I Have A Dream: Repost In Honor of MLK Day

 Originally written and posted by me in June 2011:

 In the early 1950's, America was living in a period of deep racial injustice. Integration and equal rights for blacks was unheard of across the nation. Children were brought up to believe that citizens of color were far lesser beings than whites, and most did not question it. Since life in this part of the world had been this way since the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, the severe prejudice was not seen as cruel or unusual to the majority of the population. It was the norm of that day, and no one saw a need to do anything about it.

And then Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. came along, and he stirred things up a bit. He, along with Rosa Parks and other colored citizens of Montgomery, Alabama, organized and led the Montgomery Improvement Association and the Montgomery Bus Boycott. He also joined with Charles K. Steele and Fred L. Shuttlesworth in establishing the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, which sought to demolish racial injustice with nonviolence and civil disobedience. As he continually pushed for integration in public schools, repeatedly failed, and was put in jail during anti-segregation protests, he never gave up, refusing to cease his fight for the important cause of civil rights, no matter how hopeless it seemed. Hate crimes against the Negros worsened and increased in frequency, so Dr. King strengthened his political acts and protests that much more.

On August 28, 1963, 200,000 people gathered at the Lincoln Memorial to hear King's famous and forever known "I Have a Dream" speech. The speech sparked both great exultation and disapproving fracas alike towards the man. Five years later, our nation's leader of the civil rights movement was assassinated by James Earl Ray, carrying the hope of freedom among all peoples right along with him to eternal glory.

I love Martin Luther King Jr. very much, and I'm looking forward to meeting him in heaven. He was a man of amazing faith, integrity, perseverance, and courage. I can only imagine what my life would be like today without him, even as a white girl. I would not be permitted to even speak to the girl who is now my best friend, because she is black. My heart would be filled with hatred towards my brothers and sisters of color because I would have been raised to believe that they are worthless. I cannot imagine my mother, a beautiful Christian woman who truly treats each of God's creatures as just that and is strongly against prejudice of any kind, instilling that belief into my mind. But if it were not for my good pal Martin, this would not be my mother's fault or even my grandmother's, but rather the fault of those who began the passing down of that ugly and cruel lie many years ago.

Today I can say without a doubt that Dr. King is happy. Not only is he in the presence of the Lord, but he also has the blessed opportunity to see all of his hard work pay off here on earth. Racism definitely still exists, but when looking back on his renowned speech it is easily agreeable that many of his dreams have been fulfilled or nearly fulfilled. Racial injustice was a battle that many likely thought would never be won, but today I know I live in a country where the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners are able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood, people, for the most part, are not judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character, and little black boys and black girls are able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

We are living in different times now. Racial injustice is not near as big a problem as it was in the 50's and 60's, but another form of injustice has been on the rise for the past 38 years. Whether we are willing to admit it or not, a vicious genocide is sweeping our nation, and it is called abortion. In 2008 alone, 1.21 million homicides of unborn children were committed in America - that's 3,315 a day, 276 an hour (going on a 12-hour shift), 4 a minute (each time my synchro team skates our program once through, 10 American children have their life stolen) - and not one murderer has been charged or convicted. Planned Parenthood, America's largest abortion chain aka slaughterhouse, currently receives $362.3 million dollars of our tax money each year. There is abundant evidence both scientifically and biblically that a baby is a human being from the moment of conception. But still this continues, rarely mentioned among the mainstream population, stirring heated controversy as to whether or not this crime can be considered health care.

And I woke up this morning worried about my finals.

I recall Dr. King's legacy and am deeply inspired by his boldness, determination, and martyrdom. I learn in history class about the way blacks were treated at this time and I am appalled to hear that millions of human beings were accepting of this discrimination, and would even fight for it. Then I realize that the same thing is going on right now. And I am twice as appalled when I see videos like this one. I think the battle this world is constantly waging is pretty obvious. "And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades himself as an angel of light (2 Cor. 11:14)." In Dr. King's time, that truth manifested itself as discrimination masquerading itself as a "separate but equal" policy. Now, abortion is masquerading itself as health care, a woman's right to choose what she does with "her" body (Since when have a mother and her child shared the same body?).

I'll touch on the subject of women's rights: I am a woman, and darn proud of it. I believe that I am called to clothe myself with strength and dignity for the very reason that I am a woman. (My favorite woman alive is Gianna Jessen, a strong and dignified activist for women's rights and life.) As a young Christian woman who has never had sex or an unintended pregnancy but understands in full what it's like to be a woman, what it's like to have to make huge sacrifices to give birth to a child that may be an inconvenience at the time, especially how hard it is to do so when you were raped, this is not your fault and this is your rapist's child, and what it's like to live in the world today, who loves being a woman and thinks women are valuable and precious and deserve equal rights just as everyone else but is not a feminist, who is considered to be quite motherly even as a teenager and believes motherhood is the most glorious thing a woman can do, I believe with all my heart that abortion has nothing to do with women's rights. In fact, it is quite the opposite.

