When You Died (Pt. 1)

For Grandma-

When you died I tried to like Obama because I knew you loved him, but it didn't work. I stopped trying a long time ago and I miss what could have been some great political debates. I hope you were pro-life, but because you died before I was old enough to care too much about that I'll never know. If you were pro-life, that's awesome. If you weren't, I would have you converted in a second.

When you died I listened to every version of Ave Maria for hours on end and cried at every single one. I thought it was a beautiful song, and I even skated to it. Then someone told me that it worshipped Mary, so I stopped listening to it and rolled my eyes at how stereotypical of a Catholic you were for liking that song. But then (not too long ago) someone ELSE told me all the words were taken straight from Luke 1, and I think he was right. Now I love the song again and admire that it was your favorite.

When you died I started drinking tea a lot because it always reminded me of the times you would grab a tea bag and pour hot water into a navy blue or forest green mug, smush the former into the latter with a spoon, and slowly sip while telling me embarassing stories about my mom or insisting I should eat more. I asked for tea for Christmas because it made me sound like a caffeine-dependent hipster, and Jonathan got me some tea leaves of an obscure flavor, along with a tea ball, I think it was called. I brought it to a competition and made myself a cup that I ended up leaving half-full in Katie's car (accidentally). I never got the tea ball back, and in the meantime I realized I like coffee better. I hardly ever drink tea now.

I hope you remember that you taught me how to tie my shoes and how to do my makeup; you taught me that people can't be allergic to other people and that you cross your fingers when you hope for something. I know it's you who inspired me to be a nurse, and I hope you're proud that I'm following in your footsteps.

Now that you're gone I want to go to a Catholic church just to see what you saw in it. I feel alone at Christmastime, even though I'm not. When I wear your clothes I don't care that I look strange, but I do chuckle at how petite you were and savor the feeling of you being close to me again.  I try to avoid thinking about you because I still haven't accepted that you're gone and I'm not sure where you are. This is the most I've thought about you in years, and it's really hard. You probably don't know how much I cried and shook my fists at God when you died. For the first two weeks after you died I stayed at Madina's house every night because I couldn't sleep alone. At most funerals, I cry out of admiration for the person and a deep recognition of the peace in my heart, but at yours it was pure and utter despair. And it still is.

I wrote a letter to you, but then I lost it. It was probably really cheesy. I know this blog is really depressing, but just remember that I love you. I remember being scared to hug you because I thought you would shatter into a million pieces, but I think I would give anything to do that right now. I don't want a lot of people to read this, but I'll post it because I took all this time to write it it would be dumb not to. I miss you, and I'm still mad at you for dying. Don't ever do that again.

Why do you follow Jesus?




(two years ago)





 I just want to take some time this peaceful evening to give you a small glimpse of what goes on in my wonderful junior girls small group.

Tonight we went around the circle and each summed up in one sentence why we've chosen to follow Jesus. The beautiful thing is that we each had different answers, yet they all rang with a truth no one can fathom.

Colleen said, simply, "Because I love Him." When prompted to explain why she loves Him, she quickly replied, "Because He loves me."

I sighed, thinking through my response with a heart of gratitude. "I follow Him because He is true, and He has proven Himself to be true in my life. His Word is true, and His Word says that nothing compares to the surpassing greatness of knowing Him, and I really believe that."

Abbi eloquently explained that following Christ is the least she can give to the Lord after all He did, is doing, and will do for her. It is her sacrifice - her reasonable service - and her humanity screams out the debt she owes to Him.

Paige had two responses, and she discussed both with wise insight. "He's shown me that I desperately need Him - I can literally do nothing without Him. I can't even be affected by the Word the way that I am without the power of His Holy Spirit," was her first reason. She then continued, "We were made specifically to bring glory and honor to God. That's where I fit - it's just what I'm meant to do."

Lauren thoughtfully spoke, "I just feel like, if I wasn't following Him, I would have no purpose. What's the point? I can totally understand why so many unsaved people feel that way, because it's true for them. I would just be going through life every day with no meaning, waiting to die." She added that she feels would do whatever she wanted without reservation if it were not for the conviction from the Spirit of God living inside of her.

Ellie bounced off of Lauren's thoughts, conversationally continuing with her own spin. "I can't imagine how people who don't know the Lord go through difficult times; where do they find their hope?", she wondered. "Even when I don't feel Him or when I drift far from Him I know I'm still sealed by His promise, and that is such a comfort."

Brynna, who had to pass on her first turn to think about her answer to such a loaded question, said something like, "My whole world would just be so different if I didn't know God. Like, I could just go out there and get into you know, bad stuff, whatever. I'd much rather follow Jesus."

We all have beautifully unique reasons for choosing to pick up our crosses and go where our Lord goes, but they are all based somehow on His radiant goodness. He has been so very good to us, and will continue to do so for eternity. He simply asks us to be His disciples.

So, what about you? Why do you follow Jesus?

A sea of black - most of them faces I'd never seen, all of them in clear emotional pain. I'd never seen my church sanctuary like this. I sat in the back, tucked safely between members of my church family, occasionally blotting my face to keep my mascara from running after being mixed with salty water gracefully flowing out of my tear ducts. Taking it all in. A million thoughts were running through my head, each one of them overwhelming to even begin to ponder: I can't imagine. Does the family really know it yet? Will they lose it any second, or are they blanketed with the peace that passes understanding? How is Becca? I've never seen a look on her face like that before. Lord, help them. Only You can. Why did this happen?! Oh, I don't know. I don't have the answer to any of these questions. But I need to maintain my composure.

Sincere joy filled my heart as we stood and sang praises to our God. We sang words such as...

When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Amazing Love, how can it be
That You my King would die for me
Amazing Love, I know it's true
And it's my joy to honor You

My chains are gone, I've been set free
My God, my Savior has ransomed me
And like a flood, His mercy reigns
Unending love, amazing grace.

But those words weren't sung without pain. Mike and Debbie's daughter, Rebecca's sister, and our church's loyal friend, Michaela Petro, went home to be with her Lord and Savior this past weekend following a fatal car accident. She was 18.

Rebecca and Mackenzie (Michaela's best friend) each read beautiful eulogies proclaiming their love for her exuberant personality. Michaela's neighbors, friends, coworkers and family members stood up and shared hilarious stories that will always remain in their memories. I laughed, I cried, I sighed, I worshiped. But mostly I laughed.

Our Pastor Roger shared the Gospel of Jesus Christ with the congregation, how by the very grace of God we each have the blessed opportunity to be God's friend through the sacrifice He made atoning for our sins. It rang truer in my heart than any other time I've heard that story which never gets old.

I don't know all the emotions the Petro's are feeling or have yet to experience, and I don't want to. Confusion, anger, sorrow, possibly. And guilt, oh, the guilt. Thoughts like, What if I didn't let her go out that night? Was there something I could have done? What could her life have been like? Do I really have to spend the rest of my life without her? I do know that they will not make it through this incomprehensible grieving process without the protection, comfort, and strength of our Lord. I also know that we do not mourn as those who have no hope (1 Thes. 4:13). We mourn, but in a much different way. In a way that tells us that Michaela is dancing in Heaven, with the hope and assurance that God will be glorified through this tragedy. What a beautiful type of mourning we have to do.

If you were somehow connected to Michaela and her sudden death, whether you have a relationship with Jesus or not, please allow God to bring you closer to Him through this. Whether that be salvation or sanctification, sit back and watch Him paint His masterpiece in your life. Just like Michaela's remarkable talent in the arts, God sure knows what He's doing when He works in your life. But you have to let Him.

Take a deep breath. I know it's hard, and I know it's painful. We weren't made for this. But this is grace.

I need your help!

So, I have a thought.

There's a book called Stuff Christians Like, which I recently read and found hilarious. It was inspired by the book Stuff White People Like, which I haven't read but don't doubt I would get a kick out of as well. There may even be some other books along those lines, but I can't figure out how exactly to google that. Either way, I see something huge missing in this scenario.

