To Love Another Person is to See the Face of God

     Okay, can I get vulnerable for a moment? Well ready or not, here it comes. I miss him. A lot. Sometimes to the point of tears. Sometimes to the point of questioning God. Why are we so far apart? Why would you try to hurt me right after my heart has been healed? Why can't we have a normal love? One where I see him everyday so he can hold me when my heart is breaking or just see me smiling. I stare into the fog most mornings, feeling alone and despondent. I am a strong person, or at least I try to be, and seldom will you see me break, seldom will you see the tears fall. But sometimes they do. The scary thing is that it's only been two weeks. We have four, long, hard years ahead of us. Years that I know we can overcome, but it is going to be a struggle and an arduous fight. Nonetheless, it is a fight I am willing to engage in.
 
     Now to you, to the one I love, you are worth this waiting. You are worth this pain and heartache, because on the better days, the days when I am filled with unquenchable hope, all I see is your smile, that gleam in your eyes, the way you look at me- and all I hear is your laughter, your teasing words, your voice... Some things in this life were meant to be. I believe that you and I are one of those things. We have both made mistakes, we have both wounded and been wounded. I will not pretend that this future we have ahead of us is going to be easy. It is going to be tumultuous, difficult, and at times it may seem hopeless... but I vow to you now, to never give up, to never walk away, to never search for the easy way out. We must fight for one another, and for this rare love that few people ever truly possess. This world we live in is no fairy-tale. It is a cruel slab of fate ruled by a darkness that seeks to ruin all things pure and lovely. We must be willing to engage the darkness by staying true. True to one another and true to love. Not just the love that we share, but the love that must be shown to the rest of this ailing world. I can not wait to travel the world with you, to see the sights of exotic places, to taste of the freedom that only travel can buy, but most of all, I can not wait to love other people with you. To touch the hearts of the hurting and broken- the ones everyone else in this world has given up on, and we will only be able to do that because we never gave up on each other. This love is bigger than us, it is bigger than the feelings I get thinking about you, bigger than the way I feel when we touch, when we kiss... This is about reflecting the love that God has for every creature of His creation. We have been tasked with representing Him- no simple undertaking- and in order to do that, we must start now. I am committed to you because I love you, and more importantly because I love God.

     So. This pain, this heartache, and these next four years- hard as they will be- pale in comparison to the eternity of God's love. I love you.

“To love another person is to see the face of God.”  ― Victor Hugo

My Tortured Soul

      There is a darkness in me. It radiates from somewhere within my soul. This darkness unleashes itself at times when I least expect it. Today it consumed me.

     My mind has been far away. It has been in Africa, in the jungles and in the plains- in the places that I know I need to be, but am not. The truth is, I am not content here in America, within the safety of society. I am not content with my day to day existence- waking up beneath warm blankets, coffee shop visitations, familiar faces... even my beloved rock climbing has become something predictable. I am weary of these things not because I am spoiled or turned off by them... I am weary because I know I have been called to greater things.

      I have never been a patient person. It is one of my many faults. When I want something, I tend to want it right away, or if I want something done then I usually do it right then. So for me to desire Africa right here and now, and not be able to go there, not be able to have it within my grasp... that does something to me. It drives at me like a knife. I feel as though my dreams are hanging by a string from a stick, and each time I reach out to grasp them, each time I come close to wrapping my fingers around them, they are yanked away, further from my reach. This constant pull at my heart drags me down into murky depths, into that place in my soul that is dark, and I fold within myself, not allowing anyone else in. I begin to convince myself that perhaps I am meant to walk this life alone, perhaps I am destined to an existence of solitude- the very thing I dread. The truth is that I do love to be alone sometimes. There is nothing like taking a hike in the woods or a backpack trip by yourself, and getting lost (so to speak) with no one there but yourself and God. Some days I need that, but most days I crave the company of another soul. Someone who can understand me and understand the destiny I have been given.

     For as long as I can remember, the darkness has been there. When I was young it came and went, resulting in small bouts of sadness here and there, but was always accompanied by the knowledge that within a short time it would pass. In high school, these "bouts" escalated into great periods of darkness. Some days I would sit, staring at a wall or at some other object, lost in the gray fog within my head. I would pass entire days like this- non-responsive, non enthusiastic... smiling was hard enough, so to feel happiness? That was out of the question. And over time people have mistaken my darkness for a lack of affection towards them, a lack of commitment... this could not be further from the truth, and though it kills me inside that they might think that, it is like I am a slave to the darkness, and I can not reassure them, I can not stop those hurtful words from being formed. Perhaps one of the most difficult things about dealing with the darkness is knowing when it will strike. As I said, today my mind was afflicted with thoughts of Africa, with worries about how I will return, and when it will be. I climbed for several hours, and the worries were forgotten, pushed away, tossed into the crevasses of my mind. As I was driving home, it hit me, as if I had been involved in a collision. It worked its foul, wraithful tendrils into my mind and began almost immediately to spread like some terminal disease. I didn't try to fight it, because I knew how hopeless a cause that was. So I let it take control, let it govern my thoughts, my actions, my heart... I let it hurt people I love. 

    

      This is not depression, though sometimes it seems like it. What I believe this darkness is, is a ploy by the devil to keep me off the path that I was destined to follow. It is Satan's attempt at ruining the future God has for me- a future that will rescue people from the clutches of hell itself. A future that will see people freed. Tonight I received news about two new opportunities in Africa, one in Sudan and the other in Congo. I have great connections concerning both, and I am allowing myself to feel hopeful yet again. Nay, God is giving me hope. Walking back to my cottage tonight, it dawned on me how quickly God can turn a situation around. He is so powerful and so in control. He governs my destiny, and He will see it through. It has been promised! God has been formulating the plot to my life story since the beginning of time. Despite the fact that every day I make mistakes- dumb ones at that- I am gaining such a deep insight into the heart of God through them. My darkness is not something to fear, but rather something to hate, something to combat. I am a tortured soul... this much is clear, but like all things I believe God has a purpose for it. My real test will be waiting to see what that purpose is. 

The Opening and Closing of Doors

       Why is it so difficult to help? I have been waiting for four years to get back to Africa, or anywhere in the world actually, and too many times I have been denied the opportunity. It's true that a few of those times were due to my own stupidity, but honestly, why is it so hard for someone who has a heart so willing to help others, to sacrifice for others, to give of my whole life to them? From the time I was young, I believed there was something different about me, something great. I read fantasies as a child and reveled in their tales of great adventure and of those heroes and heroines of whom fate had blessed so abundantly. I believed that was myself. As time passed on, and I had not yet been called to some daring adventure or promised destiny, I began to despair. Perhaps I had been wrong. Perhaps my childish ways had tricked my mind into believing I was something special. Too many classroom sessions consisted of a droning teacher and my reckless imagination- warring against one another, each struggling for the upper hand. But it has always been in my head to win. I used to imagine outrageous scenarios- gunmen taking control of the school, how would I stop them, and who would I trust to help me? A raging fire consuming the classroom, how would I get the rest of my peers to safety? I would be a liar to say that I still don't imagine such things. Only now they happen on a much grander scale. I imagine myself in Sudan, working as an investigative journalist for the U.S. When I am caught in a nasty bout of crossfire, will I just cower and hide? Turn back and seek cover in the comforts of the U.S. embassy? Or will I continue on, knowing full well that my honor rests on this choice. That the lives of thousands of innocent South Sudanese children may cling to this decision.

      One day I realized that the destiny I always thought I had as a child, was not fabricated by my imagination. It is very much real. Now I see it as a calling, THE calling that God placed on me. I have no problem saying that I will do great things in this life. That may sound cocky or bold, but the life I intend to lead calls for boldness. The things I do now call for boldness. Climbing 400 foot desert towers or scaling 700 foot rock faces calls for a sort of boldness. And that is why I know God has chosen me to do great things. Why? Because it is through Him I am going to do them. The most difficult part of this has been not knowing how to do the things that God is calling me to do. Will I go back to Africa? Yes. Will I help free people from physical and spiritual bonds? Yes. Am I willing to stare death in the face and not shirk away or cower? YES. It's not the danger that I have a hard time with or the knowledge of a hard life filled with things that I will see that will forever mar my mind... it's the waiting that is the most difficult. Trusting God to open the door that He has planned, instead of constantly trying to open my own. Up until a few years ago I decided I wanted to be alone, I wanted no part of marriage, I wanted no man in my life to help me (or hinder me as I saw it), I simply wanted to do everything on my own. I have changed my mind and my outlook on that issue. I see the prospect of marriage as a beautiful thing. It is about companionship and not slavery as I had called it so many times. Even though I reconciled my dispute with men, I've realized I have not reconciled with God. I still stiffen when He tries to open a door, tune Him out when He compliments me, and I find myself running when He tell me that He loves me. No good relationship can work without trust, so why do I find myself thinking that mine with God will work when so often I refuse to trust Him? He is the author of my story, the creator even. He has it all planned out, and all I have to do is trust in His timing and keep my spirit and heart willing. Yes, I am confident that I will do great things in this life, I will save people, and I will change people, He has told me these things. For now, the greatest thing I can do is trust His timing.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. -Jeremiah 29:11

I am Not British, But I am A Writer...

