Attempting to catch up ...

I've thought about this blog a lot lately, I think because this was always the place I turned to when I had thoughts I couldn't unburden to anyone in real life.

My last post was one of those thoughts - I had my first real two-sided romance this past winter, and some poor emotional coping mechanisms (on both sides, but admittedly more on his), fears, and doctrinal disagreements came between us, and it was ... messy and ugly. It should never have happened, but I'm also glad it did - I learned about myself, and I learned about what I do and do not want in my future husband. I'll be thinking about it for a long time to come.

But, that relationship is only one of the vignettes in an explosively growth-filled six months. A friend of mine suggested that I might have codependent tendencies - that I need to feel needed by broken people in order to feel good about myself. So I have started going to counseling to learn how to think more healthily about myself - to listen to my own feelings and opinions instead of downplaying them, to learn how to set boundaries and say "no" when I need to, and to see myself as worthy, loved, and important. So many of these new ways of thinking are completely foreign to me - I'm not used to accepting limits to myself. I'm not used to taking time to rest and replenish my emotional strength - it still makes me feel "weak" and self-indulgent at times. But as I recently counseled a young student, "You can't pour from an empty cup"; and I'm learning how to fill my cup with good things in quiet time so I can pour that back into others' hearts when I'm full.

Early this year, I went out on a limb and applied for a science journalism internship with NASA - and lo and behold, I was chosen! So this summer I will be packing a U-Haul and hitting the road for the East Coast, living away from my family for the first time ever. It's only for 10 weeks, so it's the perfect length of time to see what living on my own is like; and I won't be taking any classes or working any other jobs - just writing and taking photos, 40 hours a week for 10 weeks. Four hundred beautiful hours of doing what I love best. I am definitely nervous about living away from my family, but I'm also incredibly excited.

And just like I'm wading into the scary unknown of my unhealthy emotions and flying out to the scary unknown of living with strangers in a metropolis, so I've also been swimming out into the breathtaking unknown of putting all my faith in Christ's finished work on the cross and letting go of trying to earn His favor with my "good Christian" deeds. Through a combination of counseling, sharing the Gospel with my former editor and his wife, and studying Galatians in my Bible study group, I have been shocked and confused to realize that what I thought were just "standards" I held for myself were really yet another attempt to "make God happy with me". This isn't a new struggle; it's as old as this blog - it used to be my long dresses and conservative music; now it was my attempts to be sacrificially present and nurturing to literally everyone in my life. If I could just give more of my time and my energy, then God would be pleased with me. If I could just spend more hours listening to friends vent about bad relationships ... if I could give more effort at work ... if I could set a better example for my siblings ... if I could finally get my driver's license ... if I could just be and do more, then I would finally feel that God was pleased with me.

But God in His mercy directed me to Galatians 3:

Let me ask you this one question: Did you receive the Holy Spirit by obeying the law of Moses? Of course not! You received the Spirit because you believed the message you heard about Christ. 

How foolish can you be? After starting your new lives in the Spirit, why are you now trying to become perfect by your own human effort? Have you experienced so much for nothing? Surely it was not in vain, was it? 

(Galatians 3:2-4, NLT)

Christ is enough. It isn't "believe in Christ AND then do good works". No. Christ is entirely and wholly enough. If I were incapacitated today and could never do another good work for the rest of my life, it wouldn't matter because Christ is my righteousness. Christ is my holiness. He alone is Who and What I need to get into heaven and to secure God's favor.

As one of my dear believing professors put it, this is faith. Checking off the "checklist" of being a "good Christian" is impossible, but it is something concrete and visible that people can hold onto. You can see a long dress, or choice of music, or how you spend your time. That isn't faith. Believing that, even on those crappy days where you lose your temper and want what you shouldn't and just want to hide away from the world, Christ is still enough and God still loves you - that is faith. It's ambiguous. It can't be seen or held, and sometimes can't even be felt. But it is beautiful and it is empowering and it is what sets us free from guilt and shame and fear.

Learning all this simultaneously - clinging to a failing relationship while believing Christ is still enough; applying for a NASA internship while learning how to develop healthy friendships with myself and others - has been a rollercoaster of crying and laughing and staring blankly at this upended world that I now inhabit. But I can't wait to see what my Potter is doing as He squishes me down and reshapes me from the wheel up. Who am I about to become?

***

I do miss this space and all of you, and I leave it up so I can come back here and keep it alive in hopes of returning regularly. I pray that God is working in your lives as amazingly as He is working in mine, and that each of us is being lovingly polished and crafted into vessels that His glory and brightness can shine through.

Be well, friends. I love you.

~ Vicki

Strength to carry a secret

"Oh, hey," he said casually as my classmate and I turned to leave for class, "I'm getting married in the fall, you know."

I froze with my coat half-on as my classmate shrieked in delight, rushing over to demand pictures, ask the woman's name, and hear the story of how they met. Instead of following her, I turned partly away and slowly concentrated on loading my books and computer into my blue backpack, hoping that she didn't summon me to join the conversation. I didn't have the strength today to pretend that I'd never seen these pictures before, and to look him in the eye while I asked for a story I already knew. To his credit, he didn't turn in my direction either. Even though he had given his ring to another woman, there was still something heavy and uncomfortable that sat between us whenever we spoke.

I lifted my backpack to my back and slipped past the chattering crowd. He didn't say goodbye. Neither did I.

***

In three months, the tall young man with the sparkling brown eyes who gave me my first romantic embrace will be walking down the aisle to marry the woman God created for him many years ago. On the day of their wedding, I will be working in a newsroom near Washington, D.C. I will probably steal a moment on my lunch hour to cry; because once that day is over, a short story full of sweetness and pain will be sealed and tucked up on the shelf of my heart, never again to be opened or shared with anyone who knows both of us.

On paper, there isn't much to tell. He is a doctoral student who has a desk on the other side of the aisle in our small, stuffy third-floor grad student office. The day he came to visit our program, I greeted him and his host parents warmly, telling them all about apartments and things to do in our little Midwestern town. We met officially at a poster session in the fall - I explained my research to him and noticed how nice he looked in blue. My professor-mentor noticed that I noticed.

I learned about the tragedy that had stolen his parents from him when he helped me with a class project, and I cried as he told the story. He noticed that I cried. And as the leaves changed to the reds and golds that matched the shirts he often wore, he started stopping by my desk - for a few minutes, for half an hour, for hours at a time. We talked about theology, politics, research, our childhoods, our future plans. In the middle of a rainy October night, he backhandedly messaged to ask if I might consider dating him.

