Check out my new blog site!

The time has come for me to move! I will now be making Wordpress my full time blog site. It just seems to make displaying my photography easier and it has more options for me to utilize! Thanks for following me! 

~Alycia Renee  

Here is the link to my new site: 

http://ascheidel.wordpress.com/

Come and Die

      It seems that for my entire life I have asked myself the question, what bids a man to come and die? What force is so strong that a person will willingly go to an early grave? I remember first being fascinated with such an idea at age eight. I used to write stories, elaborate ones that never made it to paper. These were formed in my head- an unlimited space larger than any hard drive and one that I did not fear losing. In my stories the hero, or most often, the heroine, would set out on an adventure or a quest so large and so seemingly impossible, that one could wonder how an eight year old managed to fabricate it. In every case, whether the protagonist was a young, Irish girl, beset by divine dreams that damned her as a witch, a young queen who found the world suddenly thrust into her arms due to a betrayal, or a group of orphaned children set on a path of death to avenge their slain kin, a great choice presented itself and demanded of those, who would accept it, great and often fatal sacrifice. My stories have always been riddled with people who chose to embark on a mission much larger than themselves, one that they did not fully understand, but one that the fierce longing in their hearts and very souls would not allow room for hesitation. The heart has always allowed questions, for questions are how we discover, not only ourselves, but the world around us. You see, doubt and inquiry are two different beasts entirely.
   
     When I was ten or eleven I had a best friend whom I loved dearly. One night at a sleep-over I told her I would go to any length to protect her. The other girls laughed and asked me how far I would go to see her safe. I turned to them, somber and unsmiling, "I would die for her." They believed me. Unbeknownst to me, I had made my first commitment to something larger than myself. For greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Perhaps it makes sense then that I have always possessed a deep respect for members of the military. The concept that someone would willing give of their life to defend the lives of others drives at my heart and invokes passion in my soul. There is no greater honor. Even now, I am in love with a man, a soldier, who will undoubtedly risk his life for others. Tears grace my eyes thinking about it. These tears are complicated. They hold sadness and fear, but also great wonder. I have never been so proud of a person, and when I think of him and the selfless cause that he fights for, I long to be there. My wish is not just to be with him, though that would be a dream, but with all my heart I long for something worth dying for. Not long ago, I  realized that every character I had ever written into existence, who went to die for something, was me. Even at age eight I was searching for a cause worthy of my life.

     I think I have finally found something worth dying for. Instilled deep within me, is a desire to see people saved. This love for Africa that I possess is not only a calling for my life, it is a calling for my death. For all my life God has asked me the question, will you die for me and the work that I have called you to? Will you die for the children whose lives are torn apart by greed and hate? Will you die for something so much greater than who you are? What are you willing to die for? I have been afraid! I will admit it. Death is foreign to us- a people so well acquainted with life. I don't wish to die, and the truth is that I don't even know how or when I will pass. All I know is that when God does call me, I pray that it is the result of a greater work. I pray that my death brings freedom and peace to others. I pray that it is a source of inspiration and strength. And I pray that through it, others will see the glory of God.

       So, what bids a man to come and die? What makes the soldier pick up his gun and enter a battle that perhaps would not affect him otherwise? I still don't possess those answers. Perhaps it's different for each person or perhaps it is all the same. I know, for myself, to die for a cause that serves to save people and bring them to freedom, is the greatest love.

       Below, I have posted a link to an interview with a remarkable, young photojournalist who was recently killed due to conflict in the Central African Republic. This woman had a passion to change the course of history and I cannot help but mourn her death as if it were the loss of my own dreams. My prayer is that I can continue her legacy by picking up the work that she left behind. For you see, Camille found something worth dying for. I pray that we all become so lucky. Because when you do find something that you will die for, it is then that you know you are truly living for something.

http://petapixel.com/2013/10/22/hidden-world-south-sudan-interview-photojournalist-camille-lepage/