     Some days I stare at a blank sheet of paper and words flow from my mind like water from an emancipated dam. Other days, the creative outputs of my mind seem to be stopped up like a drain. It is times like these that frustrate me to no end. Writing comes as naturally to me as breathing, but everyone forgets to breathe now and then. I imagine that there is, in the caverns of my mind, two warring armies- each trying to lay claim to the stronghold village labeled "creativity." Whenever one side takes control of this unfettered land, production ceases, daily patterns become irregular, and cells are killed. The heads of the armies, those astute generals versed in every manner of warfare tactic known to man, then take it upon themselves, to storm the stronghold, lay waste to its devices, and sit fat and mirthful on the spoils of their plunder. Instead of taking it upon themselves to utilize the village and all its resources, these men pleasure themselves in the ordinary, in the dull nothingness that makes up their fruitless existence.
   
     This definition, a bit dramatic and perhaps verging slightly into the realm of the insane, is product of my innermost being. After all, I was conceived and birthed in the realm of the insane. My childhood, truth be told, consisted of fantasies- great battles waged on playgrounds and rice paddies, kidnappings and ransomings, the ship wrecks of great monoliths, headless creatures in the night, and the ever lingering notion that adventure lay just beyond the next curve in the road. My poor cousins and brother were subjects to my madness, and often found themselves serving as my skeptical knights or hapless steeds. We galavanted all over the California country sides, rapiers brandished high and aspirations matching the blazing sun. In school I was the girl who read everything. In the mornings, when eating breakfast, if I had nothing to read, if there was no book or literature before me, the cereal box was read. I had every word memorized on the Cheerios before the first week was over. In school my favorite subject was history. I passed every test with flying colors, and almost always procured the highest score. Recess was another amalgamation of my aberrant imagination. It is no wonder that so many of my "friends" stayed clear of me and my musings. They foresaw, within me, something not akin to them, something void of the normality so reigned in by society. Even at ten years of age they could see that I was cut from a different mould, a mould that begged an audience with the fantastical. After school I was shuttled home- the breeding grounds of my wild mind- and it is there that I would romp about the yards, shouting and fighting with phantasmal foes. I could also be found in one of the dozens of gardens, tending to the plants that I cherished and nurtured as my own. Even in high school I held a certain fervor for gardening. There was one scenario in particular I liked to enact whilst administering to the ground. I was a young, English girl captured by an Indian tribe and held captive deep within the jungles of wherever I happened to think of them at the time. I had been on safari with my parents and brothers, when we were ambushed. They were killed, but I was spared for the curious reasoning that I had seed packets on my person. This tribe was starving- their crops were failing terribly- and I was believed to be their savior. The plot was thickened every day, and when last I remember, I had fallen deeply in love with one of the young men but our love was put to test at the news of my impending execution for a continued decline in crop production. Yes, this is just one of the stories that I have yet to write. I used to think that there would be no way for me to channel these fantastic thoughts as an adult. I had this horrible fear that one day they would simply slip away, leaving me "normal." The very word makes me shudder. It was not until I wrote my first poem at age thirteen that I knew I could never be normal. People who are called to the extraordinary can never be ordinary. It's simply not possible. And to prove just how "not normal" I am, this entire post was written because of a block within my brain, and I have been writing this with a British accent for the entirety of the post. I'm not British, but I am a writer of the unseen and the abnormal.

“We’re past the age of heroes and hero kings. … Most of our lives are basically mundane and dull, and it’s up to the writer to find ways to make them interesting.”
—John Updike

“Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.”
—Enid Bagnold

Why, a life without love is no life at all

   
         It is currently 11:46 pm and I am wide awake. It's turning colder in Washington, the leaves are beginning to brown and turn into vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows. There are pumpkins lining doorways, walkways, and business entrances, and in some yards, the Halloween decorations are in full display, still covered in a thick layer of dust from their days in storage. The air holds a suppressed excitemement, a promise of new things to come... and I am ready. At least I hope I am. As exciting as this season is, I am feeling some apprehension towards it. I have fallen for someone, quite deeply in fact, so that I know this attraction I have for him is more than just infatuation. It is something real, something very nearly tangible. This man completes me in a way no one else has ever attempted before. He knows me inside and out, understands me in the most simple of ways, and makes me smile like not another soul on this earth can do. I have been afraid, truth be told, because I am wary of allowing my heart to open up again when it was shattered so horribly not very long ago. I have been asking myself, drilling questions into my own brain... is this real? Are these feelings merely product of loneliness? Or emptiness? Of hopelessness? For a long time I convinced myself they must be. How could I have moved on so quickly? How could I have found a man in whom my heart delights this abundantly? So I simply forced myself to imagine life without him. The product of these musings? I lost my breath. I was literally left breathless by the thought. Here I have found someone who has had such a profound impact on my soul, that he can steal the very breath from my chest without ever knowing. His affections for me are the same. We feel perfectly fit for one another, and I can not help but find it beautiful. When I think of him, I picture a future of travel, of adventure and intrigue, of foreign lands rife with intoxicating beauty and danger. I see hazy Autumn mornings, frost lining the fallen leaves. I see gentle snows blanketing rolling hills and frozen clouds of breath. I see great mountains, with cliffs so steep that your neck is craned in a grotesque manner, just trying to catch a glimpse of their ends. I see stolen kisses in moonlit gardens, canoe rides down raging rivers, muddied boots and sweat caked foreheads from the strain of an arduous hike. I see children with big eyes and open hands leading us through rural villages, singing in their foreign tongues. I see horses flying over hilly terrain, heaving sides and salty skin. I see oceans and forests, castles and cottages, sheer cliffs and desert valleys, meadows teeming with deer and wildflowers, wastelands riddled with charred remains, swamps and rivers, lakes and streams, clouds and sunshine, storms and lightning. And through it all, I see his face.

         Come Monday morning he'll be gone. This man, this being who has captured my soul is also a Marine, bound to the country that birthed him. Four years his life will belong to the flag, four years he will sacrifice, and four years he will be parted from me. At night I lie awake and imagine, horrible things, scenarios that leave him hurt or worse. And my heart breaks, and tears prick against my eyes, and again I am left breathless- afraid to move, afraid to breathe. There are few things in this life that scare me, but the thought of his journey is one. I am so proud, so inexplicably grateful for what he is about to do. Still, the fear festers in my mind like a putrid corpse, and I am left suddenly feeling terrified and alone, stricken by dismay. But deep within, somewhere in that place between my heart and my brain, I know that God is going to protect and keep him like only He can do. My worries, great as they are, are mere phantoms in comparison for what God has in store for his life. This man will change nations, I foretell, and I am so privileged to be a part of his destined life.

And now an excerpt from a favored song of ours:

Never knew I could feel like this, Like I've never seen the sky before, Want to vanish inside your kiss, Every day I love you more and more, Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything, Seasons may change, winter to spring, But I love you until the end of time. 

And you, when you read this, know my faithfulness, know how my very heart beats, and know that I will wait, though hell should bar the way. 

Writing, a Rose Flavored Coffee, and the Return of Pumpkins

     
         Blank pages thrill me, send a chill down my pictorial spine. I am enthralled by the words hidden there, the sentences, letters, phrases just waiting to illuminate themselves on the crisp, white pages. There is a mystery, a monster even, hidden with the margins of every journal, of every three ringed notebook, every Word document, every piece of parchment that has ever been devised. These mysteries are longing to be solved, these monsters awaiting their escape, waiting to be unleashed on the world of the ordinary where they become masters of chaos and inception. There is a beauty in the fluctuation of words from the mouth, and an even greater allurement when they come from the pen. It is this process of creating something out of nothing that captivates my mind and sends it free falling into a vast space where only words exist. Words and pictures. When I am writing a book, I first picture each scene in my head and then the words follow suit, like a proverbial vomit. My mind heaves out each word, very much like a stomach during flu season. But I love it. It is an incurable malady- if it can be called such. Perhaps malady is not the correct word. A blessing? A privilege? I find it ironic that there are no adequate words to describe writing. Ahh wait, I believe I have captured its essence. Adventure. Writing is an adventure, one in which I can write my own fate, my own destiny... but it is also a mystery. Enough of this talk, I could go on for a century about the effects writing has on me. But I suppose that could become quite dull.

