This Place Called Kansas

August 20, 2014

I’m a couple of weeks late, but earlier this month marked 8 years that I have lived in Kansas.

I’ve had those moments:
“Oh, man! I wish Facebook was a thing when I moved into my dorm!”
“I wish we had taken pictures!" (too bad my family didn’t have a digital camera yet.)
“I wonder what my freshman class’ hashtag would have been.”

Sigh.  Anyway. Then I get over it (my thoughts on technology and social media belong in a WHOLE 'nother category).

A paragraph's worth of backstory: I moved to Kansas after being recruited for the track and field and cross-country teams for Bethany College, a private college in Lindsborg, Kansas.  I left the desert Southwest of Arizona, my childhood, and everything I’d ever known behind, hopped into my mom’s minivan, opened the Road Atlas so I could follow along, and got comfortable in my seat.
(My teammate from high school was recruited after I enrolled and signed my Letter of Intent; I gave the coaches a heads-up about her, she decided she was going with me, so we stuffed our clothes and bedding into the back of the minivan.  Neither one of us owned winter clothing or coats yet; we figured we’d worry about that when we got there.)

I’ve got a LOT of feelings (surprise, surprise) about the actual move itself: facing the fear of moving to an unknown place with no friends or family waiting there to welcome me; to a place with a totally different climate and culture and food and people, and how much I’ve grown as a result.  I’ve got tons of memories of my first semester, my second year, each year for that matter, which I want to put down on paper sometime soon.  Sure, I’ve got advice for out-of-state students, words of wisdom on how to stick it out until graduation, but I’m not sure that was the purpose of my writing for today.

My point today is that, 8 years later, I’m still here.  This place called Kansas has morphed from “the place I went away to college”, from “I’m just here to go to school”, from “Yeah, I could never be here forever” to “home”.

This place called Kansas introduced me to the concept of hospitality; from the team of Resident Assistants who helped us unload the minivan (Darcy, Michelle, and others), to the family who had me under their wing that first semester (Ben Mordecai and family—if you see this, know that I am eternally grateful).  I was hospitalized for a few days with mono and pneumonia, and this family took turns sitting vigil in my hospital room.  I don’t think I was alone for more than hour at a time.  (I seriously could write a small book just on the hospitality from this family alone)

This place called Kansas gave me permission to start over.  I could be whoever I wanted to be here.  Aside from my academics, athletics and music, high school wasn’t the greatest experience for me, and it was amazing to come here and just be accepted (Okay, so basically, I’ve just
always had social difficulties, okay? Let’s reword the previous sentence to read, “People were HARD in high school.”)

This place called Kansas has taught me how to make friends.  Real friends. I’ve figured everything out about myself here, while trudging through these thunderstorm-y summers and frozen tundra winters.  These days, I sit with trusted friends and have real conversations about figuring out our futures and planning our next steps.  If I had up and left after graduation, I would have missed out on these dear friendships.

I’m still here because this is where my journey has led me.  There are things I miss about my native Arizona, yes. But do I consider going back? Hardly.  Honestly, I’m so into my life and community here that I just go day-by-day.

I’ve fallen in love with wheat fields, summer rodeos, rolling hills, and greenery!  Don’t even get me started on sunflowers or back dirt roads.  I have mastered the art of carefully watching for deer while I drive, especially in the autumn and winter evenings. I am captivated by the change of the seasons, and anticipate the differences each one has to offer.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever leave, if I’m just letting myself get comfortable and settled for fear of picking up and moving yet again to another, new place.  I wonder if I’m scared.  Yeah.  I think I am scared.

But this place called Kansas has taught me that without an initial sense of fear, there’s no adventure.

At this point, leaving Kansas would feel like leaving home all over again.  I don't know what the future holds, but for now I guess I drank the Kansas Kool-Aid.  I used to hate the thought of "being here forever"; I was convinced that the week after my college graduation, I would be moving either back to Arizona or one of the other two completely different states I applied to medical schools in.

I kind of like how my story has turned out, though.  (Thanks to the Big Man upstairs, by the way!)

So thus begins Year Nine!

Getting It All Out: Grenada

April 2013

Where/How I Saw God in Grenada

 

This is basically my speech from Women's Retreat 2013..there was some ad-libbing of course, but here it is.

 

 

          As some of you know, I was part of the team that our church took to Grenada this last February.  Let me just start by saying that I had no idea where Grenada was; I’d never heard of it.  I learned that it was an island, in the Carribbean, and that there was some tourism, but not as much as expected, mainly cruises.  It really was never a question for me of whether I was going or not; I knew that I wanted to be on the trip, and in the past, I’ve lived the pattern of “If I want something, I’m going to make it happen.”  So, I stayed close to God from the beginning of the process: I wanted to make sure that it was actually Him and not me who wanted me on that trip. ..a couple weeks before the trip, Rachel Guillot asked me if I would be willing to share some of my experience with you all here, at Women’s Retreat, when I got back.  I told her, “Sure!” and now here I am.