If emotions are our connection to life, then I was drowned in life for the next four weeks. Passionate and sure of himself, he praised my character and faithful lifestyle, he whispered in my ear how beautiful I looked, he cautiously reached out to hold my hand, to touch my arm, to press his knee against mine as we sat together. He called me his queen and dropped comments about taking me back to his country with him, carefully watching my face to see how I would react. He could read me like a book and knew things about me that I couldn't put into words myself. The first time he pulled me into his arms and placed his hand on my waist, my entire being exploded into a firework display of fear and longing that I had never experienced before.

Things unraveled fast. My heart, filled with anxiety and brought up in the era of kissing dating goodbye, tried desperately to keep him at arm's length while I feverishly laid the "perfect husband" template over everything he said and did. Annoyed that he wanted to move the conversation from "maybe dating" to getting married in the space of a few short weeks, I didn't realize that I was doing the same thing, both of us in our first dating relationship and unable to handle the tornadoes of hope and hormones that raged inside us. Over and over, I told him to slow down, back off, go away; and over and over he came back, pleading, pressuring, poking me into anger just to get me to react to him. Finally, hiding behind my parents' firm disapproval, I called the whole thing off, informing him there was no way to bring our strong and opposing personalities into a relationship.

I have never sensed pain in another human being at the level that I sensed it in his heart when I told him my decision. He tried to convince me that it was all a fling, that he never cared for me the way I thought he did, but it wasn't true. I, too, knew things about him that he couldn't put into words himself; and I knew that his last desperate whisper when I reached up to fix his coat collar - "I want you to do that every day for the rest of my life" - was spoken from a place too deep for lies to grow. I wrote to my best friend the next day and cried, "I feel like I just cut his arm off with a chainsaw."

He left for Christmas break. I stayed home in my snowy town, taking long walks in bitter winds to cool the raging confusion and anger that burned in my heart. And I told myself the same lies that he had told me. It was all a fling. I never cared for him the way he thought I did.

***

Just like Jo's rejection in Little Women spurred Laurie to look at Amy with new eyes and see the way things should have been all along, so my friend went to spend his Christmas holidays with a beautiful girl whom he had known since they were children. As he poured out his sorrows to her, things started to rearrange themselves in his heart; and he realized that the girl who had waited for him for so many years was really the one who deserved his love after all. Christmas worked its magic, and before he came back to school, they were engaged.

I told him I was happy for him, and at first, I was. But on the early-spring evening that he waited for everyone else to go home so he could come stand by my desk and show me his fiancee's picture, he finally looked me in the eye and told me that I had been right. It was not all a cruel joke. Everything he said about falling in love with my character, being impressed by my humility, cherishing the way I love and care for others, holding my purity and modesty in high regard - all of that was true. And he confessed that, on that last evening when I had fought with every intuitive and empathic power in me to pry away his careless mask and see the truth he buried deep inside, everything I had confronted him with was true. He was lonely, and he was wounded, and he did love me in some frantic, imperfect way.

After he put his phone back in his pocket and went home, I was left sitting in an empty, sun-soaked office, wondering what I had done - and what I had lost. Why had he finally come to tell me the truth? Was he truly a manipulative Mr. Collins who showed me his heart to triumph in my fresh pain, the way my sister and spiritual mentor insisted he was? Or was he the broken, lonely, imperfect but holy and faithful man I thought he was in the beginning, trying to break the news to me gently in some clumsy concern for my heart? Were we really too strong-headed and dissimilar to have figured things out, the way my parents and mentors insisted we were? Or did I let my anxiety push me into giving up on something beautiful?

***

I will probably never know the answer to these questions; and in a few short months, I will no longer allow myself to ask them. But whatever the thing was that we burned down, some beautiful things have begun to grow in the ashes.

For one thing, I have seen myself in a completely new way and learned things about myself that I couldn't have learned any other way. I learned more about what I really want in my future relationships. My friend wanted me as a wife because I was a fellow Christian grad student whom he thought could help and support him in his doctoral journey - a normal and fine thing to hope, but also lacking the element of partnership and mutual growth that I am seeking in my future marriage. I am a woman full of dreams and ideas and desires for adventure, and I want a husband who will support my growth and development just as much as I support his. My friend never mentioned my growth or betterment once when we were together - only after he was already engaged.

I also learned how important it is to find a boyfriend who values purity as much as I do. Both of us were strongly attracted to each other and desperately wanted to touch and hold each other; but in many ways, even though he couldn't stop himself from emotionally diving headlong into our relationship, my friend had more physical self-control than I did. He knew when to stand at a distance to talk with me, when to reject my requests for a hug, and also when the time was okay to flirt and touch because we were in a public place. I didn't experience the overwhelming level of temptation that I expected to, but I learned that I still need practice to get in tune with when it is and isn't safe to express affection through touch.

And lastly, I learned that it's time to start making my own decisions about my life, and not to keep making my parents make decisions for me, like I'm still a child. I'm turning 30 years old this year, yet I still almost frantically pleaded with them to tell me whether or not I should date my friend. Ultimately, even though my decision was informed by my own anxieties and frustrations, I still used my parents' wishes to shield me - not brave enough to own the decision as my own. It's one thing for me to honor my parents' wishes and seek to make them proud with my actions, but it's another for a grown woman to make her parents choose the direction of her life.

***

I've received a fellowship to work as a science journalism intern in Washington, D.C. this summer. I will be embarking soon on a real adventure - living alone for the first time, living in a metropolitan area, and getting my first real experience in the profession I have chosen. Soon, this brief and painful chapter will be far behind me. My friend will be a married man, and I will be launching out into the dreams that God has given me.

But I wanted to record the story here, because it was both too powerful and too mundanely predictable to seal away in silence forever. None of our classmates can ever know, but someone must. I have been loved; I have been desired and pursued. I have been held, and I have wept in sorrow and anger, and I have seen those same tears reflected in another's eyes. No matter the outcome, I am richer and stronger for this experience, and I pray that he is, too.

Lord, give me the bravery to carry this secret and to plant seeds of grace and love in its ashes, so that I can greet his new wife with grace, embrace their children with sincere love, and nourish their relationship as a sister and a loving friend.

i will wait for love

Over the last week or so, quietly, inexplicably, I have found myself stepping back from my one-sided relationship of the last year, and looking at it.

