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      

Confessions of a WOMAN.

       Okay, I promise this isn't going to be a blog with only deep, philosophical posts... there will be some carefree, dancing in the sunshine sort of ones, but for now I just need to get some things out for my own sanity. Most of you know me pretty well, and if you don't well that will come one day I'm sure. For those of you who do know me, you know that I like being "tough." I love rock climbing, archery, guns, hunting, scuba diving, camo, and the military. I love the feeling that comes with accomplishing an impossible route, I love the feel of the arrow as it leaves the string and the way it flies across the open air, I love the feel of the trigger against my finger as I prepare to open fire, I love the thrill of the hunt- tracking some wild beast through brush and forest- through their domain, I love exploring the depths of the ocean and seeing things that some people only ever dream about. I love adventure, plain and simple. It has been programmed into me, like a GPS. I know my soul will always lead me to places of excitement and danger. But there is another part of me that I have become very accustomed to hiding. It is behind this wall of "toughness, masculinity," that somewhere along the line I forgot I was a woman. 
      
       Now, that may sound a little extreme. I don't mean I actually forgot that I have breasts and have the capabilities of giving birth, but I did forget that I am a feminine being, capable of being tough AND tender. I entered a stage in my life when I began to ridicule married women and look down on them especially if they had children. I scoffed at the female whose devotion was to her home and not her career, whose loyalties lay with her husband and children rather than her talents and opportunities. I looked in shock (and yes, at times even disgust) at women who enjoy such things as sewing, scrap-booking, crafting, etc... I saw them all as weak and conquerable, and so I vowed I would never let my femininity win over my strength. So I started to make a lot of "woman jokes," make comments about women in the kitchen, or say things like "that's woman's work." I used to say that all the time to my mom in the grocery store when she asked me to push the cart. I would stop, stare at her, and then utter those words. Of course, seeing as how she brought me into this world and can most certainly take me out, I always took the cart very quickly afterwards. Children became a nuisance for me, some accidents of nature, creatures that I would not tolerate- like gremlins, mischievous. Baby sitting became the worst form of punishment, and still I could never understand how the darn kids always liked me so much! I started to wear camo a lot and collect knives. Now, let me just say that I still love knives desperately, and they are still some of my most valued possessions, but I think in those days I placed more of my identity in them. I am not entirely sure where all this came from. Perhaps it was my way of hiding after being hurt one too many times. I thought if I didn't act like a woman, maybe I could keep my heart safe from men. 
      
        Here comes the confession part: I AM A WOMAN. I love to bake, pies especially. I love dresses... I wear them more often than not, and I own well over 50 of them. I love gardening and flowers. Right now I have a green house on my back porch and it is my pride and joy. I dote over those plants like I imagine most mothers dote over their children. I recently planted a garden with a friend, and it has not yet sprouted... I am devastated. Sometimes I watch romantic movies (the notebook especially) and yes, I often cry. I have been planning my wedding day since birth (like every other little girl), and yes... I LIKE CHILDREN. In fact, I plan on having children! When I was younger I had it all planned out: I would live with my husband in the wilderness with our 9 children and we would be homesteaders. My children were going to be named: Julian, Arya, Peter, Rose and Lily (twins), Violet, Elijah, Edon, and Julia. And I still really want my firstborn to be a boy so he can protect his sisters. In my daydreams we would have horses and cows and would grow/ hunt for our own food. I wanted to homeschool my children and keep them away from things like television, however I did plan on making them watch Lord of the Rings quite frequently (all joking aside). I spent a year planning all this out. Every time we took a trip to our cabin I would disappear into the woods and practice making weapons and gathering edible plants, and just preparing myself for this future I was so certain I would have. My question now is where did the disconnect occur? When did I start seeing these things as weakness instead of dreams? When did I see women as meek, malleable creatures?
    
        Pain did this to me. Heartache did this to me. I think about my own mother. She is such a strong woman, both physically and in temperament. If there is any woman in this world whose ethics of hard work I want to mirror, it is hers. And yet, she had children. I am a living, breathing testament of that. She was not weakened by that. She was strengthened. The amount of stamina and will and pain it takes to give birth is unimaginable. I cannot begin to fathom such, and yet I know one day I will. And I am okay with that! I want children, want someone to pass on my knowledge and memories to. I want to show them off to family and friends and strangers. I want to be proud of something that is truly my own, something I created. I know I am not ready for children right now, but one day I will be. I have become confident in the fact that I can be a woman AND a badass (pardon my language). To be as blatantly "tough" as I have been trying to portray myself these last few years is to take away from the man who I am destined to one day marry. I have come to realize that there is a reason that men and women are different, and that is not just the obvious physical ones. You see, a woman's desire, her defining character beckons the question, am I beautiful? Am I lovely? Do I captivate you? A man's question is very different. His begs, Do I have what it takes? Am I strong enough? Am I truly a man? There is a reason these questions are so different. Man was made after God's warrior side. He was made in the image of a fierce God, a provider and a protector. Woman was made in the image of God's tender nature, His love and His compassion, His comfort. We are two very different, yet equally important embodiments of God, and until we understand this, it will be hard to know what our roles as men and women truly are. Honestly, I could spend the rest of my life talking about this subject, but the hour is late and this post is already WAY too long, so I will just recommend that you read both Wild At Heart and Captivating by John and Staci Eldredge. These books have been SO beneficial to me in coming into who I really am as a woman of God. 

       All this to say: I am a woman, and I am darn proud.