So where do I start? I guess that’s a good enough place. I have trouble with my starts. With writing, it takes me some time to come up with a good enough formative to fit my story into. It’s not some kind of a big-bang, where “poof!” a perfect fitting of words spills onto this page. No. These thoughts take time. These words gradually crease at the edge of my brain until they are finally spilled from my fingers and in finality, onto the screen of your computer or smart-device. Sort of like a “waterfall of sentences” if you want some diminutive imagery. This kind of framework also takes place in my decision-making. I don’t just explode with a quick decision. I need time. I need more pieces of the puzzle to fit, more angles to align themselves. Despite any opposing vibes you might have gotten from me, I like to think about things. I don’t just jump into things. Well… Most of the time.
A lot of it probably has to do with fear. I know I probably should just follow through with something, but fear falters my step. I get the “what ifs” flooding at me from all directions and suddenly my judgment becomes cloudy. I think God knew full well the kind of hesitancy that often interferes with what He has planned for me. I’m not saying God wants all of us to be erratic, undiscerning beings, but there are times he wants us to step off the boat and not ask twice. So when it came to making the decision to do a DTS (Discipleship Training School-), I had to take that leap off the “boat” and out of my comfort zone.
“If you want to do this, do it now.” Those were my cousin (or second cousin) Bethany’s words. She and my great-aunt were the ones who really drove me to go the YWAM direction. Bethany had pushed her lap top my way, she had the application for a YWAM DTS in Madison, Wisconsin on the screen, right there in front of me. My head was screaming at the time. All the “what-ifs” were swarming at me like I had just kicked open a nest of wasps. What about college? You need to stay with the program. What will your friends say? What about money? You can’t afford this. You sure you’re missionary material? I had already voiced my interest in YWAM. I had been talking to my aunt and my cousin and they had already explained the whole process of DTS to me in great detail. It sounded exciting and frightening to me all at once. Now I was faced with the decision, and it was coming at me fast.
“Now?” I looked at my cousin Beth, but I wasn’t questioning her as much as I was myself. Was I really going to do this? I had to admit, the timing was actually perfect. Only a couple of weeks ago I had rededicated myself to the Lord while I was at my aunt‘s conference. Now I was here in Florida, as part of my family’s summer vacation visiting relatives. I had been asking God what he wanted from me, and I was unsure of a lot when it came to what I would do when I went back home. Is this what you want, God? There was no question in my mind at that point, though. It wasn’t like God said “Becka, this is me.” out of the blank air, but I knew, deep inside, that this was His calling. This was his desire for me. He knew this was a dream that was buried deep inside me, and he was bringing it out once again.
So I did it. I filled out the application, and sent it on its way. I went back home. I worked my dead-end job. I waited for the call. I waited for the knowing. Time elapsed into a long and foreboding silence, or it seemed long to me, as I realized each day that I was just itching to this have this happen. I wanted this more than anything now. When the phone finally rang, it wasn’t what I expected. They didn’t say “I’m sorry, we just can’t accept you at this time”, and they didn’t tell me that I was in either. Instead the woman on the phone said they had prayed over my application, and they would gladly accept me into their DTS, but I also had another option. I could choose to go to a whole other DTS, this one in Ozark, Arkansas. It was called the Outdoor Adventure DTS, and after spending a long time praying over my application, she told me they felt like I should just check this base out and pray about it myself.
I hung up confused. God. Why couldn’t you just make this simpler? I wrote Ozark Outdoor Adventure DTS and Madison Wisconsin on a blank sheet of paper as if I planned on doing some kind of eenie-meanie-miney-moe-thing eventually. Honestly, my new option was extremely enticing. Outdoor Adventure DTS- it sounded perfect for me. Aside from preposterous poison ivy I loved the outdoors, and adventure has always been my middle name. However, I didn’t want this to be about me. I needed to pray about it. The lady at the YWAM Madison base needed an answer by the end of the week so I spent that week praying.
