Split Sisters: Same Values, Different Candidates

I’ve been sitting on this one for a while. Not because I didn’t think I should write it, but because I was so disappointed and heartbroken by what I’ve been seeing in the wake of the election that I didn’t trust myself to write on the topic. I believe this election to have been the most divisive in our nation’s history. Part of this is the completely opposite natures of the candidates, and part if it is the pervasiveness of social media, which allows supporters of either candidate to attack the other side en masse. But however you voted, however you feel about it, Donald Trump is the president elect, and will be sworn in early next year.

Before I actually delve into the substance of this post, I do want to issue one caveat: I have no idea what it’s like to be a Muslim right now. An immigrant. A person of Mexican descent. A member of the LGBTQ community. I know that some of my friends who fall into those groups (or whose families do) are scared. And I would never say they shouldn’t feel that way. As a straight white person, I could never begin to understand what it’s like to have people’s first reaction to me be suspicion, hatred, or disgust. The closest I’ve come is some heavy misogyny, which is bad enough that I’m grateful to not have to handle the rest. Also, just because one person wouldn’t feel a certain way in a given situation doesn’t mean it’s wrong to feel that way. I find empathy to be a constantly waning trait, and one that we should all be practicing at all times.

That being said,  let’s talk about the way the country has acted and reacted, both during the course of the campaign, and after the results of the election were published. I have friends who range the political spectrum all the way from the farthest left to the farthest right, and I have always welcomed the opportunity to hear from all of them regarding their beliefs and positions. But this also means that I have seen some incredibly ugly personal attacks thinly veiled as “debates” between people I care about. And during this election cycle, I have seen nasty posts from both sides.

From the Hillary (or Bernie, or third-party) camps, I’ve seen blanket statements that all Trump supporters are ignorant. That they are racist, uneducated, misogynistic, and xenophobic. That they are brimming with hatred for minorities. From the Trump camp, I’ve seen blanket statements that Hillary supporters are “libtards”, that they support corruption, that they are lazy and entitled and simply looking for a government handout. When Trump won, I saw his supporters making nasty comments to those who had talked about leaving the country in fear if he did to “not let the door hit them in the a** on the way out”, and Hillary’s supporters making threats. I didn’t unfriend anyone on Facebook, but I unfollowed a minimum of a dozen people.

So what on earth does this have to do with the title of the post? My sister called me a couple of days after the election. She’s always been extremely supportive of my writing, and is one of the probably six people who read this blog. And she had an idea. What better way to (lovingly) call out those who are spreading hate than by letting all of you know that my sister and I voted for different candidates. You see, she and I have the same values. We believe in hard work, equality, and kindness to all. We believe in helping those in need. In making sure our children have love and discipline. We believe that there are plenty of things that need to change in this world, and we believe that Christ guides our lives and the lives of those around us. My sister always says you should vote with your values. And we both did. We believe in the same result – we just have different ideas of how to get there.

Our conversation was an incredibly friendly one, despite our divide. We have a very close relationship, and we always know we can express our views to the other with kindness and love. We disagree on medical issues, politics, fashion – you name it. We express our views, and then we acknowledge and understand that we don’t always think the same way. Each of us looks at the other as our sister first – as who we are as people and children of God.

And oh, how I wish the rest of the world would adopt that strategy. That they would remember that the person on the other side of whatever line they’ve chosen to draw is a human being with thoughts and feelings that, while they may not match yours, are no less valid and important to them. How different could things be if we tried to bridge the divides with understanding and calm explanations rather than flinging shrapnel grenades from behind our barricades of self-righteousness and assumptions?

Call me crazy if you want, but I’ve never once been swayed from my position by someone attacking me for holding it. A wonderful quote from Khalil Ghibran comes to mind here: “I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet, strange, I am ungrateful to those teachers.”

The way you treat someone who holds an opposing viewpoint is going to be the way they see the people who hold your viewpoint. Do you educate or attack? Do you show understanding or hostility? The cry from both sides from those who are tired of the fighting and attacks is almost exactly the same. Republican friends of mine have questioned why, if the liberal-minded are supposed to champion tolerance, they simply lump all Trump supporters together as awful people without knowing them. Liberal friends of mine have questioned why, if the Christian right is supposed to love their neighbor, they are spewing hate and insults or gloating.