So I want to be the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. of the pro-life movement. I want to fight by nonviolence until I die for it, all the while hoping and dreaming of a day when this kind of injustice no longer exists, when the next generation learns about this time in history and is appalled that it ever occured.

As the Reverend said, "Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends. And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.'"

I have a dream that one day on the sunny shores of Florida, a mother who battled uncertainty and turmoil when she was pregnant with her rapist's child will be able to sit down with her beautiful son and truly love him, with no regrets of her decision to keep him, making sure he knows that it is not his fault he is the product of a rapist and should not have to suffer the consequences.

I have a dream that one day even the state of California, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, with the highest rate of prenatal murders nationwide, will be transformed into an oasis of life and love.

I have a dream that my future children will one day live in a nation where abortion is unheard of, where people understand the value of intimacy and human life as God created it to be.

I have a dream today!

"I have a dream today that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; 'and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.'"

day 4: favorite color

 

purple :)

day 3: clouds

There are advantages to waking up early.

Day 2: what you wore

My school uniform, of course.

a late 2011 post

"In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps." ~Proverbs 16:9

A year ago today, I certainly had a plan. In the next few minutes you will read my humble account of the destructive plans I made and the God who had others... the black holes I fell into and the mountaintops I ran across (both literally and figuratively)... the things I left behind (both good and bad) and the new things I stepped into head-on (again, both good and bad).

I started off the new year very, very sick, and I had no intentions to improve that. I intentionally declined to make a New Year's Resolution, because I instead desired to digress. Each day was planned around what food I was going to eat and how I was going to eat it. Consequently, I started getting more depressed, and I guess it showed. In mid-January, after one of the worst binge and purges I've ever had, I ended up in the emergency room, where they gave me a psychiatric evaluation and a bag of IV fluids. No more than a week later, I had plans to move in with my dad, leave the most interesting school I've ever gone to (LVPA), and begin attending Plumstead, and enter intensive outpatient treatment at Renfrew.

And so I did, relatively swiftly and smoothly. By February 1st I was an official sophomore student at Plumstead Christian School and ED-NOS patient at the Renfrew Center who was too out of it to realize she was out of it. I went to treatment and did my work mindlessly, just barely finishing meals and half-sleeping through most classes and groups. I continuously deteriorated - physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Quiet time with God was gradually thrown out the window, but I did occasionally scribble furious profanities in my journal during those 20-minute periods when my emotions began to thaw (it was a "positive coping skill," the shrinks told me). Each day, I literally did nothing, thought nothing, mostly slept. I was the closest non-comatose human being to a zombie you've ever seen, and I had no idea. I forgot completely what it was like to live, and subsequently, I wanted to die.

On March 23rd I was admitted to Horsham Clinic for the first time, on the basis that I'd forgotten what "feeling safe at home" meant. I welcomed the reprieve from the world while it lasted, only to be painfully confronted once again with the unfortunate horrors of the world upon discharge. Because I just hadn't had enough flirting with death yet, I was readmitted to the hospital a week later. It's only now that I can begin to imagine what my parents must have thought.

Now, because most people have misconceptions of what psychiatric hospitals are like (and those misconceptions are vast), let me paint a picture for you: they are uncannily similar to prisons, but with my audience, that probably won't help much.

You don't understand why you've suddenly been forced here as if some sort of "crisis" occurred, because in your mind, you've been this way your whole life.  Yesterday you were a sad girl people tried relentlessly to communicate with; now you a chart. You may come in at any time of the day or night, but they always take your vitals, as if they could be something out of the ordinary. You enter the unit guarded, and there is a woman at the nurse's station who looks like she ate rocks for breakfast. She nonchalantly whisks you into a small white room with two chairs in the corner and, pen and paper in hand, orders you to take your clothes off. Because you are scared she will eat you if you breathe wrong, you immediately do so, no matter how uncomfortable you feel. She inspects your naked body, taking note of each and every wound or scar and asking, "Is that self-inflicted?" as if she didn't know. She then searches your clothing and confiscates your jewelry, belt, scarf, cash, cigarettes, bobby pins, drawstrings, shoelaces, keys, tampons, and anything else that is deemed by her to be a safety hazard. She takes your bags - if you have any - and most likely returns items you can count on one hand back to you the next day. Where's my stuff? You can't have it, she says. Oh.

