A Letter to Me.

Dear Lauren,

You had no idea.

Even just last semester you were struggling. Struggling with contentment, with relationships around you, with uncertainty of the future. You were questioning "why" on a lot of things. You created plans and were going to be a witness to people in the workplace and summer school. Or so you thought. You had no idea.

You didn't know.

With plans all made and set in the stone of your head and heart, you were certain that summer would be crazy busy, with all of the work that you would do at McAlister's and NWACC. You came to the conclusion that you would have no social life. But you finally became content. You had one day of freedom the day after your first day of work, and you wanted to spend it with a good friend. You didn't know that one choice and one action would change your plans and your life. You didn't know.

It was hard.

It hurt when you fell into the creek. All it took was one split second. Forgetting how to brake. A scream. Tumbling down, not knowing when you were going to stop, not knowing if you were going to die. A sore hip, a stinging forehead, a throbbing ankle, a scraped up body and four wheeler. Rips and blood stains on your favorite pair of jeans (which you had to cut up and throw away later). It was hard to get up from the creek. You had to have help. It was hard to even have help, because you were so independent; you didn't think you needed anyone to save you. But you did. And he was more than willing to help you.

It was hard to learn how to use crutches. It was hard to hear the bad news of not being able to keep your job and classes; it was hard to keep those tears from falling in the doctor's office. It was hard to let your daddy see you and hold you while you cried out in the parking lot. It was hard to not bend your knee at all for three straight weeks. It was hard to bear the early morning pains in your heel from not moving your leg around enough that night. It was hard (at first) to swallow that pill every single day. It was hard to be confined to a bed and a couch for almost a month, when you were so used to being busy running to-and-fro. It was hard to not go anywhere but the doctor's office for almost a month. It was hard wearing a boot for 9 weeks after that. It was hard to not be able to exercise and do normal things for 3 months. It. Was. HARD.

But then . . . it was worth it.

It was worth it to see Matt every few days. It was worth it to grow in your friendship and relationship with him. It was worth it to have good friends there with you to keep you company while you were bed/couch-ridden. It was worth it to be able to relax. It was worth it to be able to paint again. It was worth it to write about anything you wanted to. It was worth it to learn that staying at home is a good thing. It was worth it to learn to slow down. It was worth it to have the simple joy of walking without help again.

But most of all, it was worth it all to be a huge witness to the people around you. You LOVE telling people the story of what all happened to you this summer (which is why you write about it a lot, also). It's a story that definitely gives God all the glory and shows His active and protective hand in not only in your own life but in others' lives as well.

It was also worth it all to learn that God's plans are the best plans. Nothing you could ever plan yourself would be even close to what He had/still has in mind for you. This is another cause for you to give all the glory to God.

Never forget to do that in all you do.

With the hopes that you'll continue to grow in the grace and knowledge of Him,
Me.

Sinking in a Sea of Stress

It's been a while since I've posted on here. And for good reason. I have been so incredibly busy with school and homework and trying to keep up with my family, friends, and boyfriend. I've come to find out very quickly that taking 18 hours is quite stressful. In fact, I stayed home from classes today because I've been sick all day, and it's probably stress-related.

I don't handle stress well. I try to on the outside, but I get so worried about getting everything done and doing it right that the following happens: 1. I am too focused on trying to get stuff done more than actually learning what I'm working on, and 2. I become physically worn out, leaving my body a wreck that makes me become sick easily.

I'd like to think I am a hard worker; at least I try to be. I feel like I've worked harder this semester out of the three semesters I've been in college. I think it's because I HAVE to work hard . . . with so much going on, I don't want to fall behind and slack off in a class, thus leaving my grades to slip and fall. I think that's what my problem is: I've become so focused on getting good grades that I'm making myself sick over it. Why am I doing this to myself?

I talked with my mom about it tonight, and I came to the conclusion that this is the first semester that I actually care about succeeding in school. Not just "getting by," but REALLY succeeding. Not that I haven't wanted to in the past, I think it's just more apparent this semester. I've been pushing myself to be perfect, which I know deep down that it's not possible. So why do I do it?