And I have to say, that last part is what really showed me that I need to write this. I’m pretty new at the Christian thing (Catholic upbringing notwithstanding). I look to those who have walked in faith longer than I have for guidance and for an example. Yet, it was some of those very people who were posting unkind links or status updates. Who showed utter contempt for their fellow human beings because they think differently. As my sister pointed out, Satan is laughing his head off right now. Good people have devolved into their baser natures and are swimming in the fabric of this world instead of rising above the pettiness as someone made in the Father’s image.

The Trump supporters I know are not racist. They are not bigots. They are not misogynists. They simply felt that they had no voice, or that our country was headed in a direction they didn’t love. They saw Hillary as more of the same, and they wanted something to change. They want less government, and more power to the people.

The Hillary voters I know are kind, hard-working people. They agree that something needs to change, they just disagree on how that should be accomplished. They saw Trump’s unkind comments toward large groups of people, and they were afraid for what would happen to themselves or their friends who belong to those groups if we as a country said that those views were acceptable.

Now, I intended to write this post without sharing which of us voted for whom (though many close to us have likely figured it out). I’m not here to start fights with anyone – and, indeed, if you try to start one based on this post, I’ll simply remove myself and pray for you. But I’ve realized as I share my thoughts that it was an intention that arose out of fear. I’ve seen so many nasty comments about both sides from people I love, and I don’t want those people I love to say those things about me. To think those things about me. But I realized that it doesn’t matter. I am not who I voted for. I am not a political affiliation. I am not a bubble on a ballot. And if there is anyone who wants to ignore what they know about me and what kind of person I am and write me off for those reasons, that’s not on me. I stand strong in my faith, and God knows my heart. And who knows – maybe sharing who I voted for and letting the other side see that they do know and love someone who thinks differently from them might even cause them to re-think some of their negative assumptions.

I voted for Clinton. I, a rural girl who busted her butt to get where I am. Who believes in individual freedoms and state rights. Who believes in gun control but not to obnoxious extremes. Who believes in ideals from both sides of the spectrum. Who encourages job programs but also buys coffee for the homeless. Who would give you the shirt off of her back and offer you her scarf if you needed it. Who would never treat you any differently because of your political views/religion/ethnicity/orientation.

My sister voted for Trump. She, a college-educated woman who is crazy intelligent. Who believes in helping the less fortunate and also in personal responsibility. Who raises her children with kindness first. Who would add to my shirt and scarf with her jacket and shoes, if she hadn’t given them already at that point. Who would never treat you any differently because of your political views/religion/ethnicity/orientation.

I don’t know about you, but my sister and I intend to make the world a better place, no matter who is president. We intend to raise our children with the same values. We intend to spread as much kindness as we possibly can. And we welcome you all – no matter your views – to join us.

Conviction and Condemnation

I am feeling pretty beaten up, and not just because I did my first 5k yesterday. I have always said that if something I do bothers someone, I want them to tell me so I don't keep doing harm. Well, the Lord has put it on three people's hearts in the last month to tell me that, while they know I don't mean it that way, there are three things I've done lately that make it seem as though I think I'm better or more important than others.

Needless to say, I'm mortified. I didn't even realize I was doing these things, much less that they were coming across that way. I've talked multiple times here about how part of being saved is knowing without a doubt that you are a lowly sinner like everyone else and need Christ. So if anything I say or do has come across otherwise, please forgive me.

Fortunately, these three conversations had something in common: they came from people who care about me enough to help me be better. That's conviction. Had it come from people who wanted to tear me down and make me feel like a bad person, that would be condemnation.

I didn't used to know the difference. In the past, any criticism immediately sent me spiraling, feeling like the worst person in the world. I won't lie, it still doesn't feel great to have my uglier tendencies under a spotlight. And chances are I'll withdraw for a bit, feeling guilty and embarassed. But now I use those loving admonitions to better myself and be more aware of how I impact others.

So if you see something in me that needs addressimg, let me know. As nicely as possible.

Gratitude and Grief

I've barely cried. I feel like I should be a human waterfall, but it hasn’t happened. Well, that’s not entirely true. On July 5th at 8:20pm when Colin called me to say that his mom had 8-48 hours to live, I cried. I cried so hard I scared my 2 year old (though we were able to turn that into a teachable moment of “it’s ok to be sad and to cry), and I thought I’d never stop.