Firstly, I need to say that I saw God while I was waiting for this trip.  This trip was a couple years in the making.   I started coming to Emmanuel during my sophomore year at Bethany College.  During my senior year, I heard about the church’s trip to Chile.  I wasn’t very familiar with the phrase “missions trip”; granted, I wasn’t very familiar with the church at all.  I remember asking Pastor Loren to pray with me specifically after one service, because I had a strong feeling about wanting to go on the trip.  I was at Bethany on a track and field scholarship, and was very unsure that my schedule would permit the trip.  While I was turning that little pamphlet over in my hands, the little trifold one they make up every year with the country and info, I just knew I wanted to go.  I saw that the church was getting ready to send a group to another country to help people; I was all about helping people! I was a pre-med student at Bethany because I wanted to be a doctor, to help people.  I didn’t know it then, but this was God speaking part of my purpose to my soul.  I’m fairly early on in my walk with God, and so to be able to go back and point out this moment in time when pieces of me were falling together, is pretty cool.  I didn’t end up going to Chile, but I did go to Bolivia the next year, 2011. 

When I look back at Bolivia, I see a different Gilda.  I see impatience, frustration, lack of confidence, a weak sense of direction, and a newborn level of faith and knowledge in God.  So I was a little nervous about Grenada.  I didn’t want history to repeat itself.

So for this specific trip, God spoke to me so much, so quietly, during the months of preparation.  I heard God quieting my soul; telling me to chill out; to sit back and just let myself be led by others.    I didn’t always know how to hear the voice of God before, I remember a year ago still thinking “I don’t know what it sounds like when God is speaking to me”.  But I actively heard God for the first time in my life, talking to me about this trip, telling me that he had everything in place; like for example, the missions team dinner theatre fundraiser.  That started out being a really frustrating thing; we couldn’t get a cast together, schedules were crazy; I tried my best to recruit actors and from what I saw, failed.  We had to change to a completely different play than what we were originally going to do…it was a headache, and I got frustrated.  But, God kept whispering, “I have it all under control”, and the more I let myself sink into those moments when God was talking to me, and just do my best to do my part in the whole thing, the more it all worked out.  The play ended up being a success, and I felt another big piece of the puzzle fall into place.

So once all the fundraisers were done and it was time to go, and everyone was getting all pumped up, I felt this sense of calm; I wasn’t in a hurry about catching planes.  I didn’t even check a suitcase! I made a point of packing only a carry-on suitcase, and my one other carry-on item, a tote bag.  I heard God telling me, “I will supply everything you need; you don’t need to pack everything you think you do.”  My natural personality is one that wants to be in control all the time..I’ve always struggled with uncertainty, and anxiety, and stress, and wanting to know what was next.  By placing myself at the feet of Jesus, I’ve learned to trust.

So, I traveled with this new sense of confidence and simplicity; God had put this trip on my heart; he had led me through the preparations for the trip; he had pulled the finances together for me, given me the grace to save whatever money I could to pay my way. 

The one thing I do share with people is that I wasn’t sure what my purpose was for this trip; in a sense, I felt a little empty, and almost a little disappointed.  For Bolivia, I had been so excited.  I knew I was going as a translator, on the medical team, that my role was crucial to the functioning of the team; this time, I was not needed to translate, since the language in Grenada is English (although, I will say, I picked up their dialect very quickly, and used it to our advantage while ministering to people).  So, as the trip got closer, I was still wondering, “What is my purpose on this trip? What am I going to do while I’m down there?” I kept having to fight off the stress and worry and the spirit of “you don’t have a place” by telling myself that God had it all worked out.

The second we hit the ground in Grenada, my heart started fluttering what seemed like a million miles a minute.  I anticipated the fresh island air, wondered how humid it would be, what it would feel like.  We had to descend the airplane by stairs and walk across the tarmac to the gate.  I heard Lola cry out a huge, joyful shout of exuberation behind me, something like “Whoooo-hooo!!!!”  We had made it. 

 I remember being nervous about the customs officers.  But they were really nice! I remember the question, “Mission trip? What’s your mission?” And I said, caught off guard, “Uhh….loving people!” I wasn’t sure how people would respond to a church group, so I thought I was keeping my answer vague.  It’s only in afterthought that I realize: God was using this customs officer to reveal to me my purpose for this trip, right here, right at the entrance to the country.  Once everyone had their luggage, we got into another line to step outside the airport.  I was right behind Pastor Loren, since I didn’t have to wait for luggage.  I was there when he met Reverend Jacque, our Grenadian leader.  He introduced us, and I knew that this was going to be a big week.  I then met Stacey and Reena, Reverend Jacque’s right hand girls, and they were my little sisters instantly.  Their smiles lit up the dark, breezy, humid night.  They loved it when my hair responded to the humidity and frizzed up to twice its normal size.  I was completely captivated. 

I felt God in the breeze, saw him in everyone’s faces, heard him in each new greeting.  I knew he wanted me here, right now, and I’ve never felt so much more comfortable and at peace in my life.  We had a van ride to our village and hotel, which was an hour long.  I couldn’t get enough of the sights, the island lights, the people walking through the residential areas, the cars, the breeze; I sat right by the window and remember just gazing up at the stars, feeling like I was a little kid at a carnival or museum, full of wonder, full of awe, for God’s creation and this remote little island he had sent me to.

Something that was on my heart as we began our work was how NICE everyone was.  I never heard anyone honk a horn rudely, never saw anyone flip a finger.  I didn’t hear anyone cuss, or yell at their neighbor.  Complete strangers welcomed us with smiles up to their houses. We handed them tracks, the little books that tell sneaky stories about Jesus, and we told them about our medical clinics that the rest of our teammates were holding.  We showed up empty-handed, well almost, except for the occasional balloon animal, and yet they were so eager and wiling to let us up and share some of their time.  This is possibly the biggest way I saw God: the people on the island had more time, more space, more opportunity to be open to life’s blessings, big and small, although on the island, small could mean big.  Their definitions of big don’t necessarily match our definitions of big.  Time, I’ve learned is such a precious commodity, and we get so wrapped up in going a million miles an hour here at home in the states, that just creating, or in our case, having no choice but to sit around and wait for all the relaxed Grenadians to tell us what to do—just creating that time let the Holy Spirit work.  This is where I saw God.  This is where I felt God.  I only feel God when I consciously take a deep breath and listen. 