Stuff Figure Skaters Like.

And let's be honest here, who would be better to write it than myself, who is a longtime figure skater AND writer who has always dreamed of having a book published in her high school years just to be able to say I did that?

So, I have a plan. Over the next few days I'll be compiling a list of bizarre oddities in the figure skating world. And you, as my readers (all three of you...) have a job to do. Or two, depending on who you are.

1.) If you skate or are extremely close to someone who skates (aka, your daughter, or sister, or something. Not o, m, g, there's this chick in my math class who skates so I know ALL about it.), you've most likely got some great ideas of weird things we like that I may not think of. So, contribute! Say you've got a brilliant thought - post it in the comment section of this post, and you'll most likely see it on the list.
2.) Whether or not you're a skater, you need to do this part. Once my list is complete, I'll post it on this blog. You will then decide which ones you'd most like to read about in the book, and comment your answers for THAT post.

Simple enough, right? Now go!

P.S. Look up Stuff White People Like or Stuff Christians Like for a better idea of what they're all about.

Pause. Think. Pray.

My junior year came to a good start. I got most of the classes I wanted, and my workload hasn't gotten crazy... yet. The Lord has been making beautiful art through me in chapel each week as I've played the keys, sung praises, and shared verses in between songs that have ministered to my heart. I've heard prayer requests every day in classes such as theology and music theory, and admittedly, I haven't remembered most of them. The hardships my classmates have spoken about don't affect me, and ever since I can remember my brain capacity has always been taken up by one topic: Me.

Last week, things changed. My Wednesday morning classes were tangibly dampered by an inevitable sorrow, but I had no idea why. Finally, in fifth period theology class, the news was spoken: a homeschooled Christian teenage girl and member of the church that meets at our school on Sundays, Ellen, had attempted suicide without success. She was now in critical condition.

Oh, that's sad, I thought. I hope she survives and uses her testimony for the glory of God.

Things at our school went on as usual, though there was no student or faculty member who was unaware of Ellen's story. My news feed blew up with updates and prayer requests, and when I humbly fell before the Lord, thought about the possible condition of this girl's heart and mind  and asked Jesus to heal her body, I wept. My heart sunk just thinking about it: a girl, just my age, who has been redeemed by the blood of Jesus Christ. Something happened to her that caused her to think that hanging herself was okay, ideal even. That she was so incredibly downcast to actually go through with that.

Part of me wants to say I can't blame her. I've been in her place before, placing way too many pills in front of me with the plan to overdose on them, all the while knowing that I had a relationship with Jesus Christ and thus, an opportunity to have joy and do great things for God. I couldn't explain to you the condition of my heart and mind at those times if I tried, much less that of Ellen. But her story stuck with me, since I related to her in more ways that most people know.

I prayed for this girl multiple times a day, fervently and with a heavy heart. I said to God, "Lord, I know You can work miracles, and I don't know if that's Your plan for Ellen, but I really hope it is. Whatever You do choose to do in this situation, I pray that You would somehow be glorified and Your truth would be proclaimed even in the midst of this horrible trial." The next day I was informed that Ellen's family had been sharing the gospel to each and every person who stepped foot in her hospital room. God found a way to be glorified, and I thought that was awesome.

In the beginning of this week, the doctors declared that there was nothing they could do. She'd made no improvements since first being admitted to the hospital, and it was left up to her parents to make the decision whether or not to take her off life support. And so they prayed, and before long God gave them His peace that passes understanding surrounding their next step. It was time for Ellen to go home, and they were ready to pull the plug.

Upon hearing this update, my mind immediately went to the story of my youth leader's granddaughter. As she was fighting for her life ten days after her birth, the doctors didn't think she'd make it the rest of the day. My youth leader's husband cried, "Lord, she's in so much pain. Just take her home." But He didn't. He chose instead to miraculously heal her, and they recently celebrated her third birthday. Maybe it's like that, I thought. Yeah, God will definitely heal her. We just need to wait. I couldn't rationalize the idea of a girl my age dying; it just didn't seem right.

I was first informed of Ellen's final update on Tuesday night via Facebook. I was working feverishly on my benefit show, and while waiting for a sponsorship letter to print, I refreshed my news feed.

Pause.

My heart felt like an anchor in my chest, keeping me from any possibility of feeling contentment at all. I called my mom and told her to pray. I said, "Yeah, it's really sad," and entered the confines of my bedroom to talk to God about it.

For the first time in my life, I now feel that deep, painful feeling of not knowing how something so horrible could happen. I cannot explain it, and I won't try. I know that there is sin in the world, and that Heaven is perfect glory. Beyond that, I cannot logically argue myself out of the searing sorrow surrounding this.

Think.

 "God is our refuge and strength,
   an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
   and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
   and the mountains quake with their surging...
                           Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
   he lifts his voice, the earth melts.
 The LORD Almighty is with us;
   the God of Jacob is our fortress.
                        
 Come and see the works of the LORD,
   the desolations he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth;
   he breaks the bow and shatters the spear,
   he burns the shields with fire.
'Be still, and know that I am God;
   I will be exalted among the nations,
   I will be exalted in the earth.'
  The LORD Almighty is with us;
   the God of Jacob is our fortress."

~Psalm 46: 1-3, 7-11

Pray.                

Love Always Hopes

My algebra teacher showed us a video of his daughter, Anna, learning to walk. It was taken a little while ago in her beginning stages, and her three-year-old sister, Sophia, was trying to help her, but turned out to be just a cutie in the way, pushing Anna across the floor briskly without allowing her to take the steps herself. She face-planted numerous times, sometimes failing to take more than one step before falling. But she always got back up. Her daddy kneeled on the other side of her path, watching in excitement with a great big grin across his face. No matter how many times Anna fell, he knew that his baby girl would eventually reach his arms wide open to receive a congratulatory hug. I sensed he may have been experiencing a hint of frustration each time she fell, but saw an even greater joy, excitement, and hope fill his heart, overwhelming any feeling of desperation. He knew logically each time she stood up and began walking towards him again, that she could not magically learn to walk perfectly. "But," he thought, "maybe... just maybe she'll get it this time. Maybe she won't fall," and that was all the hope he needed to persevere in aiding his youngest along in her journey.

"[Love] always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

~1 Corinthians 13:7

My big sister Gabrielle wears a ring on her finger that simply reads the single word, HOPE. Although she and I have been close for many years, I had never thought to ask her about it because I (mistakenly) never considered what the story may be behind it. Recently, on a two-day visit to the apartment she now lives in with her husband 300 miles away, she openly dusted off a deep area of her heart, hidden in the crevices of her soul, and shared it with me, so that I too, could be fed.

"I'd read this passage [1 Corinthians 13:4-8] of Scripture so many times before, and I knew it was really talking about God, because God is love. So I was reading it once more, replacing every instance of the word 'love' with the word 'God,' so I could learn more about who God is. And it all made sense to me, you know, God is patient, God is kind. I knew that. And then I got towards the end, and I read, 'God always... hopes. What? God hopes? It didn't really make any sense. Hope implies not knowing the outcome of something." I started to subconsciously deny this verse, thinking well it didn't really mean hope. But she continued, "And then I thought of how a father hopes when he's teaching his kid how to walk. I've never experienced it, but I think it probably goes something like this: each time his baby starts walking towards him, he knows she's gonna fall. She's still learning to walk, and she hasn't at all gotten the hang of it yet. And she does fall. Yet every time she gets up, and every time he thinks to himself, "Okay, maybe she'll get it this time; she can do it," even though he knows she's gonna fall. But she falls again. And so it goes, hope pulls them both along, and eventually they meet together, face to face, in a loving embrace and true joy. I think that's what hope looks like to God. So now I wear this ring, you know, not because I believe in the act of having hope (though I do), but because I believe that God actually has hope in me."