I spent the next week jumping out of my skin every time my phone rang or buzzed. True to her life, where no one  could ever tell her what she could do or when, Val hung on for nearly a week. In that time, Colin’s wonderful girlfriend, Sarah, passed a message to Val for me, that I loved her and was so grateful to have had her in my life. She said Val squeezed her hand when she said it. I got to say goodbye, in a sense.

I found out she had passed on a Monday morning. I took 5 minutes to be a mess (no crying, but very close), but I was at work, and that’s all I could afford. I pushed down my grief. I had to work. I had to care for my daughter. The calling hours were Thursday, and I’ll admit I came close to breaking when I saw her. This woman who was so much larger than life looked so small. But still, my eyes stayed dry. We had a gathering Friday evening out by the lake where she liked to sit and shared memories about her. I didn’t cry then either, though I came very close when her sister, who had never met me, hugged me and said “you were very important to my sister.”

I know I will cry that way eventually. It will hit me when I think of something I have to tell her, and I realize I can’t. Or when a Beatles song randomly comes on and I can hear her in my head chastising me for not being a big fan. But for now, in the meantime, I want to say all of the things I wish I’d taken the time to tell her while she was here. So here’s my letter to Val. Maybe when I see her in the next life I’ll read it to her while we listen to “Let it Be”.

Val,

I hardly know where to start. You came into my life at a time where I didn’t know who I was or what I was doing. But you didn’t mind. You opened your arms and your home to me immediately. I wasn’t really used to that. Sure, parents always loved me, but you truly took me on as your own. You didn’t have a daughter, but you treated me like one. Even from our very first meeting, I knew I’d found family in you and yours.

As I grew into myself, you were always there to encourage me. You loved me, and you believed in me, and you made sure that I knew it. We discussed everything under the sun, and you listened and respected me and my ideas. And you wanted me to be happy. I’ll never forget when I came over to your house with Mike after we got engaged, and you said to him, “I’m not going to lie – we were kind of hoping that she’d end up with Colin. But we’re glad she found you.” And when I had Meredith, it was never even a question – she was your grandbaby, too.

I don’t think I ever said it to you, but I told Colin more than once that I want to be you when I grow up. Passionate, driven, ambitious. But also kind, caring, and empathetic. Part of the reason I know I can put together my non-profit and be successful is because I intend to follow your example. You put others first, but you still knew how to take care of yourself. You were a force of nature – strong, and with an amazing presence. You expected the best from others, but unlike many, you were there to help them achieve that “best” in themselves.

Anyone who knows your family can see instantly the kind of person you were. Your boys all have a big piece of you in them. I've said it before and I'll say it again because it bears repeating. Colin always seems to know just what to say or do when someone is upset. Brendan has your quiet confidence and calm. Kerry can talk to anyone and is so incredibly driven in all he does. Dyl, of course, got all the charm.

I haven’t figured out yet how to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it. It seems darker. But I know that you’ve touched and impacted so many of us, and we will do our best to carry your light with us and make sure it reaches even farther.

I love you, I love you, I love you. I am forever changed because of you, and I will always be grateful.

Dancing Queen

I was late to church this morning. I know, I know. I don't really have a good excuse - I just was. I came in during the second half of the worship team's set, so I sat in the very back in front of the sound booth. I settled in, and I noticed that one girl, Mia, was dancing at the back of the sanctuary. Apparently before I arrived, Pastor said we could dance. Mia has Down Syndrome, I believe. I'm not great at guessing ages, but I'd put her around 11. (Edit: I've been informed that Mia is actually 27, but I'm leaving my initial impression to show what a youthful spirit she has.) She's always so joyful in her singing, so I wasn't remotely surprised to see her dancing as well. What a beautiful expression of love and joy. My thought in watching her was how sad it is that the rest of us are so inhibited that we would probably never be found twirling, waving our arms, and making sweeping gestures in front of (or behind) the congregation.

As soon as I thought that, the song died down, and the next one began. And Mia, to whom I had never spoken before, came over, grabbed my hands, and pulled me up to dance with her. She spun around with me, twirled me, and laughed with glee as I kicked out my legs whenever she did. I followed her lead, and we went round and round with joyful abandon. Toward the end of the service, she came back to sit by me, and when we stood to pray, she put first one arm around me, then both. I returned the hug, and we stood together. We walked back to the fellowship area after, arms still around each other, and I spoke with her mom for a few minutes about what a blessing our girls are.