I called my cousin Bethany, and talked some of it over with her. She seemed to like this new choice too. I prayed over the options, but never felt much of a change. I wanted God to just say it. Make it clearer than day that this was the direction he wanted me to take. That never happened. I remember digging my nails into my scalp, clinging to my head and wondering. Seriously? I’ve waited this long, now you’re making me wait on you again? Silence.
I talked to my Aunt Jenny that week and she said something that helped me out enormously. “God isn’t going to write you off for anything. You’re doing this whole thing for him, don’t stress that you’re going to mess the whole thing up by choosing wrong.” I realized that there really wasn’t a wrong choice, that it was possible that my heart was leaning towards a certain direction because that was the direction God had already planned for me. So I called the Madison lady, told her my choice she told me I would be waiting for a call from Ozark to know for sure if they could accept me. A little wait later and I answered the phone to the voice of a very preppy woman on the other line.
“You’ve been accepted to YWAM Ozarks’ DTS!” She told me, excitement making her voice go an octave higher. My heart jumped and I remember shouting “really!?” The excitable woman told me I would have to fill out some more extensive medical information, but otherwise, I was all good! I ran to my mom, announced the news with eyes wet with joy and started jumping and squealing with her like we were two little girls. I was happy to see her so excited over this, like I had gotten accepted to Harvard or something. Finally, I was in. So there’s a start for you.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Prologue:
I remember being the girl who would ache simply hearing of all the places her friends had been to. It was always a topic I enjoyed hearing about. From Puerto Rico to the Philippines, I would grill my friends and even people I had barely met about their experiences out of state. I wasn't a big talker, but if someone had been to a place more interesting than Texas I was eager to listen to them and prod them for more information. One day, I'll cross the ocean. One day I'll get out of here. That was my dream for a long time.. For some reason, anywhere seemed better than where I was. It wasn't that I absolutely hated my life, even though I know that is how it sounds, I just longed for this world to finally open up for me.
Let's get to the basics. I hated Texas. What?! A born and bred Texan who hates her home state? Every Texan I had ever met bragged about being born here. They'd say "born and bred Texan" like it was some sort of rare jewel they got to carry around with them. I didn't get it. Where I live we have cows. We have fields. We have little clumps of trees that are too meager to call forests. Mostly we just have a whole lot of flat nothingness for miles. We have broiling summers, skimpy winters, and weather that is so bi-polar we're almost afraid to go outside at times. Sure the people are very nice (it is the South). Sure our flag has a big white star smack in the middle of it so we can call this place "the Lone Star State". Yeah, we've got Tony Romo, The Mavericks, and the Stars. Texas has some interesting history too -from the Alamo to the Kennedy assassination- but I used to only see this place as a trap.
At about eighteen years old I had almost given up on my dream. I was working at Walmart and going to school at a community college right in my home town. Life was baring down on my back, and I felt confused and once again trapped. School wasn't really such a negative experience, in fact I liked school. I got good grades and my teachers seemed to like me alot, but as I dove through basic after basic I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Was this all going to turn into anything? I hated my job, where I honestly felt robotic having to put on a smile every single day and watch my hands work as my mind wandered to other places (I was a cashier, so you get the jist). While Walmart was horrible, I still got to make friends while there, friends I actually really liked to hang around. These friends put more time and effort into hanging out with me than I'd ever experienced. They loved being around me for reasons I found hard to understand. I was kind of a shy kid, although I hated admitting it. I was cautious about inserting my own opinions or interjections, afraid that my words would be judged. Even as shy and reserved as I was, though, I also cared deeply for their attention. I didn't like the quiet, socially-awkward image I portrayed as a homeschooler who hadn't a clue about anything. I needed to fit into this world, and as a girl that, yes, was sheltered from alot of the outside world, I had to go to new lengths.