It comes down to this: deep down, I have a huge struggle with pride. I think everyone does to some extent, but it hasn't really affected me until this semester. I look at my classmates who look like they are able to perform so easily and flawlessly, and here I am practicing my tail off in my music and feel like I am so behind and lacking in talent compared to them. I look at my peers and see that they are excelling in all of their music classes with such ease; I spend hours and hours on one assignment, and feel more stressed about getting it done than learning it, and end up feeling stupid compared to them. That's just it: I'm comparing myself to other people. Why can't I be a super genius like them? Why can't I be the great singer like some of my peers are? Why does it seem like they excel with almost no effort while I toil away studying for hours, giving up all of my free time for homework, and feel like I'm getting nowhere?

It got to the point where I was debating with myself last night over whether or not I should even be a music major. (I came to the conclusion that I need to stick with it, because I'm almost halfway through with my music classes anyway.)

There are two things I need to do to fix all of my problems/worries/stresses. (Yes, only two!)

• Take one thing at a time.
• DO NOT COMPARE MYSELF TO OTHER PEOPLE.

Seems too easy, right? Especially since I've come to find that most things in my life right now are hard. I guess it's easier said than done. If I keep telling myself over and over that I AM making good progress and that I am doing my best, maybe I'll believe it for real. As far as stress goes in getting everything done, I have my momma to thank for telling me to just take one thing at a time. That's all I really can do . . . I would love good grades and I'd like for them to reflect the hard work I've been doing, but you know what? Grades do not define who I am. I am a child of God! As long as I try my best and rely on Him for peace and contentment, then that's all that matters. I can glorify Him by doing my best but if I look over at what someone else is doing and get jealous or become slightly uncontent, I am not glorifying Him the way I should. 

I'm hoping I can get back up on my feet tomorrow morning and get back to work so I don't fall behind . . . but this time, with a good attitude and to work hard for the RIGHT reasons. 

Another Hard Pill To Swallow.

Yesterday morning, I went to callbacks for this year's musical at JBU: You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown. We first learned some choreography (which was fun, even with my foot still slightly handicapped), read aloud lines, and sang some of the songs. It was a lot of fun, and it looked promising. I felt like I had done a really good job.

The list of the cast was sent out tonight. I was placed in the chorus. Which is not a bad thing at all! I get to be in the musical and sing with a handful of other girls that I've come to know and love. :) However, when I first found out that I didn't get a lead part (which was really only two female parts overall to be picked for, meaning a very slim chance for most of us girls), I was slightly crushed. I don't handle rejection well. It's not that I get mad at people or anything, but deep down, it turns into me beating myself up about it: what's wrong with me? I thought I had done well, was I not good enough? It seems like every time I try out for a play or something of the sort, I always receive or feel some sort of rejection every time I get the slightest of hopes up. (And people wonder why I am not confident in myself . . .)

As I was thinking about that tonight, one of the songs from the musical, "The Doctor Is In," came to my mind. In the song, Charlie Brown is depressed and Lucy tries to help him "dig deep" to get to the real problem and give him advice. Charlie Brown proceeds to tell her all of the things that are wrong with him, and he questions why he was "born just to be, one small person as thoroughly, totally, utterly blah as me." Lucy, meaning well, continues with even more things that are wrong with him and that no one likes him. (Poor guy!) But then, she goes on to say that there is hope for him, because even though he isn't musical, happy, etc. like everyone else, there was no one else like him: "the singular, remarkable, unique Charlie Brown." To which he realizes: "I'm me!" There is so much truth to be gained from this song, and the wonderful thing about this musical is that the truth in these songs doesn't just apply to kids; it applies to everyone, adults included. Everyone tends to feel insecure about themselves at some point. But we are all unique and have different gifts that are important in the kingdom of God. Sometimes, I wish I could sing like my friends who have voices of angels. Sometimes I wish I had grown up more a theater kid like some of my friends who are fantastic at playing the part. A lot of the time, I feel average or mediocre at a lot of things. I feel like Charlie Brown: "thoroughly, totally, utterly blah."But I have to remember that "I'm me!" All of 1 Corinthians 12 talks about how many people have different gifts that can be used to connect and unite the body; no one person is more important than the others. Behind-the-scenes people are just as, if not more important than the actors because they keep the show going and flowing more smoothly. I need to remember that each person has been given different gifts that can be used to further His kingdom. God has given me gifts that He hasn't given to other people.