And silently, I have admitted to myself that it wasn't as pretty of a thing as I thought it was.

I know, they never are; but the real ones, the ones that are going to last, have a strength to them that holds together all the messiness and gives them shape - a solid skeleton under the uneven, shaky, imperfect tissue that knits together the "one flesh".

This one was like a skeleton with osteoporosis. Much too fragile to stand up to the weight and blows of daily life ... because only one of us was building, and I was building haphazardly and without proper materials. It was doomed from the beginning, just like he said it was.

***

He didn't respect me or my judgment. He frequently told me - and others - that I was scatterbrained, unreliable, inconsistent, and confusing. He called me condescending names, questioned my decisions, and said he liked it when I got angry or jealous because it reassured him that I was human.

In turn, I tried to use him as a security blanket when he didn't want to be. I placed selfish demands on him by seeking attention and support when he was already fighting stress and worry; I got peevish and angry when he didn't drop everything to tend to my needs; and I tried to shame him into conforming to the ideal I had built in my head for him.

Yes, I really was that ugly. And so was he.

That's not to say that it wasn't a very special, important relationship while it lasted. God let us find each other so that we would each have someone to lean on during the pain we went through last year - my rejection and failures, his insecurities and fear. When I was able to put aside my own needs and really listen to him, and when he was able to put aside his standoffishness and really listen to me, each of us was the support and understanding that the other needed.

But while that would have been a great start for a lasting relationship, it wasn't enough to sustain it. A relationship that lasts must be built on respect, trust, selfless care, and ultimately, a desire to serve and exalt God together. Because he didn't respect me, and I didn't trust him, and because neither of us could let go of our selfish wishes for the relationship (me to warm it up, him to cool it down), it could not survive.

***

As one of my dear friends said, the good thing to come out of this relationship is that now I know I can love - which I had strongly doubted in the past. I loved him very imperfectly, it's true; but if love is the genuine desire for someone's well-being and the willingness to sacrifice for that well-being, then I did love him. For every time I caved to my pounding heart and shot him a bothersome text, there were three or four times that I pushed the phone away and left him alone. His grades and reputation were huge motivators in how hard I worked on our joint projects. And when I could make him laugh and forget about his troubles for a moment, I felt like the most powerful and successful woman in the world.

I'm not going to try to love him in this way anymore. I've made sure, the last two times I've seen him, to let him know that he can come to me anytime he wants to vent or take a break from school, and I have genuinely meant it - not as a ploy to get him to go out with me. Now he knows it; and with that promise successfully tucked in his pocket, I can leave and freely explore the big world opening up ahead of me.

I hope - I really do hope - that he will call me back every so often. I hope I can stop by his office and sit with him in the afternoon again sometime. I hope, someday, he'll give me that hug that he never quite did. But I'm not going to chase after it anymore. Love that is not freely offered is not love at all.

***

I continue to hope that, somewhere along my journey, I find a tall, brown-eyed Jesus lover who welcomes me into his heart with warmth and understanding - someone who values and cherishes me, who looks at me with pride, not disgust. I pray that there is a man who will grow stronger and bolder when I shyly hand him my heart, who will allow me to add my strengths to his and to gently pour compassion into his weaknesses. I pray that there is a man who will raise up children with me, loving and protecting them as precious gifts from God.

I have caught a tiny glimpse of what love can be, and I see now that it is worth wanting and worth waiting for. And whether I am ever allowed to step fully into its light, I now know that the love of my friends and their husbands is worth supporting, nurturing, and protecting as a friend, not something to be feared or sneered at. Any pain or disappointment I have felt over this past year has been completely worth it, if I have truly learned this lesson.

After all - "for love is from God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God (1 John 4:7)". May I always value and protect this most precious gift.

{re: change}

I wonder how I'm going to feel in the future when I look back on the 2015-16 school year?

Right now, it feels like I have never truly lived before this year. I am honestly amazed when I step back and look at the sheer number and amount of experiences and emotions that have pounded over me and soaked me to the skin.

I have experienced physical exhaustion to the point of near-fainting and emotional exhaustion to the level of sobbing uncontrollably for three hours.  

I have thrown every iota of mental, physical, and emotional strength into something and seen it end in defeat - then I have seen hope be reborn and the Holy Spirit lift my eyes to look toward new horizons.  

I have uncovered unfairness and untruth and been their victim, and from that experience gained a desire to stand up for other students who are coming behind me.

I have discovered the strength that lies in the unchanging love of friends, and I am learning that even that strength is utterly frail and helpless compared to the ever-present love of my Father God.  

I have dared to fall in love, and felt the jagged pain of rejection cutting my heart and soul - but I have planted seeds of hope in the wounded places and watched them continue to grow, fragile and sweet and ridiculously audacious.

Defeat and hope, courage met with obstacles, injustices discovered. It's been quite a year.

***

At the advice of my mentors, and after many painful meetings and long nights of weeping, I have decided to leave my clinical program of study after this semester and move to a Master's degree program focused on health education and support. Admitting failure and letting go of my dreams and plans has been one of the most painful experiences of my life, and it will take me a long time to recover from the emotional damage of the decision and the semester in general; but God has moved in every stage of the process, and I am firmly convinced that this is His leading. There is no doubt in my mind that this is all Him, and that I am doing the right thing. Despite the sadness of failure, I am excited to see what He has planned and where He will take me next year.

This year has also been the year of my first real, complicated relationship with a man about whom I have dared to use the word love. He has cared for my heart so gently through the pain of this semester, driven me home after midnight, lifted my spirits with food and stories, carefully protected my confided thoughts, and rewarded me with the gift of his trust, his tears, and his hopes. We are a beautiful team. He calls me his confidante, his counselor, his kind and good friend ... yet for all this, he still says he does not love me in the same way that I love him. Every time he catches my eye and smiles, my heart leaps; and every time he waves and drives away, it sinks with frustration and pain.

I continue to hope. It may be futile, this tiny flower in my heart may be trampled back down again; but I continue to hope and pray. And even though I don't know what the outcome of this will be, just like the situation with school, I can say that the things I have learned through our friendship will outlast the pain, regardless of what the future holds.

***

I am a different person today than I was in August. I am no longer arrogantly enamored with my own sweetness and intelligence. I have failed, I have been the "stupid one", I have wounded others, and I have been wounded. I have learned about the depths of my own sinfulness. I have lost ten pounds and am thinking about getting my first tattoo.