Mia didn't know me before today. She didn't know my heart, or what was on my mind. And she had no idea how much I needed a little extra love and joy today. She just knew that she was dancing, and she was happy, and she pulled me in so that she could share that with me. And that, my friends, is how we should all be. We should share our happiness with others. Reach out. Compliment someone. Buy a $10 gift card for the store you're shopping in and hand it to the person in line behind you. Call someone just to let them know you're thinking about them. Dance with a child.

When I had to go, Mia didn't want to leave me, so I gave her a hug, and I told her that she can sit with me next week. I made a friend today. And I am so grateful to her for giving me that joy and love.

Caring Bigger

After the incident with the boy in the gorilla enclosure and the gorilla's subsequently being put down splashed all over the news a few days ago, I saw some friends on Facebook liking and sharing this status:

And it's been bugging me ever since. Don't get me wrong - I understand the basic sentiment. Gorillas aren't human. Human beings are dying in many ways all over the world - abortions, shootings, drug overdoses, cancer. Other primates may not be that high on anyone's priority list. But this way of thinking is something I see all the time that has always bothered me, and I believe God has put it on my heart to speak up about it.

Caring about two things is possible. Caring about 200 things is possible. Yet all too often, we dismiss the pain and suffering of others - human or otherwise - because it's not as important as whatever our top issue is. "How can you get upset about X when Y is happening?" It's meant to make sure we are focusing on the big issues. But it comes across as childish - "I refuse care about that kind of suffering or injustice until the kind I care about is addressed."

Let me tell you something - to the person who is suffering, it's not small. It's not less important than whatever issue is your standing ground. Imagine if someone had said to me when Meredith was going through her heart surgery "why are you so upset about that - don't you know there's a kid dying of leukemia two rooms over?" While it would be meant to put my suffering in perspective, what it really says is that my suffering doesn't matter. My life, my trials, are unimportant. If you were stabbed and I told you that I didn't care and refused to visit you in the hospital because someone else I knew had been shot, we likely wouldn't be friends for very long.

I care about genocide. I care about abortion. I care about a gorilla who by no fault of its own felt tasked with caring for a little boy who was in distress and did it the only way it knew how. I care about the mom who lost track of her son for long enough for that to happen. I care about the people who cared for the gorilla and had come to love it. I care about kids with colds, kids with cancer, and everyone in between. 

But really, I could have just stopped after "I care". God loves all of us. He cares about our struggles and our suffering. Haven't you ever prayed about something like a car that wasn't running right? Being a bit tight on money? A baby who just won't stop crying? God would never tell you that he won't hear your prayer until he's addressed the bigger issues. It's ok to have a cause. It's wonderful to be a bastion of hope and a champion for those who need it. But don't let your cause blind you to the rest of the world. We all matter. Even the gorillas.

Forgiveness

I couldn't for the life of me think of a catchy or clever title for this one. The idea I'm positing needs more than one line, hence the entire blog post.

In recent years, I've come across a line of thinking that made me shake my head in confusion. That if you forgive a person, that means putting yourself in exactly the same position you were in before they harmed you. The situation that allowed them to harm you in the first place. I see this line of reasoning most often when the person who harmed you is a family member.

The same person who would tell you to quit a job with a toxic boss, break up with an abusive boyfriend, or distance yourself from a friend who always puts you down will stand in front of you and insist that you can't change the terms of your relationship with an abusive parent. With a relative who sexually assaulted you. With a sibling who constantly uses you as an ATM for drugs and wouldn't bother giving you a glass of water if you were on fire.

Don't get me wrong - absolutely no part of this is to say that you shouldn't forgive. We are called to forgive everything from the smallest slights to the largest atrocities. But I want to talk about what forgiveness means. Forgiveness means that you are not harboring bitterness toward someone for their harmful actions. It means you are moving on with your life and wishing them the best in moving forward with theirs. You don't seek vengeance - you seek healing for both yourself and for the person who wronged you.

Now let's talk about what forgiveness doesn't mean - it doesn't mean constantly putting yourself back in a position where you're going to be harmed again. It doesn't mean you have to trust the person. It doesn't even mean you have to like the person. You can forgive them and love them as a child of God, but still keep your distance.

