Let's Skip the Small Talk

This is not normal.

During this week long intensive that I am doing on group therapy in Virginia, we are supposed to be learning what it is like to go through the counseling process.

I've never been on the other side so this is definately an eye opening experience. Most of us are fighting the 'counselors' inside of us when we are in a group setting. We each get only one chance to be the facilitator.

This means that we must be a group member for nine hours of the time.

I am fighting the conflict in me that wants to be the counselor in a group setting. Whenever we are tempted to 'co-facilitate,' we have to go back and focus on ourselves. It is completely going against the grain of a counselors natural leadership framework.

We are also told that our group will know that we are making progress when we experience conflict and resistance. My professor said that in regards to group therapy, you are only as deep as your most shallow member. She also said that groups function as families. How you react in your group is most likely how you will react outside of group.

So profound.

We are supposed to trust the group process and not deny the inevitable conflict.

I've never realized how difficult and painful it can be to be on the other side. We are pushed to be vulnerable and go deeper. Be completely honest no matter what. You have to have complete trust in the leader. Group work skips the small talk and goes straight to the heart of the issues.

Which is exhausting.

But I am learning so much.

Disconnected Generations

We are such a visual generation. If something stimulates the mind, we listen to it.

I was talking with a friend today over coffee as I explained my issues with going into writing. I have three mediums of expressing my voice: through writing, music, and friendship. Depending upon the period of my life, one always seems to dominate the other.

For years, music was my main medium of expressing myself. If I had to choose between the voices, my writings often times took the back seat.

I always say that writing was my first love. This passion existed even before my passion for music. After my second grade teacher had us write something on Johnny Appleseed, I knew that I was going to be a writer for the rest of my life.

I grew up with a vivid imagination, something that I believe our society is losing as technology advances. I loved to create stories in my head. It is what inspired me.

This texting, facebook, social networking, generation me is what causes me to fear that writing will become less of an importance. It makes me believe that our creations that come from the development of imagination will suffer as technology and materialism climb to the top priorities of many people's lives. We will lose this sense of wonder.

It is ironic that these technological mediums that are supposed to help us form connections often times do just the very opposite. We are a distracted, disconnected society.

I've been with friends that are so caught up in their conversations via text or facebook that it is almost like I am invisible. There is no connection. The only memories that I am creating are the ones of me observing others creating distant connections.

Which makes me long for the cheap, distant emotional connections because at least it is something in our distracted generation.

And in return, I have become a part of this very generation.

Cause I'm Somewhere In Between

What is real or just a dream. Gotta love Lifehouse.

Today I realized that I have never officially 'quit' a job. I've been on a lot of 'leave of absences' with college and such that just led to a mutual parting ways. I guess that this goes to show.

I don't like letting go.

Today was a rather dreary day with the weather deciding that it did not want to conform to the likes of spring. It forgot the memo that april showers bring may flowers. Needless to say, I could smell the rain rather than the roses on this day.

I held the keys in my hand. I told myself that I was doing this because it was good for me. There was no turning back after I had reached this point.

These keys were more than just keys to open or close a store. These keys opened every door of the locked facility. By giving them away, I was making a statement that I was choosing to no longer be a part of these girls' lives.

It sounds crazy, but as I was about to turn them in, I wondered what was the appropriate way to mourn in this process of moving on. Because that is what it is.

Moving on.

Was I supposed to cry? Who cries over a job? I should know that this was more than a job. I fought for six months to find hope in the midst of darkness and failure. And it would break me too much to go down with the ship so to speak.

But that doesn't mean that I will stop fighting.

During this summer, I am putting a bunch of my writings from college and this year together to hopefully publish a book that will raise money to fight against human trafficking. You hear about human trafficking. You get hit emotionally when you hear about the stories. I can't go into detail, but I have now seen it happen to others. People probably don't even know how prevalent it is in America. Just look at the personal pages on the internet. It speaks volumes of how crucial it is to make a stand.

The title will be called 'Bare Vulnerability' with the basis that it takes a lot of bravery to even try to get out of the cycle of human trafficking. It is a vulnerable issue in general to expose such a tragedy.

But I want to be a part of the movement to stop this.

This is my dream.

A Night to Remember

It made me forget that...

I had never been to a high school dance.
I can count the number of slow dances danced on one hand.
And that I would never be able to count the number of legitimate dates I've been on
Because I have yet to go on one.

I believe that humans long to feel special.