I am not the same person that I was before this year.

But.

God is still the same God that He was before this year.

He has pursued my soul in a visible, vibrant, astounding way this year. He has met my collapsing soul with truth in the night when I was too weak to reach for it myself. He has nourished my soul through unexpected people and given me peace and rest in places I never would have looked for it.

I love Him. Oh, so imperfectly, so inconsistently, so unworthily of His majestic grace and all-powerful mercy; but I love Him and I am truly delighted in following Him. He is everything that I need, and even as I pick myself up and stumble away from the wreckage of my failures and broken dreams, I know that I am leaving nothing behind, compared to the glory that lies ahead in getting to know Him better, and in letting Him make me the comforting person for others that others have been for me.

Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and today, and forever.

Amen.

Paris

Let Me Sink

Sometimes, I just really don't want to be okay.

I wandered away from my take-home neurology exam this evening and drifted into Blogger, my eyelids and spirits drooping, as seems to be my constant state of existence lately. There just aren't enough hours in my day now to leave time for sleep, let alone meaningful relaxation - I am completely drained of the ability or motivation to stay awake for anything anymore. Between classes, exams, papers, quizzes, readings, labs, presentations, data analyses, clinic instruction, filling in charts, learning MATLAB, and trying every couple of days to help out a little bit with chores at home, I feel like a wet washcloth, completely limp and constantly soaked with more information than I can possibly absorb.

Don't get me wrong, there are many things that I love about grad school so far. I have learned more in 6.5 weeks than I ever dreamed possible - I'm doing things and working with people far beyond anything I thought I could do. It is absolutely amazing. I love my major professor and my labmates - each one of them is teaching me some very powerful spiritual lessons that I've never learned before. I am growing and stretching, and it's good, but it hurts. I feel like I'm getting sprains instead of muscles.

When I came to Blogger, I was immediately, simply, plainly smacked in the face by this article: "Give Your Weakness to God," by Steven Lee. It is powerful, it is beautiful, and exactly what I needed.

But as I read it, I didn't really feel encouraged right away. I actually felt dis-couraged. The whole point of the post was to bring hope and reassurance that God is with me, He is picking me up and going to carry me, and everything is going to be okay. But you see, I just don't have the strength to be okay right now.

I don't want to be encouraged. I don't want to pick up my cross in hope and keep going with renewed strength and enthusiasm. I don't want someone to pat me on the shoulder and tell me it's going to be okay. I really just want to lie quietly down on my face in the middle of a hallway and give up for a while, and have someone tell me it's okay not to be okay. 

But I don't feel like it's acceptable to admit that I'm struggling and really doubting my decision to choose this field of study for grad school, because doing so would be selfish and ungrateful for the incredible opportunity I've been given. Everyone around me is doing such a good job at keeping on a brave face, even those whom I know don't feel like being okay either; so I don't be the one to buckle and bring down the morale of the whole class. My professors, my parents, my friends - they all expect so much of me, and I've succeeded at everything I tried so far in life. I don't know what they would think if I failed at something.

So ...

Tonight, privately, here, I'm lying down in the middle of the hallway, and giving up for a few minutes, and letting you know that I do know that God is with me and that He will help me accomplish what I need to, but I just don't feel like being okay tonight.

Maybe I'll be okay tomorrow.

Prayer

Rain by hyamei on DeviantArt

***

Do not cast me off in the time of old age;

Do not forsake me when my strength fails.

~ Psalm 71:9

***

Father, in my emptiness, 

remind me that You are the God Who can fill me up.

For He has satisfied the thirsty soul, 
And the hungry soul He has filled with what is good.
~ Psalm 107:9

***

Father, in my weakness,
remind me that You are the God Who is mighty with power and strength.

“The eternal God is a dwelling place, 
And underneath are the everlasting arms; 
And He drove out the enemy from before you, 
And said, ‘Destroy!’"
~ Deuteronomy 33:27

***

Father, in my exhaustion,
remind me that You are the God Who is always awake when I am,
and Who watches over the few precious hours that I get to sleep.

My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. 
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber. 
Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.
~ Psalm 121:2-4

***

Father, in my confusion,
remind me that You are the Prince and Author of peace.

... for God is not a God of confusion but of peace, as in all the churches of the saints.
~ 1 Corinthians 14:33

***

Father, in my fear,
remind me that You hold my future in Your hand
and are working all things together for my good.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, 
to those who are called according to His purpose.
~ Romans 8:28

***

From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: 
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
~ Psalm 61:2

Grad Student Life

Things grad students do:

• Read
• Drink coffee
• Enjoy using big words
• Learn fascinating concepts that make their heads explode
• Dress up
• Wish they weren't dressed up
• Meet amazingly brilliant people
• Read
• Drink coffee
• Try not to cry in their faculty advisors' offices
• Run tests on their fellow students
• Give presentations
• Feel like bigshots around undergraduates
• Read
• Drink coffee
• Drink caffeinated soda
• Write papers
• Draw diagrams
• Feel like they are diving into a gigantic ocean of mysteries and discoveries
• Volunteer for events
• Read
• Drink coffee
• Try to stay awake in lecture
• Fall asleep in lecture
• Write papers
• Read
• Realize the massive and incredible awesomeness of God through study of His world
• Eat lots of cookies and pizza
• Get slap-happy over cookies and pizza at 8PM
• Drink coffee
• Write papers
• Read

Things grad students DON'T do:

• Sleep
• Go home before dinnertime
• Go on trips
• Complete their readings
• Leave their major building
• Sleep
• Wear sweatpants as often as they'd like
• See their families
• Sleep
• See their friends
• Sleep
• Or sleep
• Or SLEEP
• DID I MENTION THAT WE DON'T SLEEP

Why grad students do the things they do and don't do:

• Because they love what they're studying and want to devote the rest of their life to it

OR

• Because they realize one month into their studies that it's too late to back out now and they're going to be doing this for the next (insert some number between 2 and 12) years of their life whether they like it or not

BUT

• They know that someday it will all be worth it!!

"Of all the souls I have encountered ..."

It's strange, how you can become so attached to, and so influenced by, someone whom you have never met,
never will meet, and with whom you have practically nothing in common. Someone who doesn't share your religion, your morals, your worldview, or your life mission. All you share is some small insight on the world, some moment or point of agreement; and from that point, they change the rest of your life.