The Beginning of My Journalism Career

Well, this is it. Everything I have ever dreamed, hoped, and prayed for, in regards to the start of my career, is finally happening. I have received my first ever photojournalism assignment, and it is going to take me deep into the heart of Africa. I have not been able to come up with a word yet to describe what it is I am feeling. Ecstatic, joyful, thrilling... none of these possess enough power. I need a word to describe the goosebumps that rise up and down my arms and neck, the race in my heart, the wide smile, the confidence, the determination and, yes, the fear. Understand, I do not fear danger or harm to myself, I fear failure. I fear failing the people that I am going there to serve. I fear that I don't have what it takes to convey the magnitude of stories that I will encounter. That is why I have been studying, researching, madly scrutinizing photos from other journalist's travels, trying to determine what captivates an audience and which photos can be simply looked past. At times I find myself stumped and other times I feel utterly enlightened. Sleep still does not come easy to me, but now it's because my thoughts are haunted by "what-if's." This journey I will be embarking on is no simple task, no walk in the park, no "easy street" stroll. Some journalists are "eased" into the field, starting local, building their resumes stateside so that later on they can breach the outside world. Not me. Come to think of it, I don't think I have ever done anything the easy way. The funny thing about all this is that I am a person who desperately lacks patience. For four years I remained in an agitated interim. My nights were filled with dreams of Africa, as were my days. I used to wonder what it was about that land that so captured my heart. I tried to make myself see Africa in a sensible light as so many of my family members seemed to- dangerous, hopeless, and a waste of time. What I found, however, is try that I might, I simply couldn't. Africa is to me as heaven is to the saint: unknown, vastly illusive, but at the same time, thrilling- a place the soul longs to be. I was reading an article by a New York Times journalist about his experience working in Africa. His name escapes my memory, but I distinctly recall him talking about his love/ hate relationship there. He hated the war, the genocides and the evil, but still he went back again and again. He HAD to go back. Why? He talked about asking himself that same question. He went back because he loved the people, the land, the beauty. He both loved and hated Africa. I am deeply inclined to believe that is how I am going to feel by the end of all this- not just after this tour, but after my career has become wholly underway and I have spent a large portion of time there. That is a long ways ahead though, so for now I must focus on the task at hand. How do I capture the sorrows, the turmoil, and more importantly, the triumphs of such a complex continent? I urge you, reader, to offer up your insight. What is it you want to see? What sort of stories and pictures affect you? What tugs at your heart strings reminding you of your humanity? I have always been a firm believer in the power of the written word, and now I am an equally strong believer of the power of a photograph. Both of these mediums- paired with a passionate, creative, willing and determined heart have the undeniable potential of changing the world.

Always Faithful

      Semper Fidelis. Let us now have a word about faithfulness- a word that, I fear, has been lost to the ages. What does it mean to be faithful? In my experience, being faithful isn't always easy, in fact it may be one of the most difficult things a person attempts to do. To be faithful to something takes a certain amount of passion and devotion, two things that have the likelihood of fading with time. All too often we start out on a journey of faithfulness (a spiritual high if you will) and in those early days it is easy to stay committed. We have not yet felt the crushing weight of time or the friction of this corrosive world. Our faithfulness comes in the form of pridefulness, devotion, or, most often, duty. The Marine Corps has a slogan: semper fidelis. This simple, Latin phrase is translated to mean, "always faithful." When I first heard this phrase, I was taken aback. Always faithful? As in, forever? That takes a lot of commitment, a lot of patience, a lot of passion. When a person is sworn in as a Marine, they are essentially giving their life to the values and cause of the Marine Corps. Having several family members who have pledged their lives to the armed forces, I knew the gravity of such a promise. You are not only giving up your life in the sense that time is no longer your own, you are pledging to give up your life in an utterly physical sense. Death. What a morbid thought to dwell upon. Morbid it may be, but noble all the same. I often wondered if I could ever find a cause worthy enough to be "always faithful" too. I also used to think that it took a special sort of person to live out such faithfulness, for the cost of it is very high. Sacrifice goes into faithfulness as much as anything else; sacrificing the desires and wants of your heart for the betterment of the whole. Anyone can become faithful to something, that is easy. The difficult part is remaining faithful. It takes patience and determination, and an agreement with yourself that even when the task of being faithful seems nigh impossible and when other people are questioning your wisdom in remaining so, that you stay utterly steadfast. I think of the Marine who, on the eve of battle, his own life a great question, still remains faithful, still remains determined, though sweat and tears may mar his brow and his hands shake as he cleans his gun. Perhaps it does indeed take a special sort of person, someone with a spirit bigger than the world around them. Faithfulness is lacking in the world today, and I am afraid that all too soon it will disappear entirely. I will not be the one to let it wane away. If the Marine on the battlefield can stay faithful to his cause, even when his own existence is being called into question, then so can I. Faithfulness is born of love, and love is something that does not easily die.