To let the Spirit of God play, I have to be willing to hit “pause” every once in a while.  I have to be willing to step back and look.  Observe.  Look at the blue waters of the ocean in Grenada.  Or maybe it was watching the way, the grace with which our hosts served us our meals.  Every spoonful was not just a hurried morsel to be swallowed and digested, but a bit of love.  A bit of God.  The very love we were there to give them, they gave right back to us in the simplest of gestures. 

I saw God in his wonderful provision! It can be scary to go to a new country, to trust that a group of strangers you’ve never met is going to be responsible for your basic needs of food and water.  It took us a day or two to adjust to the food on the island.  But we all made it.  Maybe a couple pounds lighter, but we made it.  We had everything we needed and more, if only we were willing to step back, look, and say “Thank you, Lord.  Now, what is it you want me to do today?” 

As a team, we dedicated each day to the Lord and prayed over the work we were doing.  I saw God in how we all worked together in our different areas of work.  I felt God in the freedom, the letting go, the abandoning of our own ways, our own plans and agendas, and truly letting God govern each day.  Personally, I consciously said every day, “Put me where you want me God; I’m here to do your work; put me where you want me.”  I saw Pastor Loren and Pastor Andy mix concrete by hand, side by side and what came to mind was, “The greatest among you must be a servant.”  Seeing God in each and every individual on the team who was willing to make this their soul’s cry, really gave me peace about the whole trip and about this little piece of my life’s calling.  I was willing to make myself a servant.  And I heard God telling me, “That is all you need to do.”

I feel like I can’t say enough about the rest.  I felt like we were keeping the pace God intended….the first day, some of us were worried, trying to figure out what the schedule was, what we were gonna do that day.  Reverend Jacque told some of us to relax; I chimed in with “Yeah, we are on Island time!”  everyone thought that was so funny, but the awesome harvest that came out of restful productivity! 

These times of rest, the open evening times here and there, allowed me to really listen to God and let him heal my heart of any questions or concerns.  I didn’t do the same thing every day as far as work goes.  We had a medical team, a construction team, an evangelism team, and did some children’s ministry events.  I made myself open to wherever there was a need each day. I put aside the frustrations of “I really wanted to be on the construction site today,” or “I don’t feel like walking today,” and I obeyed.  I saw Jesus in the way I was able to obey and put myself aside.  Maybe my teammates were tired of walking too.  Maybe somebody else really wanted to finish sanding down a wall or painting that windowsill they started yesterday.  So, fine, I was able to say, “I’ll go elsewhere.”  It wasn’t easy, but feeling the Holy Spirit moving in me and telling me to just do it, kinda slapped me in the face a little.  So I went.

 I walked with Mike Strosnider as part of the evangelism team a lot and learned so much about talking to people about Jesus, asking if they had Jesus in their heart.  Complete strangers!  We had so many good conversations and great times of prayer with perfect strangers at bus stops, on the side of the road with busses and cars speeding by, in shady corners on the construction site.  I didn’t really get to do this in Bolivia, so I was very thankful for this experience, to learn how to let Jesus manifest himself in me.  bEing in a new country, with people who are part of a completely different culture, can be so scary.  But all the while, I felt Jesus saying, “It’s ok” and allowing me to go forth and shine for him.    

I saw God in the connections he allowed me to make with some of the locals.  There was one particular young man who I spent some time talking to on the construction site, and he ended up coming to church for our farewell service! Rev. Jacque sent me some pictures of him attending church a couple weeks later.  It was nice to know that God had allowed that connection to happen.  I know that it’s only because I made myself open and listened to every word God wanted me to say that I was able to put myself out there and connect with strangers.  I saw that they saw God in the way I was able to love.  I saw that it was me loving, because He loved us first. 

This trip overall has allowed me to see the personal growth I’ve made over the last 2 years….knowing its something you’re supposed to do; committing to go even though I didn’t know all the details, being able to say, “Jesus, you are Lord over my life, and if you want me to go, I’ll go.”

I had gotten into this routine in Salina: work, church, doing for others, playing with my cat, work, church.  Sometimes in the mundane, I forget to look for God.  This trip challenged me to see everything as grace, to see God everywhere.  I started taking a class facilitated by Debbie, covering the book, “One Thousand Gifts”, right before leaving for Grenada.  One of the first things she says in the video is “all is grace” and that resonated and has stuck with me ever since.  When I got back from the mission trip, I was able to see Salina as my “home mission field.”  There’s so much to do here, so many ways we can go out and make disciples of the nations here in Salina, it’s empowering! 

I see God in the way he laid this trip out for me from the beginning; I see him in everything since getting back.  I feel God in my relationships with others, the way I want to make more time for the little things that matter, the way I long for that slowed-down, fruitful pace that was in Grenada.