Such was Leonard Nimoy to me.

Leonard Nimoy reminded me of my dad, my philosophy professor, and the other wonderful, wise Jewish men I have been blessed to know. It wasn't just his wonderful work in film and television that made me respect and admire him, but also his off-screen intelligence, love of learning, and graceful humor.

I never met him. But I'm going to miss him.

From my very first Star Trek TOS episode, it was the character of Spock, the stoic half-Vulcan second-in-command, who captured my imagination and respect the most. Spock was wise, patient, intelligent, loyal, and, somewhat paradoxically, very often unsure of himself and his identity. Perhaps because I saw "Amok Time" very early in my episode explorations, or perhaps because I paid more attention and careful thought to his character than to the others at first, I quickly realized that the common belief that Spock had no emotion was completely inaccurate. On the contrary; Spock felt more deeply than any other member of the Enterprise crew. It was only his "otherness," his lack of belonging, that made him afraid to show weakness or his deep emotion in front of his human crewmates. I understood this well.

Later, I branched out from Star Trek to explore Nimoy's work in other TV shows of the 60's and 70's, such as Mission: Impossible, Get Smart, Columbo, Bonanza, and The Twilight Zone. I wept while I watched Spock die in Star Trek II, and reveled in Nimoy's masterful directing in Star Trek III. I sighed for joy when I watched him in the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Unification." And later, I enjoyed watching some of his interviews and following his funny, poignant Twitter feed. I considered him my adopted grandfather, after he offered to adopt anyone who wanted to belong to his family.

I miss him already.

***

In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Spock sacrifices his life to save Captain Kirk and the rest of the Enterprise crew. At his funeral, through his tears, Captain Kirk says quietly:

"Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most ..."

*pause*

"Human."

And that was what Mr. Leonard Nimoy was. The most human.

Goodbye, Mr. Nimoy. Farewell, my dear Mr. Spock. Thank you for teaching us humans to be a bit more patient, a bit more self-controlled, and a bit more logical.

Martyrs

After ISIS slaughters Christians, an Egyptian village mourns its sons

My Father, I thank You for bringing these courageous and faithful brothers of ours safely home through this fiery trial that they have just endured. I praise You and rejoice with their families that their faith was strong enough to hold onto Your hand and leave earth in such a horrifying way, far from their families, surrounded by hatred and fear, and probably enduring pain and suffering before You took their spirits. Even after their death, they are bringing glory and honor to Your name.

May those of us who live here, in peace and safety, learn to use our safety as a gift with which to serve You and support our brothers and sisters who have been deemed worthy to die in Your name.

"My Beautiful Woman"

You may have seen the "My Beautiful Woman" series before, especially if you are familiar with the pro-life movement at all; but I'm sure there are at least a few of you who haven't seen them, and so I wanted to post them here:



In the first video, an expectant mother receives devastating news that forces her to decide between her own life and the life of her unborn child; in the second video, a hard-driving business executive must face the disappointment and misunderstanding of her coworkers when she mysteriously quits work for a very important reason; and in the third video, a college student bears the weight of malicious rumors to ensure a carefree life for her preschool-age daughter.

These videos were created by Wacoal, a Japanese lingerie company that also has branches in the U.S. and other countries. Unlike what you'd expect from a lingerie manufacturer, however, these videos focus not on a woman's body, but on her spirit - all three celebrate the beautiful gift of a woman's sacrificial love and maternal instincts, whether she has her own children or not.

I'd really, really encourage you to grab a cup of coffee and a box of tissues and watch these videos. Each is only 8 minutes long; you can even watch them one at at a time, as you have opportunity. I was deeply moved by each one of them - they helped me remember that our desires as women to nurture and love children are beautiful and God-given; and as the second video shows, we don't have to have children of our own to use these maternal impulses to bless others Additionally, because each of these videos is narrated by an important man in each of the women's lives, they also helped me remember that good men still respect and value a woman who is willing to sacrifice her career, reputation, and even health to take care of her children.

If you do take a few minutes to watch the videos, please leave me a comment and let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your opinion!  :-)

Have a wonderful evening, my sisters!!

Hugs,
Vicki

Tired

I'm so tired lately.

I feel like I can never be the kind of Christian I want to be. I know in my head that I'm supposed to rest in God's finished work and trust Him to complete my sanctification in His own time; but I see the wreckage of self-will, rebellion, bitterness, covetousness, discontentment, doubt, and fear that fills my heart and mind, and I feel like I just have to do something to clean it up.

I purge my iPod of all secular music. I force myself to memorize Bible verses. I plaster Bible verses all over my Facebook page.

Nothing works.

Sometimes I look at my heart and really, truly struggle to see any evidence at all of God's hand on it. I've continued to pick at my strange attitudes about men and marriage, like picking at a scab, and have exposed a festering wound of bitterness - bitterness against men for being so inscrutable and unavailable when I'm lonely; bitterness against my married friends for blooming so joyfully under the protection of their husbands; and bitterness against myself for being old and not fitting into the culturally desirable model of beauty. I haven't regularly attended church in years, and I've picked that down to the wound of superiority - feeling like, because I know the Scriptures better than most of the recent converts in college groups, I'm too spiritual to waste time sitting through sermons that cover issues I've known for years. I've picked at my shyness and loneliness and discovered selfishness and a rampant imagination that often has me imprisoned in a glass cage, barred from interacting with real people in the real world.

Can such a heart truly be covered by Christ's blood?

Sometimes the fact that I can and do still ask these questions is my only hope that I do belong to Him. An unbeliever wouldn't be asking these things. Only a child of God who underneath everything still longed to please Him would be dismally poking at this mess of a life and trying to find some evidence of His handiwork.

How many witnessing opportunities have I messed up by talking about Tom Hiddleston instead of Christ's work in my life? What kind of example am I setting when I push away my little brothers' requests for attention and play another round of "Farm Heroes Saga"? How can I make any kind of impact for Christ when I spend hours on Pinterest and minutes in the Word?

I'm so tired.

More Myself

I would give anything to be able to turn from a Prince Hal into a King Henry ... to have a moment where I say, "yes, now I leave it all behind. I shed the drunkenness (Internet overdosing), the bad companions (people I hang out with who aren't getting me where I want to go), and the ratty old clothes, and hereafter I shall be more myself."   I can. It's not impossible. Going to bed and getting up and getting to WORK in the morning would be a great start.  :-) ~ Vicki

My Real Self

She's the office jokester, the class brain, the short, funny-faced girl with the geek glasses and red Converses.