For example, I've spoken previously about being molested in college. I've forgiven that man. I forgave him a long time ago. But I'd never be alone with him again. I would never reach out to contact him or try to have him in my life. A friend of mine was physically abused by a family member when they were younger. They have forgiven this man. But they would never let their kids be around him. They would never be alone with him themselves. Another friend was mentally, emotionally, and verbally abused by his mother. He wants her to have the best life she possibly can. He wants her to be happy. He has forgiven her. Yet he doesn't call her - he knows she will try to manipulate him. He doesn't seek out a close relationship because he doesn't trust her to have his best interests (or those of his children) at heart.

Sometimes a person truly does change after committing these horrible acts. Sometimes they come to Christ and truly repent. And that is a wonderful thing - I wish that for anyone who has ever wronged me. But here's the thing: I'm not Jesus. Such an obvious statement, right? But I'm not. I cannot see into a person's heart and soul like He can. If someone who harmed me is truly repentant and changed, I may not believe it. And while I'm open to seeing it, it likely isn't going to happen in a snap. I will see it in God's time.

That's what I think is the most frustrating for those of us who are seeking forgiveness. We can be truly sorry. We can change. We can forgive ourselves, and we can truly love the person we've harmed. But we cannot force them to accept us back into their lives. Even if they forgive us, we cannot force them to be our friend, to go back to whatever our old relationship was. In fact, trying to force them may cause them to feel resentful - we are butting into their healing process so that we can feel better about ourselves, and that is not right. Healing can take a day, a year, a decade, or even a lifetime depending on what the harm was and how long it went on. And you as the one who did the harm do not get to decide what that healing should look like, or how long it should take. As much as I don't generally quote Taylor Swift in my blog, "Band-aids don't fix bullet holes."

No matter which side of this uncomfortable situation you're on - the one who has harmed someone, or the one who has been harmed - there is only one option. Trust God. If you have wronged someone, give them space. Give them time. And trust that if you have truly changed, God will show them. Pray that you can be at peace with the situation as it is until that time comes. If you have been wronged, trust that God wants what is best for you and will show you when it's time - if it ever is - to re-forge a bond with the person who harmed you. Either way, remember that you cannot control other people. The phrase "Let go and let God" exists for a reason.

Don't Close the Book in the Middle

Yesterday's post had a good message, and an important one. Unfortunately, it was also me stalling because I didn't want to write this one. I was convicted weeks ago to talk on this topic, and instead of heading to the computer, I hid. So yesterday, as I waxed on about not being afraid, a big part of me was talking to myself about this post. And with that, here I am.

Trigger warning: if you do not want to read about the time I planned my suicide, please do not read any further.

Hope is a fragile thing. It can work wonders, and it's hard to kill, but it can at times become so dim that we just don't see it anymore. We stop looking. We believe that things will never get better, that now is all there is. We are told so often to live in the now, and sometimes we forget that looking to the future can be life saving.

I lost sight of my hope when I was just eleven years old. And please, don't scoff and say that an eleven year old has nothing to be depressed about, or that I was just being melodramatic. That was the year my depression and anxiety began. And while I'm willing to share this story, I'm not willing to explain why just yet. Just know that some kids have plenty that can lead them down this particular path. Despair isn't singular to adults.

I was in a bad place, and I thought I would always be there. In the meantime, I felt useless. I was unhappy, and I thought I couldn't do anything right. I felt like a burden to the people around me. If they didn't have to worry about me, they'd be so much better off. I figured everyone would win this way - my pain would stop, and no one would have to deal with me anymore.

I knew exactly how I would do it. I knew where I could obtain pills and alcohol, and I planned to combine as much of both as I could. I knew what I would wear. That I would go to the bathroom first, having at least enough biological knowledge to want my family to have to deal with as little postmortem mess as possible. I would lie down in my bed, I would go to sleep, and I would never wake up.

In the days leading up to my plan, three things finally stopped me. One, I believed that those who committed suicide went to hell, and no matter how bad my life was, I figured that was worse. At least a little. Two, there was someone close to me who also suffered from depression, and I thought they might blame themselves and follow me. I didn't want to be responsible for anyone else's death. My third reason will sound weird given my age at the time, but I was hit with the realization that any children I was supposed to have wouldn't have a chance to be born if I died.