And you know what? I am still in the musical, and I'm even singing in it!! I just didn't get a speaking/lead role. Practically speaking, where I was placed was the best decision: I'm taking 18 hours this semester as a music major (which is really hard and whenever I tell people that, they always pat me on the shoulder and "comfort" me . . . which kinda scares me . . .) I'm going to be really really busy with other things besides the musical. Sure, it's always been one of my dreams to be a lead/important role in a musical, but there will be other opportunities for me to try again. Then I have to wonder if I will ever get to have that opportunity. I hope so, but maybe that's not what God has in mind for me. Whatever is supposed to happen, will happen. God will do what is ultimately best for everyone. Sometimes He completely changes the plans I have, but it ALWAYS turns out better than I could've ever imagined. He's done a good job of that in my own life so far. ;)

Yes, humility is yet another hard pill to swallow, but a necessary one for everyone. I pray that I would make much more of Him and much less of me, that my pride would diminish in size every day. May He be glorified through me no matter what I do.

A Hard Pill To Swallow.

If any of you know me well enough, you know that I hate conflict. One of my spiritual gifts is being a peacekeeper. If people are arguing, I get pretty nervous about it, because I know it can escalate quickly. If people are really fighting, like hurtful mud-slinging, I might cry. Seriously. That sounds childish almost, but it's true. I have a very tender heart when it comes to arguments and fighting because I used to be one of those people that always wanted to pick the fight, to be right about everything, always wanted to have the last word in. Let me share something personal with you.

I've struggled with legalism. I think a lot of Christians have, and still do. However, mine wasn't just a little problem. It was to the point where I was hurtful and hateful to people because of it. I was one of those people who argued with others about the littlest things, things that weren't worth arguing about. Somehow, that to me, was my crusade; if people were attacking me for these things, then of course I was one of Jesus' soldiers! I was fighting FOR Him. Right?

Then came the night when one of my friends called me a Pharisee over Facebook. I was furious, how could a friend like that do this to me? To this day, that comment still hurts me. I thought to myself, "Well obviously, [this person] doesn't understand." While I don't think it was right for this person to call me that online, they opened my eyes to what I really was. Very slowly, but it was a starting point.

Then, months down the road, I realized what kind of a person I was. My eyes were finally opened to the legalistic thinking I had been submerged in for so long. I recognized that I was living in sin, and I finally backed out of it. I became so turned off by everything appearing to be legalistic, that it got to the point very recently where I was leaning more towards the other side: which is the thinking that since works don't save you, you are free in Christ to do whatever the heck you want. That is equally dangerous.

In more recent months, I've gotten into some pretty heavy debates with my mom over things she finds in the Bible. Mind you, I don't completely disagree with things she says. I agree with her about most things. But there are some things in the past that she brought up that I didn't think were important enough to argue about. If she felt convicted by it, then she should/shouldn't do these things. It almost got to the point of where I was literally thinking, "What's true for you may or may not be true for me." This is part of what the postmodern world believes.

You're probably thinking, "Oh great, here comes things I don't understand nor do I want to understand them." Please bear with me for just a minute!!! Postmodernism is one of the biggest world views out there today. In a nutshell, it preaches tolerance in the most extreme way and rejects any sort of truth, and says, "People can earn salvation or get to heaven in their own way; what's right for someone else may or may not be right for me." That COMPLETELY contradicts the Bible. Jesus said Himself, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. NO ONE comes to the Father except through me." John 14:6 is a very well-known Bible verse. I had it memorized when I was 7. However, I don't think a lot of people believe this to be true. [Of course, if they're postmodernist thinkers, they wouldn't believe anything to be "true."]

You'd be surprised at how many evangelical thinkers and scholars believe that everyone will be saved in the end. This is also contradictory to the Bible. Matthew 7:13 says, "Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few." This means that not all people will be saved!!!

The sermon was on the real Jesus today in church. The passage was Luke 12:49-53. [I encourage you to read it for yourself, even though I'm going to pull from it.] In verse 51, Jesus says, "Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division." Then it went into how the Gospel has and will continue to divide households. Then, Pastor Brad also brought up John 3:17, where he appears to contradict himself when he says, "For God did not send His son to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him." Confusing, right? But then, the verse after (v. 18) explains itself: "Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God." Basically, Jesus came not to judge/condemn, but rather to expose the false believers and set them apart from real believers.