People think she's a little quirky - she loves to perch on desks and tell stories, sends pictures of Darth Vader to her coworkers while she's on the clock, and has been caught blasting rock music in her cubicle when she thinks the office is empty. Yet when the time comes for her to hitch up her backpack and head out, the work is always done and neatly stacked on her desk.

She loves to talk, about anything and everything, from the most serious of events in your life, to the silliest fluff that she found on the Internet. She knows all the answers in class and is usually the one to start all the discussions - she positively dominates her Spanish class, as long as she's had the right amount of caffeine. People marvel at how much she gets done - despite having multiple jobs and being over the limit for how many credit hours she's allowed to take in one semester, she always seems to have time to talk with her friends, work ten extra minutes, or explain the latest homework assignment. They're not sure if it comes from her ubiquitous jug of sweet tea or just her ebullient personality.

***

That doesn't sound much like me, does it?

No, it doesn't. And yet I tell you the truth: That is me, at least the "me" that most people know. That is the costume that I put on every morning when I walk out of the house, and step out of with relief as soon as I walk back in the door.

Someone asked me this week how I was able to have so many friends and be so well-liked by people, which I do seem to be; and after thinking about it, I realized what the answer had to be - because I act like a chatty, bubbly extrovert when I'm with them, talking my head off, using uptalk and vocal fry, and perpetuating my reputation as a geeky, endearingly childish, but hard-working and smart dork.

And then I wondered - what would happen to all of these friends if I decided to be my real self for a day?

What would happen if I started doing, making, and talking about the things that were really important to me, instead of covering myself up and pretending to be something I'm not? What if I went out one day and was the real me - quiet, sad, peaceful, artistic, and curious - instead of being loud and funny? What if I really admitted that I was feeling little and vulnerable and alone, instead of boisterously pretending that life was peachy?

I don't think most of my friends, chatty extroverts that they are, would probably want to be friends with me anymore. Compared to how sparkly and vivacious they all are, I seem very flat and misty gray.

 ***

It's very draining to pretend to be someone you're not all day. I was discussing recently with some INFP friends that when I don't get enough recharge time during the week - time to listen to sad music, to sleep, to walk outside, and to be quiet and serious for a while - then I become physically ill, with things like body aches and upset stomach, like I've had today. (I know that happens to lots of people; I'm not trying to do the INFP I'm-more-special-than-anyone-in-the-world thing!) This week has been especially difficult for me - it's been very productive and successful, but I've been spending many more hours than normal in my phony persona, and it's been taking its toll on my body and my mood. I look and feel awful.

As I spend more and more time with my friends and become more and more immersed in the world, I feel myself drifting further and further into a mist of lostness, like I'm just hanging onto the Lord with my fingertips. In denying my earthly personality, the way God made me, I am opening the door to also stifle my identity as a sanctified daughter of God. When I deny myself the chance to be quiet, then I deny myself the chance to pray; when I let myself get pulled by my friends into Benedict Cumberbatch and pop music and interpersonal drama, I let myself get pulled into distraction, fruitlessness, and wrong thoughts and actions.

I need to change. I need to be the way God made me, both in terms of my personality and in terms of my identity and my sanctification as a Christian. But do I dare get up tomorrow and be my real self? How can I, when everyone already knows me as the mouthy geek girl? What would happen if I let the veil fall away from my face for one day and let people see inside it? Would it be as awful as I think it would? Or could it possibly be the answer to all my problems?

Confusedly,
Vicki

Addicted?

Have any of you ever wondered if you might be actually addicted to the Internet? I don't mean in the casual use of the word; I mean like an actual addiction, something that messes up your life and takes away the best of your energy and time. Have any of you ever experienced anything like that?

I'm asking because it's 1:30AM on Sunday night - I should have been in bed long ago, getting rested and refreshed so I can get up early and be prepared for class tomorrow. Instead, I'm still up, cramming for an exam and trying to catch up on the huge pile of things I didn't do this weekend because I spent literal hours on Pinterest, watching YouTube videos, and playing on Facebook.

I have struggled with spending too much time on the Internet almost since I got my own laptop, five or six years ago. But this year in particular, I've noticed it getting much worse. I'm starting to miss assignments, turn in shoddy work, and spend late nights like this one, cramming, all because I've eaten up my best time on Facebook or watching yet another music video about the Reichenbach Fall.

I'm worried.

My first impulse when pondering the problem is to have my sister change all of my passwords and keep me off of everything for a couple of months until I learn to control myself; but I can't do that for my biggest black hole, Facebook, because one of my duties as an officer in my student organizations is to update the Facebook pages and communicate with other officers. I've tried to set time limits for myself, but they typically last about three hours (until my morning's classes are done and I have a half-hour break for lunch).

The other thing that worries me, and I'm going to confess this very humbly and honestly, is that I don't just
spend hours on Pinterest looking at crafty things and recipes. I'm looking at Josh Groban and Benedict Cumberbatch and Tom Hiddleston. Now, I'm a very prudish person, and I doubt that any of my starstruck fantasizings would ever meet anyone's standards for inappropriate; but it doesn't matter, because I'm still dedicating huge amounts of time and brainpower to unsaved men who have no idea I exist. My devotions typically last about 5-10 minutes in the evening. My YouTube reveries last hours.

So I'm really not sure what to do at this point. Ask someone to help me stay accountable on my time limits? Write out a schedule for my day and force myself to stick to it? I do pray for help, but when my mind is so full of fluff, my prayers usually come out pretty fluffy too. I feel like I spend every day nagging myself to get to work, get off the Internet, quit listening to that song, listen to something besides Josh Groban, don't daydream during exams, get off Pinterest during lecture ... it's very frustrating.

Father, I'm so sorry for how I've been wasting and abusing the time You've given me, such a precious gift. Please forgive me and show me how to break these bad habits so I can come back to full, intentional fellowship with You and be attuned to the world around me!

Confusedly,
Vicki

Dying to Live

Do you ever feel like you'll just die or go crazy if you don't FEEL something?

