is not in my nature. Life is too uncertain. And risking with the potential for failure is against my better judgment.

But God doesn’t call us to hope in the uncertainty of our world. He calls us to hope in the certainty of knowing that when our brokenness, our messed up perceptions of what is happening, hits us hard, threatening to break our resolve, we hold tight to the promise that he will never fail us.

He is a never changing, immovable God who challenges us because He knows, ultimately, that we are so much stronger than we perceive.

So today I’m choosing to hope – not in the uncertain, the broken or the flawed. But in a Father who promises his presence when it’s time to find beauty in those things, and rise again.

We Will Renew Our Strength

Published on June 7, 2014June 7, 2014 by EmileeLeave a comment

This morning I woke up to sunshine and an eerie silence. It’s been hanging over my neighborhood since Thursday, and the only thing to slice into it are the helicopters that continually fly over the building where Thursday’s shooting took place. Even if I wanted to forget, the constant propelling sounds, day and night, wouldn’t let me.

You never think it will be your school, your community or your friends. But then it happens. And when you hear the reports for the first time you think someone must have made a mistake – they must have. Things like that don’t happen here.

On Thursday afternoon there was a shooting at my Alma Mater, Seattle Pacific University. When my boss asked me at 4pm if I had heard the news, I started to correct her mid-sentence, “You must mean Seattle University, or Seattle Central, or North Seattle…” Anywhere that wasn’t Seattle Pacific. Not there. Things like that don’t happen there. But it did.

SPU is more than a school to me. It’s my family.

I’ve been on campus since I was four years old. I went to preschool across the street at First Free Methodist church. I used to color underneath the library study tables while my mom studied. I’ve been to almost every SPU play since I was 9 years old. And even though I graduated four years ago, I live across the street.

After four years, I still can’t walk across campus without being greeted by someone I know. Faculty, staff, students – someone always notices.

SPU has always been a safe place for me, and when I heard about the shootings, I couldn’t believe it. I went about my workday, waiting for the news to correct their mistake.

ATTENTION: The named location of the shooting has been misidentified, and is now being corrected to ________________.

But it never came.

Instead, there were reports of hospitalizations, friends mourning, and eventually the pronouncement of a death.

My heart was breaking. But I still couldn’t bring myself to cry.

As I played “Sorry” with the 7 year old I nanny, I tried to balance fake smiling and joking with him, while desperately checking the Seattle Police Twitter and trying to scrape together details of what happened. My brain was scrambled, people were shot – did I know them?

Then came the “I’m ok” messages on Facebook. And while they should have seemed reaffirming, they haunted me. With each message I realized who I could have lost. Who it could have been. How many people I knew on campus. It could have been any of us.

When I got back from work, hours after the shooting, I saw police cars, yellow tape and hoards of people gathering in the center of campus and streaming toward the Methodist church across the street. They were holding each other, praying with each other and the overall silence on campus was almost overbearing.

We weren’t wearing black, but every soul on that campus was mourning. You could feel it. And as I walked through campus, and once again saw faces I recognized, our eyes met in the silence. We all knew – we would never be the same. Campus would never be the same. Our family would never be the same.

Watching news footage that night made it all the more real. I saw my friends interviewed by the police – standing in front of the building moments after. I saw one of my friends bent over a bleeding student, comforting them as they waited for the ambulance. I saw the university President try to hold back tears as he answered questions from the press. Was this really happening?

The morning after.

I was getting ready for work at my usual ungodly hour of 6am when I got the text from my mom, “It was Aaron Ybarra.”

All I sent back was, “Shit.”

I knew him. I grew up with him. I remember him hanging out in friend circles, cracking jokes and sharing classes with me. He was part of my homeschool family. One that is very much like SPU.

And knowing that broke my heart even more.

How could this happen? Not one, but two separate families, shaken to the core by one persons actions. My grief was overbearing.

It would be easy to over analyze, to be consumed by pain and anger and confusion. But, while those are my instinctual reactions, I feel my heart needing more. My mind knows that the wages of sin are death, but my soul remembers that the gift of grace is eternal life (Romans 6:23).

What I’ve seen happening the last couple of days is moving beyond words. People coming together – churches overflowing to capacity with students, faculty, staff and an overwhelming number of alumni.