“Some people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them," I said.

"Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway.” 

-John Green 

My Journey to Know God- Day Six

     After today, there is only one day left of my challenge. In my heart though, I know I will continue this journey, because to know God will take a lifetime! Longer even than that! Allow me to tell you a little bit about young Alycia. My dad is a rice farmer, and I grew up on a beautiful plot of land nestled in the heart of the Sacramento valley. At a young age I was given the keys to vehicles (mainly trucks, quads, and tractors) and was expected to be able to drive them from "point A" to "point B" on the farm. Some of the best days of my life involved racing my cousins across the ranch on our quads, hooting and hollering like a group of banshees straight out of hell. We used to take my grandpa's old paddleboat out into the lake and fish and swim until dark. Then we would make the short trek to grandma's house for marshmallows and root beer floats. Summer was my favorite time of the year, when school let out, and we were unleashed on the ranch for a whole three months. In those days we did just about whatever fancied us- more often than not we wound up in some form of trouble. In those days, those golden years of my youth, it was easy to smile, it was easy to be happy. Worries were things we read about in chapter books or watched on adventure shows. I guess the only real worries we had were how much time we had before bed and whether or not we'd be allowed to play outside the next day. These days worries come in different forms. I worry about a lot of things- the well being of my loved ones, money, relationships, my future... I worry about whether or not I am actually losing my mind and if it's even possible to know if it's being lost. To say the least, I don't smile as much anymore. Some days it takes something truly extraordinary to make me happy. When I am talking to my mom on the phone, she often comments on how unhappy I sound. "You know, you could always come home, honey. You'd be happier here." As much as I would like to agree with her, I know it's not true. These feelings are not a result of my surroundings, they are  reflections of what is in my heart, and for the longest while, my heart has been empty.

      On day six, I was working at Stone Gardens and feeling rather useless. Business was slow, and I had done just about every mind-numbing chore I could think of doing. I could feel myself starting to crash, my entire body's energy levels dropping dangerously low. One of my co-workers sweetly hinted that dishes were piling up in the staff room. I stared at her a moment before nodding my head ever so slightly- enough to show minimal politeness, but to also express my immense displeasure. I gathered up the heap of reeking dish ware, and headed towards the sink in the back, haphazardly balancing mugs and mason jars filled with suspicious green and brown substances. (Rock climbers eat and drink the strangest things) I filled up the sink with soapy water, placed the first dirty dish in, and BAM! I felt an overwhelming sense of joy. I had to keep myself from laughing out loud. There was a suspicion in my head that some of those brown-green substances contained some sort of drug that upon inhalation had turned me loopy. But alas, it was no drug. This was God, yet again, revealing, in His way, the character trait of the day. God is joyful.

    I have learned that there is a difference between "happiness" and "joy." Joy is lasting, happiness is not. Happiness comes from your environment, and joy comes from the soul. God's joy is limitless and immeasurable. It can not be defined by human standards, nor can it be fully understood. I know one thing that brings God joy is the well-being of His children. God does not rejoice when we endure suffering, though He knows how to rejoice in the midst of suffering. God's joy is everywhere, I have seen it in so many things: in a child's laugh, in the eyes of the passionate, in the downpour of rain, in the majesty of a mountain, and yes, even in the face of great tragedy. I happened to ask God what makes Him most joyful. He responded, Seeing my children joyful. 

Well that's a "text book answer," I thought. Joyful about anything in particular? 

I find most joy when my children turn to me, when they turn to find joy in righteous and noble things. I know you felt joy in things today. Tell me about them.

I felt rather silly listing off things, that I knew God was already very much aware of. Well, I found joy in training for my new job, I found joy in meeting new people, in washing dishes, in making people happy... 

All noble things. 

I scoffed at this remark. Noble? Not hardly. They were more like dull, ordinary things. 