Jesus was not popular with many people because he didn't appeal to many people! He came to die for sinners who recognized their fallenness. The Pharisees didn't understand that. Jesus preached against the Pharisees, because they thought they were above being saved.

"Isn't Jesus the Prince of Peace, though?" you may ask. Pastor Brad also gave a good point when he said this: Peace is conditional. You reject the Prince of Peace, you reject the peace he brings. I also loved the illustration he used after that: Jesus is not a Mr. Potato Head that we can mold and shape to our liking. He is who he is.

I think a lot of people, including me, tend to lean toward the loving, gentle side of Jesus. Which is good, but that needs to be balanced with the other parts of him. He said himself that he came to bring division. Are we comfortable with that? Most of us aren't. Even more, are we okay with the fact that he isn't someone we can mold to our liking? Will we still follow Him even and especially when things get hard and we get persecuted or made fun of for following Him?

I say all of this to make this point: truth is real, and it is important. Following Jesus and being constantly in His word is crucial, so that we are able to follow the REAL Jesus, and not just a person we've made up in our heads. We need these things to show that we are followers of Christ. This should not be confused with legalism. We also can't just go the other way and be like, "Hey, I'm free in Christ, I can do whatever the heck I want!" If we obey His commands, then we love him. Obedience is the fruit of our salvation; it's the proof that we are in Christ, NOT the means to become saved. This is something huge to grasp, and it doesn't come easily. I'm not saying that I understand it completely or know everything, because I don't. But I do know these things that I've stated above, and I think they're very VERY important.

We also need to find that balance of sharing the truth in love. We are commanded to. We shouldn't be afraid to do so. I personally shouldn't be afraid of conflict; arguments can be very good and beneficial in strengthening what we believe. However, I know they escalate very quickly most of the time, and can get very ugly and heated, so that is why I tend to shy away from them. But I believe that we can share the truth without getting ugly. Our responsibility is to share with others the truth, and they can choose to either accept it or reject it. Most of the time, people will reject the truth, because the way is narrow that leads to life. And you know what? Not to be hateful or mean, but they'll have to answer for the things they've said and done, just like I will. It's okay if people reject what you have to say. What matters is that you've done the right thing and you've done it the right way. 

This was a lot to write about . . . If you want to discuss this more, please message me over Facebook or email! I'd love to talk about it and discuss it more (of course, in a loving way). I love you all, and I hope you are at least a little encouraged by what I write. God bless!

Adventures in CO/KS and More Updates.

Well, I haven't posted on here in a while. As I've been able to do more things, I've gotten more busy in the past few weeks. I guess I'll go ahead and spill what all has happened!

I've been spending more time with other friends that I haven't seen in a long time (those that weren't still working or being camp counselors). Getting coffee, lunch, hanging at my house, just catching up with old gal friends that I haven't talked to in ages. I always love hearing about how their lives are going and what's new and big that's going on. I love telling them about how my summer "got flip-turned upside down" [Fresh Prince, what whaaaat.] It IS a really great story, and of course, it couldn't have been written any better, because it all came from God. I give all the glory to Him.

I've also been keeping up with physical therapy and the occasional orthopedist appointments. It's been a little over 11 weeks since the accident now. [Isn't it crazy how time acts? While you're living through it, it seems like an eternity, going at a snail's pace, but when you look back, it went by so fast and you wonder where it went.] At this point in time, I am only technically supposed to be 75% weight-bearing on my foot, but I've been walking around my house barefoot getting the feel of walking again . . . without the boot on. Next week, I'm pretty sure I'll be rid of the boot AND crutches. I'm definitely crossing my fingers and toes!!! My foot is still pretty swollen at times, but a lot of the time, it looks SO much better and looks more like my other, normal foot. When I was up in CO, my friend Shane kept telling me that I'll be running in three weeks. Although he was partially kidding, I want to be running that soon SO badly. I want to wear shoes on both feet. I want to walk without hobbling. I want to climb trees. I want to be free of my crutches and my boot. I don't wanna have to worry about people stepping on my foot or rebreaking it. But all of that will come with time. I have come a LONG way since the accident, and I will continue to get stronger and stronger until I have completely regained my muscle and ability to walk and run that I have lost.

I had a really big adventure last week! Probably one of, if not my biggest one yet. Alisha picked me up from my house and drove me back to her house in Tulsa last Wednesday afternoon. The next morning, we headed to the airport. After Alisha's mom dropped us off, we were by ourselves. It hit me: we're not with our parents. We were flying by ourselves. For the first time. We were responsible adults. What?!