I feel God in the way that I feel God so much more, every day.  How a simple 8-day trip has shuffled and stirred my normal ways to the point where I desire to change something, I desire to have more of a discipline to seek God out and listen.  And it is in this quiet time of listening that I get to hear the instructions for my every day little adventures, and perhaps the next big one to come.   But these little adventures, these are the ones I don’t want to miss out on; and these are the ones I feel compelled to encourage you to embrace as well.  I am drawn to Jesus because He loves me, and when I look around and see the thousands of ways in which he loves me, I feel encouraged.  It doesn’t have to be a missions trip across an ocean to make you feel drawn to Jesus.  He is right here.  And he is waiting.

Becoming an Athlete

Something I’ve really been thinking about lately is my desire to assistant coach middle school throws.  So tonight, while scrolling through my list of “blog topics” I want to write about, my eye rested a little longer than normal on the one about my athletic history.  I thought I could try my hand at writing out the story of how this pudgy, big-boned Mexican became an athlete.

Let me start by saying that I was never, ever in a club sport, little league, or after-school dance, soccer, basketball, or anything else-team.  My reasoning behind this is that my parents were both from Mexico; new to the county, they didn’t know what Little League was.  My parents both grew up on ranches.  They lived simple lives in rural, deep-down, nitty-gritty Mexico, and didn’t have any luxuries, so club sports were unheard of.  Thus, my sister and I never experienced the stereotypical soccer mom, after-school rush. 

Most of my youth, I spent rather inactive.  The most exercise I got was walking a lap at Smucker Park in Yuma, Arizona with my mom every once in a while.  I remember in 5^th grade, my dad started taking my sister and I out in the mornings before school with the dogs, in an effort to speed up our pre-adolescence metabolisms that were contributing to our expanding waistlines.

I was always big.  I was wearing training bras in second grade.  I was always, ALWAYS, top row, center in every class picture.  I was 5’4” and weighed 134 pounds in 4^th grade, and 5’6 ½” and weighed 186 pounds at the beginning of sixth grade.  I remember being embarrassed to eat in front of my peers, beginning in 5^th and 6^th grade, and continuing on through 9^th grade. 

But, in the spring of 6^th grade, spring of 2000, something happened.  Twice a week, during PE class, we completed a warm-up lap around the playground, probably totaling about 300 meters or so.  I think most everyone tried their hand at jogging this lap, but nobody ever stuck with it.  It became routine that my friend Cecilia and I were the only two people in the entire class jogging that lap.  We jogged the whole way around, and would wait 5 to 10 minutes before everyone else was done.  I remember I started stretching out that semester, after I hit puberty.  And I kept jogging those laps.  I think I felt this burning desire to prove myself to my peers.  I was tired of them laughing at me.  I wanted to be like everyone else, and like no one else at the same time.  I wanted to do more.  I wanted to be better than everyone walking the lap. 

What I didn’t know was that this simple act was the beginning of my athletic career. 

I remember the school formed a softball team that spring, and I kind of wanted to participate, but I didn’t.  I didn’t know anything about softball, I was too nervous to learn more or to ask my parents, plus you had to buy a whole bunch of equipment I had no idea about.  So I didn’t play.

That fall, I tried out for my first athletic team: 7^th grade basketball.  I remember spending my fall break in the gym, running, sweating, learning, trying.  I still remember my first free throw.  It was, as we say nowadays, an epic fail.  It sort of drifted limply out of my hand and didn’t even make it halfway to the basket.  I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.  The only thing I understood was running up and down the court.  Running the sprints was my favorite part of tryouts. 

I did not make the team.  I was angry.  I was hurt.  I was upset that my fall break had gone to waste.  So what did I do? I marched back into the gym and looked at the tryout list for the rest of the school year.  I found the dates for the track team.  I said, “Fine; I will do track.  They don’t cut anyone from the track team.”

That was, unknowingly, the most pivotal decision of my life up to that point!  I went out for the track team that spring and threw the shot put for the first time (in Arizona, junior high doesn’t throw discus).  I liked it.  I tried high jump.  I failed at it.  I tried running some 800’s and some 400’s.  Something interesting about my city was that there were weight classes for junior high.  They were called “A’s, B’s, C’s, and D’s”.  The A’s were the big girls; the D’s were the tiny girls.  I was an “A”, and I won a few 400m runs here and there.

I had now entered the world of the athlete, in which, at least in junior high, if you were good at one sport, you must be good at them all.  I proceeded to try out for and make the soccer team and volleyball team that 7^th grade year.  I didn’t really like volleyball, but felt pressure to get better at it.  I remember the coach made me nervous.  I ended up taking myself off the team because I got a “D” in algebra one quarter.  I have never quit anything since.

Just before the school year ended, we had a really cool substitute in our English class.  Her name was Mrs. Fahl, and she told us stories of her basketball playing days, showed us her college rings, and inspired us to be better.  She was then hired on as a PE teacher, and came to me and encouraged me to sign up for Summer League basketball.  I told her I had not made the team, but she told me she would work with me and I could get better.  I asked permission from my dad and signed up. 

That summer, I fell in love with basketball, with hard work, with running up and down the court, and with being on a team.  We won one game that summer, but Coach Fahl worked with me on hookshots, layups, and free throws until I could at least fake confidence in myself.  She also inspired me to use my size on the court, and planted the “defense seed” in my brain.  It was very rare that anyone ever got around me on the court. 

By this time, I had slimmed down to about 170 pounds.  I had started to develop my muscles, and was gaining confidence.  I will never forget that I never, ever attempted softball.  It was always the first sports season of the year in junior high, and sometimes I think if I had played in 6^th grade, I could have been a year-round athlete in junior high.  But, I waited patiently for basketball season. 