And who is to judge what is "ordinary?" Certainly not man. 

But I want to find joy in adventure, I protested, And in truly helping people. I want to change the world. 

You must first find joy in little things, He said patiently. Little things are the keys to big things. A little key may unlock a monstrous door and who knows what that door may hold? How much more sweet will those "big things" be after you've learned to be content with the small? 

I had to soak that in for a few moments. What God was saying went against the very fabric of humanity. Satisfaction in a little? But we are people of the extravagant, of the "super-sized!" Little things do not hold up in this world. Little things are squashed like bugs on a windshield...how am I to take joy in bugs? But I recalled the joy I had felt at work, and the joy that had followed me the remainder of that day. That was not something I had fabricated. God had given it to me. Thank you for giving me joy. 

Thank you for looking for it. 

Had I gone looking for joy that day? Maybe not intentionally, but I had allowed myself to be open with God. I had allowed Him access to my heart and my trust, and maybe in doing that, I had been looking. Some days joy seems lost, like a cloudy memory of better days, but I know that in a trice it can be restored. After all, my God is joyful... and more than that, He IS joy.

My Journey to Know God- Day Five

     On the fifth day of my journey I decided to go on a run. There is a trail that runs through the little town of Duvall and ends in North Bend, at RattleSnake Lake. It is 31 miles, and I will tell you now that I did not do the entire thing, though I am proud to say I put several miles beneath my shoes. I do not often run outside, not in public anyways. I prefer running through wooded areas, through ferns and forests, in places where I am certain to meet few people. Running down a well-known trail is not something that I am often inclined to do, so this was a pretty big deal for me. Fortunately, the day was cold and dreary, as is Washington custom, and few people had ventured out. The first few miles were rough, and I began to regret the neglect I had been showing to my legs. After a while though, I fell into a comfortable pace, and my mind and eyes began to wander. The landscape around the trail is actually very beautiful. It leads you through agricultural valleys, with small, picturesque farms, streams, and some remarkable views of the surrounding mountains. To say the least, I was enchanted. Even the cold, which normally drives into me like a stake, seemed to have relinquished its power. I felt incredibly at peace, as if it were only God and I on that long and misty trail.

     On my way back, I slowed myself to a walk, took my earphones out, and soaked up the silence. I asked God who He was, and what He would reveal to me today. I heard no voice, no answer in my head, and so I decided He was not yet ready to tell me. As I stared into the passing waters, the fields impregnated with new rain, it occurred to me how strangely calm everything was. There was no wind, no leaves blowing, no trees bending, no ripples in the water; it was simply still. I happened to look up then, just as an eagle was gliding noiselessly overhead. It did not appear to be in any sort of pursuit, no hunting, no seeking... in fact, the eagle looked like it was enjoying itself, caught in some invisible current, floating above the tree tops and the lives of people down below. In that moment God spoke to me. Still. I am still. I laughed joyfully. In the stillness He is there, in the quiet He is present. God is as powerful in a silent fog as He is in the rage of the storm. How truly remarkable. Later that night as I began my prayers, I realized that even then God is still. He is still because He is listening. Perhaps that is another of His traits, or perhaps it just goes hand in hand with Him being still. God listens. Even when we are sure He isn't. He is always listening, even when I am droning on and on about my worries and my upsets and my sorrows. I am amazed at His patience, for I know that my own complaints are tedious enough. To engage in an entire world's complaints? Well, God is remarkable.

"How can a being so powerful as yourself stand being still? I have a hard time being still for one second."

"And that's why you've had a hard time finding me. I dwell in the stillness. There is peace here." 

"I feel like being still is... a waste of time. We only have one life."  

"You were created to glorify me. Do it in the stillness." 

"That always sounds, forgive me, a little selfish." 

"Is it? I did give you life, I give you love and mercy. I want your appreciation." 

"Isn't there a difference between appreciating and glorifying? Don't get me wrong, you deserve praise..." 

"But?" 

"There should be no 'but.' I'm stupid to question you." 

"I have no problem with you asking me questions. Questions spark conversation, and I love to talk to you. It's when you have doubt that I have a problem." 

"We've been over this time and time again. I am trying, but trusting is so hard." 