We didn’t forget. We didn’t graduate and walk away, because that’s not how family works. You never outgrow or graduate beyond the community and people who love you.

And while circumstances like this week could have easily broken us down, I’ve seen people coming together like never before.

In our grief, I pray for the ability to extend grace. To mourn with and for those affected. To seek guidance and somehow process something that has no easy answer. Through it all, I thank God for his grace and for his healing. We are going to need it.

I’m also so thankful for the people who have stepped up; for those who have organized, sacrificed, put others before themselves and responded. For the response teams – police, fire and medical. For the hospital teams who, through their hard work, have enabled students to return to their families. For the church, who has stepped up and been hope to the grieving. For the students who have organized funds for supporting families and commemoration at this year’s graduation ceremony.

We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized; we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows what to do; we’ve been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn’t left our side; we’ve been thrown down, but we haven’t broken. (2 Corinthians 4:8)

And amidst these heavy shadows I see light. We are shaken, but not moved. And at moments like this I look around proudly and think, this – this is my family.

Yesterday’s Ceiling

Published on May 13, 2014 by Emilee2 Comments

Today I quit my job.

And after letting those words sink in a bit, I feel ready to cry. In case you were wondering, I have the perfect job; amazing family, amazing hours, great kids and great pay. Most people would think I was insane to leave, and right about now I’m starting to feel the same way. I think nauseous would be the word for the day.

All of the above being said, I think it’s important to state that there is a difference between feeling sick about a decision, and feeling uneasy. If I, at all, felt uneasy about leaving my job, I wouldn’t. I would stay put until I was forty and the last kid had graduated from college. But I don’t. And I’m not sure whether I’m happy or mad that I’m being led somewhere else.

In life there are always those “vitamin” decisions that you have to make. The choices that taste like crap and you have to half choke, half gag, down. But you do it anyway, because you know that they’re important and will make you stronger in the long run.

But, of course, being the brat I am, that doesn’t mean my soul can’t be furious. Although I know that moving is the right thing, and that it’s better for my future, even though I’ve dreamed about this my whole life, and I’m more excited than words can say, I’m still (for some unknown reason) livid.

I think it’s because I’m being forced out of my comfort zone. Ha. I didn’t even think I had one of those anymore. But I do. Although, sometimes I think I’m so busy convincing myself that I live on the edge, that I forget that even the edge can become a safety zone.

If only I could clone myself and put one self here, and one in France. Then we could correspond with each other and I’d be able to live out both lives simultaneously. I know that’s ridiculous. But you can’t blame a girl for dreaming.

I’m slowly starting to realize that, as the days go by, and the weeks pass, I’m getting more and more anxious about this transition. Even today, when I was telling my current boss that I would be leaving, I replied to her “That’s so exciting!” with a “Yeah…I guess so.”

It’s hard taking leaps. It’s hard to be someone doing something that no one you know has successfully done. It breaks my heart to know I’ll have to say goodbye to the kids I’ve loved for 2 years. It breaks my heart that I’m going to have to say goodbye to my family for an indefinite amount of time. It breaks my heart that I won’t get to hang out with the same Seattle people that I’ve loved for the past five years. It breaks my heart that I won’t get to play soccer, or go to my church or stop in on old places I used to work.

Basically there’s just a lot of broken heartage right now. That’s not a word. I don’t care.

I will say, though, that tangled amidst the brokenness, there is some excitement for the possibilities of the future. It feels a bit like a blank piece of paper staring me in the face and daring me to write a best selling novel. But maybe that’s what I’m the most afraid of? Messing up a blank piece of paper.

I probably sound like a crazy person right now, but these ups and downs are real talk. Transitions are scary and rugged. They aren’t always beautiful dreams, Pintrest boards and taking French lessons.

But that’s life. We appreciate the ups because we remember the downs.

When I was in India, our motto was, “Yesterday’s ceiling is today’s floor.”

It means what we’re called to today, all the promises and hopes and dreams, risks and pursuits, are only the stepping stools of the promises of tomorrow. We are created to cast off the “okay” and walk forward in confidence. There is so much more for us.

I think I forget too easily that, in the midst of my chaos, I have access to peace that surpasses human understanding; that even when I’m having nervous breakdowns and throwing spiritual tantrums, there’s a still small voice whispering, “Peace, greater things are yet to come.”