So I didn't do it. Instead, I spent the next few years simply wishing the universe would take care of things for me. A fall down the stairs that would break my neck. A bus whose brakes were a little too slow. A random aneurysm to take me in my sleep. Morbid, to be sure, but I truly wanted to die. That death wish didn't end until I almost did die in a car accident my senior year of high school. I realized that if I survived that, God must have something in mind for me.

In the time since then, I met and married my wonderful husband. I had a beautiful daughter who brings joy to everyone around her. I'm starting my non-profit, I submitted a children's book to a publisher, I became an aunt to three amazing kids, I became close to my sister, I passed the bar exam my first try, and I've met wonderful people.

None of the above seemed possible to me when I was 11. Or even 17. I could only see part of the picture, and I didn't like that part. I had a pile of puzzle pieces, but I didn't have the box top to go off of. The point is, we can't always see outside of our immediate circumstances. But you can't know the ending to a book by chapter 3. You can't know the ending to a movie 20 minutes in (ok, sometimes you can - some plots are super predictable). So don't close the book. Don't stop the movie. Don't end your life. I am living proof that things do change. I can't promise you that your circumstances will be oh so much better. I can't know that. But they might change. And your heart can change. The thing that makes you feel like you want to live might be just around the corner. If you close your eyes now, you'll miss it.

Please, if you feel the way that I felt, find help. Talk to a friend, talk to a counselor. Talk to me - I'm not certified in anything, but I've been there. Contact these people and let them guide you. Above all, know that you are not alone.

Veggie Tales Had it Right

There's a Veggie Tales short about a little boy who's scared after watching a monster movie. Larry and Bob (as well as the veggie who plays the monster in the movie) show up to remind the boy that "God is bigger than the boogieman, and he's watching out for you and me." It's adorable, as are most Veggie Tales stories, and it has a good point. When our children are scared, it helps them to hear that there's someone who can vanquish all the monsters. It tells them "You are safe - the monster can't get you."

It's easy to tell our children that. After all, monsters aren't real. Except for one small point - they are. It's just that as we get older, the monsters change. No longer do we fear the giant, creepy boogieman. We aren't worried about the thing under the bed grabbing our foot if we don't keep it under the covers (although I still feel like it might whenever I've recently read a Stephen King book).

Instead, we fear the looming specter of death. We fear the mangy grasp of poverty. We fear the sallow-faced twin goblins - pain and disease. And I don't know about anyone else, but these things sometimes make me long for a boogieman. At least that I could fight off with some monster spray (I gave a bottle to my brother when he was 4 - a bit of my perfume and water - and it worked like a charm), scare away with a shout or by turning on the lights, or even fend off with an errant baseball bat if the situation arose.

I can't take down my student loan debt, medical bills, or mortgage with Love's Baby Soft. I can't yell my ovaries or colon into submission and make them give up the guerrilla attacks they stage against me with cysts and Celiac. I can't guarantee myself a long life by plugging in a cute character night light. I wish I could.

But here's the thing - Veggie Tales was right. God is bigger than the boogieman. And that doesn't just apply to childhood monsters with gnashing teeth and tearing claws. It applies to every monster that we face from the time we are born until the time we die.

I was privileged to have attended a Bible workshop with my sister over the weekend, the subject of which was "Fear Not." What a powerful two words. I heard testimony from some amazing women about things they had been through in their lives. Things that seemed insurmountable at the time. Things that God brought good out of.

God is bigger than my debt. He is bigger than my pain. Bigger than my illness. He is bigger than the now-repaired hole in my daughter's heart. He is bigger than death - he conquered it. He is greater than anything that tries to harm me. He is greater than anything that does harm me. Because we are all harmed in our lives. People hurt us. We hurt ourselves. Circumstances seem to conspire against us. The best verse that I came away with from the workshop was Genesis 50:20, when Joseph is talking with his brothers about their sins against him:

"As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good..."

God has the big picture. He can see the whole of everything, and His plan is in the works. I'm sure you can think of a time when something horrible happened to you that eventually turned out to be for the best. I've shared before how my daughter's diagnosis, her surgery, her struggle, has inspired me to begin a non-profit that will be able to benefit over 300 families a year. I've had relationships end and been devastated by those endings, only to find that my life was healthier with the removal of that toxic person.

