Working to be loved.

I have always been a bit of an over achiever. As a child in Sunday school I wanted to be the one remembering the most verses, saying the most prayers. In high school I couldn't have above-average grades, I needed to have straight As. When I began working full time I couldn't work 40 hours a week, I had to work 60, 70, or even 80 hours.

When I was young there were some crazy events that happened in my family. It was a very difficult time, and my father gave up everything he had to keep me and my siblings safe. He lost his home, his friends, and nearly his business. Without realizing it, I lived my life to prove that his sacrifice was worth it. I never touched drugs or alcohol and instead grabbed all of the "success" I could. I swore that I would show him the sacrifices were worth it, that he didn't waste his efforts on me.

My dad never asked for all of this though. I distinctly remember him telling me when I was a young teenage girl, "I am proud of you for your good grades, but those are not important to me. I would rather you come home failing every class but loving the people around you." Still, I continued to work to prove my value to him.

I recently realized that this need of mine didn't only apply to my dad, but that I also put this on my god. My god was a lot like my dad, he was protective and cared deeply for me, the only difference being that god was more judgmental and less talkative. I proved myself to god through endless fasting and prayer and religious studies.

Look god, I have pored over your sacred text dozens of times, do you love me yet? 
Look god, I am giving up my college education to take care of people, do you love me yet? 
Look god, I can move myself across the world for you. Do you love me yet? 

And so it goes.

But in the last year or two, I have found a very different God. A Force that draws me toward happiness not only for others, but opens me up to the scandal of being happy myself. A kind
Stranger that says, "I want you to love and to be and to be love!". 

It was recently revealed to me that my time in Cambodia is only meant to be a season for now, only a short chapter in my story. I'm not leaving any time soon, but I also have found that I won't be here for the next 10 years either. This has been a tough pill to swallow, because I love this country and people more than I could ever say. In the background there is this voice that asks, will I still be lovable if I'm not out here risking it all? Will I still be enough?

You know what though? Love is not a transaction, it is not affection traded for hard work. Love is wanting someone when they have nothing to offer you. I think that's why there is so much focus on the power of the Christian God- not so this power can be lorded over people but to show that this God loves with nothing to be gained. In this light, verses I used to see as petty take on an entirely new meaning. It is not a god that needs me to feel good about himself, but a Divine Pull that loves so deeply with nothing to be gained but love itself.

I'm not totally fixed. I'm still a perfectionist at times and need to work on my desire to please. I am growing though, I am learning to be without expectation and to realize that can be enough. I am learning to love and be loved in a way that is not to be traded and analyzed, but in a way that is all-consuming and unshakable. I am done working to be loved.

New Life

Happy (late) Easter everybody!

In this past week I have been doing a lot of thinking about living and dying. The Jesus story is so very full of death. The death of Jesus, the death of Lazarus, the death of an entire system. But in each of those events, there is new life that can only be found on the other side. Our culture is so afraid of death, both emotionally and physically. Yes, we are afraid of passing from this world. But we are also afraid in every other sense- the death of a relationship or the death of parts of ourselves. We are afraid of the small deaths that come from each ending of a chapter.

But the reality is that without death there can be no new life. Each year we must come to winter, it is only after the cold of the end that we can make way for the beauty and new life found in spring.

I have died here in Cambodia. I have lost everything I use to define myself, I have lost friends and comfort, I have lost myself. At times I have cried out to God, asking why I would be sent  here if it meant losing all that I was?

Because the best is yet to come, and I will confess I am only beginning to see the Light at the end of the tunnel.

I have been a "Christian" my whole life. At 6 years old I could have told you what it meant to be "born again". But I have only known what is it to be born again in this year. Because to be born again, you must first die. The old self must be removed, like a snake shedding its skin, to reveal the new life underneath. It is a painful, beautiful process; a process I hope to continue going through for the rest of my days.

So Happy Easter to all of you, I wish you all a year of new life.

How do you sleep at night?

As many of you may know, there is a grandma in one of the villages where I work who was in a terrible moto accident. She was bringing vegetables to the market to sell and another moto driver ran into her. He left her bleeding out on the sidewalk. Luckily, a group of people at the market pooled their funds to get her to the hospital and she had an emergency surgery to put a metal rod into her leg/hip to stabilize it. This grandma is now getting the help she needs (more info at the end of this post if you want to get involved!). But I wondered to myself, this man who left her to die, how does he sleep at night? How does he carry on believing that he took the life of an innocent woman?