That thought rings so beatifully true to me. That no matter how many times I fall, I have a reason to get up and sing and worship and be beautiful. Because my Daddy is waiting for me at the end of my path, rooting for me in pure excitement, lavishing grace on me with all wisdom and understanding (Eph. 1:8). People can help me, but really I have to decide to do it myself, because if I only rely on other people I won't learn how not to fall. When I finally get there, after thousands of face-plants and failures, He will kneel down to my level with arms wide open, and He will whisper in my ear, "Well done, love. I knew you could do it - I had hope in you."

"She fell, she hurt, she felt. She lived. And for all the tumble of her experiences, she still had hope. Maybe this next time would do the trick. Or maybe not. But unless you stepped into the game, you would never know."

~Sarah Dessen

this was taken about three years ago; the hope ring is on her thumb

The Story of My Baptism

I got baptized today! I'm so happy about my decision and am praising God for the conviction He placed on my heart to do so. What a glorious day that will go down in the history of all those who publicly professed their love for the Lord today at my church's baptism!

And some of you may know, this was not my first time.

I know that seems really weird, and rest assured -- I've got my baptism theology straight: water does not save or cleanse anyone (that's Jesus); baptism is a public declaration of dependence on Jesus Christ and is to be done following a person's salvation, thus, infant baptism has no significance in a believer's life; it is a picture of a Christian dying to himself and being raised to life in Christ and is a commandment; it's a one-time thing. Or so I thought.

And it usually is. I've never been one to think that repetitive baptism is asked of us. If someone being baptized were to say they'd been baptized six other times before, I may be a bit skeptical. But that is not what I plan to do.

I was born again about five years ago, and was baptized two years ago after having a bout with bulimia. At the time, I meant it completely. It was exciting, but nothing really changed. Well, that's not entirely true -- I definitely had my highs with God at various points following my decision. But I also had my lows... and they were, well, low.

Almost a year ago I told God, "No, I don't want anything to do with You for now. Maybe in ten years or so I'll come around and decide to have a relationship with You again, but right now I love my eating disorder more than You." And so I spiraled out of control, fast. To put it simply, I was in total darkness for a while before God put His foot down, telling me He had better plans and everything, and brought me back into the light. It was and is painful, but so worth it. I can't really explain this in words as well as I can in music and visual art, but I can begin by choosing words like transformation, dramatic, powerful, and deliverance, for whatever those are worth.

My church announced its annual summer picnic and baptism a couple months ago, and naturally, the thought of signing up to be baptized never crossed my mind. I, of course, did plan on attending in order to fellowship with my church family and be a witness to all the steps in obedience that were to be made (oh, and don't forget the dessert table!). A few of my good friends planned to be baptized, and on one occasion in talking to Lauren about her decision, how she was making a 180 turn and finally releasing control to her Master by allowing Him to transform her life, I remember thinking, I've been baptized before, but this past year has been like God saved me all over again, or something. It's almost like I should get baptized again, hahaha.

So today was the day, and I went into the event so excited for my friends. I sat with my feet in the pool with Jill, Chris, and Maria, and happily watched around ten or so people display their humility before the Lord by getting wet in public. Then I started feeling this searing urge to... go up there... and do it again. What? I thought. I've been baptized before! Surely God wouldn't be telling me to do it again! I tried to deny this call, but it didn't work. My heart started pounding, as I was filled with nerves and doubt. It took every ounce of courage out of me to tap on Jill's shoulder and whisper, "I feel like God's telling me to get baptized."

I was pretty sure she would tell me, "No, Liz, you've already been baptized, I don't think this is God." I just had to make sure I was just going crazy and didn't need to get in line to be immersed. But in fact, Jill, being the godly woman that she is, replied, "Well then, you've gotta do it!" I discussed it a bit more with her, reminding her I've been baptized before and explaining to her my confusion. Then I stood up and walked over to the entrance to the pool, trembling with every step. Joanne was there, and I told her I was getting baptized. "But... but I thought it was like, a one-time thing!"

"It usually is, but you can rededicate."

Oh, I'm one of those people.

So after I got over the initial pride of not wanting to be someone who comes sheepishly back to Jesus, asking for some grace because oh gosh, I've screwed up again, I grabbed the microphone and told the congregation that they might be confused why I was getting baptized for a second time and why my name wasn't on the list in the program, but based on the events of this past year and the current feeling of my heart beating out of my chest, I felt the need to consecrate myself to God once more.

And I did it.



I walked over to the end of the pool, and saw my sisters waiting for me with huge smiles on their faces. I received loving, awesome hugs, and many congrats, ate dessert, and went home, asking myself if I really just did that.

I'm still in shock. But I can't stop thanking my Lord for knowing what I needed today and informing me of it! I'm trying this thing again. Please pray for me as I begin the next chapter of my life.

When Emptiness Sang Its Beautiful Melody

Photo credit to Ruth MacDonald

I take a seat on a sofa in one of the large group rooms at the Renfrew Center of Radnor. I am next to an intimidating teenage girl with a septum piercing. My parents are here, and her mother as well, but neither of us dare sit near them for they, in our misguided minds, are the reason we are here and we are jaded. An extremely giddy therapist-slash-clinical-director is sitting at the front of the room, going through the motions of patient orientation, as she works with these kinds of girls every day: dying, angry, skinny-bitchy, desperate.

She hands us each an orientation checklist going over the principles and rules of the program. "Weigh-ins completed on Monday and Thursday. All weights are blind." Gulp. I knew it. I hate blind weights. With a burning passion. "Bathrooms are only to be used prior to group starting, during break and at the very end of the evening." You mean you expect me, the volatile human with no identity other than sick, not to purge these colossal meals you dare place in front of me? "Meal time is timed for 30 minutes." It takes me about that long to take two bites, which is the maximum I'll ever take if I'm held from the restroom anyway. "You must finish the meals, if not you will be asked to supplement. If you refuse to supplement you will need to sign a contract." Meals, schmeals, supplement, schmupplement, contract, schmontract. I'm much too ethereal to give in to those human demandings.

I am not new to this. This is not my first time entering an eating disorder clinic, and the rules are far from atypical to places like this. But no matter how many times I go through this process of being asked to obey such laws, something inside me always screams, No. How dare anybody try to take away my only means of coping in this corrupt world. I refuse to lay down my identity and destiny for the sake of submission -- No. I figure they'll get rid of me somehow eventually - this form of treatment is simply not fit for me, the Expert Bulimic.

"Who wants to check in first?" the therapist offers at the beginning of the first group. I strain hard to try to recall, from the impressive amount of time since I've been within a treatment center's walls, what that psychobabbly term is supposed to mean. I'm sure I've heard it and even used it in therapeutic conversation before, but I confess, in these years of growth and regression I've distracted myself with everyday, normal people things. Now when I hear the term "check in" I think of hotel stays, airport trips, and the foursquare app. But now I'm in group therapy with around six or seven scarred and broken girls, and I can't fit any of those into this situation.

I'm too checked OUT and half-dead to give any input to the words of my fellow patients. "I can't do this anymore." (Wow, you're just realizing that now? I don't remember the last time I COULD do this, whatever "this" is.) "I purged on Tuesday, oh my GAWSH." (It is Thursday and I've purged probably seven times since the last time you purged, so I don't really know what the big deal is.) "Today's my last day - I'm a new woman!" (You've been here six weeks. How could you change so much in that amount of time? I don't get it.)

I don't remember how I got here. It all happened in the blink of an eye, and yet the dreading of it may as well have been decades. After a melodramatic trip to the hospital for dehydration, my parents and the shrinks had me kicked out of the first place I ever felt at home - my art school - and sent me where else but... here. Before I could even say, "But wait! I was just kidding..."

I don't want this.

But whatever, I'll suck it up and get this over with. I'll humor these people, and then I'll continue on unchanged, maybe decide to start heading back towards reality around when I want to get my life started - get married, have kids. That is, if any guy wants my grandmother-looking, rotting-teeth-bearing, scalp-showing, sickly and frail twenty-five year-old self and if my reproductive system isn't shot by then.