So I began to drink. The taste of alcohol made me curl my lips back just a bit. I didn't enjoy it, unless it was well-masked by some fruity flavor. I tried to learn how to smoke but for a while I couldn't seem to suck the foul cloud into my lungs. At a certain point I did get the whole method down, but I still hated the way my mouth tasted afterwords. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel like these things are part of some sort of "evil in the sight of God", I'll admit, I liked the feeling of it for a while, minus the less-than-appealing taste it left in my mouth, but I was doing it all for the wrong reasons. I enjoyed watching my good-girl image sink away and become almost forgotten. I think I hated being looked at as a goody-goody the most because I knew I wasn't anything close to that. I had dark, hidden secrets that I have lived with for the better part of my life. I had sins that I felt I would never be free of because I had struggled with them for so long. I was no good girl. I was undeserving of such a title. So I did my best to shed this innocent persona people seemed to identify with me. I soon got invited to parties. I soon found myself swaying with intoxication for the first time in my life. I did a couple of crazy things and blamed it on the alcohol. At one point, at a party that was particularly memorable, I remember throwing up into the sink several times and then passing out on a couch. I woke up the next morning staring at the ceiling. My head beat like a drum, my eyelids were heavy and only half open. Is this what I want? Is this the life I've chosen? It wasn't a sudden change of heart, but I began to think more on what exactly I was living for.
It was soon after this that my Aunt, Jenny Speed (who was really my great-aunt, but she was young enough to be my actual aunt), invited me to one of her conferences. She and her husband often traveled the globe counseling married couples and singles alike in these conference events. This conference would take place in Indianapolis and I would get in free, I just had to pay for my plane ticket. I was hesitant at first, knowing it was a Christian singles event, and I didn’t really feel I was good material for such a gathering. However, I decided I’d rather not pass up the chance to go fly to Indiana, and my plane would have a layover in Denver, Colorado- which was a place I’d often dreamed of visiting. Plus I loved my great aunt and her whole family. I'd get the chance to see them, and seeing them could sometimes be a rare opportunity in itself. I might not have the grandest time at this conference, but I wasn't passing up this chance to get out of Texas.So I agreed. I never expected anything from this trip. Without knowing it though, the moment I stepped onto that plane, I was walking into one of God’s perfect plans.
I boarded the plane to Denver, and watched as the flat Texas landscape was swallowed into heavy white clouds. “You live in Texas?” A voice shook my thoughts back to the plane. I turned to the man who was sitting beside me. He had a friendly smile that stretched out upon his wide face. His eyes smiled at me too and creased at the sides, shining with an indisputable joy resonating from them.
“Yes. I was born in Texas. Lived there my whole life.” I bit back on the last words. “You?” I asked. From there began a whole conversation. He told me how he was born in Chicago, and had moved to Texas not too long ago by choice. He began to share his recent life with me, and also a few things from his past. I joined into the conversion and at some point, found myself sharing about all that had been going on in the past few years. He had already shared his faith with me, he was a Christian, and yet he too struggled with some of the things I was going through. He showed me a book he was reading, Not a Fan, and offered to read something from it to me. I nodded and listened as he began reading the story of Mary Magdalene, but told in a whole new light.
I began to see the whole scene laid out before me. I saw her. I was watching her walk through the courtyard, to where Jesus sat with Simon the tax collector, and I could almost hear the heaviness of each footstep. I saw the scoffers, the religious leaders who looked upon her with disgust for who she was, a prostitute. They knew of her sins. The whole town likely knew who she was and what she’d done, but none of that mattered to her. She had to see this great teacher they talked about. She had to know if what they said was true. Then she saw Jesus. His eyes looked at her, and there was no judgment or repulsion. He looked at her with love. He did not see only her sin, he saw who she really was. He saw her heart, and it was a beautiful thing. I had read this story and heard it dozens upon dozens of times. This time I felt real tears warming my cheeks. They slid down and I did not stop them. I hated crying in front of strangers, but I couldn’t stop. Mary Magdalene had come to be forgiven, to know if the love of the Father could be real for her. Even after her life of sinning. Jesus laid his hand gently upon her shoulder after she had finished washing his feet with her perfume, tears, and hair. “Sister, your sins are forgiven. Go, and sin no more.” I heard the words rush at me. They were real. They were for me.