"I know, and I am proud of you for it. This is the closest we've been in a long time. You've learned so much already, and I can not wait to reveal more of my heart to you." 

"I regret not having done this sooner." 

"What matters is that you're doing it now. Just don't lose it." 

"But you can see the future... you're God! You know if I am going to stray or get lazy..." 

"But the choice is up to you. You can choose to continue relationship with me, or you can choose to end it." 

"Well obviously I choose you." 

"Good. Just remember that when distractions arise. I'll always be here, you just need to seek me out." 

"In the stillness?"

"In everything." 

     I really have a problem with being still. My mind is apt to wander into realms too deep and too profound for it to be, so I try my best to keep my body busy and my mind occupied elsewhere. When I begin to settle is when I begin to fall back into the deep bog of discontent and mindless worry. I think, that in these times, I need to focus less on myself and more on God. What is it He is trying to convey? What does the stillness hold? It was a moment of stillness that led me to begin this transforming journey, and I do believe that many more journeys lie in wait in the quiet of God's presence.
   
      "Be still, and know that I am God." 

My Journey to Know God- Day Four

      There are days when I wake with a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach. I open my eyes and go to breathe, but it feels as though all the air has left my lungs, and quite suddenly I'm drowning in an ocean of despair so wide and so thick that I am overwhelmed. In moments like these I don't try to fight it. I know too well how futile it is to resist the smothering fog. This blanket of misery is often knit from anxieties of a future that has not yet come to pass, or from a past that has all but settled. I find myself at the mercy of these terrible times, and I swear to you, sometimes I feel like I am going to die.

     As a rock climber, I have had my fair share of "close calls" and moments of panic when fingers and feet begin to slip from their slivers of rock, and the ground rises up to meet me like an old friend. It is amazing how good the smallest piece of rock can feel when you're scaling a 1,000 ft. mountain face. A two inch crimp can become just as good as a platform, and the slightest indentation in the rock can become a heavenly foothold. There is nothing in the world that beats the feeling of grasping a solid piece of rock and knowing you have made it that much further on your journey to the top. I think of these moments as "hope" moments- when you feel as though there is no possible way you will be able to take another step, let alone finish the climb- and somehow, you do. God is my every hope moment. On the days when I feel like life is too long and too burdensome, He appears to remind me that I am here for a purpose. When I look out across the snow-capped Cascades and begin to question why my life has driven me here, He shows me why. When I am left reeling at the loss of a friend, and tears are blinding my judgment, He becomes my eyes. It is truly amazing how the smallest word from Him, the tiniest sign, can change my day, my world, completely.

       I constantly question God, His intentions, His plans... too often I am in a state of distrust. Still He offers to me the one thing that I need most, hope. Hope that tomorrow will dawn, hope that my life has a purpose, hope that my heart will not burst from the burdens within it, hope that I will never be alone. His constant bestowing of hope tells me one thing, His love for me knows no bounds.

"So God, you're hope huh?"

"Hope to those who will accept it." 

"How do I remember to hope? It can be so hard sometimes." 

"Every relationship takes trust. Just trust in me." 

"For people like me, who have been hurt so often, it's hard to trust." 

"A relationship without trust is also void of love. If you love someone or something, you will trust them. You need to love first." 

"But, a person can love you and still betray your trust." 

"Yes, such is the way of mankind. Please, do not judge me by man's standards. My love is unconditional." 

       A God who supplies us with endless hope and love, unconditional love at that... how is it that we still find excuse to deny Him? Someone like myself, who has grown up in the church, who went to Christian school from Kindergarten until my last year of college, who studied the bible inside and out- why is it so hard for me to trust? God has always answered my prayers, in one form or another and He has always provided for me. This summer, when my heart was broken, He restored it. When I was agonizing over how I was to return to Africa, He opened a door. He has always supplied me with hope, and now here I am, yet again, faced with trials that wear at my soul. How will I withstand them? Will I weep and wail, and stare hollow eyed into the foreboding fog? Or will I stand tall with the knowledge that God is hope. He has always delivered me from the trials of this life, and He will surely do it again. Some days the choice is more difficult, but I know that my God saves, and His unconstrained, unreserved love shall see me through.