This is all just to bridge the gap between the good life and the better life, anyway. It'll get old in ten years - don't worry.

Eight weeks, thousands of tears, at least ten panic attacks and two hospitalizations later, I'm nearly gone, and so is everything I ever knew. I don't know who I am anymore, but I know I'm not the Liz I once was. What I thought would give me control and a purpose did just the opposite - I'm out of control, and have absolutely nothing worthwhile to live for. Everything has been stripped away, and I have nothing holding me, nothing maintaining my sanity, nothing keeping me safe, alive, contained.

Except for God.

You know, the God of the universe who created the moon and the galaxies, knows each star by name, and still delights in having created me and having a relationship with me. The Jesus who chose to take on my human frame - the very same human frame that I have been destroying and abusing all these years - and to be beaten and mocked to death in order to restore me to righteousness and live with me forever. Despite all my brokenness, flaws, and ugly sins against Him. The Spirit who lives INSIDE of me to convict me, comfort me, remind me of His truths when I forget them (which seems to be quite often), and guide me where to go. Yeah, that One - the One who is holy, infinite, uncontainable, amazing, omnipotent, untamable, and indescribable. The King of kings and Lord of lords, with no means of measure and limitless love. Immortally graceful, impartially merciful, the Greatest Phenomenon that has ever crossed the horizon of this world. The highway of holiness. Incomprehensible, invincible, irresistible. Faultless. The grave couldn't hold Him. That's my King.

And what am I doing? Annihilating His masterpiece, giving myself up as a slave to the very sin that nailed Him to the cross, and serving His very enemy - the father of lies who seeks to destroy me.

I do not run into His arms and give Him a big ol' bear hug now. In fact, I don't move at all, frozen in fear. Instead, He reaches down and picks me up as a father grabs his wayward child the second before she knocks over and shatters the expensive lamp. He gives me gentle discipline, and holds me in His arms, just as I am. I've been running around outside all day, and I'm too exhausted to fight Him.

The work begins, and it gets old.

Photo and model credit to Grace Picard

It got old a few months ago now, but I often forget that. I forget what a loss it is compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Jesus Christ my Lord, and I fall down sometimes. But now I am walking on this bridge between the good life and the better life, which is much better than racing past it on a bicycle when the sign in front clearly says "Only Pedestrians Allowed." This bridge is long, and it is wobbly and wooden. But I am strolling slowly by my Father's side, sometimes trembling, sometimes clinging for dear life, sometimes letting pride get in the way and straying slightly in front of Him.

Of all the masters I have known, Jesus is the kindest. Of all the masters I have known, Jesus is the only One who is making me free. In view of His mercy, I am laying down my life. In view of His mercy, I am compelled.

I am an empty vessel, but I have my Master, and when emptiness sang its beautiful melody to me, He showed me that He is truly all I need.

Redeemed from the Pit

I'm friends with a lovely woman of God named Marie who struggled with bulimia for seventeen years before God broke the chains. Now she's dedicated so much of her time to help young women enslaved to sin.

Her blog is FABULOUS for any Christian looking for encouragement and help in overcoming eating disorders -- which simply cannot be overcome completely without Jesus Christ.

Please check out her blog, Redeemed from the Pit. It's great! She also wrote a book that hopefully will be on the shelves soon!

Yay for God making beauty from ashes!

Mi Diario de la Republica Dominicana

Note: This is a revised version of my journal entries. Because journaling is my place to vent, my entries included some personal and possibly offensive things that are not for the public eye. However, they also were my initial reactions to the events of this trip and therefore are the most accurate and heartfelt. So, like Anne Frank's dad, I am simply rewording and/or taking out some things so it may be published. Enjoy!

el diez de julio, 2011
Phew.
I am in my DR bed. The bed I've been anxiously awaiting for two weeks. And it feels so good.
Literally right before I left my house for church this morning at two, I started to lose my voice. No idea why. I feel fine other than my throat. Of course typical Liz went and talked up a storm all day, despite her voice increasingly and continuously deteriorating. Right now it's pretty much shot. It's incredibly painful to get even a slightest sound out of my mouth, and that sound is pretty pathetic. I don't know what God's reasoning is for this, and frankly, it would be absolutely pointless to try and figure it out. I'll just have to wait and see what happens. And my other thoughts on this will come when whatever happens happens.

We had a ridiculously long day of travel today, but it was really pretty smooth. Our flight went much faster because we got a tailwind, and we got absolutely no traffic on the bus ride to Barahona (as opposed to last year). We are all exhausted. Rightly so.
I feel like I'm home. This little mountaintop is just how I left it, and I feel like I was here yesterday. This is what I was made for. Something radical happened in my heart as I was taking in my surroundings upon first arriving, and I don't know, I just don't know where God is going to be taking me. For the longest time I've been so set on the whole graduate high school, go to Messiah College or somewhere cool like that, go on mission trips and do ministry, get my BSN, get a nursing job, get married and have kids and write books and speak. Quick, before these years swallow me up and instead of gazing into my baby's eyes, I'm gazing into my baby's baby's eyes. Quick, before I die.
And maybe I will do that. That is not a bad life to live. Or maybe I will do something much more radical. Maybe I will be a missionary in some foreign land that needs love. Love is so much more powerful than it's ever made out to be. And yet it is so accessible.
Maybe I should slow down.
Taking time for spiritual growth when you could be doing more "practical" things like going to school or making babies often looked at as a time waster. And that is really sad.
And I don't know what this means, but I've never felt more at home anywhere but here. Even though all the food and climate differences can make me sick, I don't speak the language, and the culture is hard to adapt to. This is my home.
So I can't talk. I can listen, think, feel, pray, write, and worship in my heart. And for now, that is more than enough for me.
"Everything rides on hope now. Everything rides on faith somehow." ~Addison Road

el once de julio, 2011 -- Bridget's 16th birthday!
Watching and listen to people worship is a really amazing thing. I can't explain it, but I am really blessed by this voice loss right now.
Today we went out street witnessing and I really just felt a need to go and be a "silent witness." So I went and listened and prayed. And I was blessed.
People have prayed over me and my voice several times today, and it has been so encouraging. I'm a bit frustrated and discouraged, but I'm giving it over to God.

I really learned a lot today about when helping hurts when we fed the people. It was stressful, but we were more than conquerors through Christ Jesus.
Bill did a devotional tonight for the team about spiritual productivity -- both here and at home. I've been thinking a lot about being radical for Jesus. It's an amazing thing. When a believer truly continuously picks up her cross and obeys and served God radically, it eventually become that what once was radical is now self-satisfying and it's a beautiful thing, that process. I really want to partake in it, because I think it is one of the best ways to grow in the Lord.

trece de julio, 2011
Last night I wasn't really in a writing mood, but tonight it is vital.
Today is hump day, which by definition means it starts to get hard.
I miss my mommy so much. I don't want to go home yet, but I just want to hear her voice. I just really need the reassurance and love that only my mommy can provide.
None of this was affecting me this morning. I was slightly homesick and looking forward to hearing from my mom, but I was absolutely fine and went on with ministry as normal. Encouragement has been applied wrong to me today, and I'm not a fan of being patronized. So that was something I've had to give over to God.
Oh yeah, I got my voice back. Praise the Lord!

Today I was given the opportunity to just love on the kids, in particular one chico named Michael. He is SO friendly and loving, and I love him so much. So many young souls were saved tonight at VBS, and Bill prayed that God will reunite us with one of those precious children when we meet Him.
God is good. And I am tired, bitter, homesick, burnt and bitten. But God is still good. And really, that is nothing compared to all He went through for me. So I'll suck it up, be joyful, and praise God.

el quince de julio, 2011
Yesterday I got to share my testimony with the kids -- that was cool. There is a horrible stomach bug going around and I'm praying that no one else gets it. The trip is almost over -- today was our last ministry day. It went so fast. One part of me feels like we haven't been here nearly long enough and wants to stay here for at least another month. But another part of me is totally ready to go home. And still another part thinks of Mother Teresa and reprimands myself for needing the reprieve of "la casa de Bill" (as los dominicanos call it) every day and wanting to come home so bad after a week.