We checked in, and the lady was really nice, she pointed the way and said it wasn't far for me to crutch around on. The security people were really nice too, I didn't even have to take my boot off, and they just wiped it down. The guy looking at stuff through the x-ray machine thingy saw I had liquids in my carry-on (because my bag for the week was small enough to be a carry-on), and he gave one bag to me and the other to Alisha. Afterwards, he told us to have a nice flight. I said, "You too!" Oops. He laughed and so did we. We stopped by Starbucks and had breakfast, then walked to our terminal waiting area and sat down. We had plenty of time. Getting on the plane was no problem at all either, which was surprising because of my crutches and such.

We landed in Denver, and that to me felt like a nightmare. It was SO much bigger than Tulsa, and Shane had tried to give us directions to where he was, and it took us longer than we wanted, I think. Eventually we found him. I don't know about Alisha, but I squealed when I caught sight of him! We all gave each other big hugs, went to go find Alisha's suitcase, and then packed up his car, and headed to Greeley (about an hour or so away north of Denver). We caught up and were really hyper. I remember it was an hour behind our usual time, so we were really hungry by the time we reached Greeley. Shane had some friends come by and meet us and catch up with each other. We eventually reached Shane's house where we unloaded and rested.

The next morning, Shane, Alisha, and I headed to Colby, KS for the wedding. Shane had to be there at 3, and the time zone changed again, so we almost didn't make it in time for him to get fitted for his tux. But we made it! Robbie's mom came and got Alisha and I from a park downtown, and took us to the hotel where they were staying to change for the rehearsal. The rehearsal lasted about 1.5 hours, not bad at all, and the rehearsal dinner was wonderful - it was tropical themed and they had so much delicious food! All of the JBU guys and gals sat at a table, including future bride and groom, so it was just like old times sitting in the JBU cafeteria, laughing and having a good time. Ariel took us back to her house, and we stayed cooped up in our room for the rest of the night.

Saturday morning, Alisha and I got ready and headed to the church to get dressed with the bridesmaids and bride. We walked in, and Ariel's dress was breathtaking. It still hadn't hit me that she and Robbie were finally getting married . . . Alisha and I got dressed and socialized with the other girls and moms. Then came the moment when Ariel put on her veil. I took a pic of her on my phone because she was just so unbelievably radiant. She left to go get the "first look" pictures with Robbie, and I stared at the picture and started tearing up. I couldn't help it though; she just looked so incredibly beautiful. Then, time for the wedding came. Alisha and I were privileged to sing the processional when our friends walked down the aisle, including the beautiful bride. We sat down to watch the rest of the ceremony. I most definitely cried through most of it . . . It made me think of my own "someday." It may be a few years, it may be ten years before I get married, but this day for Ariel is what every girl dreams about: walking down the aisle, wearing a beautiful white dress, and a radiant smile on your face, eyes on the man you'll be spending the rest of your life with. It's definitely something to look forward to! Anywho, the ceremony was beautiful, and I don't think it's still hit me yet that Robbie and Ariel are married . . . Maybe it'll hit me when we're all back at JBU . . .

We (Shane, Alisha, DJ, Nathan, Ua, and I) all drove back to Greeley the next day, changed into swim clothes, and went to Windsor Lake, which is a lake, but it also has a beach full of sand, and it's roped off at a certain point so people can swim without getting hit by boats out in the deeper parts of the lake. Swimming in that lake has been the only athletic thing I've done pretty much all summer besides physical therapy. It felt so good and it was so fun! Monday, we all drove to Estes Park, a valley in the CO mountains near Greeley, which was a big tourist attraction with a lot of shops and such. I got so many souvenirs there . . . Afterwards, we drove to a spot on the way down from the mountains by the river, and we found a spot where I could sit on the shore and stick my feet in the cold water and take a break from being in my boot. Tuesday, we packed up and flew back home. It was such a wonderful trip - I would most definitely do it all over again if I could. Maybe someday, we can repeat this trip . . .