This time when I tried out, I made the team.  Coach Fahl was the new 8^th grade girls’ coach.  Coach Foote, the 7^th grade coach, couldn’t believe how much I had improved.  After basketball season, I repeated my pattern of the year before: track, soccer, and volleyball, this time, completing my volleyball season.

I also participated in Summer League basketball again. 

During the last semester of junior high, Cecilia, my friend from 6^th grade that I ran laps with, said she was running “cross-country” in high school, and that I should too.   By this time, I had already decided that I wanted to attend the private Catholic high school in town, had applied, and been accepted.  I asked Cecilia to explain what cross-country was, and she said it was “running miles”.  I said I would do it.

So that summer, I ran my first 30 minute run with Coach Farr.  When he said, “We just ran about 3 miles”, I didn’t even really know what that meant.  But it was the beginning of a beautiful high school athletic career. 

For four years, I ran cross-country in the fall, played basketball in the winter, and did track in the spring.  My main event was the shot put, and I started learning the discus as a freshman.  Occasionally, Coach Farr would throw me in the 2-mile run at track meets, if he needed someone extra to knock somebody else’s girls out of the running.  He would only ever do this when it didn’t interfere with my throwing events. 

I also took “girls’ PE for athletes” my sophomore, junior, and senior years as an elective.  Most of my peers asked, “Didn’t you already take PE? Why are you doing it again?” My answer? “I have to do it for track.”

I knew inside my heart that being strong and being healthy was not just a fad for me.  I knew that what most people considered a workout, I laughed at.  I knew that I lived for running 5 miles at a time.  I knew that the road trips we had to take to compete for all three of my sports were where I found my peace.  Because we were the private school, we didn’t have a league in town, so we had to travel a minimum of 2 hours for every competition, during cross-country and track seasons.

It didn’t take long to catch on that I was serious about my sports.  So serious in fact, that it left me little time to socialize with people who weren’t on my teams.  I consider this a blessing now because it kept me too busy to make some of the really awful and dangerous choices that most of my peers were making (drinking, having sex, etc).  I was focused: school and sports. 

My senior year of high school set the direction of the rest of my life.  I was recruited to be on the track team and run cross-country at Bethany College in Lindsborg, Kansas.  I visited the campus with my mom, signed my letter of intent, and put down my enrollment fee all in one visit, over my spring break.  In the fall of 2006, I moved to college and began the next phase of my athletic career.    

While there are many fond, specific memories I have of each sport I have participated in over the years, I believe those are for another time.  For now, I leave you with the thought that something can indeed come from nothing.  For me, discovering my athletic abilities helped me piece together my future, and continues to inspire me to this day. 

More to come on my collegiate career. 

Blessed Mess

 

"It is such a great feeling to know that I am so strong and centered in what I want and what I am doing, that when someone comes at me with an “irrestible offer”, I am honestly, confidently able to say, “SORRY, BUT YOU’RE WRONG.  I DON’T NEED THIS, BECAUSE I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I NEED.”

 

I’ve decided that I’m a blessed mess.  My life may look like it’s all over the place to some, but to me, it’s exactly the pace I need.  It’s the pace I need to find my passion, my purpose, and my destination.  Moreover, it’s the pace I need to be at peace with my journey.  And, I am! I am at peace being in submission to God, and knowing that His plans are what are best.  I am at peace not owning lots of material things.  That is part of who I am. 

 

While my life may seem overwhelming to others, those looking in from the outside perhaps, I’ve learned that the individuals who truly love me will support me in all I do...I am a lover of humanity.  I don’t have time to waste on earthly things.  I live for love, and I do that in my own way. 

 My life is two things: my church (God), and my job (from God/part of what God has called me to do).  Everything else is not as important. 

 

While everything I do in my life, I only do if I can make sure I do it in Jesus’ name, my church and my job are first.  (I am single with no children)

 

Being a blessed mess means being so caught up in what God has for you, that you don’t care what others think of it.  It means being so in love with all the beauty around you, that you don’t have time for the ugly.  It means being so obsessed with serving others, that yeah, sometimes you don’t make enough time for yourself, and your body comes to screeching halt and screams, “HELLLLPPP!!!”.  (Insert a gallon of orange juice and some chicken noodle soup here)

 

But in the end, you turn out just fine, because you fill your life only with things that grow you toward your purpose.  In my case, I have co-designed this purpose with my Creator. 

This is not complicated.  This is not “all over the place”.  This is grounded. 

It has taken me years to get to this point.  Probably about 12 years, if we’re counting.  I feel like much of the hard work is behind me.  All the moments of crisis, all the panic attacks, feelings of unworthiness or insufficiency, have all led me to this moment in time.  To some that’s complicated.

 

To me, it’s really very simple. "

AZ to KS

October 7, 2012

Today, I write to answer the question: “How did you end up in Kansas?”

I get asked this question a lot.  Not as much now, as I used to get asked in college, of course.  But when people find out I’m from Arizona, they still ask.  It’s an amazing thing to look back now and see exactly how my journey has been presented to me in pieces.  My life and my journey have always belonged to God. 

 I was a high school student like any other in the country, doing my best to be competitive academically, and like other over-achievers, trying hard to cram my resume full of anything that looked like I wanted to be a contributing member of society, worthy of scholarship money of course.