It's sad for me to see Satan creeping into the team. And in the most unexpected ways. He is trying to stop us from loving on the people, and a lot of people are not recognizing that this is wrong. Love is the only thing we have. It's so sad to see people buying into his lies say it's okay to make compromises in love. Love made with compromises is not love. Jesus told us there would be a price to pay. And what a small price it is compared to the one He paid.
"I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who lives, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me." ~Galatians 2:20
Couldn't have said it better myself. If we've come here to do anything besides pour out love onto this mountaintop until it hurts, then we've wasted our time and money.
The Lord also made this verse come alive to me today:
"What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ -- the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith." ~Philippians 3:8-9

el diescisiete de julio, 2011
Now I am on the plane with very mixed emotions. I'm excited to go home but sad to leave.

Yesterday we went to the beach, and it was absolutely breathtaking. We went to see Pastor Pedro's orphanage, and it was amazing to see all the progress that has been made on it. I can't describe the feeling I had to be able to say, "I worked on this before there was even a complete foundation, and now it's almost done," and then to talk to Pastor Pedro about his hopes of children to start coming in in May. Yesterday was a great day.
Helen shared about a man who knows Christ but struggles with life-dominating sin. Before she even had time to make judgements, she said, he showed her his scarred, callused, and crusty knees injured from his constant kneeling on the dirty, rocky and unpaved ground to repent and cry out to Jesus for help. Last night, in honor of him, we all formed a circle kneeling on the clean tile floor of our dining room and thanked our Lord for a mere ten or fifteen minutes. After that, we all truly understood and appreciated this man's love and humility before God.
Holly shared about a little girl she developed a relationship  with throughout the week, who as most of the children, always wanted to be by her side. Whenever Holly would stray away subconsciously, she would shortly thereafter find this chica chasing behind her with a big smile on her face and a cheerful "Hola!" What a beautiful picture, Holly said, of her own relationship with her Savior.
Jesus Christ is the Master Teacher, and as such, He always asks me to evaluate what I've learned from Him at the end of these kinds of things. This week I don't think I've ever learned more.
I learned that sometimes silence is necessary to notice God, and if I don't put it on myself, He sure will.
I learned that if you go to an extremely impoverished country and decide you are going to have a "cookout," it is not a cookout by any stretch of the imagination. It is a madhouse (understatement), and that is exactly why Jesus told us in extreme detail how He went about feeding people. And that when you follow His example, it works.
I learned that people are great, but they will piss me off, even if they are Christian. But God never fails. And when people do, I need to suck it up and turn to Him.
I learned that while letting go of my eating disorder may be a "grieving process," it really need not be and it is dumb and much too slow-to-leave to waste my time grieving it when I could be enjoying my life hidden in Christ. And that the eating disorder is all loss anyway.
I learned that America will not be my home forever.
I learned that every day I wake up, I wake up to go on the mission field. No matter where I happen to be.
We are landing in Newark soon! I'll miss you DR, see you later!

101 Ways to Annoy Your Skating Coach

Only female pronouns are used in the interest of clarity, but I am very aware that there are many male figure skating coaches.

Disclaimer: You might get in serious trouble if you actually do some of these. This is mainly meant for entertainment.

1. When she tells you to "take the ice," answer, "take it where?"
2. Follow her around the ice everywhere, even when she's in a lesson with somebody else.
3. Whenever she tells you something you're doing wrong, for example "your hips are closed" or "your knees aren't bent," say, "well I'd like to see you do that with your hips opened/knees bent."
4. Run into the boards every chance you get.
5. Come to the rink for your lesson, then tell her your dog ate your skates.
6. Tell her you did not skate this week because you were watching TV.
7. Fly a paper airplane on the ice. If it hits her head, tell her you earned ten minutes less on your lesson that day.
8. While she is explaining what you are doing wrong on something, skate around in aimless circles, without ever looking at her.
9. When she tells you to stop, tell her you skate to burn calories, and standing there listening to her talk does not burn calories.
10. Never bring gloves on the ice, and then complain about having cold hands so you have to borrow hers.
11. Return your gloves to her with all the fingertips torn off.
12. While she is talking to you, lean back on the veeeeery back of your blades. When you fall backwards, exclaim with a look of horror on your face, "How did THAT happen?!"
13. Covertly chew gum on the ice.
14. Bring messy, greasy food (such as wings or big sandwiches) on the ice. Always.
15. Put wads of chewed gum on the ends of your blades, then wonder why you can't do anything.
16. When she asks you a question, raise your hand, waving it around shouting, "pick me, pick me!" When she calls on you (annoyed that you are wasting time), ask if you can use the bathroom.
17. On the rare occasion that she lets you go to the bathroom, take a tour around the rink.
18. In the middle of a lesson, randomly begin telling her a long and heartfelt personal story. Extra points if you start crying.
19. When she tells you to pay attention, reply "how much should I pay?"
20. Get on the ice super early, and when she gets on for your lesson right on time, say "finally!"
21. Whistle while you skate your moves patterns.
22. When she tells you to do one thing (such as "keep your feet close together") do the direct opposite.
23. Bring a lizard, mouse, or rat in your pocket on the ice. In the middle of the lesson, let it loose inconspicuously.
24. Sigh, "this is boring" loudly.
25. Laugh out loud for no reason.
26. Never let her finish a sentence without an interruption.
27. After everything she tells you you are doing wrong say "That's what you think."
28. "Forget" to pay her for a month. Or more.
29. After every time she explains something say "well, duh."
30. Make up humorous excuses for being late to your lesson.
31. Yell "yesssssss" after any time you finish something. Anything. Even if you've been doing it forever. Even if you fall on your butt.
32. While she is talking, roll your eyes. Then yawn and stretch. After that, gaze at all the really good skaters. Keep looking at the clock every five minutes. Sigh. Very loudly.
33. Where sunglasses on the ice.
34. Gather your stuff ten minutes before your lesson ends. Skate around with it.
35. As soon as your lesson time is over, run (yes, run) off the ice before she even says goodbye.
36. Moo whenever she says your name.
37. Randomly tell her one day that you cannot go on the ice anymore because it is against your religion. But you can do anything off ice.
38. When you are staying in a hotel for a competition, bang on her hotel room door at four in the morning (even if you are competing in the evening) and scream GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!!!
39. In the middle of a lesson, pluck her hair out and yell "DNA! ooh.. grey DNA..."
40. In the middle of a lesson, on a particularly crowded day, yell "NO, -insert coach's name here-, I will NOT make out with you!!"
41. Whenever you do a jump, do it retardedly high and wide and tell her you are trying to fly.
42. Hold her hand and whisper to her, "I see dead people..." then look suspiciously around at all the other people on the ice.
43. Pretend to have amnesia: whatever she tells you to do, ask her, "What's that?" and claim you forgot.
44. Try to swim in the ice. When she tells you it's impossible to swim in the ice, say "Why not, it's just frozen water?"
45. Say everything backwards. (Can you imagine? ztul, kcabyal, rewop sllup)
46. Twitch. A lot.
47. Skate in circles around her, and refuse to do anything else.
48. Wear a leo and tights, with a skating skirt on your head. Tell her you are making a fashion statement.
49. Try to drink out of your water bottle upside down.
50. Lay face down on the ice for at least one minute, and when you get up exclaim, "Dang, I'm cold!!"
51. Try and climb up the boards. With your skates on.
52. When she tells you to do something, tell her "in a minute" then just stare at her.
53. Skate around with your eyes closed and repeatedly bump into her. (best if you don't bump into other people, as this could cause issues)
54. Pretend you are an alien from a different planet. When she asks you to do something (jump, spin, etc) ask her what that is in your alien language (you can come up with a name for the language if you want). When she tells you she doesn't know or refuses to answer, refuses to do the maneuver because you have no idea what she's talking about.
55. Talk in an annoying accent.
56. While she is explaining something to you cover your ears and shout "the voices!"
57. Or look amazed and look around and ask, "are you my conscience?"
58. When she asks you to do something say "Would you like fries with that?"
59. Only speak to her in song lyrics.
60. Do really dangerous things on the ice, like cartwheels and push-ups. (only if you feel comfortable)
61. Tell her you are going to sue when you fall on whatever she's telling you to do.
62. Whenever you ask her a question also follow it up with "huh, huh, huh?"
63. Whenever you have a really minor fall act like you're dying and can't get up (extra points for crying). Just as she's starting to freak out, jump up and say, "all better!"
64. When she tells you she wants to see a good -insert skating maneuver here-, say "Actual results may vary."
65. Whenever she steps on the ice ask, "What did you bring me?"
66. When she says something like, "If you pull your arms in tighter you'll spin faster," demand that she prove it. Demonstrating does not count.
67. Demand that she hold every dirty tissue for you, claiming you can't find a garbage can.
68. Tell her you have pink eye or some other highly contagious disease.
69. Speak only in a robot voice.
70. Wear a bicycle helmet on the ice, and refuse to take it off because it's for your astronaut training.
71. When she skates backwards, make beeping noises.
72. Finish all your sentences with "in accordance with the prophesy."
73. Whenever she is demonstrating something, give a loud play-by-play like a sports announcer.
74. When she is counting something (for example how many lobes you get on a moves pattern or how many revolutions on a spin) shout out random numbers.
75. Pay for your lesson in pennies.
76. Tie jingle bells to all your clothes.
77. Skip instead of stroke across the ice.
78. When she asks you what time it is, always tell her it is the time that your lesson is to end.
79. (Attempt to) never break eye contact, even when jumping or spinning.
80. Tell her that YOU are the coach, and SHE is the student. Then proceed to give her a lesson.
81. Do things that are obviously wrong and then act like you think you did it perfectly.
82. Tell her to do a quad axel. With a straight face.
83. When she is explaining something to you, nod your head and look attentive. When she is finished, say "wait, what?"
84. Start speaking another language randomly, and act like you don't know what's going on.
85. Ask about her love life. Even if you know she's dating or married to someone.
86. "Forget" your dress (or skates or tights or something essential) when you go to a competition, then at the very last minute "find" it (them).
87. Pretend you don't understand what she's saying, no matter how slowly or loudly she says it.
88. While she is in a lesson with somebody else, approach her quietly from behind, grab her shoulders and yell "BOOGA BOOGA!!"
89. Come fifteen minutes late to your lesson, and act as if nothing happened.
90. Dress only in neon clothing.
91. Speak very loudly so the entire rink can hear you, and when she tells you to quiet down, speak so quietly so she can't hear what you're saying.
92. Set up traffic cones on the ice so no one bumps into each other.
93. Wear a cape and skate like superman.
94. As she reads/looks at the moves book, stand over her shoulder mumbling random words.
95. Do a "turn signal" with your arm whenever you do a three-turn (or rocker, counter, etc.).
96. Skate REALLY slow. When she comments on your slowness, tell her you're going as fast as you can.
97. Bob your head like a parakeet when you are spinning.
98. Sing along to everyone's program music.
99. Arrive to a competition extremely late without your hair, makeup, or anything done.
100. Come to your lesson wearing nothing but a bikini.
101. Correct her grammar obnoxiously, even if it need not be corrected.