I had read that story dozens of times and sure, there were times I had felt my heart warm for Mary as she wept at the feet of Jesus, but it never had been anything like this. Something was different. Suddenly The Word was alive and breathing in my chest. The words were sticking to me, the picture that was painted in my head of Jesus’ hand on Mary as she knelt in her tears of repentance was still in front of me. I remember looking back out the window and at the earth- that was now far enough below us to reveal its subtle curvature. It was beautiful as the sun slowly kissed the colors of the atmosphere and turned the velvet clouds to molten gold. His love was as real and as beautiful as what I was looking at right now, and as I closed my eyes I let all drain away and I thanked him, for redemption.
My story’s just beginning...
Let's get to the basics. I hated Texas. What?! A born and bred Texan who hates her home state? Every Texan I had ever met bragged about being born here. They'd say "born and bred Texan" like it was some sort of rare jewel they got to carry around with them. I didn't get it. Where I live we have cows. We have fields. We have little clumps of trees that are too meager to call forests. Mostly we just have a whole lot of flat nothingness for miles. We have broiling summers, skimpy winters, and weather that is so bi-polar we're almost afraid to go outside at times. Sure the people are very nice (it is the South). Sure our flag has a big white star smack in the middle of it so we can call this place "the Lone Star State". Yeah, we've got Tony Romo, The Mavericks, and the Stars. Texas has some interesting history too -from the Alamo to the Kennedy assassination- but I used to only see this place as a trap.
At about eighteen years old I had almost given up on my dream. I was working at Walmart and going to school at a community college right in my home town. Life was baring down on my back, and I felt confused and once again trapped. School wasn't really such a negative experience, in fact I liked school. I got good grades and my teachers seemed to like me alot, but as I dove through basic after basic I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Was this all going to turn into anything? I hated my job, where I honestly felt robotic having to put on a smile every single day and watch my hands work as my mind wandered to other places (I was a cashier, so you get the jist). While Walmart was horrible, I still got to make friends while there, friends I actually really liked to hang around. These friends put more time and effort into hanging out with me than I'd ever experienced. They loved being around me for reasons I found hard to understand. I was kind of a shy kid, although I hated admitting it. I was cautious about inserting my own opinions or interjections, afraid that my words would be judged. Even as shy and reserved as I was, though, I also cared deeply for their attention. I didn't like the quiet, socially-awkward image I portrayed as a homeschooler who hadn't a clue about anything. I needed to fit into this world, and as a girl that, yes, was sheltered from alot of the outside world, I had to go to new lengths.
So I began to drink. The taste of alcohol made me curl my lips back just a bit. I didn't enjoy it, unless it was well-masked by some fruity flavor. I tried to learn how to smoke but for a while I couldn't seem to suck the foul cloud into my lungs. At a certain point I did get the whole method down, but I still hated the way my mouth tasted afterwords. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel like these things are part of some sort of "evil in the sight of God", I'll admit, I liked the feeling of it for a while, minus the less-than-appealing taste it left in my mouth, but I was doing it all for the wrong reasons. I enjoyed watching my good-girl image sink away and become almost forgotten. I think I hated being looked at as a goody-goody the most because I knew I wasn't anything close to that. I had dark, hidden secrets that I have lived with for the better part of my life. I had sins that I felt I would never be free of because I had struggled with them for so long. I was no good girl. I was undeserving of such a title. So I did my best to shed this innocent persona people seemed to identify with me. I soon got invited to parties. I soon found myself swaying with intoxication for the first time in my life. I did a couple of crazy things and blamed it on the alcohol. At one point, at a party that was particularly memorable, I remember throwing up into the sink several times and then passing out on a couch. I woke up the next morning staring at the ceiling. My head beat like a drum, my eyelids were heavy and only half open. Is this what I want? Is this the life I've chosen? It wasn't a sudden change of heart, but I began to think more on what exactly I was living for.