Since I've been home, I've done quite a bit of art projects to keep me busy, as well as playing guitar and singing. I found out that I'll be playing music for the Freshman Move-In Cookout on the Friday night before Orientation officially begins. Which is fun, but really intimidating at the same time because 1. I'm the only one playing, 2. I have to bring my own equipment, and 3. I'll be playing for at least 2.5 hours. Which is fine, because I'll be able to take as many breaks as I need, but still . . . At least this is getting me playing music in front of people again.

Orientation training is in less than a week, and the actual thing is in a little over a week! Summer is seriously almost over. Goodness . . . It has been a roller coaster, for sure. I wouldn't repeat the accident, but I am glad it happened, because a lot of good came from it. A lot was learned from it.

I hope to still update my blog during the school year to keep all of you up-to-date with what's going on in my sophomore year of college.

I love you all. To God alone be the glory.

Hope From A Flower (A story by me).

Not so long ago, there was a young man and woman who planted a garden. All they had to start out with was one seed. They placed the seed in the most fertile soil, the thickest and richest you could ever sift through your fingers. They took time out of their day to water it and fertilize it every day. They shielded it from overwatering/flooding, and made sure it was never too dry.

Over time, the seed grew into a tiny, green sprout. The young couple kept their constant care and watch over this little plant. They knew it was delicate and needed extra care to make it grow just right. Then, the sprout became a light green stem with leaves. A little while after that, a bud appeared at the top of this strong stem. The couple continued to pour their love into this small plant. It took longer than they thought, but the bud finally opened and brought forth the most beautiful deep purple flower, and it was called Lisianthus. The couple had cared for it very well as the beautiful flower had developed, and they now thought it was time to send it to someone whom they thought needed hope from its beauty. They remembered that they had a younger neighbor down the street who had broken her arm. 

The young woman tenderly dug up the flower, careful to lift up all of its roots as well, and placed it all into a light brown ceramic pot. She grabbed a little baggy of plant food, and had bought a small watering can for their neighbor. Then, she was on her way down the street!

She knocked on the girl's door. The younger girl answered, with a grim smile on her face. She seemed to be in her lower twenties. "Come in," she said with a piece of depression in her eyes. The women talked with one another for a little while. The woman said to the girl after a while, "I've brought you something I hope will cheer you up!" The girl took the pot from the woman's hands and thanked her. After a few more minutes of small talk, the woman left. The girl took the flower, with a little bit of trouble because of her cast, and placed it on the kitchen counter next to the beautiful silver sink and walked out of the room. 

Lisianthus was left all alone. She thought to herself, "Oh, she'll be back to water and feed me, I'm sure of it!" She waited . . . And waited . . . Hours later, the girl reappeared. She made herself dinner and ate it at the kitchen table all by herself. It was quiet except for the occasional muttering she would make, "Oh, if only I were healed again" or "Oh, if I only had a husband to help me." Lisianthus felt sad for the poor girl. "Maybe I can make her happy!" she thought. She also thought that maybe the girl would see her and remember to feed and water her. But the girl just walked right past her, washing the dishes and putting them in the dish washer. After she closed the dish washer, the girl looked up to see the flower sitting perfectly still in the pot. She said to herself, "Oh, I'll give it a little water, it looks healthy enough." She filled the small watering can halfway full and watered the thirsty plant. After the girl walked out of the room, Lisianthus gave a tiny sigh of relief. "She didn't forget me after all! Maybe she'll be good to me. I hope I can make her happy."

The next day, the girl was late for work, so she grabbed a granola bar and a bottle of water, and ran out of the door in a hurry, forgetting to feed or water the flower. For hours, poor Lisianthus waited for the girl to return, but she didn't come back until midnight that night. The girl had been to a party, and she had brought a man home with her. The man got the girl into her room, and closed her door. He looked over to see the flower, and grabbed it. The flower awoke to a start, for even flowers sleep, and became scared. Who was this strange man? Where was he taking her? "I didn't even have the chance to make the girl happy!" 

The man started his car and flung the flower into the passenger seat. Dirt bounced off into the leather seat of the convertible he was driving, causing the flower to gasp. The man didn't seem to hear her, though, as he sped away. His driving was reckless, and the car smelled of something strange that Lisianthus didn't recognize. Suddenly, he made a sharp turn that caused his car to flip over on its side. Lisianthus and the pot flew out of the window, breaking glass and spilling shards of it everywhere as it landed on the side of the road. Grass had cushioned her fall, but even so, the pot cracked underneath her. The air was chilly, and it was dark outside. Flashing lights came and went, paying no attention to her. She whimpered. "Maybe someone will come to help me," she cried. Within a few hours, she gradually faded into slumber. 