Feel free to add any more!!

The events contained in this entry cannot be summed up in one single title. Read and be amazed.

"There's a story burning in me. I wanna tell it again and again. It's a story of redemption bound to change the hearts of men. I cannot find the words, and sometimes it sounds absurd, and I don't even know myself all the depths, the heights, the wealth. How can I tell this story again to make you wonder when you stopped believing? How can I paint a picture of this kind of love, this kind of healing?" ~Sara Groves

This is not a story about me, my sister in Christ, our Friday night, or anything that we could have done. This is a story about one broken teenage guy, one amazing God, and how the two are finally beginning to get to know one another. Unfortunately, in order to tell this story clearly, I must include some mentions of myself and my dear friend Lauren. But please ignore them to the best of your ability.

This past March, I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. The morning following my admission, I was quietly sitting in the unit lounge when a fellow patient by the name of Max exuberantly introduced himself to me. This kid was crazy, I thought -- he strolled around the stuffy hospital unit barefoot in pajamas all day, gave me awkward looks whenever he had the chance, and talked... a lot. I knew he was a lost soul, but figured he was a hopeless case. As he revealed every aspect of his life, one by one, I listened quietly as my heart broke. I said nothing out of fear of moving him even further away from the heart of the gospel. He was discharged the next day.

About a week later, I too was discharged and moved to partial hospitalization, where Max also was. I got to know him better this time, as I was in a much better place and up to listening to all his crazy rants. Long story short, he found out I was a Christian, and that led to numerous divine conversations. He started coming to youth group with me, and he loved  it. It was the first time he'd experienced love regardless of who he was, where he'd been, or what he believed.

This past Friday I was at Lauren's house for a sleepover. I sent Max a message asking how he was, since Lauren and I had seen him in town earlier that night. He nonchalantly informed me that he had been called a faggot by his own mother, kicked out of his house for being bisexual, and was now sleeping at a train station.

At that moment, something radical happened in my heart. An intense desire that simply couldn't be ignored, that demanded I abandon all common sense and love on this kid like Jesus would. A bisexual agnostic hippie who has been in several mental hospitals, smokes weed and curses like a sailor. Who is loved by God more than anyone could ever imagine.

Lauren knew and loved Max from youth group, and when I told her the situation, she said, "We need to find him."

So we did. But, I must admit, we sinned in order to do it. We lied to Lauren's mom, telling her we were just taking a walk around the neighborhood because we had to talk. But instead we walked to where Max was, praying that God would bless the time along the way, and took him back to the house. Hid him like a Christian hiding a Jew, waited till the other Peiffer's were in bed, and sat on the front porch. We both figured we'd let him stay for a little bit, then tell him he had to split. Sorry, but we can't just let you stay here for the night without her mom even knowing about it. The Lord had other plans.

We talked. We talked about God's sovereignty, speaking in tongues, sex, and pain. The big bang theory, I believe, and salvation, along with some other things. He told us he found it "absolutely terrifying" to believe that God is in control of our own destinies, that he did not feel loved. I felt Jesus' burden for the world, not for the first time, but somehow that seems to always grip me. We poured love out to him until it hurt. In what seemed like five minutes, the clock struck four o'clock in the morning.

We saw the sun begin to rise, and it was beautiful. Lauren had the spontaneous idea to drive to Peace Valley Park and watch God paint His masterpiece of a new day. So she told her mom our plans, not including the tiny detail that we had Max along for the ride. We frantically grabbed blankets, a candle and lighter, camera and laptop, a pillow and a Bible. We gazed at the indescribable beauty, and it was that moment that Max believed.

No, he didn't get saved. Sorry. But something I've learned is that it is nearly impossible to be radically and spontaneously given food, love, and shelter by two Christian teenage friends, then immediately after watch the sun rise and still not believe in God. He told us he saw how the Lord put the night together perfectly. We saw it too. We told him how awesome of a Christian he is going to be one day. We can just see it sprouting out of him. He is being transformed into a new creation, and we are jumping up and down in excitement with God, waiting in suspense to see what He is going to do next.

We did nothing that night. God had really great things to do and He took us along for the ride. It was really fun, I might add.