 My sophomore year of high school, my school hosted a “Health Careers Fair”; we had several local professionals come in and talk about their jobs and the education they had to attain to get their careers, etc.  I’m not sure why, but it was during these presentations that I decided that I wanted to end up in the health care field.  I knew in my heart that I wanted to help people, and that I wanted to make a difference.

 My friend Anhel was a close influence, I think.  She was a year older than I was, and was very mature and put-together, and during my junior year, she was a great example of the kind of girl I wanted to be: pure, smart, hard-working, and working towards a degree to eventually become a doctor. 

 By the time my junior year of high school rolled around, I had obviously been signing up for emails and snail-mail from state universities, as well as some universities and colleges in California.  Plus, I was in national databases that sent out my info to colleges everywhere, so I got a lot of mail between my sophomore and junior years.  In the fall of my junior year of high school, the University of Arizona hosted a “Multicultural Junior Day”; this day was designed specifically for high school juniors from minority families.  My mom and I went (my 3 month-old baby sister in tow), spent the night in a hotel room, spent Saturday touring campus and sitting in on mock lectures and interview processes, got lost on the way back to Yuma, took the long way around Gila Bend, and decided I would apply to the U of A.  I did, and, after taking ACT’s and SAT’s, was accepted into their pre-med program by the fall of my senior year.  Because I had spent 3 years of high school taking rigorous science and math classes, I felt prepared.  I had my game plan, and I was ready.  I would finish my senior year, graduate, and attend the U of A in the Fall of 2006. 

 Well, God decided he wanted to throw a monkey wrench in for me.  In about October of my senior year, I received an envelope in the mail from some school in Kansas.  I thought it was a mistake; plus I was already accepted to U of A, so I didn’t need it.  I tore it up (because my mother taught me to never throw an envelope in the trash without ripping it up, to prevent identity theft), and forgot about the envelope. I went on about my life for several weeks, and then got another envelope in the mail; this time, it said something about “Track and Field Program” or “Track and Field Office/scholarships” on it.  I actually opened it this time, and read that the coaching staff would like to talk to me about their program and earning scholarship money.  I briefly mentioned it to my mom, then called the number and began a few-month-long conversation with Coaches Joe Wilkerson and Alan Webb. 

 The more I talked to the coaches, the more interesting it all sounded.  I remember mentioning my talks with the coaches to my teammates and peers; I knew that I appreciated being sought by ANY college for my athletic abilities.  I didn’t ever think that I would go on to participate in athletics at the collegiate level, and so I knew this was probably all coming as a surprise to my high school community.  A little piece of me felt like I was proving everyone wrong, and I liked it.  I remember the first time I brought up the subject of going to Kansas as a serious consideration; my mom freaked out.  She asked, “Kansas?  I thought you already had the plan of going to Tucson (to U of A).”  I said, “I want to set up a campus visit.”

 My mom and I booked airplane tickets with her credit card, and over my spring break my senior year of high school, we flew to Wichita, Kansas to see what this place was all about.  I remember talking to the Coach Webb about specifics before our trip; What would the weather be like? Where would we stay in Wichita? Who would pick us up and drive us the 70 miles north to Lindsborg?  How big was Lindsborg again?

 Well, this trip was only my second time on a plane, and it was my mom’s first.  I remember all the freak-outs; the creepy guy standing up by the lavatory door, who my mom (and I, secretly) was convinced was a murderer or a bomber.  My mom’s reaction to turbulence was quite comical, although I had to keep a straight face to keep her calm throughout the trip.  Once we landed in Wichita, we took a cab or a shuttle, or something, to the hotel; the Regency Inn (to this day, when I drive by it on West Kellogg Avenue, I think of my first night in Kansas).  We walked over to the Walmart that evening, and we ate at Ryan’s buffet place.  I remember the hotel was run by people of Middle Eastern descent.  I don’t remember much else about the stay.  I don’t think either of us had a cell phone, so I’m pretty sure I used a phone card to call Coach Webb and tell him we were in Wichita, and to arrange our pick-up for the next morning.

 Coach Webb himself came and picked us up.  I remember when I got in the car, (I rode in the front, my mom in the back), the most incredible wind I’d ever known forced me to shut my hair in the car door.  That was the first of many, many times that this would happen over the next 6 years.  One of the first things Coach Webb said to me was, “I don’t have that problem” with a laugh.  He is bald.  And he makes lots of jokes about it, all the time, even now, 6 years later. 

 On the drive to Lindsborg, I remember thinking that Kansas was quite pretty.  Everything was pretty green; spring was starting.  Good thing I didn’t visit during the winter months, or I probably would have never come back.  Everything gets really dead and ugly here during the winter, and I don’t like it. 

 When we took the exit to Lindsborg, I remember my heart started fluttering.  I have always been an anxious traveler.  I don’t like not knowing what to expect, and yet here I was, flying to the middle of the country, getting in a car with a man I’d never met before, going to visit only the second college campus I’d ever been on.  What were people in Kansas like?  I was about to find out a whole lot more than the folks at the Regency Inn were able to tell me.

 I remember bits and pieces about the visit, which was about 2 days, I think.  I know I didn’t sit in on any classes, which was weird, now that I look back on it.  I went to practice with the team a couple different times; I remember throwing shot put for Coach Wilkerson for the first time, and him telling me I “wasn’t bad”.  I went in the weightroom with the team once, too.  Now that was nervewrecking.  Lifting weights with some intimidating college athletes.  Yikes.  I remember meeting Nathan, mostly because I thought he was cute, and I remember him cheering me on in the weightroom when I was with the girls.  I stayed in the dorm in Anna’s room, because she was an RA and had a futon I could sleep on.  I didn’t shower in the dorm.  I must have showered at some point because of going to practice, but that must have been on my second afternoon in Lindsborg, and then the second night I stayed with my mom in the hotel before taking back off to the airport. 