What seemed like minutes later but was really several hours later, she woke up with a start. It had started to pour rain, and there was no shelter to protect her. In minutes, her pot would be flooded. Indeed it did flood, and she felt like she was drowning. When she felt like she could breathe no more, the sun peeked out of the clouds. She sighed of relief, because she knew that the sun was good; it would dry up most of the water in her pot. The sun did dry up the pot, days later, but it was to the point where her pot became too dry. She needed water! And soon. She tried to cry out for help, but of course humans can't hear flowers talk. 

Over the course of the week, she remained on the grassy side of the road. People walked past her every day; they would look at her, but none of them did anything to help her. The green grass beneath her, her leaves, and her beautiful deep purple petals became a nasty brown color, and shriveled up. She gradually became more tired. "Am I going to die?" her voice was barely audible. She was scared to think so, but if it was to happen, she would rather die than have to live out here and be so miserable. 

All of a sudden, a ragged old man was walking on the side of the road and stopped in front of the flower. He whispered a "wow!" to himself, seeing the once beautiful flower now wilted and shriveled up from the lack of care and attention that it needed. "Poor thing, I'll take you home with me," he told the flower. He picked up the flower along with her cracked pot and kept walking. He came across some men who looked like him: dusty and dirty, some of them toothless in the front. They laughed at him and called him a "tree hugger" and a "flower child." He said to them, "This poor flower has been through a lot; I'm going to restore it and protect it as long as it lives." The men laughed at him again, calling the flower a helpless cause. "It's just one stupid flower!" they chimed. But the old man kept on walking, not seeming to care about what they said. 

They reached his home, which was almost a shack of a place. He opened the fragile wooden door, and entered into his kitchen. He placed the flower down by his own sink, which was also as old and cracked as he was. She noticed that he was all alone. The old man walked out of the room for a few minutes. Lisianthus was scared and thought to herself, "He's just going to mistreat me like those other people have. Nobody can help me now; I've shriveled up to nothing. Even if he does try to get me well again, what good is a flower like me anyway? I just sit and look pretty; I don't do anything special or useful." The old man walked back into the kitchen; in his right hand, he had a plastic watering can and in his left, some fertilizer. He fertilized the plant and watered it, and he did that every single day. He was careful not to overwater/feed her, but made sure she had enough. The old man replaced the cracked pot with a brand new one. He poured his love into her every day. 

Finally, she did get better, and was as beautiful as she had been before. The old man continued to take care of her, even though she was better, because he knew that flowers are delicate things that should be taken care of constantly. One day, he thought out loud to the flower, "I have a little neighbor girl that lives next door who has a broken leg; I bet she would really love to have you sit in her room." Lisianthus was scared. What if she didn't want her? What if she was mistreated again? What if she didn't do what she was supposed to do? The old man picked up the pot and cradled it in his wrinkled and spotted arms as he walked out of his door, which seemed to say to her, "Nevermind that, trust me."

He knocked on another old wooden door similar to his, and a middle-aged woman answered. She welcomed him in with a genuine, smiling face and they talked for a few minutes. Then, he presented her with the potted flower, and she gasped. "It's beautiful!" she cried. "Oh, Mary would absolutely love it. That flower would brighten that dull and desperate room of hers." She took the flower and gently carried it to the child's room. Mary, the girl, who seemed to be about eight years old, was sitting up on her bed. She had been crying and the tears stained on her face were evidence of that. The woman set Lisianthus down on a small bedside table beside her. "Look what Mr. Ben brought for you!" she exclaimed with genuine delight. "Isn't that nice of him?" The little girl nodded, scrubbing the tears off of her face to hide her sadness. The woman left the room, and Lisianthus was alone with Mary. "I hope I can do my job well," she thought to herself. 

The girl stared at Lisianthus for a long time, not seeming to be affected by her beauty. Then, she smiled. A genuine smile. She grabbed a piece of paper, and started drawing. Then she laughed after she had finished. She was happy again! Lisianthus was beaming. She had done her job well, thanks to the old man who had found her and made her well and beautiful again. 