My Journey to Know God- Day Three

       God is a contradiction. A paradox, an amalgamation, if you will. He is a divine being with a character composed of conflicting ideas. In the bible we see Him taking a meditative stroll through a garden, and in the very same book, casting out demons and calming storms. He is capable of great calamity and great kindness. My God is an assimilation of ferocity and gentleness.

     As a kid, you probably heard folks say that you inherited certain traits from your parents. Some boys adopt the work ethic of their fathers, some girls receive the rebelliousness of their mothers (or visa versa). It is a rare thing when a child does not obtain something from their begetters aside from physical similarity. On the third day of my lesson with God, I realized that I have acquired the ferocity and gentleness of God. This dawned on me while looking back over the years of my life, my hobbies, the things that captivate my mind, and the things that I did on this particular day- day number of three of my pilgrimage. Now, my mother bequeathed to me a lot of beautiful china and expensive glassware that had been collecting dust and bugs in an old drawer in my cottage. This fact sorrowed me, so I set out that morning to right it. I spent the early part of the day tenderly washing each and every plate, hand drying every piece of crystal, and airing out place mats and other linens. Now, when evening came, it was a different story entirely. I began my first kravmaga class, and spent the majority of that night beating on my classmates, getting beat on in return, doing push-ups, laps, squats and burpees, and learning to fight. Our instructors yelled and screamed and smacked us upside the heads when we failed to do maneuvers correctly. To say the least, it was a far cry from my dish washing experience of earlier. As vastly different as these two pastimes are, I enjoy them both. My very soul bears a divine love of things fierce and quiet. I am a rock climber and a scuba diver, a lover of strong winds and mountains. I have chased lions across African plains, hunted deer through lush forests, and climbed great spires stationed deep in immense deserts. In the same lifetime I have enjoyed lace and pearls. I have sang for great audiences, taken tender photos of children, read more books than I can recall, drank deep of love, and yes, I even created a "Pinterest wedding board." The urges within my being are wild and impulsive, but riddled with grace and beauty. God's own character lives within me.

        "God, sometimes I don't understand your subtleness. Why not just make yourself more known? Why don't you just put yourself out there? So many more people would believe if you revealed yourself in a way that they couldn't deny." 

       "When a teacher is showing you something, do they simply tell you the answer? Or do they show you the steps to get there? You learn so much more in the searching."

       "Okay, well tell me this... are you a perfect balance of fierceness and gentleness? Does one outweigh the other?"

       "Read my word. You tell me." 

So I did. I discovered that God's gentleness comes from His love for us. God's love is deep, not measurable by any human standards. When we betray that perfect love, it breaks His heart and His punishments fall swift. But there is ever a love, a gentleness behind every blow of retribution. If God was only fierce, He would smite us. Clearing the world of us would make His job much easier...but He doesn't because of His immense love. His love and His mercy stay His hand.

      Right now I have a lot on my mind. Some days my heart breaks, but right now I am so joyful. God has done so much for me, more than I could ever hope to have deserved. He is a dream-giving, merciful, fierce, gentle God and for the first time in my life I am truly beginning to know Him.


   