When I heard that one of the biggest churches in Rockford was putting on a free prom (meaning dinner, dresses, make up/accessories, and limo ride of no charge) for those with special needs, I realized that this idea was a brilliant idea. In my foundations of exceptionality class, we discussed how those with special needs are considered to be the least of these in our culture. To me, this is truly applying our call to love the least of these.

My students that day had shown me the poster of it with their eyes gleaming as they discussed this very important day that was about to come up. The girls would always share with excitement that it made them feel loved, beautiful, and special.

Loved.
Beautiful.
Special.

I've always sought to find these things in human relationships. I finally decided to stop searching this month mostly because I realized that I had been searching everywhere but where I needed to find these three things.

Enough. I would always sing choruses of God being enough for me in church while in the back of my mind thinking of the things that would make my life seem 'more.' As humans, we are prone to wanting more. We pursue things that we think will fulfill our lives and desires. Even our desires to feel loved. To be seen as beautiful. To know that someone believes that we are special.

We search so much that we forget to recognize His voice. His voice that calls His children to an intimate relationship. Our Creator that tells us these very things that we have been longing to hear. If we would only come to Him, we would realize that there is true contentment and peace in this ultimate love story.

This love story of the cross and His grace. Of His relentless pursuit of us despite the many times that we have fallen. A friend once told me that we were chosen, not needed by God...and to always remember that truth.

And in the same way, I should always remember that I, as a child of God, was chosen.

And this
Makes me feel special.

Star Struck

Fan or Friend?

That is the question.

One of my favorite sports is people watching. My other favorite sport is going to concerts.

Okay. So it is not a sport. But when you are in a mob of insanely pumped people dying of heat, I am pretty sure you can count it as excercise.

It is really interesting to observe people in the crowd of a concert. You know the goal is to get to the front so that you can magically shake the lead singer's hand and tell yourself that you will never wash it again...until you realize that their hand is sweaty so you immediately wash it right after the show.

People start screaming crazy random and sometimes inappropriate things in between and during songs (you know you are a teacher when you start quietly reprimanding the crowd for saying something inappropriate). If evolution were actually true, then I would say concerts can cause us to regress to whatever animal it was that we 'evolved' from in the past. If Freud's theory of the Id, Ego, and Superego were still followed, we would return to the Id stage. I think this is why I almost get trampled at a lot of concerts. I wish more people had pity for the short people in concerts. If so, I would always be in the front row and be able to actually see the band.

But what is so great about concerts is that we are all gathered there for a reason. The musician's artistic work has impacted our lives in at least some way in order for us to care enough to be there. All of us have different interpretations and stories that relate to the musical creations. This is the beauty of art. And I think that regardless of whether or not the musician knows that their music has impacted their fans lives, those musicians still have a special place in our hearts.

I can't help but wonder what it is like to be put up on a pedestal as a musician when faced by fans. When I look at culture, I think of American Idol. Granted, I don't watch that show, but I see what it does to society. It is all about who can be the next 'idol.' Funny how idolatry is everything against what we believe.

I was thinking of this as I was watching Relient K play this week. What exactly would I say if I met one of the bands that had most impacted my life? As I thought about it more, I believe I would say words of encouragement and then be like "Dude, let's be friends."

Sometimes we forget that they are humans too. That they were created in His image for fellowship and relationship. I want to meet bands and provide them with at least the encouragement that can lift their spirits. We are called as Christians to do just that.

Ironically, I had met two people at the concert while waiting for Paramore to end. My friend and I were drawn to them because honestly, who randomly has rubix cube wars at a rock concert? As we enthusiastically watched and conversed with these people, I had expressed my disappointment in not being able to meet Relient K. More than once.

He was right in front of me.

I was so focused on meeting Relient K that I didn't even realize that I was actually conversing with one of the members of Relient K. I was so consumed by the minor details that I did not see the big picture. I did eventually apologize, but I think that this reaffirmed my thought that people in bands need friendships just as much as they desire fans.

So if you are in a band, let's be friends.

Background: Before one of my residents was successfully discharged, she had shown me a bunch of her poems and even wrote a poem before she left. We both connected due to our love for writing. This poem or whatever you want to call it is a compilation of what I learned from my experience, so the 'she' is not me, but rather what I learned from those that went through these tragic experiences.


She wants to dance as the sun sets
Playfully build castles sand.
Have a parent tell her that she is loved
As she reaches for their hand.
Someday someone will understand that...

She wants to silence the noise
Calm the fears
Rid herself of the unwanted shame
Heal the scars
That she once thought was okay to let bleed
For so many years

She wants to find her voice.
To have others hear her melody.
To be told that her song is beautiful
Despite her tragic story
That has caused her so many tears

She says she wants to give up
But she secretly wants you to hope
Because she has not the strength left
To barely manage to cope

So you can help her carry her burden
When she feels like she's merely on her own
While you can't take away the horrific past
It is enough to her to know that
You believe in her.
You are here.