Every so often, that happens to me ... I feel like I can't stand one more day of plastic smiles, hairspray, and predictable calm before I break loose. Millions of people today, in this very moment, are feeling anguish, horror, exhilaration, terror, grief, agony, joy, ridiculous outpourings of laughter ... while I serenely patter through my day, from placid job to quiet class to peaceful meal to utterly predictable night of homework and Internet surfing. No ruffled feathers, no emotions stronger than mild annoyance or a flicker of a smile.

Sometimes I feel like I'm going to run away and grab a plane to Bangladesh ... or grab a random stranger in a hug just to see what happens ... or scale the campus bell tower and see if I get hurt ... or sink all my life's savings in a little sailboat and sail across the Atlantic to Ireland ... or walk through a dark alley at night just to see what happens.

...

Then I usually feel like I'll just go to bed instead.

And dream about doing something crazy.

Goodnight, all.

Hugs,
Vicki

It Still Hurts

Why does it still hurt?

Why do I go for so many days and weeks feeling perfectly content and happy, knowing that I am loved by the One Who designed me and rescued me, knowing that I have a great work to do and a huge wide world at my feet ...

... and then encounter the one thing that I am denied, the one thing I do not have, and feel the old familiar wave of nauseating pain rush over my heart?

It makes no sense to me.

I like being single. I do. Really. I love getting up in the morning and putting on what I want to wear, not worrying about whether he will like it or how it makes me look to him. I love coming home in the evenings and having no responsibilities other than helping with the family chores and doing my homework. I love not having the butterflies that permanently take up residence in my stomach when I'm in a relationship or think I will be - I really don't miss those. They make it hard to sleep and eat.

I'm happy with where I'm at. I'm not in a hurry to find a boyfriend or get married. I really feel like this most days:

So why does it still hurt?

Because it does. Not long ago, I found out within the space of half an hour that three people from the younger grades at my old church have gotten married since I last saw them. One of my good friends from high school recently got engaged. Some of my much younger relatives are dating now. As far as I know, all but a handful of my best friends are in steady relationships.

And then there's me. Twenty-four years old, fat and lazy, chilling on my parents' couch, watching Tangled and Star Trek.

When I hear a beautiful real-life love story, it does make me jealous, but only a little. What it really makes me is deeply angry at and resentful of myself. Because somehow, it must be my fault. It's because you're overweight. You have stringy hair. You're lazy and ugly and boring. You're childish and selfish. You're obnoxious. You're a phony and don't let anyone get close to you. You're too sinful. You're too worldly. All you care about is yourself.

When I calm down, I know that most of that is only slightly true, and I know that these self-whipping sessions are just a bad habit I picked up during a really hard period of my life. But they hurt. I make them hurt. I want to hurt.

But why?

Is it something sinful, some kind of puerile jealousy that just wants what everyone else has? Or the more adult version of the same thing, a feeling of inferiority because I haven't reached this important rite of adulthood? Is it discontentment or rebellion? Is it a genuine desire that bursts forth so violently because I keep it squashed most of the time?

I don't know. I really can't tell you. I just know that it hurts.

I guess all I can do for now is try to enjoy getting to "fire arrows into the sunset", while I sit back on my parents' comfortable couch and read about other people's relationships from the peacefulness of my own solitude ...

Love,
Vicki

The Love Letter

 "Darling."

His rich voice softly interrupted my thoughts, like a leaf gently dropping onto the face of a still lake. I sighed a little. All day, I had been trying to avoid him so I could read my first-edition novel, but he had been following me, asking me the same question, over and over. "Please come and sit with me." Yes, I loved him dearly; but he always wanted me to spend time with him on his schedule, not mine. Sometimes I just didn't feel like talking to him.


"Darling?"

This time I sighed audibly and looked up. He was kneeling beside me, his whole face glowing with tenderness and love, holding a letter in his hands. "Darling, I wrote this for you. It's a gift, just for you. I've worked on it for years, adding a little each day, working on it long into the night sometimes, just to make sure it was absolutely perfect for you. Vicki, my beautiful bride, I love you so much. Please, come sit with me for a little while and read it. Won't you?"

I looked longingly back at my novel, and irritation stirred in my heart; but I tried to hide it with a pasted-on smile. "All right, dear. I'll come, but just for a little while."

I guiltily noticed the unmasked joy on his face as he bounded to his feet and took my hand in his, leading me out into the garden and settling me carefully underneath a blooming grape arbor. It was a beautiful golden evening. And he certainly was beautiful in the rosy light, with those sparkling blue eyes and that sensitive face so full of life. I grimaced at the familiar guilty, stabbing need to know him better than I did. I could feel the vast depths of his intelligence and character every time I was near him, like a mysterious forest waiting to be explored, and many times I could barely breathe for the need to know more about that beautiful heart and mind; but there were always so many other things to do ...

"Here, Vicki," he said eagerly, offering me the letter. "Please read it. I can't wait any longer."

I glanced at my watch. I could spare five or ten minutes. But the letter was long, I realized with dismay as I took it in my hands and felt how thick it was. Well ... I'd just have to read quickly.

I skimmed over the pages as fast as I could. The phrases I caught were beautiful - "beloved ... sacrifice anything for you ... forgive all the times you've hurt me ... your rapturous beauty ... how I long to hold you in my arms and keep you safe from everything that would ever hurt you ... cannot wait for the day when you will be my bride ... yours only and forever". 

But I really didn't catch much of the letter. Time was ticking away, and I mostly skipped the last few pages, hoping my smile looked heartfelt as I looked up and handed the letter back to him.

"Thank you, my love," I said, trying to put sincerity into my voice. "That was beautiful."

He looked eager for a moment, but he saw through my falsehood almost immediately, and the light in his eyes died. "I'm so glad you liked it," he said quietly, and folded the letter slowly before slipping it back in his pocket.

"I did," I said quickly, glancing at my watch again. Ten minutes were finally up! I smiled and took his hand for a moment. "May I read it again sometime?"

He smiled sadly and avoided my eyes. "Of course. Anytime. Just ... let me know when you have time. I'll be here."

"Thank you, darling!" I kissed him briefly on the cheek and hurried away, back to my novel at last. I couldn't wait to see how it ended!

***

Wow.

I want you to insert your favorite guy into this story for a minute. I wrote it with Tom Hiddleston in mind, because he is the celebrity crush that I value the most for his intelligence, cultured air, old-fashioned education, and tragically poetic good looks; and I want you to do the same thing - this story is about your husband, your boyfriend, or your most treasured literary/movie crush. Or, if you'd rather, make it about your brother or your father and ignore the romantic parts. But regardless, think for a moment of the man whose love you value more than any other.