 Well, somewhere between the weight room, the cafeteria food, which my mom was a huge fan of, and shot put practice, I also squeezed in a visit with the camp registrar and financial aid office, and put down a $300.00 enrollment fee, and met with the head of the Biology department, Mark McDonald, and registered for my first semester of classes. 

 I remember my mom and I fell in love with the people.  All of the athletes, coaches, and professors we met made us feel immensely comfortable.  We felt like everyone was really helpful and considerate, and wanted us to be a part of the community.  I remember being really nervous about all the college guys who kept asking about me in the cafeteria to Coach Wilkerson ( I actually heard them say, “Who’s that? She fiiiiine.”)  I remember taking my student ID picture. 

 Everything just felt right.  When it came time to register for classes, I didn’t sit and ponder my decision, or pray about it really.  I just had this sense of “go with the flow” type of peace about me the whole time.  I just knew that I was doing what I was meant to do all along, and I was excited.  Now, of course, 6 years later, I know that God was guiding my each and every step.  I know that I was not nervous, because I was falling in line with God’s will for me. 

 I finished my school year, graduated from high school, and then the countdown began for the drive to Kansas.  Oh, as soon as I got back from Kansas, I couldn’t stop talking about it to my friend and teammate Michelle.  We ended up getting her hooked up with the coaches and the scholarship as well, and she never visited; she just registered over the phone.  So, for the entire summer, she and I counted down together until the morning when we would leave for our new lives.

 The preparation for the trip was really stressful.  We knew we would be driving, because there’s no way we could fly with all the things we needed for a college dorm.  We packed up all of our clothes and bedding into my mom’s minivan, and okay, I had already purchased some school supplies (my mom went nuts buying me lined paper; I still have like 6 packages of it, I think).  I remember being so panicked and nervous about being expected to share all my belongings and my things, mostly because my mom kept putting these awful thoughts in my brain about how to “take care of my own stuff” and “not be taken advantage of”.  It’s safe to say I was a wreck on the eve of our trip to Kansas.  My mom wanted Michelle and her mom to sign a piece of paper saying that Michelle would pay for half of the gas the whole way to Kansas; it was ridiculous, and made me feel so awkward.  I remember feeling sick to my stomach for some of the ways my mom was so rude and inconsiderate on this trip (not going out of her way to find cheap hotels; being high maintenance). 

 My mom’s then-boyfriend Oscar drove with us, because my mom didn’t want me driving at all (it was too dangerous, she said...).  We had to replace a windshield wiper on the road, we took back roads in the middle of the night and had to keep our eyes peeled for animals; I kept the atlas of the United States open on my lap for the entirety of the trip once we hit Flagstaff, because then we were entering into unfamiliar territory.  So, I kid you not, I am getting anxious feelings just writing about this trip; ugh it was stressful.  I hope you, reader, are not getting anxious as well.  If you are, I apologize, I’m almost through this part.

 It rained a lot on the drive.  I remember not sleeping at all while we were on the road (because of course, if anything happened while I was sleeping, it would be my fault; read: Anxiety is real, people). 

 We made it to Salina, Kansas late one night; we came in on the North side of Salina.  Now that I go back and think about it, I’m sure we drove through Ellsworth (where I ended up living 4 years later; a topic for another writing session).  We called Coach Webb to tell him we made it.  We got dinner and a hotel (stressful topic; I’m going to avoid it; let’s just say Michelle almost slept in the car.  And I cried.).  And we drove down to Lindsborg the next day.  My mom and I argued about which direction was North or South (I was right; I didn’t know my directions at this point, but I have an impeccable photographic memory).  And my mom and Oscar helped us move all of our stuff into the dorm.  Darcy and Michelle helped us (they were RA’s in Anna Marm, our residence hall), and I hugged my mom for the first time in years.  I remember fighting back some tears of nervousness, but overall being ok.  I don’t remember details about that first night; did I sleep?  Did I dream? 

 I know there were lots of awkward moments; figuring out where to get drinking water (fountain downstairs).  Michelle and I were glued to each other’s sides until classes started.  We had arrived on campus with the fall athletes, so a couple weeks earlier than everyone else.  Our days were filled with practices, meeting teammates, and telling the “We’re from Arizona/we went to high school together” story repeatedly for the first couple weeks. 

 And that, folks, is how this Arizona girl ended up in Kansas.  Or at least, briefly.  I actually feel kind of anxious and nervous sitting here wondering if I want to continue the story, and write about “Fall ‘06”, but I think I’m done reliving the past for now, and want to go think of something soothing and happy, so I will continue the story later.  At least now you kind of see how I got where I am.  Wait, no, that’s a lie.  Cuz there is so much more to the story. 

My Plans are not your plans..

More excerpts from September 3rd...