Lauren's mom called, wondering where we were and what was going on. What we told her was going to be a quick trip to the park turned out to be two hours. We rushed out, dropped Max off at the train station, told him we were really sorry and that he better get on the next train to somewhere he can lay his head, and walked back into Lauren's bedroom as if nothing ever happened.

Finally we had a second to breathe and realize what God just did. We sat for a long time simply marveling at how amazing our God is. We were on a high, similar to that you get when you've just gone on a mission trip and seen miracles occur one by one, several times a day. And then the guilt set in.

We just obeyed God's call to radical abandonment, to love our neighbor as ourselves, and He blessed our socks off because of it. But... we sinned  in order to do that.

Ouch.

We felt a need to come clean to Lauren's mom, although neither of us wanted to do it. We prayed together as sisters in Christ, that Mrs. P would grant us mercy and that she'd see the magnitude of what occurred and be astonished. We prayed that the Lord would calm our fears and give us the words to speak as we revealed the truth of what was really going on that whole time.

Then we walked into Lauren's mom's bedroom, and Lauren stated, "Mom, we have a confession to make: We lied to you." We told her all the events of the past twelve or so hours, explaining to her why we lied (although there is never an excuse to that) and sharing with her how God moved mountains. She had not one ounce of anger and even admitted that if we had told her what was going on from the start, she would never have allowed us to continue. She told us she was proud of us and was truly taken back by the sovereignty and loving kindness of our Creator.

The sad thing about all this is that I cannot display to you all that happened in words. I cannot tell you that Max got saved the other night, or that his parents suddenly and miraculously stopped abusing him. I can tell you that seeds were planted and that God wowed us, but that would be an understatement and wouldn't give the Lord all the credit He deserves. We will all remember this night forever, and we know that someday Max will be sharing his testimony of how he met Jesus, and he will say, "One night my mom kicked me out of my house for being bi. These two church girls opened their home to me and just loved on me. I saw something different in them, and now I know it was the Spirit. That night changed my life forever."

Please know that I am not boasting on what we did. I am boasting on what God did, but these words alone will not tell you that in full. We are so in awe of Jesus Christ.

"The DR Stole My Heart" Guest Post

This was written by my fellow DR missionary and friend, Katie. I think she perfectly describes the trip last year and the excitement we all have for this one. Enjoy reading and please keep us in your prayers!

The title I think speaks for itself. On July 10th about 39 people (teens and leaders) and I will be heading to an airport with the destination of Barahona, Dominican Republic. We are all very excited to say the least, but there's still twelve days left... twelve days to practice drama, music and puppets. Pack, and get everything ready to go. We will be staying in a place called “The Palace.” It's very nice but also near the people, which is nice. We will be building a wall at the ministry house where the “In Calvary’s Care” hosts are. We will be working on other homes and doing tons of ministry. I’m so excited to see the kids and everyone from last year. Honestly, I’ve been looking forward to this since the day I left last year. I’ve taken four years of Spanish so I’m very hopeful that it will all pay off during the week we're there. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers as we come into the last stretch of getting ready for the trip. Thanks so much for all the support we’ve recieved so far. We are beyond thankful for the prayers, good thoughts and donations toward our trip!! I personally must give a BIG THANK YOU to the WTHS teachers and staff that donated to my trip, as well as to my sisters' through buying candy bars and pizza kit sales. We look forward to telling everyone about the trip when we return home!!

PAST, PRESENT & FUTURE HAPPENINGS IN THE DR

As many of you know I went to the DR last year for ten days. I expected many things. Hardship, to be shocked culturally, to be completely hurt from seeing the hurt there, and I expected it to be a memorable trip. It was all of that and more. I was blown away from the kindness and joy we were shown by the ministry group “In Calvary’s Care;” the translators were awesome and the people were open to what we had to say. As sad as it is to say, here in America we're not exactly open to what others have to say as much as we used to be…but that’s just my opinion and that's not of everyone. Yet there we were invited to come into their homes to share God’s love and Word with them. It shocked me because if someone asked to sit with me in my home that was a complete stranger about something and their faith, I would probably be freaked out and ask them to leave, but they were totally accepting which was cool.

We worked hard; we built a wall out of hand, stirred cement and rocks we went hunting to find for someones home so that it would stay stable. We helped build an orphanage, worked on another home/bathroom & a lot more. To say the least we got down and dirty with the best of them. They helped us build their homes, and they did it with a smile. I’m sorry but I’ve never asked the electrician, plumber or any of them if they wanted my help to repair my home, although that's probably a good thing and I should never mess with that either but that;s not the point. The point is they were willing... Willing to work for a better tomorrow.

I honestly could ramble on forever about how wonderful the experience was, how my perspective on things has been changed forever. The beaches were beautiful. The hurt was heart-wrenching, and much of it... much because of the earthquakes and such from last year. It’s this simple... I saw a place where people need love and help... and I want to help them get it. I don’t know whether I’m going to continue these missions every summer...I would love to but God only knows. I don't ever see myself living there but I do see myself doing the best I can to continue summer missions over there.

The fact is, we need help here in the US almost if not the same amount of help that the Dominicans do. We are better off but we have our own issues, so I think it's important to stick together in them. The DR helps me realize that.

this is me

Ambition: Become a fabulous nurse (at least RN BSN but I might also get my MSN CRNP) and earn some sort of biblical degree or certification; get married to a wonderful godly man; have a ton of kids (six I'm hoping); do children's ministry, youth ministry, women's ministry, worship ministry, or all or some of the above; write books; be a teacher of the Word.

Bad Habit: Rambling (although not as bad as my mom), getting myself on screwed up sleep patterns

City: Doylestown. Not your typical New York/Boston/Chicago type city. But a city nonetheless.

Drink: diet coke, coffee, and caffeinated tea.

Education: Next school year I'll be a junior at Plumstead Christian.

Food: This is still a difficult question for me to answer. One thing I like is authentic Mexican food, but there are a lot of Mexican things I don't like, and I like a lot of other things as well. I don't really have a "favorite."

Guilty Pleasure: In my battle with the Sonic drive-in, Sonic wins, every time.

Hometown: This is a really complicated question for me lol. I was born in New Tripoli, PA, but my parents got divorced when I was three. My mom moved to Allentown, PA, and my dad moved to center city Philadelphia. My mom still lives in Allentown, but I've moved with my dad to Huntingdon Valley, PA and Chalfont, PA. Twice. So, yeah.

Ice Cream: Cold Stone.

Jonesing for: the DR trip.

Kryptonite: I've literally sat here for like ten minutes thinking about it, and I don't know.

Look-a-like: People have told me they know girls who look like me but never anyone I know or a celebrity or anything.

Movie: Saving Sarah Cain is a good one. And there are a few others too. I'm not a huge movie junkie.

Nickname: Liz, Lizzy, Lizzle, Lizard, Mow, Maimai, Biwl (I'm not just making up an exhaustive list, at least one person in my life calls me by each one of these.)

Obsession: Jesus.

 Perfume: I don't care about the name, if it smells good I buy it and/or use it.

Quirk: I'm really strict on modesty. At least that's what people say. I'm addicted to diet coke, and I don't like pizza.

Regret: Regrets are dumb.

Starbucks: Right now, it's a tall iced skinny caramel latte. But it changes.

Thrift Find of the Year: An authentic Asian dress with cherries instead of cherry blossoms on it.

University: I don't know yet, I'm hoping Messiah College and then maybe Calvary Chapel Bible College afterwards.

Vacation: I don't go on vacation. lol.

Wine: I drink whatever wine my aunt offers me at Christmas, and that's about it.

X-rays: Teeth, CAT scan after a concussion (fun fact: I have a pineal cyst on my brain that was found at this CAT scan. absolutely harmless.), and my shoulder after I dislocated it. I've had other injuries too that didn't need x-rays. Figure skating is a dangerous sport.

Years: sixteen

Zen: sitting at my church's coffee shop next to a sister in Christ casually talking about Jesus, on my laptop, drinking a mug of hot coffee or tea.