      Yesterday I took a ferry to Vashon island. Now that sounds so quaint to me. Just the image in my head is one of rustic perfection. But of course, ferries these days are far from rustic. Or perfect. They are noisy, crowded, dirty things... but still I become so excited when I am on one. When the vessel first begins its crossing and pushes off deep into the waters of the sound, my heart beats faster and my mind tricks itself into believing that an adventure is close at hand. In any case, yesterday I took the ferry to Vashon island to watch my special gentleman's brother compete in a cross country meet. Vashon island is a quaint, little hovel of a town (slightly larger than a hovel but I do enjoy that word so I used it) no longer than ten miles in length. It is home to festivals, aquatic life, and a darling little coffee shop/ tea store called the Vashon Island Coffee Roasterie. I must admit that coffee has been on my mind as of late. The change in the weather has ensured this, as has the vibrant colors of Autumn that are beginning to peek out from beneath summer's cover. Normally I pay a visit to Starbucks for the infamous pumpkin spice latte, but the break we had between events did not permit an extensive search of the island, so we stopped in at said roasterie. This was no issue in my mind, since I am a vintage soul and I do love to visit local shops, especially shops as quaint as this one promised to be. Upon entrance, my nose was assailed by the smell of teas. (Assailed being meant in the most pleasant way possible). There were shelves upon shelves stacked high with glass jars filled with loose leaf tea with exotic names such as "African Green Leaf Tea." There was also, to my keen delight, an assortment of gluten free items. I settled upon a wheat less brownie made with local honey and walnuts. It looked simply delectable. Upon selecting my beverage, I chose to get a "rose mocha." I had to ask the barista what exactly a rose mocha was and she answered me in a matter of fact sort of tone that it was a mocha flavored with rose syrup. Well my adventurous, antiquated spirit just couldn't refuse so five minutes later I was sipping on the best cup of coffee I had ever tasted in my life. In all honesty, my taste-buds have yet to fully recover. It was just one of those, fun, little moments when you are so happy to be alive. It is true, I would rather have been somewhere in the deep jungles of Africa fighting off some tribe of war lords, rescuing children, or scaling the peaks of some snow-capped monolith, but in those moments, with a great man beside me, a rose flavored coffee in my hand, and the rain beginning to fall like a gentle caress- I was truly content. Oh, and the young lad, whose meet was the reason I was on the island in the first place, took first place overall. It was a proud moment for his family and also for me, for I admire determination and hard work above many other things, and such traits are things he possesses in excess. It was a delightful day, and a welcome change from the hermit like existence I feel I have been living these past few months. I write this all now as I am cozy in a leather arm chair, a skirt of burnt amber around my hips, a sweater donning my upper half, and rain boots the color of yellow traffic lights gracing my feet. I am awaiting the presence of two special friends, with an anticipation that could be rivaled only by the greatest of news. We are leaving shortly hereafter to frolic about a pumpkin patch, and by frolic I mean no understatement of the word. I am deeply enchanted by pumpkins. There is something so arcadian, so provincial about them... I hardly know how to describe it. They are the very essence of Autumn, and radiate a warm, agrarian feel.

      “...dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field...” -John Geddes, A Familiar Rain 

My Nightmare

Where do I begin? Life is. It simply is. My heart feels twisted, like a figure eight. I am happy, I am sad, I am happy, I am sad, and on and on it goes in a never ending loop. Most mornings I wake up feeling good, if not a little tired from sleepless nights and early morning talks with dear friends. The day will unfold slowly, some days more slowly than others, and I will begin to believe that I have been healed, that nothing in this mortal life can touch me. And then in a singular moment the questions flood in, the doubts, the fears. What are you doing with your life? Is this all there is going to be? Living in the woods of Washington, enjoying the scenery, partaking in it even, but always remaining blissfully ignorant to the rest of the world. Where is the adventure I thirsted for in my youth? Where is the destiny and greatness I always sensed dwelt within me? Washington has presented me with adventure, this is true, but at the end of the day is it ever going to be enough? My heart longs for somewhere I have never been. It longs for mountains and deserts, valleys and glaciers, battles and tribes... it longs for the wilds. And it also longs for love. But these fears are great and I wonder if I will ever experience these things. I have tasted adventure before, and I have tasted love, but taste does not satisfy craving. I want to drink fully of them. I want purpose. One of my greatest fears is to live my life without really having lived. To reach the gates of Heaven one blessed day and be faced with the reality that I did nothing worthy in this life. That is my nightmare. And right now I feel like that is where I am headed. I am 22, just graduated, and I have no clue where my life is going. I have dreams, ones that I am determined to bring to fulfillment, but I haven't a clue how they will come about. And then there is the ever present sinking feeling that accompanies thoughts of love. Have I lost my chance? Some days I feel so bitterly alone that I can't help but despair. Such are the thoughts that cloud my mind. I know I need to leave, need to see the world and all that it holds. I have felt my heart turning hard in these past days. I sense walls being built, but I am fighting them. I know that the moment those walls completely encompass my heart, they will become impenetrable again. I can not allow that to happen, but it is such a struggle. I feel cold and so far from anyone. Nothing in this life seems important enough to love anymore. Perhaps that is because everything I have loved has been taken from me. As I was telling a friend the other day, it is easier to not love because then I don't have to feel the overwhelming pain when it's gone. I know these lies are not of God but I can feel myself succumbing to them. I want to fight, but the battle is fierce and I am tired...

Living the healthy life

       Hello, my name is Alycia and I am allergic to gluten. Ugh it drives me crazy... There are so many things I can no longer eat, and while it's healthier to not eat it anyways... it's still a pain in the butt. About six months or so I started noticing how when I would eat certain foods I would start to feel sick- my stomach would twist itself in knots and I would start to feel this overwhelming sense of exhaustion. I tried not eating bread or things with gluten in them for a few weeks and wa-la- I felt just fine! However, I was too busy to be picky about what I was eating so I just ignored it, vowing to overcome this silly "gluten allergy." In fact, I used to make fun of people who ate gluten free. I thought it was some strange fad that all the naturalist, organic hippies invented. Um... I was wrong. Now I find myself perusing the grocery aisles scouring for the words "gluten free" on almost everything I buy. Did I mention how freaking expensive it is too?? Some days I feel like I would rather just power through it than spend the money on things that won't make me sick. I also cut vegetable oil out of my diet which has proved valuable as well. I use olive oil instead, which does not make my stomach hurt. I am trying to live as healthy as possible right now. I have been hiking, climbing, and exercising almost everyday, and I plan to take up running again too. I figure, I only have one body and it's mine for this life, so I want it to be the best that it can be. I love my body, don't get me wrong, but I know it can be even better, so that is what I am going to strive for. Plus I want to be prepared for all the things I plan on doing- like climbing mountains, traversing deserts, swimming across vast bodies of water... And, having chosen a career as an investigative journalist, I want to be able to always move quickly and be prepared for whatever physical challenge comes my way. Oh and there is also the fact that come 2016 women can try out for the Navy Seals, and I have always wanted to be a Seal, so...

        That's a BIG "maybe" on my part, but who knows. In any case, I want to be in good enough shape that if 2016 comes along and I make up my mind, I would have a chance. This post has been sort of a rant, but this whole gluten free thing is so new to me and at times terribly frustrating. There are far worse problems to have though, so I am done complaining. For now. Fairfarren all.

Learning to trust

         Well I am just about all moved into my new place. I have a few boxes I need to move up to the loft... I think I will wait until my back feels stronger. Today was my second day working for my friend's family, and it has been really good for me. Yesterday I hauled branches, rototilled, transplanted raspberry bushes, helped change diesel out of a bulldozer, and some other odds and ends. Today I washed windows, cut down trees, and helped move a lot of furniture. I put in eleven and a half hours between the two days, and I feel like I was able to accomplish quite a bit. Aside from those things I also got to set everything up in my little house. It feels a little more like home with all my stuff set out. Still I feel an emptiness, a deep loneliness, like I am the last person in the world. I know it's because I truly am on my own. I know I interact with people on a daily basis- an hourly basis even, but still I feel so segregated, so absolutely cut off that I sometimes start to panic. I think it's because I know that there is no one here to take care of me, no one to make sure I am cared for... no one to protect me. And if I am being blunt, that scares the hell out of me. I thought that having these new jobs would keep my mind elsewhere, give me something to think about instead of this incessant stewing over what could have been, but they haven't. In fact, I can feel myself, feel my mind starting to slip back to that familiar realm, where everything else is a blur and just one fact, one notion stands out perfectly clear. Today a new friend of mine asked if I am always so quiet or if I take a while to warm up to people. I didn't know how to tell her that this isn't who I usually am. This is not the Alycia that I was a few months ago. This is a new, tired, wary, sad Alycia and I do not know how to change her. True, I have gained things through it all- confidence, knowledge, wisdom... but everyday I judge in my mind whether the gain or the loss weighs more heavily. I simply don't know. It just feels like I lost so much, and yet I know there are people out there who have lost so much more. I feel pitiful, and at the same time, strong. This is one of the toughest places I have ever been at in my life, but whereas several years ago I might have dealt with it badly, I feel like I am making the absolute best of it.
        I still question myself multiple times a day, why are you here? You should be at home with your family- people who love and will provide for you, people who want to know you're all right all the time, a place that you truly belong. You're not the outsider there, because it is home. All these things are true. So why then am I in the little country town of Duvall, deep inside Washington, in a tiny little one, room house? I have no answer. There is no rational explanation. All I know is that God wants me here. I have ignored Him before, and lived to regret it, so no more. I guess that's my answer then. I am here because it is where God has called me to be. So while I may feel scared, alone, sick, and lost, I know He is here with a purpose for me and for my existence, and all I should be focusing on now is trusting in Him completely.