It was soon after this that my Aunt, Jenny Speed (who was really my great-aunt, but she was young enough to be my actual aunt), invited me to one of her conferences. She and her husband often traveled the globe counseling married couples and singles alike in these conference events. This conference would take place in Indianapolis and I would get in free, I just had to pay for my plane ticket. I was hesitant at first, knowing it was a Christian singles event, and I didn’t really feel I was good material for such a gathering. However, I decided I’d rather not pass up the chance to go fly to Indiana, and my plane would have a layover in Denver, Colorado- which was a place I’d often dreamed of visiting. Plus I loved my great aunt and her whole family. I'd get the chance to see them, and seeing them could sometimes be a rare opportunity in itself. I might not have the grandest time at this conference, but I wasn't passing up this chance to get out of Texas.So I agreed. I never expected anything from this trip. Without knowing it though, the moment I stepped onto that plane, I was walking into one of God’s perfect plans.
I boarded the plane to Denver, and watched as the flat Texas landscape was swallowed into heavy white clouds. “You live in Texas?” A voice shook my thoughts back to the plane. I turned to the man who was sitting beside me. He had a friendly smile that stretched out upon his wide face. His eyes smiled at me too and creased at the sides, shining with an indisputable joy resonating from them.
“Yes. I was born in Texas. Lived there my whole life.” I bit back on the last words. “You?” I asked. From there began a whole conversation. He told me how he was born in Chicago, and had moved to Texas not too long ago by choice. He began to share his recent life with me, and also a few things from his past. I joined into the conversion and at some point, found myself sharing about all that had been going on in the past few years. He had already shared his faith with me, he was a Christian, and yet he too struggled with some of the things I was going through. He showed me a book he was reading, Not a Fan, and offered to read something from it to me. I nodded and listened as he began reading the story of Mary Magdalene, but told in a whole new light.
I began to see the whole scene laid out before me. I saw her. I was watching her walk through the courtyard, to where Jesus sat with Simon the tax collector, and I could almost hear the heaviness of each footstep. I saw the scoffers, the religious leaders who looked upon her with disgust for who she was, a prostitute. They knew of her sins. The whole town likely knew who she was and what she’d done, but none of that mattered to her. She had to see this great teacher they talked about. She had to know if what they said was true. Then she saw Jesus. His eyes looked at her, and there was no judgment or repulsion. He looked at her with love. He did not see only her sin, he saw who she really was. He saw her heart, and it was a beautiful thing. I had read this story and heard it dozens upon dozens of times. This time I felt real tears warming my cheeks. They slid down and I did not stop them. I hated crying in front of strangers, but I couldn’t stop. Mary Magdalene had come to be forgiven, to know if the love of the Father could be real for her. Even after her life of sinning. Jesus laid his hand gently upon her shoulder after she had finished washing his feet with her perfume, tears, and hair. “Sister, your sins are forgiven. Go, and sin no more.” I heard the words rush at me. They were real. They were for me.
I had read that story dozens of times and sure, there were times I had felt my heart warm for Mary as she wept at the feet of Jesus, but it never had been anything like this. Something was different. Suddenly The Word was alive and breathing in my chest. The words were sticking to me, the picture that was painted in my head of Jesus’ hand on Mary as she knelt in her tears of repentance was still in front of me. I remember looking back out the window and at the earth- that was now far enough below us to reveal its subtle curvature. It was beautiful as the sun slowly kissed the colors of the atmosphere and turned the velvet clouds to molten gold. His love was as real and as beautiful as what I was looking at right now, and as I closed my eyes I let all drain away and I thanked him, for redemption.
My story’s just beginning...
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