Would you treat him this way?

I hope not. I know not.

Who would rather read a stale old novel than a handwritten love letter from _______________ [insert your man here]? I would burn all my novels rather than miss one word of any letter from Tom Hiddleston, romantic or otherwise. I would drop everything I was doing just to sit in silence and listen to him talk for even an hour. I would treasure such a letter or such an hour for the rest of my life, daily rereading the words he'd written for me, telling all of my friends and family about the incredible treasure I possessed.

So why do I treat the Lord the exact same way that ungrateful girl treated her lover?

I have a love letter from the One Who created me - the One Who designed my body with its gray eyes and crooked smile, the One Who shaped my personality with all its unpredictable ups and downs, the One Who wrote the entire story in which I am an integral character. The One Who loved me more than any romance hero ever could when He was lashed, beaten, torn, spat on, and brutally nailed to a cross to purchase my freedom from the kingdom of darkness.

He wrote me such a letter. A letter that tells me I am valued, cherished, and beautiful because I belong to Him. Not only did He write it, but He wants to sit with me as I read it, watching my face, answering my questions, and reassuring my doubtful heart that He really means everything He says.

Think about that! This isn't just some man who will be gray and fat and grouchy in a few years! This is GOD, the eternal Ruler of the Universe, the One Who commands the lightning and the rain, the One from Whom all the powers of darkness flee in terror! And He wants to spend time with you! And with me! And we act like the girl in the story, exasperatedly watching our clocks until "devotion time" is over and we can hand the letter back to Him and get back to whatever petty things we were doing!

May God forgive me for my apathy, idolatry and worldliness!

~ Vicki

Beloved

I have had a really long day of self-chastisement. It's been awful. See, I came across an article last night that, while filled with all kinds of excellent conviction and guidance, filled me with deep shame at all of the things that I'm not doing in my Christian life.

I don't pray enough. I don't read my Bible enough - I certainly don't read the Bible nearly as much as I watch TV. I don't like most Christian music - the musicianship of it never quite satisfies me the way top-notch classical or secular music does. I don't work hard enough at my homework, I don't take very good care of my body, I don't witness much at all, and I'm not as responsible with my money as I should be.

I idolize Tom Hiddleston and Josh Groban. I enjoy Star Wars and Star Trek and wear them on T-shirts and things, even though they both promote messages that are deliberately anti-Christ. I snap at my younger siblings. I spend way too much time thinking about getting married. I'm not very feminine or ladylike (I'm excited to go to class this week wearing my new Star Wars tee, my black geek glasses, and my Converse tennis shoes).

And then I read passages like:

... A good woman can be like a star of hope, a beacon-light, a peaceful retreat, to the man who is struggling against obstacles of the world. In her he can see the ideal purity and truth, and his manhood will strive to be worthy of her. But if she steps down from the path of true, virtuous womanhood and becomes petty or sinful, she will be his downfall.  (Beautiful Girlhood, by Karen Andreola)

Eeah. I guess I'm causing the downfall of mankind, because I am definitely not a true, virtuous woman - I am most definitely petty and sinful.

In fact, I would say I'm a sloppy, smelly, hairy, green mess as a Christian.

How do I start improving such a laundry list of problems? I know I can't tackle all of them at the same time, or I'll never make any headway. Some of these problems are most decidedly out of my own strength to remedy, because I've tried for years and made absolutely no progress. The thing that's really hurt me today is my fleshly voice looking at that list and crying, But I don't want to change! I don't want to give up _______  and start _______ ing! I like my comfortable sloppy worldly life!

I really don't know what to do. I'm a mess and not a fit representative of the kingdom of God.

He loves me. That much I know. That much I will cling to: He loves me. Whatever else I am or am not, I am His, and He loves me. And He'll help me.

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.

I Am the Princess

From here

I am the princess.

I am the one who stays locked inside Vicki's heart day after day, walking the floor of my narrow prison, locked and barred far away from anyone who might wander near me and find that I exist.

I am dreams of holding hands on warm summer nights; I am dreams of goodnight kisses, long conversations and diamond rings. I am her dreams of marriage - her dreams of being desired, sought out, and valued. I am longings for building a home and family; I am visions of quiet mornings with her own child in her arms.

I never escape this prison.

Sometimes, when all the world is quiet, she lets me out for a little while, out onto my balcony far above the real world; and I watch. I look at the men and women holding hands, I see them rejoicing in the love that God has created in their hearts ... and I wonder. Will that ever be me? Will I ever break out of this place and experience it for myself?

They tell me that, on the outside, she is small and plain - they say she's aloof, shy, introverted; she wears plain clothes and tries to pass herself off as an awkward, undesirable geek. She never lets anyone too near this place where she keeps me. I've heard the voices of a few women who were told about me, in hushed whispers outside my prison door; but none of them have ever crossed my threshold. I've heard men's voices close by, but never seen them, never even caught a glimpse.

She can't afford to let the rest of the world see me. Almost no one knows about this soft, feminine place deep in her heart, where I live. She doesn't have time to admit to all the treasures she keeps locked up in here with me - her love of romance, moonlight, and poetry; her weary desire to lay her independence down and let her strong husband look after her for a while; her dreams of building a beautiful, healthful, God-honoring home with her own hands. I'm not compatible with her life, she says. She's busy with her exams and clubs and work. She doesn't have time for me, and she dares not let anyone know I exist.

And so I pace the tiny room of this silent prison, day after day - denied, forsaken, ignored.

Yet I know that, somewhere, there is a prince who is looking for me. Someday he'll break down these walls that she has set up all around me - all of her protests and avowals of single independence will do no good. In his own gentle, patient way, he'll work his way deeper and deeper inside this castle of her heart, until he reaches my door ... I'll hear his voice, and I'll know that he's the one sent to rescue me; and I will give him the key, the precious key I carry around my neck.

And then I'll throw open these doors and show him all of the wonderful things I've made and saved up here for our life together - I'll give him every drop of the love I've waited so long to give. It will be a fight for him to get here, but he'll come. He'll be strong and godly and everything I've ever waited and hoped for; and I will be as much of his everything as I can possibly be. Never again will I be locked up in this tower, but I can ride with him into his kingdom, finally free to live and rejoice and show the world how beautiful I am and how beautiful our love can be.

He is my prince, and I am his princess. I'll never give up hope.