My Journey to Know God- Day Two

      The second day of my pilgrimage started off slowly. I went through the motions of my daily routine, getting dressed, eating, dreaming, trying to keep my ever harried mind occupied, but never fully dwelling on what that day's characteristic could be. My mind did travel back to the night before, but with the vision from the mountaintop still fresh in my brain, all I could do was dwell on the fact that God was a dream giver. It had occurred to me, that it would certainly take more than one day to dwell on the magnitude of such discoveries of God's nature, but I was not going to question God's idea; I have learned all too well how fruitless it is to doubt Him. That day I drove to the climbing gym, where I work, eager to release some of the pent up tension I was feeling. Now, a few days prior, my phone had been stolen from the gym during my last shift of the day. I had been without a phone for about three days, which only served to fuel my frustrations. When I walked into Stone Gardens, my boss informed me they had caught, on videotape, the man who took my phone. I was overjoyed. Vengeance! I was ready to beat the living daylights out of that guy. What right had he to steal something that did not belong to him? What right did he have to make my life more hectic than it already was? I could not wait to file a report with the police. When they came, I gave them my information, gave them a description of my phone, and the times and location where the theft had occurred. Then the officer asked me if I wanted to press charges. Of course my natural instinct was to say yes, to tell that officer to clap him in handcuffs and toss him into the back of his car. How suddenly passionate we become when we feel wronged. Instead, the answer that came from my mouth, which served to surprise both myself and the officer, was no. For some reason unbeknownst to myself, I had pity for this young man and the desire to keep his name off the record. True, this young man deserved punishment for his crime, but I was not the one to give it to him. After the report had been filed, I went back into the weight room and resumed my work out, a curious puzzlement settling over me like a cloud. What had just occurred? A few hours ago I would have loved to exact punishment on this guy, to make him truly sorry for what he had done, but instead I had shown him mercy. Mercy. That was it! Just like that, God had revealed another characteristic to me, one that I had always been taught he possessed, but something I had never fully grasped until right then. My dream-giving God was merciful. How many times had I been in that man's place, having made some mistake, having told some lie, having hurt someone... and yet never received what I truly deserved. How many times had I ignored the advances of a God who simply wanted me to know Him, and though He had every right to give up on me, still sought after me? The truth of this was mind blowing, and right there in that gym, amidst the hammering of weights, the stench of sweat, the sound of rubber soles scraping the walls... I had a revelation. Later that evening, tucked snuggly away in my bed, I had another of my riveting God conversations.

     

God, why do you show me mercy?

Because of my love for you. 

But how can you love someone who hurts you so much? 

I created you. Child, you compare my love to that of a man's. I am God, the beginning and the end. I created love. 

Sometimes I forget your love. Well, A LOT of the time I forget your love. I wander my own paths and I just sort of lose sight of it, and of you. 

But haven't I always found you? I search, and then I wait for you to come to me. I've always been here. 

But God, who should be seeking who? 

A relationship takes two. I am always seeking after your heart, but you in turn need to seek out after mine. This isn't one-sided. 

Why does it feel so hard to find you sometimes? 

You're not truly seeking. Think of your best friend. You know her inside and out. How? You spend time with her, you laugh with her, cry with her, you've held each other. Eight years you've had together and look how close you are. I've been with you your entire life and we do not have a relationship half so strong. 

I'm sorry. 

And even now you doubt. 

Because trusting hurts. 

Don't you think I know? I was betrayed by my closest friends, I was betrayed by my chosen people... for all of eternity I have been betrayed. My name has been rebuked and slandered. Still, I love. 

But I'm not you! I'm not perfect! I doubt! 

My dearest, I love you because of your imperfections and despite your doubts. You are my child and I take pride in you. 

But I don't deserve it.

No, you don't. And THAT is my mercy. 

So, as another day draws to a close, I am reminded of how vastly undeserving I am, and just how merciful my God is to grant me life. I know now that the right to deal out vengeance on another human being was never given to me. I have stumbled, as I know I will time and time again, and some days I will get it into my head that I deserve the things of this life, and that it is only fair for me to punish those who I deem deserving of it, but it's all a terrible sham. The only reason that I am alive and well today is because my God is merciful. Having thought a good deal on this fact, my prayer is that I strive to remember it when I am feeling entitled. 

Praise be to the Lord, 

for He has heard my cry for mercy.

The Lord is my strength and my shield;

My heart trusts in Him, and I am helped.

                                                -Psalm 28:6-7 

My Journey to Know God

        

       This past week has been a journey, both physically and mentally, but especially spiritually. With the uncertainties of life threatening to consume me, I decided this would be a good time for a spiritual pilgrimage. I talked it over with God for a while, and by “talked” I do in fact mean yelled and screamed and argued, until He asked me a point blank question that had me fumbling for anything remotely close to an adequate answer. Who am I? 

Who are you? Well that’s absurd, I said, quite dumbfounded. You are God, the author and perfecter of life. The creator of the world, the father of Abraham, Jacob, and Isaac, the beginning and end, Alpha and Omega… I went on for a while and then stopped realizing I was rambling, and that I hadn’t really answered His question. 

But who am I to you? Think about your closest friends… they all have personalities, character traits that set them apart from each other. Things that make them who they are, things that make you love them. What do you love about me? 