Then a few days ago there was a terrible accident here in the city. A man was driving drunk, speeding down the wrong side of the road. He hit a moto and killed the rider on impact. Then, the driver panicked and while trying to flee the scene hit more than 10 other motorcycles. He killed multiple people, and seriously injured many more. A mob ended up tearing him from his crashed car and beat him within an inch of his life, he is now in a coma at a hospital in the city. If he comes out of this coma, how will he live with the guilt of all of the lives he took? How will the people who beat him live with themselves if he dies?

The list goes on.. what about all of the people who have raped and killed someone close to them, how do they sleep at night? How do people carry on knowing that they bullied someone enough to push them to commit suicide? What about my dear friend who is a pimp, who forces women into lives of drugs and prostitution? Where is the hope for people who have done terrible things?

The reality is, we all have done bad things in our lives. The people who commit these horrible crimes, the people we see as being disgusting, they themselves are hurting. My friend who is a lady pimp has been abused her entire life, as have most sexual predators. These people are stuck in a cycle, guilt leads them to do terrible things, which they in turn feel guilty for.

I asked myself where the hope is for these people. How do we get out of a cycle of guilt and abuse?

I think this is where forgiveness comes in.

I know, cheesy. Please stick with me a little longer.

In the last few years, I have absolutely hated people throwing around the word "forgiven". They would act like it is some beautiful miracle that an  eye in the sky doesn't want to burn me forever for stealing $10 as a kid. It sounded petty, shallow, and condemning. This was sick to me, so I tried to remove myself from messages of "forgiveness" and instead move toward messages of inclusion and wholeness.

But, as I often do, I threw the baby out with the bath water. It's because of stories like the ones above the forgiveness is important. I don't believe in a literal hell as a place of eternal torment, so in my world view people don't need forgiveness to get into heaven. Instead, it's the idea that the Divine Creator doesn't hate you for what you've done, so you don't have to hate yourself. It's the reality that you can let go of your own personal hell that you hold onto, and instead find wholeness once again.

Forgiveness isn't someone waving a magic wand and suddenly you're clean. Forgiveness is the opportunity for a fresh start. It's the idea that your past doesn't define you, who you are now and how you move toward your future does. This is the beauty of it all. An abuser can become a healer, a killer can bring about new life, and a liar can bring truth to the world. That is forgiveness, that is how we sleep at night.

Coming to Cambodia has pushed me to redefine a lot of things in my life. It has changed my understanding of love, family, helping, and now.. forgiveness. I guess that's what this is, just me processing through a new understanding of things I thought I understood already. For me, forgiveness used to represent guilt, now it is a beautiful freedom. If you ask me, that's progress.

I AM MAKING ALL THINGS NEW

P.S. If you want to help the grandma I spoke about at the beginning of this post, check out my Facebook for photos and an option to donate if you would like. We will be taking her to the hospital later this week to get the rod out of her leg and help her be mobile again. 

Thanks for your help and prayers, guys! 

My Suicide Story

TRIGGER WARNING

I am sharing this story today in honor of a girl I love very much. She has had a particularly rough patch the past couple years and confided in me a few months ago that today was her planned suicide date. I am telling my story for her and all the other people who are going through this same journey, because I do believe there is hope.

I have lived with chronic depression since I was 11 years old. When I was young I would spend hours fantasizing about killing myself, thinking of all the ways I could finish this life. I held all of this in myself, afraid to let anyone know. My family was going through a turbulent time as it was, and I didn't want to add to their stress. On a nearly weekly basis I would plan an attempt, but would always give up at the point of writing out the suicide note. There were more close calls than I can even count.

This brought me into a downward spiral; I hated myself for wanting to die, I wanted to die because I hated myself. Slowly the people closest to me began to see what I desperately wanted to hide. I wouldn't sleep for days at a time, then would go comatose and sleep for ages. It was hell in the truest sense of the word.

The crazy part in all this is that most people I knew had absolutely no idea what was happening. On the outside, I was a bubbly, smart girl. I got straight As in school, was in multiple clubs, and had lots of friends. One of my best friends actually realized that the more bubbly and happy I seemed, the worse I was doing internally. She realized this before even I did, she kept me sane.

This continued for years, sometimes better and sometimes worse. Until one day when I was about 17 one of my close friends found me nearly unconscious on the floor of my shower. I had lost so much blood that I kept falling between asleep and awake. She patched me up and told both my father and her parents... then came the intervention.

I was forced to go to recovery groups (similar to Alcoholics Anonymous, but for all addictions, not just Alcoholism). It was here that I realized being depressed or masochistic didn't make me a bad person. Some of the people in this group were wonderful people, they had dreams and hopes and people they loved. If I didn't hate them for their struggles, how could I hate myself for my own? This is when the journey of understanding my illness truly began.