Because, ultimately, it’s not in the green pastures and safety nets that we find vitality and calling. It’s when we’ve pushed ourselves beyond our comfort zones and continued to strive for the inheritance of purpose we are called to.

“We pray that you’ll have the strength to stick it out over the long haul—not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory-strength God gives. It is strength that endures the unendurable and spills over into joy, thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful that he has for us.” (Colossians 1:11-14)

Dust From The Ground

Published on April 10, 2014April 10, 2014 by EmileeLeave a comment

1450954_10201965662676569_2047202561_n — Glasgow, Scotland

What makes a life memorable? With today’s world of online clutter, award winners, inspirational people and political voices, it’s hard to really know what impact even means, anymore.

But, a couple of days ago, I read an article about a girl who died when she was 22. She didn’t have any Nobel Peace Prizes or Olympic gold medals. What she did have, were friends who were willing to write her story after she was gone. And, as I scrolled through the piece, tears started to fill my eyes. After I was done reading, I had to stop and ask myself, “Why does this matter? I’ve never even met this person. So, why am I mourning?”

You make beautiful things out of dust.

These lyrics have been haunting me for a couple of days now. They come the band Gungor, but I don’t think I ever let them sink in, until today.

Before, when I listened to this song, I thought about the scientific realities. From dust we come, and to dust we will return.

But today, I let my heart speak for a moment. I started to think over the past couple of years. They weren’t great. With the exception of the last four months, I would go as far as to say they were probably the worst in my repertoire. Nothing seemed to work – ever. I felt like life kicked me again, and again and again, until I was broken down and bloody on the ground. Life was shit, and it didn’t seem like it was ever going to get better. It was chaotic, it was unfair, it was overwhelming, and it was filled with pain, tears and sitting on my bed asking, “WHY?”

But now, looking back, I see that it was dust. Those things that happened, each pain filled moment, was merely dust preparing to be formed into beauty.

See, I serve a Creator who takes dirt and molds it into lives that matter. A God who raises up leaders out of the broken and the weak. When doubt fills my mind, and chaos is all I can see, I know that, through the storm, there is beauty waiting to be made. Beautiful things are rising up out of the ground.

I feel like doubt is one of the greatest killers of dreams. We doubt ourselves, so we make do with what we have, instead of pursuing what we’re called to. We look at ourselves and think, “There’s no way. I’m too [flawed, imperfect, scared, tired, messed up, broken, weak, insecure, unlovable, insignificant, unsure, inexperienced] to ever see this through. It’s not even worth trying.” And guess what? You’re right. You are. But, that’s not the point.

Regardless of beliefs, I think the creation story found in Genesis is beautiful. In it we’re told that God takes dust from the ground and forms it into man. Maybe it’s because I’m an artist – but this is significant. For every other living thing, God speaks them into existence. But for humankind, he takes them and forms them out of the dirt of the ground.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried making pottery, but let me tell you – it’s hard. Your hands get dirty, and your arms get tired. It takes hours and hours to make one pot. You sit there staring and carving, smoothing your surface and lovingly putting in each detail you desire.

We were worth God’s time. And that means something.

In life today we don’t get to see God physically making people out of dirt, but I almost wish we did. We don’t have a physical manifestation so, instead, we have to pay close attention to see the remaking of beauty from the dirt that life produces.

Because, when it comes down to it:

In order to truly understand love, you have to experience pain.

To truly appreciate the value of laughter, you have to know the heaviness of silence.

To relish the comfort of restful sleep, you have to know the anguish of tear filled nights.

It’s not that our lives are perfect which makes us matter, or important, or significant or able. It’s that our lives are poignant.

Why did that 22 year old’s life matter, when I read her story? Because, the words she left behind sparked curiosity and enlightenment in those she spoke to; she set her mind toward goals, and her hard work inspired others to do the same.

Her life wasn’t beautiful because it was spotless, it was beautiful because the ripple effects of her existence are still echoing through space and time. Her zeal for life, her passion for engaging fully with others; those were her legacy.

Those were the stories that continued to be told and retold and retold until they ended up on my laptop screen. She lived a life worth writing about.

And, even if it was through the testimony of others, she inspired me to remember that it’s not always about the prizes, the recognition and the success of our endeavors. Sometimes, beautiful things don’t come out of perfection – they come out of dust.