I found myself at a loss for words. No amount of shouting or arguing would get me out of this one. I don’t know you, I said with tears in my eyes. And it was true. I had no idea who this God was that I worshipped. Sure, I knew “who” he was, I knew His history, His law… But did I know Him? My definition of God was a Wikipedia version. I could list off all the major biblical events, I could quote the Beatitudes and tell you the ten commandments, I had studied the Pentateuch, I had taken Old and New Testament, Character and Ethics, Christian Thought… but I could not, for the life of me, tell you the personality of God. That fact broke my heart, but more so than mine… it broke His. In fact, I’ve been breaking God’s heart since the day I was old enough to form a relationship with Him, but instead chose to live MY life. Yes, I have always been a “Christian,” I accepted Him into my life at a young age, I have lived by His rules, I have told other people about Him, but I have never pursued Him. I have lived in a constant state of waiting to be pursued by Him, and though He is ever seeking my heart, a relationship takes two. So, as I sat at my desk, tears streaming down my face, and a head and heart full of hurt… God offered me a proposition. 

One week. Take one week, and each day strive to learn something new about who I am. 

And that’s what I’ve been doing. I have been discovering who exactly this God is that I serve, and what it is that makes Him tick. Let me tell you, the journey has been eye opening. 

Day One

To be brutally honest, I sort of forgot about my mission for most of the day. I was busy running errands and planning adventures, so much so that when the time came to go to bed, I sat down on my bed and realized I had once again failed to acknowledge God. But, it was not too late. I opened my bible and began reading through Ezekiel. Now, let me tell you, Ezekiel is not the best book to read if you’re looking for a pick me up. Here I was, searching for a way to connect with God, and all I was reading about was the destruction of Jerusalem and God’s wrath against His people. You’re a God of anger? I asked this somewhat jokingly, but then quickly added, Righteous anger of course. 

No, came that voice. Keep reading. So I did. I read the first five or so chapters until my eyes refused to focus on the swimming words, and I shut my Bible, feeling discouraged. 

This was your idea, I accused Him. I haven’t learned anything! I turned off my light, said a short prayer, and then expected to simply go to sleep. One thing I have learned is to never “expect” when it comes to God. A few moments later I opened my eyes and found that I was no longer in my room. I was standing on a mountaintop, a vast spread of land sprawled out below me, as far as the eye could see. To my left was God, shrouded so that I could not see Him completely. Immediately I knew where I was. In fact, I had been there before. Africa. No sooner had I said the word, that the glory of God flared up, nearly blinding me. I felt tears running down my cheeks. These were not tears of fear or of sorrow, but tears of awe. I surveyed the land below me, and suddenly one, burning question flooded into my mind. 

How do I make a difference here? In a place of such brokenness, violence, and heartache, how could I possibly ever do any good here? Almost as quickly as I had been filled with awe, my heart and soul filled up with doubt. I felt foolish. All the dreams I had, all the people who I had talked to about my hopes and dreams for this continent… was it all a fool’s hope? But how could I have forgotten who stood beside me? 

I will show you the way. 

But God, I protested, I am just a young, average woman. I am not well versed in politics or medicine. I don’t even speak any of the languages here! 

God’s answer was calm, but it was so vast that it seemed, to me, to fill up the world.

Like Moses, I will speak for you. 

I am afraid, I whispered. 

My daughter, He said, You will learn to walk on the water. And suddenly it was all gone. I was back in my room. I shot straight up from my bed, lunged towards the lamp and began scribbling furiously in my notebook. Dreamgiver. God is a dream giver. It made sense now, that all the outlandish, seemingly impossible dreams bouncing around in my head were not only of God, but were thought up in His own head. I felt ecstatic. I felt that suddenly every little thing I had been worried about was melting away and being replaced by the confidence in knowing that my God was a dream giver. He has a purpose for my life, and the best part of it is that the passions He placed in my life are for that very purpose! Now, to be a dream giver, God has to have a very grand love for adventure. He gives you passions, tools, devotion… And in addition to all that, His love is HUGE. And in all this, He is constantly reminding us that we are not alone. Nothing is too big for Him.

A dream giver huh? I like that. In times when I think I am dreaming too big, God gives me a vision like one the other night, laughs, and says, You’re not dreaming big enough. Let me show you how to dream.