Feeling 22

Well folks, I am 22 now. I feel that my life has passed by so quickly, and I know it will only continue to go more swiftly as the years fly by. My birthday was a blast, filled with great friends- some old and some new- and it involved swimming and dancing, which when paired with sunshine... let's just say it was perfect. My mom even arranged for me to go on a "scavenger hunt" of activities, which she planned from far away California. I missed my family a lot, and I still do. I can not believe I am actually living on my own now. It's terrifying, miserable, and adventurous at the same time. Tomorrow I am officially moving to Duvall. That is something I am very happy about. I will be living with my friend's family for free, in exchange for 12 hours of work each week. I will be helping them get ready for a wedding they are putting on in July. It's going to be beautiful, I think. The house is magnificent, and situated on a hill looking out at the Cascades and the valley spread out below. They have a little house in the back and that is where I will be staying. It's adorable, and I am really quite excited. And I got my job at Stone Gardens! So many big changes in my life right now, and I wonder sometimes how I am going to keep up with them all. I feel like I have learned more about myself in the last two months than I have over the course of my entire life. I have learned of the resilience and strength a person is capable of possessing. And I have learned the cost of pride, which is a high price to pay and one that is not worth the consequences. I really do wish I could turn back the clock and fix so many things. I feel like I am kicking myself everyday for things I did or ways I acted... it makes me crazy. It is good I have things to do now to distract myself. (besides climbing). We took a trip out to Marymoor Park today and climbed for a good five hours or so. I got to lead the routes, which was very fun. Afterwards we went to the REI garage sale and I found some new pants for climbing. They are so comfy, and I think I look quite good in them (if I do say so myself). And then after all that I went to the gym and climbed until my hands couldn't grip anything. I have an addiction. I started a V7 though... I am hoping the guys can give me some beta on it because I would really love to finish a 7 (or a 6 for that matter). Oh and I ordered a guide book from Barnes and Noble today. I am super psyched because it has all my favorite places: Vantage, Leavenworth, Exit 38, etc... I am going to be SO ready. The only problem is that I do not have a climbing partner... :( I need a husband. haha. I also need a set of cams. Those will both come in due time I suppose, though as far as the first one goes I am quite impatient. Well that's all for now, time to try my hand at sleeping again. Fairfarren all.

The Pursuit of Me

          I am at a strange point in my life. I can feel deep within my heart, that same familiar tug that always accompanies thoughts of home. By all logic, that's where I should be. It's where my family is: my mom, my dad, my brother, my beloved horses, my dogs, the sunshine, friends... it's safe and it's familiar and it is a place that I have found comfort and belonging in for the last 22 years. This will be the first time I spend my birthday away from my family too, and the thought makes me so sad. I miss them, and I miss home fiercely. I facetimed with my family tonight. The screen door was thrown wide open, signaling that familiar, wonderful warmth that accompanies California summers, my brother had just gone for a swim in the pool, my dad was reading one of his plane magazines, the dogs were curled up beside each other, and everything just felt so good, so terribly inviting. I want to cry just thinking about it. And yet, something within me is holding me back from returning. Something that screams adventure, something wild. For the first time in my life I feel like I need to do something on my own- I need to make my own way. And still, it scares me to death.
         
          I have been spending a lot of time in Duvall, Washington lately, and it is there that I feel excitement and belonging. It's a beautiful, quaint country town nestled in a lush, green valley and absolutely surrounded by mountains. I have met so many amazing, lovely people from there, and every one of them has been like a beacon to me, one more reason to stay where I am. And the mountains... I love the mountains here. They call to me all the time, and I yearn to explore their depths, to become acquainted with the caverns and the meadows and the cliff ledges. I want to traverse forest streams, to dive beneath the waters of the Sound, and to climb some of the hidden gems tucked deep within the hills. I just want to run until I become too tired to think or move or breathe. Most of all, I need to find myself, and I think that in order to do that I need to lose myself in the wilds, and in the unknown places. Last week while on a hike, I found myself coming to the end of trail after trail, only to start on a new one because I felt this frantic urge to keep going, as though I was chasing something. I would come around a corner or push my way through some thick ferns, and I would catch a glimpse of the elusive being I was pursuing: me. I have felt so alone these last few months, like I have no one here, like not a soul in the world cares- and that has scared me. I used to think I could handle solitude, and now I understand just how hard it is for me to deal with it. I have never been alone- I have always been surrounded by people, but now that I am alone with my thoughts, and with my future looming large and undetermined in the foreground, I feel myself begin to cave beneath the weight of them. But maybe this is where I need to be. Maybe this is going to teach me the value of being alone. Maybe I can finally discover myself.
         
           Home is safe, but I'm not sure that safety is what I need right now. I think I need danger, I need the unexpected, I need to feel what solitude truly feels like, and I need to know that I can take care of myself when no one else is there to. In the beginning I was simply choosing to stay here for the wrong reasons, I was still clinging to some disillusioned hope for the future, but now I know I need to do this for me. I have to start thinking about myself and about the future I will lead. So whether I eventually return home, or I decide to stay forever in Washington, I know through it all I am me, and that is something that will never change.

Love yourself as... yourself.

         Tonight has been one of those nights where I just can't seem to fall asleep. The same fears and doubts begin to creep up on me and I find myself clutching, reaching for something that seems just out of my grasp. I could look at these times as negative, destructive, and overwhelming, but I think that it is in these times that God teaches me the most. While soaking in the tub, I started to think back to Sunday school days and muse upon the many sermons preached at me over the course of my nearly 22 years. As christians we are taught to love our neighbor as ourself, but I think there is a lesson we should be taught before that one, and that is to love ourselves as ourselves.
       
        I can remember sitting in Junior High- I went to private, Christian school my entire life- and staring at one of those glossy, laminated posters hanging on the wall of our classroom, that read: "The golden rule: love your neighbor as yourself." I remember thinking to myself, what if you don't love yourself? How do you treat your neighbor then? At twelve I was just beginning to understand what self-loathing was, and let me tell you, it was a long, arduous journey that led me to where I am today. I used to get teased in middle school for being chubby. Unbeknownst to myself, a lot of kids go through that phase where their height hasn't quite caught up with their weight. I was a victim of such. I recall sitting at the lunch table in fifth grade, and a little boy in my class pointing at me and saying, "Alycia would eat anything!" That crushed me. I went to the bathroom and cried. By the time I was in seventh grade, I started skipping meals at school. My mom wasn't there to know that I was doing it, so I felt like I could get away with it pretty easily. I don't think I consciously thought that I was trying to lose weight, I just thought maybe the other kids would stop calling me names if I ate less. By the time high school rolled around, I was full-fledged anorexic. I could go days without eating- I remember going a week one time and though I felt weak and sickly, I was so proud. My weight dropped drastically, to the point of malnourishment. I was 5'8" and wearing size zero jeans. People would look at me and then immediately look away or start whispering to one another. My friend's mom saw me one day and told me my collar bones were ready to pop out of my skin. She bought me a cupcake, but I threw it away. I had mastered self-control or rather self-punishment. I bought Vogue magazine and poured over the various fashions. I aspired to be a model, I had the figure for it- but I still never saw myself as good enough. I still looked in the mirror and told myself I was fat. I would frown at the spray of freckles across my face and arms, and I would laugh- it was an angry laugh- one that I swear was of the devil himself. It said, "You are ugly and no man should ever want to have you for his own." I believed it. By my senior year of high school I started cutting myself- something I swore I would never do. It all happened so quickly though. I used to look at the cuts and believe they were penance for my unworthiness. They were the scars of shame that I would bear forever, so that everyone could see that I was wretched.
       
         In college, my eating disorder came and went. My freshman year I gained some weight- the freshman fifteen as they call it. I was too caught up in having the time of my life though, tasting freedom, climbing trees and hiking into the wee hours of the morning, to worry about my appearance. My junior and senior year of college are when the eating disorder really started to occur again regularly. It was much easier to get away with it while living away from my family. I hid it well. You might think, well Alycia, you just finished your senior year. Yes, this struggle is not an old one. It has followed me for nine, long years. It has been the bane of my existence. It was not until one month ago that I realized I could choose to love myself.
       
         Love is, ultimately, a choice. When you marry a person, you are committing to love them forever. It may not always end up that you do stay married forever, but that is the initial intention when agreeing to marry someone. In the last few weeks I have been interacting with married couples a lot and hearing their perspectives on this whole concept of love and marriage. They all say the same thing: you choose to love your spouse. There is the honeymoon stage in marriage, when love is everywhere and life is perfect and romance runs rapid, but after a while that stage begins to fade away, and you are left with something called reality. Maybe some things your spouse does start to bother you, or maybe something he or she believes begins to eat away at you, and suddenly loving them begins to feel more like a chore than a privilege. It is somewhere in these times that a lot of marriages begin to suffer. This doesn't even necessarily apply to marriages alone, but to relationships in general. Friendships, boyfriend/ girlfriend relationships... it all begins to feel strained. It is in these times that love becomes a choice. You will wake up in the morning and decide to love your husband or your wife or your boyfriend or your girlfriend or your best friend. That is what commitment is about, choosing to love. I have found that loving yourself is no different than loving someone else. It is a choice. You must wake up in the morning and decide that "today I will love me for me. For all my shortcomings and all the mistakes I have made and have yet to make." I was talking to a friend earlier, and she was telling me how much she dislikes herself and how she can not see herself as desirable. I tried sharing my experiences with her, but she said she did not know if there would ever be a time in her life when she would be ready to love herself. That's when I told her there is no perfect time to start because we will never add up to all that we want to be. As humans we put conditions on ourselves: well, if I just lose ten pounds then I can start to like myself, or if I can just accomplish this task well, then I will come to appreciate myself. This is destructive, and if we wait for the perfect time, we will be waiting our entire lives.
         