 

I don’t really want to be like anyone else on this planet.  I am very happy being myself, and drawing inspiration from where I may, and spending time on the inside of myself, developing my goals and values.  So I think that’s my challenge, is working with people who intimidate me and make me uncomfortable.  I think what makes me uncomfortable is that they judge me.  They don’t understand me.  I am able to understand them, even though I don’t know them very well anymore.  They are motivated by different things than I am motivated by.  They like their cars, money, status, and hype, social circles.  I am not motivated by cars or money.  I’m just not.  I would love to have more money to help my mom and sisters, to help people in the neighborhood, and to have more in my savings account.  But, I also know that God is going to provide everything I need with everything I have.  I honestly don’t want a flat screen plasma TV.  I don’t want 400 channels of cable.  I don’t want designer clothes.  I just don’t.  I believe in using used things.  I believe in using things and resources that are already in existence.  Why create a bunch of crap that contributes to the energy crisis and a wasteful lifestyle?  ß That is honestly my lifestyle motto. 

So, it is extremely difficult for me to play a part and rely on people who don’t agree with that lifestyle at all, people who have to have the latest, best, and trendiest.  That’s just not me.  That’s my challenge.     I know people who are not into God’s timing, they are into their own.  So…this is very hard.  I have to listen to God and rely on his grace to give me the courage to proceed with this business as he sets apart for me.  I can do this business in the name of Jesus and for the glory of his kingdom...it’s kind of all up to me.  And then I stop and go, “No, it’s not all up to me, God will reveal.”  Exasperation!! Then, I have to fight the exasperation by taking deep breaths and reminding myself that God is in control.  I kind of feel schizophrenic.  J I feel like lots of different sides of my brain all battling each other, lots of different aspects of my personality constantly at work, and it’s kind of exhausting.  I think the biggest thing I’m learning in my walk with Jesus is this: yes, you’re going to have dreams, hopes, and goals for your future.  However, God has dreams, hopes, and goals for your future, too.  And guess, what?  These may not always line up.  Are you willing to sit still where God has placed you once in a while, and listen?  Are you willing to say, “God, you are in charge today, help me be everything I need to be today, please!”?  Or, are you going to say, “Sorry, God, but your plans for me just aren’t good enough.  I think I’ll do it my way today and see if you approve later.” 

Thinking and Growing

September 3, 2012

11:30 am

Okay, so here’s the deal.  Today, I am trying to do things differently.  For the last several weeks, I’ve really been itching to write again.  Just write, but still have it have some purpose or clarity.  In the last week or so, I’ve realized that I’ve been avoiding my thoughts.  I’ve been laying in bed on days where I can sleep in, and just willing myself back to sleep because I don’t want to busy myself with all the thoughts in my head.  This sent me to a bunch of blaring alarms going off in my head, because it reminds me of my really bad depression stages, back in 2008 and 2009.  I used to just sleep days away.  I haven’t wanted to go back to that.  I haven’t wanted to have days like that again.  But now, it seems that I want everything to slow down, and I’m almost willing myself to a stop in order to accomplish this.  I’m trying to see if it’s “a desire to slow down and have more ‘me’ time” OR “avoiding everything and hoping it will eventually go away/depressed type thinking”.  There’s been lots on my mind. 

My job is pretty awesome.  I work with kids and families, and I set my own schedule throughout the day.  I make my own appointments and then just have to follow through with them.  I then document pretty much everything I do, to show the progress the kid or the family is making.  When broken down like this, it seems much simpler than it actually feels during the day, especially the day when I get so bogged down with something small, like having a deadline for a treatment plan that needs updated.  I have gotten really stressed out the last several weeks; the beginning of the school year has been really messy for me, really stressful to try and figure out the new scheduling and stuff.  We work by quota, so we are responsible for a certain amount of hours of service we need to provide every month.  After like 3 months of not making this said quota, you start getting asked questions about how well you’re doing your job.  I don’t want to lose my job.  So I worry and I stress and I try to make myself better, and learn more about the job, and tips and tricks and shortcuts to make myself more effective. 

And then, I start to get angry.  I get angry because I get competitive with myself, if that’s the right word.  I start to expect more from myself.  I start to think, “You have your business; you’re not doing anything with it; if you were, you could be one step closer to not having to worry about this damn quota thing.”  It ticks me off that I have something so valuable in front of me that I haven’t been able to do much with at all. 

That’s where Jesus comes in.  I then think, “Well, it’s not my time.  God’s gonna put me where he wants me anyway, and then it’s my job to do what he’s asking and be happy with it.”  I don’t think it’s right to say that I get angry with where God has placed me.  I don’t think that accurately describes my feelings.  I think I get impatient.  And that I’m constantly being called to a deeper level of faith and understanding and trust, and I’m just not used to that.  The truth is, I am at a whole new level in the faith game.  I have a relationship with God like I haven’t had before.  And I look at the people around me, all the people in my life, and I can tell who puts God first, and who doesn’t.  Lots of people I know thank God when things are going well and “give him the glory”, but He isn’t first in their lives.  He doesn’t run their lives; they do.  They run their own lives.  I, on the other hand, am willing to let God take the wheel.  I feel like I have no other choice.  Why would I say, “I  CHOOSE to run my own life, be my own captain, run my own show”, when I know that I’m not going to do it perfectly?  God is.  He is doing it perfectly, according to his will, what he already has determined for me, and why would I want to mess with that??  I just don’t understand why I would want to mess with that.  I have been blessed with many talents that I have the opportunity to use on a daily basis.  No, I haven’t been able to minister and translate in as many settings and countries as I want to yet, but I have my whole life ahead of me, and who knows what God wants to do?! I can’t risk all that, just because “I want this residual income to happen right now, so I’m gonnna go out blindly and do it all myself, and find these people, and train them to do the same thing, etc etc etc.”.  It’s not up to me.  It’s up to God.  So why would I force it?