I have learned a lot about myself since then. I realize now that my depression is more about the chemical balances in my body than anything else. If I sleep at decent hours, eat well, exercise and meditate, then I will remain stable. If I don't get good sleep for 2 nights, or if I don't exercise for more than 3 days, I will almost immediately get suicidal thoughts again. It is a constant effort to check in with myself to make sure I am still stable, so that the suicidal tendencies don't catch me off guard. At the end of a perfect day a voice will always come up telling me to end it all, telling me it can't get better than this. But now I realize that voice is not my own, so instead of being angry I can find an outlet to release the pressure before it builds.

Now, why am I telling you all of this? Why would I share such a deeply personal journey on the internet? For two reasons:

1. I want to change how people see depression. Too often we hear "depression" and think of a teenager wearing all black and running around crying. The reality is that depression is a part of life for people from all walks of life and all ages. Someone can have a fulfilling, beautiful life and still have depression. Like rheumatoid arthritis or chronic back pain, it is a difficult struggle, but it does not mean someone cannot achieve their dreams and lead a wonderful life. I am living the life of my dreams and loving it, I will not give my depression the power to hold me back.

We need to open the dialogue about this illness to realize that depressed people aren't broken people, they are just people. If the stigma of depression could be removed, maybe more of us would be open to getting help. If someone would have told me as a young girl that being depressed was okay and didn't make me evil, maybe I would have spent less time with a knife in my shaking hands.

2. I want to speak out to the girl I spoke of earlier, and all the others like her-
You are not broken. You are not defective. Your pain matters. You can fight this, you can grow old and fall in love and have a family. You deserve to live a full life, and you hold the power to find that life inside of yourself. Don't let this illness win, fight back. I promise you that if you choose to carry on, you will find happiness again. I love you.

*NOTE: I do want to make a note that not all depression is chronic like mine. There are many people that experience temporary depression due to a certain circumstance, like death in the family of a difficult season of life. One type of depression is not better or worse than another, and any type of depression can be helped by living with intention and finding help. If you are dealing with depression of any type, please get help. You are worth it. 

Different words for the same thing.

I recently went out with some good friends and some new friends to drink and chat. Two of those people were fellows who have very extreme political and economical ideas, they are hardcore Libertarians and highly invested in cyrptocurrency (such as Bitcoin). The other friend was a great leader in a Christian Evangelical organization here. Then there was me. We had wonderful conversation, discussing the root of morality and government and the purpose of social structures and religion.

When religion came up, one fellow brought up how he was a staunch atheist. He believes it is ridiculous to assume there are supernatural forces in the world, as nature is all we have and can test. Whereas my Christian friend, she spoke of her belief in another world surrounding us that is all spiritual and we can only catch the smallest glimpses of if we choose to. Later Mr. Atheist was speaking about how humans have a special value because we are the only creatures who have a conscience and a higher-thinking mind. We have something in us that allows us to wonder about the spiritual and to make decisions and see a better future in which we live at peace with one another.

As our conversation continued with more drinks and fun, I realized we are all talking about the same thing. Whether you call it God, logic, or karma- there is something within us as humans that ties us all together. It is a force that allows us to see ourselves within others, to see potential for connections and hope. Some would say it is God within each and every one of us, our humanity and the Spirit that connects us all.

There's a joke my dad loves to tell:

Child: Mother, who made me? 

Mother: God made you.

Child: Who made the animals and plants? 

Mother: God made the animals and plants. 

Child: Who made the earth, sun, and moon? 

Mother: God made the earth, sun, and moon.  

Child: If God made all of these things, then who made God? 

Mother: We did. 

If God made us in their own image, then we also make God in our image. For some of us, God is nature and all that is around us, for others God is science, for others still God is a spiritual warrior fighting dark unseen forces.  When we say "God" we all speak of different things, but what if we really are all speaking about the same Force, the same Reality?

Say there is a great, fantastic machine in front of us. My brother Matthew will say, "What can I do with it to make my life better?", my sister Marissa will say, "Look how exciting this is! I shall tell the whole world of how wonderful it is!", my brother Marcos will say, "How do I take it apart and how does it work?". For some the machine will be useful, for some it will be a way to connect to others, and for some it will be a thing to take apart and learn from. But it is only the one machine.

I guess what I'm saying is, I think we are all looking at the same Ultimate Reality. We may have different names for it or different ways of connecting to it or finding it in our lives. But I truly do believe it is all One, we are all one humanity. It is for this reason we love, it is in this that we live and move and find our being.

Touch

I went to an AIDS/HIV commune today. One of the first things I noticed was that the people were quite standoffish. They weren't rude or anything, but they seemed a bit tense and separate. They didn't want to sit next to me and if I stood near them they would back up a few paces. I told myself that they have had a rough life and to not take it personally.