          Sometimes I sit in front of a mirror and just stare at myself. This sounds slightly vain or even odd, but I find it so strange how little about myself I know. We are constantly looking at other people, talking and interacting with friends, seeing strangers at a grocery store, glancing over photographs... how often do we spend time looking at ourselves? I don't mean the kind of looking where we are applying make-up in a mirror or trying on clothes or brushing our hair... I mean the real staring, trying to get to know yourself kind of looking. So many people feel awkward looking at themselves in a mirror if there is no reason for it... but I find it fascinating. So here is my challenege: go find a mirror and just sit in front of it and look at yourself. Don't talk, don't try to make yourself feel less awkward... just try to see inside of yourself. After you've done this for a while, and you feel more acquainted with you, then start listing things about yourself that you like. You can do this out loud now. Aim for just six things the first time. Here are my first six:
1. I like the color of my eyes
2. I like my smile
3. I like my adventurous spirit
4. I like the writing skills I possess
5. I like my skin
6. I like the compassion I feel for people
Try to do three physical attributes you admire and three characteristic attributes. It can be difficult at first, you might feel conceited, but just let those feelings dissolve behind the truth. Try to do this everyday, adding six new things to your list. It is so interesting how much you can learn about yourself just by doing this simple thing. Before, I had a hard time looking at myself in a mirror. I felt embarrassed at what I saw, and quite frankly, disgusted. Now I can look at my reflection and feel like I know myself, I feel like I am greeting an old, dear friend that I love and admire, and someone I want to be around. Something else I have discovered is that when I love myself, people want to be around me more. People feel the confidence radiating from me, and it draws them in like bees to honey. It is a beacon of sorts. In a world of uncertainty, people want to be certain of something, and one thing you can be certain of is yourself. Sure, you'll mess up and you will let yourself and others down, but you will always be you, and you will always learn from your mistakes and turn them into valuable lessons. I also firmly believe that you can not love someone else until you love yourself. You have to practice commitment to you before you can begin to commit to another human being. Loving yourself should be a journey of self-discovery. It should be exciting, just as loving someone else should bring excitement and joy. And yes, there will be struggles along the way, but they are worth it, and in overcoming them you become all the more strengthened.

         As nice as it is to be around someone who loves themselves, it is equally difficult to be around someone who hates themselves. I was in a really great relationship with a man who loved me and who told me I was beautiful and worthy and great. My self-loathing, however, tore an enormous hole in my confidence, and as a result tore an even bigger hole in our relationship- a hole that sadly could not be filled again. I'm not saying that my lack of self-esteem was the only cause for our failed relationship, but it can be attributed to part of it. This same, great man once told me that it is hard to love someone who can not love themselves. I get it now, and though I never would have wished this heartache on myself, I realize now how much of a lesson I have been taught through it- a lesson that perhaps I never would have learned otherwise. It has been such a wake-up call, and my prayer is if you don't take away anything else from this post, take away this: loving yourself is a choice, and one that only you can make. No one else can make it for you. 
       
        Thank you for reading my blog and I pray you can glean some truth from it that will make your life all the more richer. Fairfarren all. 

Pride Goes Before A Fall

Some days I'm a bit like a mule. Well all right, most days. I'm stubborn, prideful, and I tend to believe other people should change their ways before I ever consider changing mine. I think back to high school when I was sure I had met the boy I was supposed to spend forever with. However, I was 15, naive, and quite frankly, just a dumb kid. There's no way I could have possibly known where my life would lead me today. I also think back to my first car. It was a truck actually, a bright, blue, 1963 Chevy with a wood bed and a wrap around windshield. My parents cautioned me that an old truck like that would be difficult to drive, hard to maintain, and wouldn't get me any further than an hour or two distance wise. But again, I thought I knew what was best so I got it. I still have that truck, but sadly it sits in a shed most months on my dad's ranch because I'm not there to drive it. When it came time to choose a college, I had my mind set on Simpson University in Redding, CA. However, my parents had other plans-God's plans- and I ended up at Bethany in the Fall of 2009. Oh to be sure, I fought it and raged, and insisted I hated it there. Bethany was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I have known for a long time that I possess a stubborn pride, but it was not until recently I realized it wasn't something to be proud of. For the entirety of my life I have taken pride in my stubbornness, because I mistook it for strength. I thought if I didn't back down from something, then someone else would have to and that would make me the triumphant victor. Sad to say, I have been the victor many times, but it's never been a satisfying victory. It has always been at the expense of hurting someone else. Sometimes being strong isn't about winning, it's about letting someone else win. It's humbling yourself, before God and before man and asking what you can learn from a situation as opposed to thinking about what you can teach. God places people in our lives, like parents, friends, teachers, even complete strangers, to teach us things. I know these days I certainly listen to my parents more because of the wisdom they have incurred over the ages, and because in the past when I fought their will and tried to blaze my own path, I failed. They say pride goes before a fall, and lately it feels like I've been falling down a lot. I think if I can learn to get rid of the pride, I'll save my hands and knees the pain of falling on them. And it will take time I know, but I'm ready for the change. A life free of pride- now that's living.

Adventures in Vantage- the gypsy life

          This weekend my dear friend Lynnea and I decided to take a trip out to Vantage, Washington- a hot spot for climbers. The weather promised to be nice, we have all our own gear, and we both desperately needed a getaway from the chaos of life. So we packed up on Friday and headed towards Eastern Washington. I was wearing an American flag shirt with blue jeans and my cowboy boots- not exactly the sort of apparel one might find at a crag, but I did feel very patriotic. It took about three hours to reach Vantage, this including our stop at a sketchy Safeway for food. I was so incredibly happy when we finally rolled into the camp. We parked the car and then just sat there looking at the towers we were going to be climbing and coming up with ridiculous scenarios we could find ourselves in. We must have spent the first 15 minutes just sitting in the car laughing until we cried (something we do quite often when we're together). Finally we decided having driven all that way we should at least get out of the car. We packed up our gear and headed to "the Feathers"- a grouping of free, standing basalt columns that, strangely enough, don't quite resemble feathers. We climbed for several hours, taking on one especially difficult route called "Hardening of the Arteries." It felt so good to be outside again, on rock that wasn't slick as a freshly mopped floor. The weather was a bit cool, and as always, there was a biting wind that liked to stir up dust and chalk and sweep them into your face. Several hours later we decided to call it quits and go off in search of hot dogs. Yes, strangely enough both of us were craving them. Vantage is situated basically in the middle of nowhere, however, so we knew finding a place that sold hot dogs would be a difficult feat. We drove back over the bridge that crosses over the Columbia River to the tiny little town of Vantage where there was a general store, a couple gas stations, and a handful of other little buildings. Much to our chagrin, the general store was closed, so we settled upon exploring the neighboring Texaco. It was run by a robust woman with a rather cross disposition. When asked a question she had the tendency to look at us as though we were from another planet and hadn't a clue what she went through day in and day out.  I decided to buy a cup of noodles( the store didn't have a whole lot to offer okay?) but when I tried to use my card she gave me another of her looks and told me I'd have to buy something else first or pay with cash. I sighed and took my card and noodles and browsed the store trying to fathom what else I could want to buy. In the meantime, Lynnea found a dusty can of soup and some bologna. Later I watched her eating that bologna in a state of disgust. Bologna is something I find detestable, but apparently, to Lynnea, bologna tastes like hot dogs. Feeling hurried, I snatched a bag of Chex mix and placed it on the counter beside my noodles. I felt like a champ when she approved me to use my card. "Need some hot water?" she asked. I nodded and she directed me to the coffee maker, where a spout for hot water was situated. After that she seemed to grow a little more friendly.
           "It's great you're open at this time," I said cautiously, testing the waters of our friendship, "Nowhere else seems to be."
           "Well honestly, if I hadn't told so many people I'd be open until nine, I'd be closed too!"
           "But you are a woman of your word." I stopped, hearing in my head just how ridiculous I sounded. I grabbed my noodles and my chex mix and headed to the car. We slept that night in the back of the Subaru. Lynnea had laid out a thick, memory foam pad, and we had a pile of blankets and covers- we were really "roughing it" as they say. I would have slept rather well I believe, were it not for the baby in the tent next to us that was not content unless he kept everyone in the camp awake with his incessant crying. Well needless to say in the wee hours of the night I started to feel a bit angry towards babies. The following morning, however, I had the privilege of meeting the source of the racket, and my heart softened a bit. His name was James and he was very cute. I took pictures of him and his dad, and then to make myself seem less like a creeper I asked the man for his email address so I could send him the photos I had just taken. The remainder of our time at Vantage was spent climbing at a place called "Sunshine Wall." The towers on this side are much taller and offer much more of a variety as far as routes and difficulty. It takes a small hike to get there, and a scramble through a chimney that has been dubbed "the birth canal." The weather here was brilliant and hot, so we took off our shirts and climbed like gypsies (or what I imagined gypsy climbers would look like). The first route we did was called "Steel Pulse" and was exceedingly long, with the first bolt being about 15 feet off the ground. Lynnea led it perfectly though. Our second climb was equally long, being entitled "Boschido." We set up next to a foursome of beginner climbers who were attempting a fun 5.7 that wrapped around inside a chimney. Peter, Molly, Tristan, and Hannah were there names. I remember this only because they were very loud and were constantly shouting at each other. Molly was the funniest of the group. When Lynnea and I first walked past them in search of our next route, she exclaimed that we looked like tribal goddesses. She had no idea just how much she was flattering our vanity. Later we struck up a conversation and Hannah asked if we were in high school or college. My first instinct was to be offended. High school?? Then I remembered that in twenty years or so I'd be thankful that I look younger than I am. When Lynnea started the climb, Molly kept exclaiming what a bad ass she was and how awesome we were. When it became Molly's turn to climb I swear it sounded as though she were giving birth. There was so much grunting and shouting and cursing...my initial thought was that she would never make it in the zombie apocalypse, but later I decided I liked her so maybe she could... If I helped her to survive. Problems started happening then. Lynnea discovered she was out of quick draws before she reached the chains. Now, this can be a problem on so many different levels. Luckily Lynnea is resilient and she was able to make it to the top (how, I am still not sure). We then discovered that the rope was just barely long enough to reach back down to the ground. One end wasn't even touching it, just resting above it several inches. Lynnea tied into the anchor with her daisy chain, but felt nervous because she had nothing to back it up with in case it failed. It was an intense several minutes until she was back down. Our new friends then offered us a beer and I said that I would definitely take one once I got back down from boschido. I climbed it as quickly as I could because, truth be told, I wanted that beer so badly. I had a few tense moments when climbing the last section of the face- my fingers managed to fit into some little cracks that I never imagined they would have been able to- but I made it. I anchored, switched to my rappel and discovered I had set it up backwards as I was going down. Oh well. Once on the ground again I was rewarded with my beer (Coor's Light- of which I discovered I do not like). After this, Lynnea and I decided to call it a day so we packed up our stuff, hiked back to camp and then drove away in search of a stream. It was gloriously hot, and I could feel my back and the top of my head burning while I belayed. We found a small stream by the roadside and followed it a ways until the brush became too thick to traverse. It was than we discovered the mosquitos. Or rather, the mosquitos discovered us. I still have giant welts all over my back and arms from the nasty buggers. Strangely, Lynnea has none! Must have been her stench keeping them at bay. From there we decided to head home and decide on the way whether we wanted to give Exit 38 another try. We stopped at our favorite fruit stand, Thorp, on the way, a historic mill turned produce and antique emporium. We bought fruit rolls, fruit, and a peach smoothie. I have noticed that each time we have stopped there has been after a climbing trip, and so we go inside filthy, bloody, and looking rather windblown. Luckily the town of Thorp is a little plot of country life that forgives us of looking our worst (even though I am convinced it is in these times we look our best). Besides stopping again in Cle Elum to purchase some much needed oil, it was a straight shot home.
            Here comes the second part of our story. Are you tired of reading yet? Well I should hope not. We live terribly exciting lives after all. The next leg of our adventure involved archery. For you see, just because we had arrived back home does not mean the excitement ended. Lynnea and I carry excitement with us everywhere! We decided to practice our shooting skills in our favorite spot in the woods. We toted our bows and target down there and then contented ourselves for the next hour or so aiming at dandelions and missing most every time. At one point, whilst searching for missing arrows in the tall grass, we thought to pretend our arrows were wands and so we had a spell war. We do not know many Harry Potter spells so it did not last long. Then, at some point, I challenged Lynnea to a sword fight. Of which she accepted. We spent a good twenty minutes running around the woods fighting with our swords (arrows) and we even had Pirates of the Caribbean music playing from my phone. This is probably the most dweeby we have ever been together. Following our duel, we packed up and headed back towards home. The remainder of our evening consisted of Anne of Green Gables and laughs, and only ceased when an emergency of which I am not inclined to disclose happened upon our door. So... this was quite a long post, but I am enamored with details, as most writers are, and so I will offer no apology. Here's to adventure in all forms! Fairfarren all.