And she is indeed not alone.

Healing Wounds: Part Three

I believe that the ability to dream again can signify the process of healing. And to me, the opposite of dreaming is apathy.

Sometimes the answers that we don't want to hear are the ones that we need to hear.

And I can't pretend that the answer does not re-open the wounds that I had spent the past few months getting over.

Like bitterness and resentment, desensitization can seem to be the quickest fix to the process or possibility of future pain. It is as though desensitization is the point in which we build a tolerance to pain. We have become apathetically numb.

Show me hope.

I wanted her to tell me words of progress. Even just a glimmer of hope was all that I needed.

But all that I could hear was darkness. These girls that I had cared so much about seeing succeed had given up.

And it breaks my heart.

I can imagine that this is what God feels like when we choose paths that we know in our head will hurt us, but in our heart we still choose apathy. I wanted them to know that we can choose to not have the past dictate our future. That the past abuse and tragedies did not have to be an end for them.

It is kind of like the part in a movie when you know something bad is going to happen so you close your eyes because you not bear to fateful result. As I heard the stories of these girls that I counseled continuing to regress, I winced from the devastation that I felt.

The irony of running from pain is that we often find ourselves in situations that can cause us more pain. But even when we become desensitized, more drastic painful situations remind us that we are human. The deep wounds will eventually catch up with us.

Rather than running, I think that it is healthier to accept the pain. As counselors, we are trained to help those that we work with feel and process through the pain. And just as I want these girls to process through the pain, I acknowledge that it is painful for me to see failure.

Sometimes we need to give up apathy and choose to acknowledge the pain in order to dream again so that we can continue healing.

Love Thy Neighbor

"In seven days, God created the world. And in seven seconds, I shattered mine"-Seven Pounds

I don't know which visual is more devastating: the process or the aftermath of destruction.

As soon as the words "we need to call 911" frantically escaped from my mouth, a firetruck had arrived. The night sky accented the intensity of the monsterous fire. While the many firefighters diligently attempted to bring the fire to its demise, the fire still fought with a vengence. I began to cough as the level of smoke increased showing the fires' resistance to possible extinction. A combination of the smoke and the fire made it look like a tiny nuclear bomb going off. I had never seen anything like it.

I placed my head on the pillow after I believed that the fire was put out, but I could not help but feel slightly guilty that while I was about to return to dreamland, a family had just lost their home and could have lost their lives.

Gone.

The entire top story of the house was completely destroyed while the glass of the windows in the first story was shattered displaying the destruction of the first floor. As I passed the house on my way to work, I saw the family and neighbors somberly pick up the damaged pieces and place them in areas to be discarded. It was one of the saddest pictures that I have ever seen.

I was given a hug by these neighbors that I had never met after I had openly expressed my desire to help them out during this time of tragedy. The daughter was still covered in black stains from the fire. She still seemed calm even despite the shock of losing her clothes, computer, and not to mention her entire room. She smiled as she told me that her mom saved her prom and graduation dress for her and that they had just dugged out her prom earrings. Her friends were right be her side to support her.

I write this puzzled because although the destruction from the fire was deeply grave, I still could sense joy from this family when I talked with them. They lost nearly everything, yet they still had smiles on their faces. The daughter had every valid reason to not attend school today, yet she still went on with the day.

And I think to myself: would I respond with the same joy if that had happened to me?

Procrastination at Its Finest

The difference between Undergrad and Masters: More writing. Lots more.

I want to put for my Educational Philosophy Paper: "Education rocks." And then just be done with my paper. Maybe if I copy and paste that until it reaches six pages, I will get full credit :)

I'm trying my hardest to not burn out.

Today marks a year since I graduated. I debated sneaking into the ceremony to see my multiple friends graduate. They are probably still calling off the names as I write this.

Part of me realizes that it is time to move on from Judson. I visited Judson at least 10 plus times this year. I think that is partially why I did not go today. The more I visit Judson, the more I wish to go back. It isn't the healthiest thing when I am still adjusting to good old Rockford. Regardless, there will always be a place in my heart for Judson even if I was only there for two years.

It is difficult to find community outside of college. Regardless, I feel as though I have made the transition.

I'm in need of some inspiration. I could use some more creativity since I find that the more intense school becomes, the less creative I am as a writer.

Probably because my mind is overworked.