It's only human to feel fear. We all do. But when you do, remember that God has you. And he's watching over you and me.

What We Want for Our Children

Any good parent will tell you that they want what's best for their child. We want them to have every advantage, to not suffer or struggle. We want them to be happy, and contented. And I am no exception. My daughter is two years old, and I already pray about the person she will end up sharing her life with eventually, if she chooses to do so. For a long time, the prayer went like this:

"Please let her find and end up with someone who treats her with kindness, patience, respect, love, compassion, empathy, and generosity; who makes her laugh and brings her closer to You."

I think we can agree that this is a good list of traits for a significant other. They're what I looked for (and found). And I want her to have that because I believe that's what's best for her. It's what she deserves.

But here's the thing: that may be what I believe is best for her, but there's no way for me to know if that's what God knows is best for her. This discrepancy isn't unique to me, nor is it new. There have been more occasions than I could list here where what I wanted and what God wanted were at complete odds. He's always right, of course. Some of the worst times in my life have led to some of the best things. There are many good parts of me that wouldn't exist if they hadn't been shaped by suffering. And I've slowly come around to the point where I'm willing to accept whatever He gives.

I have a much harder time, however, accepting the suffering that lies ahead for my daughter, whatever that may be. I've already watched her go through open heart surgery and come out for the better. But I still can't shake the parental urge to spare her from, well, everything. I know I can't put her in a bubble. That's not what's best for her - she needs to fall in order to learn to pick herself back up, if you'll excuse the Batman reference. But no parent wants to see their child in pain.

I struggle with this daily, but I've come to realize that it's much like disciplining. I don't like having to discipline my daughter. If we're having fun, I don't want to stop to admonish her for dumping her cereal on the floor. I don't want to make her cry by insisting she sit in her high chair to eat dinner. I don't like sending her to her room for smacking or kicking. And I certainly didn't want to wake her at 2am when she was 2 months old to give her medication that she hated. But all of this I do for her own good, even if she doesn't know it.

And if I know that I'm doing the right thing for my daughter even if she fights me, how much more should I know that God is doing the right thing for us, whether we like it or not? I haven't stopped wanting all of those things for my daughter, and many, many more besides. But my prayer has changed to "please let her find and end up with the person you intend for her to be with." I know what's best for her more than she does. And He knows what's best for her more than I do.

"More Jesus!"

Once again, my spiritual inspiration has come from my two year old. I know it's cliche, but while you teach your kids, you learn from them, too.

I taught M the song "Jesus Loves Me" because it's my nephew's favorite, and those two are best buddies. She had me sing it over and over (seriously, it could have gone on for an hour if I hadn't stopped so she could go to sleep), and every time I ended the song, she'd say "More Jesus!"

That in and of itself is fairly instructive. She may not mean it that way because she's not old enough to understand His sacrifice and His place in our lives, but I know I at least could use more Jesus. I pretty much am a toddler in terms of my spiritual journey. But the bigger inspiration I gained was this - she had heard me sing the song over and over and over, and she still wanted to hear it again. She was delighted each time, and even began chiming in with that adorable, toneless, every-other-word singing only a toddler can pull off.

And that joy, I think, is something that we start to lose if we're not careful. When I was planning my wedding, I heartily insisted that 1 Corinthians stay completely out of the ceremony, opining that if I had to hear that trite "love is patient, love is kind" spiel again, I might throw up. I had heard it so many times that I had let it lose its meaning. It wasn't the word of God to me. It was blah blah, yadda yadda, love nonsense.

I think to some degree, many of us have this happen to us. We hear a verse that we've heard a million times before, and we start to zone out. We know it, we get it. We're sick of it. In the same way that we won't laugh at a joke we've heard a dozen times, we don't rejoice in the verses we've heard a dozen times. We keep the sounds and letters, and we lose the meaning behind them.

So I read 1 Corinthians again. And instead of reading it like someone who is sick of it, I read it as someone who wants to learn, and to understand. And I didn't hate it. I still likely wouldn't use it in my wedding if I got married today instead of 4 years ago, but it's not just trite to me anymore.

I challenge you to do the same. Find a verse that's lost its luster for you, and read it with new eyes. With an open heart. It's like watching a well-loved movie for the tenth time - there's always something you never noticed before, and it can change the whole picture.