There Is a Reason We Don't Climb in the Rain...

       Today was quite the climbing experience! We had planned a trip out to Exit 38 which is over around North Bend, and the weather forecasts promised sunshine... until this morning. My friend Lynnea and I checked the weather again and it said this time there was a 30 percent chance of rain, which in Washington is pretty low. So... we decided to chance it. Three of us girls piled into the Subaru (along with all our gear) and drove to the bus station in Kirkland where we picked up our new Australian friend, Kel. On the way to Exit 38 it started to rain but I wasn't too worried. I was confident enough in my skills as a climber that I thought, "A little rain can't stop me!" Upon arrival, we hiked up to the main road where the different walls are situated, and my friends were starting to make comments about the slickness of the rock and how maybe climbing wasn't such a good idea. Well I would hear nothing of the sort. While Lynnea and Kel set up rope, I dragged Shelby with me a ways down the road to a spot I had climbed at before. I was so terribly excited to use my new rope and draws, but seeing as I only had six quick draws, I had to pick a route with fewer bolts. After a long walk we selected one and set about "flaking" my rope (basically making sure it's not tangled or knotted). This took an unfortunate amount of time. Finally I was able to tie in, clip on my draws and begin the climb. I will admit I back clipped a few times but I really am getting better! There is this little phrase Shelby gave me to remember which way. "Just remember Alycia, you're always on top!" Well, seeing as how I am incredibly mature, I can't help but laugh every time I hear that. It does help me remember though. So, in total this route only had three bolts- each bolt was spaced out pretty far from each other though which I thought was fairly sketch, but when you are at a point in your life like I am, you really don't give much care or thought to your safety so I decided to go for it. The first thing I realized as I began to climb was just how slippery the rock was. Footholds were near impossible to find because they had become so slick. I found myself relying heavily on handholds. The first two bolts were not very difficult. There were some nice jugs to use and some hand cracks, and so I felt fairly confident. The third bolt was harder to get to because of the slickness, and so when I finally was able to clip in, I felt quite relieved. For this next stage, I had to get over the crux and tie into the chains at the top so I could set up my top rope. The only problem was that there was no way I could do that with how wet the rock was. There was absolutely nothing left for me to cling to. Every time I managed to lock my fingers around something, they would slip right off- same for my feet. After several agonizing minutes I decided the only thing left to do was traverse across the face and try to climb up over the other side. The only problem with this was that I would be climbing a very long way without clipping so if I slipped it would be a bad fall. I managed to make it up and over the top, but it was then I realized there was no way I could reach the chains from where I was at. They were situated over a ledge that (without being properly clipped in) I was not willing to attempt to reach over. Shelby was very worried at this point and was calling out for me. I scooted as close to the edge as I dared and we conversed back and forth for a while trying to decide what was to be done. I finally decided to untie from the rope and climb back down from another spot that I thought would make an easy descent. I untied the rope and then told Shelby I would climb back up to get my draws once I was down. The only problem after that was I discovered there was no good way down. "Down" led to a steep drop into a ravine that would not have been pleasant, and up led to more cliffs. I tried my hand at both ways, trying to find some way off the cliff edge, but there was absolutely no reasonable way down. Now by this time, I had disappeared into the woods to try to find an escape, and Shelby had no way of knowing where I was. She kept shouting to me, and though I answered back I don't think she could hear me. At one point I stopped moving and just laughed. Here I was barefoot, bleeding, muddy, and soaked, stranded on the top of some cliff with my friend below me, helpless. It dawned on me then that this is what "living" truly feels like. It was glorious. I found a pair of chains and tried to get Shelby to throw me the rope so I could belay myself down. However, I was quite high up and Shelby is an awful aim so that soon became out of the question. I hiked back down to where I had started, and feeling desperate, I told Shelby I thought I could jump. This put her into a frenzy. "DON'T YOU DARE!!"
"But I'll survive!" I shouted back, "I may break some things but I'll be free!" Well she was upset enough at my suggestion that I decided against it, only deciding to draw on the idea again if I was still stranded in the next hour. I inched my way to the edge, sitting dangerously close, and hoping that the rock my foot was on didn't give way. I sat here for a while watching Shelby's vain attempts to toss the rope to me and laughing occasionally from bursts of adrenaline warning me that this was not a safe position to be in. I didn't care though. I finally decided enough was enough, and so I started to climb down what I imagined would be a less fatal route if I did in fact fall. Let me tell you something... in those moments, I was more flexible than I have ever been in my life. My legs stretched in ways I did not know were possible. After an excruciatingly long and treacherous climb I finally made it back down to the ground. Shelby threw her arms around me and apologized for the string of curse words that had left her mouth in the time that I was stuck. However, there was still the problem of the draws. At first my plan was just to solo the route to the point where I had left my third one, but once back down on the ground I realized that would lead to certain injury. I tied back into the rope, and started to climb (barefoot still). I clipped through the first two, retrieved the third, and then climbed back down the route, cleaning it like a boss. When I reached the ground again I was ecstatic. I knew I had just done something dangerous and stupid and yet it thrilled and excited me. I think I am a lot less scared of heights now.
So today I learned that:
1).  It is possible to be over confident
2). Climbing in the rain is stupid
3). Adventure and danger go hand in hand and I would never trade them for any guarantee of a long life
I LOVE CLIMBING.

Graduation and climbing ropes- a long time coming

        Tomorrow will mark the end of almost 17 long years of school. I will be graduating from Northwest University, and right now I am feeling a plethora of emotions. Graduation is coming at a hard time, I have been through a lot of heartache lately, and so while I am beyond excited to be graduating, there is also a part of me that feels sick and alone and at times hopeless. I have been trying to stay hopeful, I really have, but it just gets so hard when you feel like you weren't good enough. And yet, I know I was good enough, and that I still am- the fact that tomorrow I am graduating from college should be proof enough! I still wonder sometimes what I could have done better, how I could have been a better person. It's not fair that I feel the need to think like this. I know who I am and I love who I am. And still the sick feeling wells up in the pit of my stomach and I know it's about to drown me. I feel crushed.
       