Then I heard more about their experiences. They had been through so much pain and separation due to their illness and the misconceptions around AIDS. Their own families, the people who were supposed to love them forever, kicked them out because they thought they were dirty and broken. These people were thrown out because of something that is not at all their fault.

When we prayed for them, I put my arm around one of the woman. After that point, she came up to me and did not leave my side. She spent the rest of the time there with her arm around my hip or holding my hand. She was desperate to be touched. I realized that they had kept their distance out of respect, out of fear of being seen as dirty. Yet at the same time, they so needed to feel loved. They needed to feel like they were still human, like they could touch and be near other people and still be okay. It was beautiful and tragic.

It reminded me of Mother Teresa and her time with the lepers. She often was told by those around her to be more careful when touching the sick people, to protect herself and not get too close. She would always respond in defense of human dignity, speaking of the Christ that it is within each of us. To not touch someone was to deny their divine nature, their humanity, and the love that moved them. It's beautiful, really... All that is held in a touch.

I think we need to touch each other more. I'm not saying in a way that is creepy, or unwanted. But with our friends and our family, when it is appropriate and welcome. Put your hand on someone's shoulder when you compliment them, hug your friend a little longer when you greet them, don't be afraid to walk too close to people. I don't know what it is, but there is something so pure, so spiritual in these small touches throughout the day. It's an honoring of someone's dignity, a recognition of their humanity, and a way to connect without words. There are so many people here that I can't have a real conversation with because of language barriers, but I will just sit holding their hand or with arms around each other for long periods of time. And it is that contact that brings our interconnectedness to the surface.

Hurting people hurt people.

My father always told me this when I was young. Whenever someone did something that hurt me or our family, he reminded me that hurting people hurt people. When we are afraid and angry, we lash out. We go against the natural tendency to love, instead we build walls and break down relationships.

Today I went out to this village. I am planning to start some programs for the community and we were scoping out the current situation before beginning. While we were there, this woman came to us. She started off just talking, then crying. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but came up to her and put my hand on her shoulder while she cried. She quickly moved on to yelling, and arguing with the other villagers. Eventually the small crowd around us dispersed to get away from the drama. Meanwhile this woman went between crying and yelling for maybe 15 minutes.

I asked my boss/friend to translate what was happening. She told me this woman was upset because she did not have a toilet.

A toilet.

Slowly, the full story began to come out.

This woman didn't used to live in this village, her parents did. I don't know exactly what from, but her parents got very sick. They left the village at some point to find relief from their illness. While they were moved out, the organization I work for had come and built toilets for the villagers. Sometime after that, her parents passed away, and this woman moved to their old home in this village. Knowing the culture here, she probably moved out there because it was the only thing her family owned.

So here's this woman. She lost both of her parents and was forced to move to an unbelievably poor village. She doesn't know all of the people in this village because it's not her home. She's drunk in the middle of the morning and fighting with the other villagers, leading to her being even more alone.
She is angry and she is fighting and she has to go to the bathroom in a hole she dug up.

There are times when someone's pain is so raw and exposed that you can't help but feel it too. I could feel the ache she must feel in her heart. The pain that causes her to push people away comes from the loneliness in her own life, the loss she has had in the past few years has put her into a terrible cycle.

In the end, there are three thoughts I can't to get out of my head.

1. This woman needs a freaking toilet. Actually, everyone needs a toilet. It is amazing how much your chances of illness decrease when you have a sanitary place to go to the bathroom. A toilet is a sign of economic development, and it truly is one of the hugest factors in having a healthy life. You guys would be surprised at how blessed you are to have a toilet, to have myriad diseases that you don't even have to worry about because you live in sanitary conditions. 
2. The people in this village are terribly angry and hurt. They have good reason to be, they were sent out of their homes and treated like cattle. They were left in the middle of nowhere with none of their belongings. They truly lost everything in life. Everything. I think they have forgotten how to live without anger. I desperately want to help them see their value again, I want them to feel safe and let go of the fighting in their hearts and homes. 
3. Hurting people hurt people.
   It all comes back to this, doesn't it? People became corrupt because one man unable to love started a genocide that killed millions. Corrupt government sent people out of their homes and robbed them of their humanity. People robbed of their humanity and value fight for survival, they fight until they don't know why they are fighting. Children grow up in homes with constant fights, and they forget how to love.
   And the cycle begins again.
   We cannot let this cycle continue, not in this village and not in our own lives. When people hurt us, we must learn to overcome and resist the urge to hurt others. Maybe if we responded out of our love instead of our pain, we could change the world. 

I'm sorry this is a little scattered guys, I just needed to let it out. Please, let's move past the pain.