-- This is a story I came up with laying on my bed this afternoon. Lisianthus, the flower, represents each person on earth. No matter how strong you think you are, people are very delicate, just like flowers are. The people she was given to at first represent the sin in our world. The flower was mistreated and fell into the world of sin. Unlike the flower, we are all sinners. The old man who rescued her and restored her represents Jesus; He restores us even in a fallen world, and calls us to Himself to have a deep, intimate relationship with Him. Then, after He restores us, He sends us back out into the world for a special job, like the old man "gave" to Lisianthus: to give hope to others, by telling others about Christ, spreading the Gospel and making disciples. I hope this story encourages you!

Dedicated To My Mom.

In about 18 minutes from the time I started writing this post, it will be my mom's birthday. (I won't tell you how old she is! *wink*) For the almost twenty years I've been alive, there has NEVER been a time when I doubted her love for me. She has always, ALWAYS been there for me, supported me in everything I've ever done and so much more . . . If I could tell you all of the things that she's done for me, we'd have a very long blog post. ;) However, I will share a few things. 

First of all, she has rarely missed any special program, recital, or special event of mine. The few times she has was because she was with my sister in something special of hers that she needed to be at. Every choir concert, every dance or voice recital, I could always find her in the crowd smiling at me, watching me, cheering me on... She has always supported me in everything I've ever done. Almost every field trip for school or church trip, she would always volunteer to chaperone, just so I wouldn't feel homesick and so she could protect me. Every time I've been away from her, even now, she calls or texts me to ask how I'm doing, just to let me know that someone cares. 

That leads to another thing - I can tell her everything. What I'm feeling, what's going on in my life, thoughts, convictions... Anything. She's always ready to listen. She will stop whatever she's doing and listen to what I have to say. I can be completely honest with her. We are also so much alike in personality . . . Almost too much. Both of us are complete dorks, and I absolutely love it. Especially since we embarrass Lindsey a lot of the time. ;) 

My mom has also been my teacher. She's been my spiritual leader and guide since day 1. She never just took me to church every Sunday and Wednesday night when I was younger and left it at that. Even when I was a toddler, she would read books to me that even at that young of an age affected my walk with Christ; she would read little board books about how Jesus loves me. She would sing songs to me that taught me those truths. Later on in my teen years, she would teach me at home, even with the slight ridicule she got from so-called friends. It didn't matter that she knew she would always be a teacher; God has definitely given her that gift, and I am so grateful for it. Even though she was an early childhood education major in college and was a preschool, kindergarten, and 1st grade teacher for the longest time, she knew that you didn't have to have that degree in order to teach your kids. She was quite bold to make that huge step, and looking back at all she's gone through just to teach the two of us at home, I am inspired and respect her SO much. Even though she no longer helps me get through a tear-filled and frustrating algebra assignment or reads to me from the Bible in the morning, she is still my counselor and encourager for problems I have or just when I need someone to talk to. 

Basically, what it all comes down to is this: she is my best friend and has been for my whole life. We have a really special bond. We've been through some really great times together, and we've been through some really crappy times. No matter if those times have been good or bad, both kinds have strengthened our friendship and our respect for each other. I could go on and on . . .

The song called "Like My Mother Does" describes my mom and I so well:

People always say
I have a laugh
Like my mother does
Guess that makes sense
She taught me how to smile
When things get rough

I've got her spirit
She's always got my back
When I look at her
I think, I want to be just like that
When I love I give it all I've got
Like my mother does
When I'm scared, I bow my head and pray
Like my mother does

When I feel weak and unpretty
I know I'm beautiful and strong
Because I see myself like my mother does
I never met a stranger
I can talk to anyone
Like my mother does
I let my temper fly
And she can walk away
When she's had enough

She sees everybody
For who they really are
I'm so thankful for her guidance
She helped me get this far
She's a rock
She is grace
She's an angel
She's my heart and soul
She does it all

I am VERY blessed to have the mother that I do. She works hard all of the time, and rarely gets a true "thank you" for it. I know this isn't much, but . . . Mom, thank you. For EVERYTHING. I would have never gotten through everything that I have without your love and support. You've given me the model for how a wife and mother ought to look and be like, and I can only hope to be half as good of a wife and mom as you've been to Lindsey and I. 

Dad snuck in this one! Hehe

Yep, we're dorks. :)

I love you, mom. Happy birthday!