          For an amazing grad gift I got a climbing rope! It's a 10.2 mm Mammut and it's red. I really wanted blue, but Mammut does not make 10.2's in the color blue unfortunately. I am so excited though!! I feel like climbing is the one thing I can do to forget the pain of the present, and when I really focus all my energy and time on it, I begin to forget matters of the heart (if not for a little while anyways). It has become a passion of mine. I need to get some quick draws now so I can be all set for sport routes. It's going to be awesome :) Oh, and I think I have decided to possibly study Aramaic next year- hopefully take a class when I get back to Seattle. That way if I do decide to pursue a career as a war correspondent, I'll be ahead of the game. So many options for the future, and I find myself wishing for just one that I sadly no longer have the luxury of choosing. I have been hanging out a lot with my married friends and I think they are so lucky to be able to share such joys and such happiness with one another. Marriage is so beautiful and I am so grateful I see that now. It is truly an awesome privilege.

         Good night world, I am off to search for sleep. Graduation is going to be a very very long affair, and I feel that I may fall asleep through it. And if you remember, please keep me in your prayers. Pray for my heart specifically, and its nasty habit of always trying to kill me. Much thanks.

The Thrill of the Mountain

         I am staring out at the snow capped Cascades while the world around me is cloaked in green and sunshine. There is a warm wind blowing from the East and the weather is somewhere in the high 70's. I can't recall more perfect weather in Washington, or a more perfect place to experience it. We're still in Duvall on a piece of land that I swear God graced with His own good hands. It is so breathtakingly beautiful here. We are surrounded by forests and there is an orchard sprawled out below me on a downward slope that leads you deep into the heart of the woods. I haven't had much time to explore down in there, but yesterday we did a really cool photo-shoot. My friends and I made shirts and crowns out of willow branches, leaves, and flowers and then we frolicked through the trees with my bow and acted like we were some fay that dwelt there. I think I had myself half convinced that we were. The only downside of the experience were the stinging nettles which found their way into my foot. But really when I think about the fun we've had, that barely counts at all. So, back to right now. I am lying on a trampoline, wearing shorts and a tank top and wishing desperately to be in the Cascades. I have always loved mountains, and I know one day I want to live in some, but there was a period of time in my life when I forgot how much I loved them. I feel like someone is waking me up from a deep sleep. There is something mysterious about a mountain. Perhaps it is because they are so big, so vast, and so unexplored. You could climb the face of the same mountain for your entire life and never step foot in the exact same place twice. Mountains are some of the world's last uncharted territories- places preserved by their cruelty. A mountain can not afford to be kind. They continue to test the will and strength of men, because only the most worthy can climb them and walk away with something more than accomplishment.
 
          In my books I always write about mountains. They always serve as the setting for some sort of epic battle or dangerous feat. And they are always where the main character goes to discover themselves. I am quite convinced that God has a deep love for the mountains as well (aside from the fact that He loves everything He created). Think about it. How many times do mountains appear in the bible? God always seems to be meeting people on top of mountains. He gave Moses the ten commandments on top of Mount Sinai, he tested Abraham on top of a mountain, the prophet Elijah challenged the false prophets of Baal atop Mt. Carmel, Jesus taught His disciples at the Mount of Olives, after the great flood, the ark came to rest atop a mountain, and finally, Jesus Himself was crucified atop Golgotha- not exactly a mountain, but it was indeed a high place. Why does God choose to reveal Himself so often at the top of a mountain? I think this idea can hold a lot of symbolism too. God will meet us on top of our physical mountains, but also our spiritual and emotional ones. The biggest struggles in our lives can seem like mountains compared to everything else around us. We trudge on and on with our burdensome packs, weighing us down with the guilt, doubt, and sorrows that are unique to each person. Just when you think you've reached the peak, just when you think the burn in your legs will subside, you pass another corner and the slope stretched onwards, or perhaps a giant crevasse opens up at your feet. Sometimes there seems to be no way around, or the exhaustion in your spirit halts you and you think to yourself, "there is no way I can go on." That's where God meets us. In our moments of giving up, when we feel the least likely to succeed. When God gave Moses the ten commandments, it wasn't just a little hike Moses was going on for fun. He, and the entire Israelite population were wandering the deserts, afraid and feeling alone, having just escaped from Egypt. God met him in his fear. When God met Abraham atop his mountain, Abraham was about to do the unthinkable: sacrifice his son, Isaac. Why? Because God asked Him to. This was no minor test, no little trial, this was life or death, and Abraham passed because God met him there. Likewise, God met Elijah when he was terribly outnumbered and being mocked by those false prophets of Baal. Jesus met with His disciples at the Mount of Olives in their confusion and uncertainty, and God met His only son on the hill of Golgotha, where He had to turn a blind eye and let innocent blood run. Why? Because He knew one day He would need to meet us up on our individual mountains, in the midst of our tragedies, our heartaches, our sicknesses, and our fears. Not only did God form the mountains of the earth, but He can also move them, which means He can easily move the mountains in our lives. God gave me a vision several years ago of me standing on top of Mt. Kilimanjaro, and the continent of Africa spread out below me like a map. I wasn't alone though. God was there, standing right next to me, and I know He was awakening me to my calling. I have a date with God on top of Kilimanjaro. I'm not sure when, but I know that He is waiting to meet me there. It is promises like these that keep me hoping, keep me climbing and striving to reach the destiny God has laid out before me. Like any mountain climb, training is a must so that when we reach our mountains we can conquer them. Next year I am planning on conquering Mt. Rainier, and this summer I'll be giving Mt. Shasta a go as preparation. I am so excited to get the chance to explore some of God's most magnificent creations and in the process gain insight into my own struggles against the mountains in my life, so that I can divide and conquer.  

Sometimes all you've got is prayer

It's so beautiful out here, like I'm staring at a postcard. I'm in Duvall, Washington for the weekend with my friends- taking a much needed break in the gorgeous country side to relax and study for finals. We spent the morning studying, and then we traipsed around the woods awhile exploring and taking photos. Afterwards we hit the town for some ice cream. I'm so blessed to experience the things I do. Now it's back to the books and I'm left alone with my thoughts. Like so many other places, this town brings memories. It's like no matter where I go, the memories flood me and I'm left breathless. How can you go from knowing a person so well to suddenly becoming strangers? It breaks my heart everyday. I wish I could rewind time and change some things- maybe I could have spared myself this heartache and pain. It haunts me to no end that I made someone miserable. I really am trying to keep my thoughts positive, but the more time passes the more sorrow I feel. I wish there was somewhere in this world I could go to stop it, but there isn't. Nothing I can do will change the past or the present. I had so many dreams, so many things that made me smile but now it feels like I'll never get any of those back.
       God, be kind to my heart and give me peace. Too many nights I've lain awake, unable to close my eyes, too afraid of my dreams... I feel exhausted, worn out, and sick. I know there's so much more to life than this, so just help me find it. And above all, help me not to harbor anger or judgement. You are so good, and I believe there is a reason for everything you allow to happen. Grant me wisdom, strength, and peace.

Where are you finding your identity?

If you had asked me a month ago where I find my identity, my answer would have been terribly different than it is now. A month ago I thought I was terribly happy, wanting for nothing and ready to take on the future. Boy was I mistaken! Yesterday I was interviewing my supervisor at World Concern for my internship, and she said something that really stuck with me. She said, "You'll never have your life figured out. It will never be what you expected it to be." Those are words that have the ability to strike panic, especially to a 21 year-old about to be graduate. Strangely though, I felt more peace than anything. Peace and comfort. So after stewing over this concept for awhile, I asked myself this question this morning: where do you find your identity? In my life I've known people who found their identity in a lot of different things. Some people place their identity in their job or career. When this happens, that person's mood and joy comes and goes with their accomplishments or advances in their work life. So say they are unable to finish a project or something goes wrong on the job...these people who are tied to their jobs see themselves as failures based on their performance. Still others base who they are on relationships. When a person does this, they are setting themselves up for failure, because you need to be confident in who you are as a person before you enter a relationship. Why? Because if not, you run the risk of getting swept up in the identity of the other person and you base so much of who you are on them and on their choices. And still others find their identity in tradition. So to answer my own question... My identity can only be found in the one who gave it to me in the first place. And so that is where I search for it. Lately my prayer has been for God to reveal who I am to Him. What does He see in me? Beauty, strength, a strong will, compassion... He whispers these things to me like a soft wind and it is then that I become aware of his deep, deep love for me. It can't be quenched or overcome like human love. This love, it is divine and it is everlasting. There is nothing we can do to make God stop loving us, because there is nothing we did to make Him start loving us. It is simply a love without end. I have so much more to learn about who I am, because as I've said before, there is never a time in your life when you suddenly know everything there is to know about yourself; however, I am content in knowing that God will reveal all of that in His timing.