You are woken up every fifteen minutes in the night to the screech of you and your roommate's door and a dark figure standing next to your bed. "Just doin' rounds," he or she says. Needless to say, you get little to no sleep, but it doesn't matter because you are allowed to be a zombie here without anyone looking at you twice. You receive your meds through a window, and do the routine mouth checks afterward without thinking about it. You wear clothes that have been sitting in the back of your drawers for the past year because they are the only ones you are willing to have the strings cut out of. After every meal, you must prove to the nurse you didn't purge by letting her check your pupils, but if you know how to do it, you'll figure out a way to get your puke in. You want to punch every male staff member and patient because they think they have power over you and you are sick of being treated that way. You think, I needta get atta here, and cry when they tell you it won't be anytime soon.

Don't get me wrong; there are good parts to this penitentiary disguised as health care. There are the warm socks with rubber treads on the soles that you can get if you're good and ask nicely for them, and if you're lucky, they'll be the blue ones.  There are the velcro contraptions you can place on your pants so they don't fall down (since you don't have your belt and you've been losing weight rapidly for the past four months). There is the peaceful alone time you get in the shower three times a day because you have nothing better to do. You can color or write, but of course with only crayons and bare-butt pencils because you can get high off markers, give yourself eraser burns, or stab yourself with a pen. There are the daily visits you get from your parents, but in actuality that is the most dreaded part of your day. There is the at-least-daily entertainment you receive from a fellow patient throwing a temper tantrum and being thrown in the safe room, but that gets old very quickly.

Your schedule is as follows: wake up, meds, breakfast, ADL's, morning check in, school, group, lunch (which will either be on the unit or at the Manor House, depending on how good you've been), recreation (which will either be on the unit or at the gym, again, depending on how good you've been), group, quiet time (you always, always take a nap), evening check in, dinner at the Manor House or unit, recreation at the gym or unit, group, free time, bed. You have either one or two roommates, and if they're crazy, too bad. There are two or three beds, each with a small bedside table where you keep your books, an empty bathroom (as you are only given your ADL items in the morning, during quiet time, and at night) with a shower and no door, and cubbies along the wall where each patient may keep her clothes and towels. If you are near the end of the unit, you and your roommate(s) may hold your head up to the wall at night in hopes of hearing crazy people in the next unit, if you are up for it. If not, one roommate decides to have a meltdown for whatever reason (you can work out a rotation schedule if you'd like, but work that out amongst yourselves) and the other(s) comfort. That is pretty much the extent of your life, and when you get atta there, unknown to you, your existence will become much more miserable.

I spend so much time talking about this because those three weeks were the climactic point of my year, my life, even. Upon entrance to that place, I had hit the very lowest point of my downhill fall, and had nowhere to go afterwards but up. When I finally did "get atta there," I suddenly and miraculously awakened to my place in creation as a daughter of the Most High God. Almost immediately I began trudging through the book of Psalms, and after a visit with Gabrielle over Easter weekend, everything made sense again and I could breathe. I forgot about my eating disorder for a short while and simply allowed myself to experience life. I worshipped Jesus and shared the gospel. I loved like crazy and hurt a lot, but it was a refreshing hurt. I learned that the glory of God truly is man fully alive. I went on what I called then and still now the best mission trip of my life, on which I received my long-term call to service to the people of Barahona, Dominican Republic. (I could write a book on that trip. I guess I'll save that one for later.) I learned a lot. I reignited my passion for music, writing, and skating and never looked back.

Okay, I did look back, and I still do often. Over the summer and into the school year I purposely proved to myself that darkness wasn't worth it, yet I still end up believing the lie every once in a while (okay, more than every once in a while). Each day my mind changes from wanting to be skinny-bitchy and desperate to that old yet new desire to be the beautiful and fully alive woman that God designed me to be. Sometimes when I look at red velvet cupcakes and sushi my heart feels genuine joy and peace, but most of the time it's either in binge or avoidance mode. I'm learning. 

God never worked on my character in any other year as much as He did this one, and I have a deep hope that it shows. I met many amazing people this year, broke off relationships with some, and grew closer to others. I went to Lake Placid for the first time and had a babysitting job. I watched God work absolute wonders, and often I cried.

As for 2012? I don't know what this year holds, but I'd like to hope it will be one of growth, health, and healing. But, of course, God may have other plans.

Day 1: self portrait

I can't remember who took this picture, but it was this past summer at a skate park outreach my church held at the Y. As you may know I can't skateboard for my life, so instead I served refreshments and offered a smiling face to tired skaters who came to share the gospel.

To kick off the new year, I'll do a new photo challenge that will hopefully get my creative juices flowing.

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!!