Reflections on Everyday Life and All Its Glorious Implications

Last night I went to Doylestown to hang out at Main St. Baptist with some of my friends - like I do often. My friends' band was playing, and their parents, who are my youth pastor and his wife, were also there. Some other friends too. We were just chillin, when my youth pastor's wife, Jill, came up to me, gave me a hug, and stated, "You know, I'm so glad we've got the old Liz back."

Jill and me with our friend Alisha on the right three years ago on a mission trip

Now of course she was not talking about my old sinful nature. I've known this woman-after-God's-own-heart for almost four years, and I was about six months old in the Lord when I first met her. A whole lot has happened in those four years of my life, and she's seen the real Liz (bubbly, dancing, hiiiiiohmygoshihavetosharewhatthelordsdoinginmyhearthowcaniprayforyou?, singing and shoutin them praises high, "having a way with those kids" as she would say) as well as the dead one (only comes to youth group occasionally, noidon'thaveanyprayerrequests under her breath, shy and reluctant to do any sort of ministry, looks like she could shatter into a million pieces if you dare touch her). Unfortunately, for the past few months, I've been the latter. But now I am authentic and real, for the first time in like, seven months or something. And can I just say it feels really good.

I'll be blunt here: I binged and purged the other day. I hadn't used any symptoms at all in quite a while (I lost count of the days, but probably at least 15) and I felt like I must have been missing out on something -- after all, when I was so incredibly sick I refused to let go of my eating disorder for even a day because I loved it that much. So I bought in to Satan's lie, said hey, let's just do it for old times' sake, can't hurt anything. Well, false. But that God of mine works in mysterious ways, and He even uses our sin to teach us things (crazy, right?). A little graphic here: I only purged a small portion of it, because shortly after I began I thought, seriously? That's what I was living for? This is uncomfortable, and pointless. Excuse me but, um... I've got better things to do. It's funny how God just took away all memories of what it was really like, when just three months ago I was doing it 3+ times a day, it was my entire life. Maybe for a reason I need not tamper with too much.

Sometimes producing fruit in repentance proves difficult and wearisome. But it is so worth it.

Allie's and my victory hug after dominating at the Melting Pot

On a brighter note, last night I started sign interpreting songs again. A girl was doing it in worship and it brought me right back to when I used to do it. I missed it. So naturally I stayed up till 5 am refreshing my memory. And was consequently ten minutes late for my Sunday school class at church this morning. Awesome. Anyway, once I get this webcam I'm hoping somebody will sell me I might take some videos and put them up for your own personal encouragement and/or devotion.

Good ol' Pastor John gave us the Word this morning, and his message was convicting at best, horrifying at worst. In other words, awesomely thought-provoking. It was on Luke 14:25-34, and well, let's say I'll let you read that one for yourself (with the disclaimer that I realize this passage provokes a lot of heresy, but I can assure you that was not of this sermon -- I'll put it up once they upload it on the website). But let's reflect for just a moment on verse 27 -- "And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple." Alright Liz, we've all heard that one, what's the point? Well let me provide you with some framework.

Crucifixion was created as the most painful way ever one was thought to die. After the convicted's body was whipped to the guts (yeah, organs spilling out), he was then to carry his large cross on his back to wherever it was he was to die, which more often than not was up a steep and rocky mountain. He was laid systematically on the cross, nailed to it in each of his wrists and his ankles on top of one another. They propped the cross up in the ground, and waited for him to die -- by suffocation. Here's how it worked: with the position he was in, he could not breathe without first pushing himself forward to gasp for air, but that would cause immense pain to every inch of his body, with his wrists and ankles being nailed to a tree and his body being freshly whipped to shreds. He would then exhale, which would cause him to slump down again so he would need to push up for every breath. Most have the impression that this lasted only a few hours, but depending on how long the convicted drew out this process, it could take anywhere up to a week. He had no nutrients but vinegar and his own blood and sweat, and I doubt it was an easy task to sleep. An ever-increasing puddle of sweat, blood, urine and feces lay beneath his feet -- imagine the smell of all those combined. Oh yeah, and he was naked before a crowd mocking him, throwing rocks at him, screaming words of absolute scorn and ridicule. Until he died.

No wonder everyone thought Christ was a radical lunatic... I can't say I wouldn't.

Jesus did that for us, and all He's asking us to do for Him is to carry the cross, a small portion of that entire dreadful ordeal. We best be thinking we should perhaps give back, just a little.

Following Jesus is definitely not for the faint of heart, to say the least. But it is so worth it.

One Sunday a month my good friend and I head into a Doylestown nursing and rehabilitation home to lead worship for a Bible study a dude from our church leads. It is the residents' only church, so we try to make the best of it, and we take solace in the fact that most of them are hard of hearing, since the piano is reeeaaally out of tune and Brynna is not much of a practicer (understatement -- she literally refuses to come up with a line-up anytime before we get to the nursing home -- nope, not even on the way over -- and even if she randomly chooses a song we happen to have never done together, she'll do one verse and then say "alright, we got it"). We do mostly hymn-type stuff, since they're old and sick and I don't think they want our kind of worship. Amazing Grace, always.

This is the kind of nursing home that doesn't just have old people, but also has people who for whatever reasons are severely disabled and can't live on their own. There is a woman living there called Audrey whom we've all taken a particular liking to (not in the sense that we play favorites -- she's just taken the time to get to know us and is very friendly). She's not terribly old, but it's obvious she's got some medical problems, is in a wheelchair and has extremely slurred speech -- most people cannot understand her, if ever on the rare occasion. But she's super sweet, and she loves the Lord. A lot.

This was taken on the day Brynna and I were baptized.

Today we were told she wasn't coming to church because she wasn't feeling well, and that we weren't allowed to visit her. I'm not gonna lie, that scares me a little. I think it affected my partners in ministry as well.

Sometimes it hurts inside to do ministry to our God. But it is so worth it.

My VBS group last year

VBS is this week -- possibly one of the craziest times of the year both in my life and for my church. Our VBS is not quite like any other -- it pretty much shuts down the church and all the volunteers' lives (a good 80% of the congregation, which totals to over 1,000), in a good way. It is the one week we all come together in the glorification of God for one purpose: to reach His sweet little children in mighty ways. And we always do -- through Him, of course. As much I freakin' adore VBS and even more so children (I've been told my love for them shows in my eyes whenever I talk with a precious one), it's super stressful, and I won't get much sleep this week. More and more each year, it is inevitably absolute chaos due to the large number of people and much smaller number of square feet of space -- both inside and outside, in multiple buildings (that makes it sound like the place is huge -- it's really not; it's in a strip mall, and we have four sections of it). There's also just so much to do and so little time and by nature, I always have false anxiety about not reaching the kids. I just need to surrender it to God -- it's not anything I do. It's all Him. That's how so many kids get saved at these things.

Sometimes giving Jesus the honor due Him has me going insane, in tears because He finally gave me some tough love, and way too stressed for my own good. But it is so worth it.

Can you tell I'm a bit weary?

In exactly two weeks, I will be sleeping in my DR bed. Part of me is extensively excited and jittery for this endeavor to get started, and a smaller yet significant part is kind of dreading it. Last year when I went, I had no idea what to expect, and was, well, a little taken back, mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually. On one hand, I want to remember going into this that it is going to be difficult and I am going to be stretched, but on the other hand, I don't want to expect it to be the exact same thing as last year, because it's simply not the same trip and God is not going to do the exact same things. Mission trips are very flexible times where everyone is stretched, including those we are serving. So I feel a little hesitant to run into Barahona with open arms shouting YAY GOD! because 1) That would make us look even more like americanos locos, and 2) I would trip and fall, flat on my face, straight into the dirty, rotting, rocky mountains.

Sometimes, I'll be honest, I really don't want to serve God. But I know it is so very worth it.

"Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you." ~Matthew 5:12

"However, I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the gospel of God’s grace." ~Acts 20:24