The Cost of Forgiveness

      Some times in our pain we feel the need to lash out, to strike those who hurt us so deeply. I won't lie, I have struggled with bitterness and anger lately. I question that person everyday in my mind. Why wasn't I good enough? What else could I have done? Why did you hurt me like this? I still wake up in the mornings not quite comprehending reality until the pain sinks in again and I know that this is all too real. And then the questions rise in my mouth like bile, and I can't help but feel the sinking despair all over again. I have realized something though, and that is bitterness will lead you down a trail you don't ever want to take. Even though someone hurt me badly, I could never desire to hurt them in return. That is not how we have been called to act, that is not how I seek to live my life. I want my relationships, all of them, to be ones based in forgiveness. There is nothing so big in this world that we could do to make God not forgive us. His love is so great and so unconditional, and that is what I want my love to be like. If I never enter into another romantic relationship in my life, then fine. I just want a spirit of forgiveness so that no matter how I have been wronged, I can always find it within myself to forgive and forget just as my savior has done for me my entire existence. None of us are deserving of grace, but still He gives it to us freely. Why then should I try to put a price on something I received free of charge? Don't get me wrong, forgiving someone is one of the hardest things in the world, especially when you have been crushed so badly. It is not in my human nature to simply turn the other cheek, which is why I MUST rely on the divine nature of God to intercede for me in this. I know it is not something I can do alone, and honestly, I fight it sometimes. But what good is that? It's true, I have lost joy and my heart and my passions, but those will be back one day, and until then I have gained a deep appreciation for people who commit to loving one another forever and who truly value such things. And I have gained a deeper love for my family and for the family that I will have one day. Forgiveness is no easy task, but it is well worth it for everyone. 

Home, the place my soul was born

        Let me take a moment away from my grief and focus on something I love. Home. I love home more than I could possibly say. Today I face-timed with my family (if you are familiar with such a thing) and it was amazing. My poor grandma was so confused... she kept saying she didn't like it, and didn't know who the girl in the box was hahaha I was dying. Home, for me, is nestled in a California valley, with emerald green rice fields, blossoming orchards, and a sky that stretches on forever. From my backyard you can see the Sutter Buttes (not pronounced butts)- the world's smallest mountain range AND home to a volcano. My dad is a rice farmer and our ranch is spread out across 2,500 acres. My favorite thing to do is ride my horse out across the fields, down the dirt roads, and past the acres upon acres of walnut trees. I like it best at a smooth gallop, throwing up dirt and stones as we soar pass white breasted cranes and flocks of blackbirds. At certain times the blackbirds start to overrun the fields and so my dad turns myself and my brother loose on them. We ride our quads, shotguns nestled in the crook of one arm and open fire on the greedy pests. This is one of my favorite past times. As a child my favorite thing to do was build forts, which I did with my cousin Zach and my little brother. We would stack as many wooden water boxes (structures used in the field to let water in and out) as we could find and then we'd make tunnels and secret entrances. We would also "borrow" letter openers from the ranch office and wield them as daggers and throwing knives. I once hit my brother clean in the head with a hammer because I was trying to "kill a goblin." Needless to say my mother is much more frightening than any goblin so I never tried again. While my grandparents and aunts and uncles live on the ranch, our house is about a 15 minute drive. It lies just over the Feather River, riding the outskirts of Sacramento. It is a beautiful brick house with a long driveway flecked on each side by rose bushes and citrus trees. There is a beautiful, black, cast-iron gate at the entrance to the driveway that opens conveniently with the press of a button. Our front lawn has a large pole in the center, with a proud American flag attached. The backyard is really quite spectacular. There is a fish pond, with a waterfall (of which my mother dug herself), a large pool, a dozen grassy paths running every which way, arbors full of fresh wisteria, lush, green bushes, towering trees, several rose gardens, a courtyard, and a darling, red barn where the horses reside. Did I happen to mention that there are over 300 rose bushes? This has served in deeming our home the unofficial title of "Roseland Estates." These of course do not include the thousands of other plants and flowers that grow wild in the soil. Coming home is like walking into a storybook, the kinds that you read as a child. You know the ones I'm talking about. They had fairies and unicorns, knights and dragons, enchanted forests and whimsical meadows. In the summer we light lanterns, torches and little tea lights and send floating candles into the pool and pond so that the whole back yard is bathed in a magical glow. There is music and dancing and summer foods like sweet, juicy melons, barbecued meats, salad with strawberries and walnuts, potato salad, and fruit pies with homemade ice cream dripping off the top. My little cousins take me by the hand and I help them play hide and go seek in the dark- they never leave my side. We have races and play soccer and baseball, and skate up and down the driveway. Sometimes we race our dirt bikes and quads out in the orchards or challenge one another to a horse race.
        I think my favorite times are when dusk is just settling in the air like some fragment of floating lint, and my mom and I go out to ride bareback, with the setting sun still warming our backs and the promise of a new day fresh in our minds. After that we get ice cream cones and fill them with sticky, sweet sherbet, trying to steal bites from each other. After my parents have drifted off to sleep my brother and I sneak out into the yard and swim until midnight or watch movies or just talk until sleep takes us. I like taking sheets and blankets out into the backyard and falling asleep beneath the stars while my cattle dog nestles close against my side. Or sometimes I will take a blanket into the horse pasture and fall asleep against one of the horses. It is in times like these that I long for home. A place I know to be safe, comforting, always welcoming of me and all my sorrows and all my experiences and regrets. A place where I can lay my head at night and not worry about what will haunt me in my dreams. A place where I can wear anything and feel terribly fashionable, a place that I don't fear the aches of the heart and the tragedies of this cold world. At home I drive an old pickup truck, a 1963 Chevy. His name is Jesse (and I have suspicions that he is in fact a transformer). That truck and I have caused so much ruckus, broken so many young, cowboys' hearts, and witnessed more sunsets together than I can count. It is the place that I feel most myself in this entire world, and it is the place that I pray God sends me to tonight in my dreams. I could say so much more, tell so many stories about home and the blessing it is to me. I could tell bad stories too, because no home is perfect, but it is the people, who make a house a home. And my family... they are my favorite people in this entire world.
     It is 1 in the morning and I am off to try to find some sort of sleep. Good morning.

The Great Protector: You Need to Love Yourself Before You Can Love Someone Else.

      Today has been very rough. I woke up with that familiar, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The one that hits me randomly throughout the day and never gives me a hint until I'm almost doubled over. If I'm being honest, I feel like I have lost all joy, all passion for the things I used to have. I stare in the mirror sometimes and wonder where I've placed my identity. My path, my future... everything seems so uncertain and so foreboding. The sun outside is shining, but sometimes I can't see it. I can't see past the cloud over my eyes. And the pain... the pain comes with the memories. They attack swiftly, like an organized squadron of killers. They assault my mind first and then my heart. I feel volatile and alone despite the numerous arms of support around me, and though I try sometimes I can not help but succumb to the tears. This is a journey, not one that I would have ever willingly chosen to take, but one that I feel God has thrust me onto. It is a path with winding curves, tunnels, and ditches so that I can never see what lies along the next leg. I questioned myself for so long, what did I do wrong? What could I have possibly done better? How could I have been better? I felt as though I had failed, not only myself but those I loved most. And so I began to pray and seek God's counsel and the counsel of others. I have come to realize that I have a few flaws of character that are subtle but deadly. All of these things I have mentioned in prior posts, but I find it healthy to continually remind myself of them so I can seek to become a better woman. 
       
       The first and most important thing that has been lacking in my life is confidence. In high school I struggled with eating disorders as (unfortunately) many girls do, and though I overcame them physically, I never thought to see if mentally they had been fully suppressed. My image of myself has been a poor one for years. I have a terrible habit of comparing myself to other people through looks, strengths, intelligence, anything that I feel insecure about. I constantly use the example of Utah, when talking about this sort of thing, but that is because it is such a monumental time. One afternoon we had packed up all our stuff and were heading out to climb Castleton Tower in Moab. Everyone was very excited, everyone but me. I was scared and feeling down because of some mistakes I had made earlier in the day. We were in a rush, so our pace was hurried, and I could feel myself starting to lag. I was feeling tired, hot, and apprehensive. Halfway to the base we stopped and agreed we were moving too slowly. Now at this point I was already on the verge of tears because I was feeling embarrassed by how slowly I was moving and how tired I already felt. Then the suggestion was made that we run the rest of the way in half an hour. My heart dropped because I knew there was no way I could. My friends asked what I thought and instead of being able to tell them honestly how I felt, I began to cry. This entire time, whispers had been flying around my brain, whispers that told me I was not good enough, that my friends were disappointed, and that I had failed. These whispers have haunted me since my youth. I don't exactly know when they started, but I do know they have been my constant companion. I think all my life I have been looking for someone to protect me from these whispers, these doubts. I have searched for my protector in friends, boyfriends, and family, but it was not until I surrendered myself fully to God- faults and all, that I began to feel the chains of bondage dropping away. The whispers were finally silenced. This has been such a long process, such a long time coming that sometimes I find myself slipping back into my old habits, but I ALWAYS catch myself before I sink. 

       Looking back at Utah, I wonder how I could have ever thought my friends would judge me. They are my friends after all! People who love me and care about me and could care less about how fast I can run up a hill or what level of climbing I'm at. They just wanted to be around me, see me happy, and share in the magical, adventure that was Utah. I have been blind for far too long, and all my anger is directed towards the devil and his schemes in trapping and ruining the relationships in my life. He stole a lot from me, but I am stealing so much more back. I have freedom now, freedom in who I am and a confidence that NO ONE, I repeat, NO ONE can ever take from me. 

      So yes, while these feelings of heartache and deep sorrow are with me today, I have hopes for tomorrow because I know I will not make the same mistakes again. I have let a lot of people down, but today that changes. 

"Do not let your adorning be external—the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear— but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious."
                                                                                                                 - 1 Peter 3:3-4