The KFC Martyr

I like to think that I'm a darn funny person, so it pains me to say that the most laughs I've ever received from my parents, sister, and husband came from this great one-liner:

"I'm not stubborn."

You would have thought I reinvented the knock-knock joke or something. These people that knew me best were ROLLING on the floor with tears STREAMING down their face. Fine, whatever. I'm stubborn. I didn't realize though, how stubborn I was perceived as being until January when I went to the ER for dehydration. About 10 hours after leaving the ER for treatment, I was back at work. I only told everyone because I did miss one day... and the tape from the IV was still stuck to my arm. My favorite co-worker expressed her genuine concern at my idiotic behavior and my boss just smirked and said, "Ali loves to be a martyr."

At first I thought this was a compliment. Martyrs are really great, brave people, so passionate for a cause that they'd die for it. But hold on... I don't think most martyrs, at least sane ones, love to be a martyr. They're just willing to be. And it's for one cause. If there was someone so stupid that they'd lay their lives down for every opinion they have... crap, that wasn't a compliment. To be fair, if there's a gene for stubbornness, I have it bad. You see, I'm the granddaughter of the KFC martyr. My grandpa didn't eat or purchase KFC for 35 years. THIRTY. FIVE. YEARS. And he loves fried chicken. But you see, thirty-five years ago, some person at some KFC pissed my grandpa off. And he was done doing business at KFC. All KFCs. Forever.

Would he go to a KFC in China? Answer's still no.




Not to mention my dad, whose going 12 years strong on his boycott of Old Chicago after they had bad service on my sister's 10th birthday. My grandpa told Nate a while (I don't even remember who about), "Well, if you don't like him, I don't like him!" which in our family is a great compliment, but I think it just kind of disturbed Nate (as it probably would most people).

Don't get me wrong, in many areas of my life, my stubbornness has served me well. My first weekend at Eureka one of the douche-y frat guys saw my friends and I walking around campus and invited us to play beer pong. I didn't even say anything. He looked at the look I was giving him and said, "Okay, she's not in, apparently." So in terms of peer pressure, being stubborn is a great asset. No means no - because I said no. I think it's also helped me professionally. Ya, I probably come off like a huge jerk from time to time, but at the end of the day, I get things done. Because I don't care if your Vice President, Senior Vice President, Senior Executive Vice President, or the cleaning lady. I want you to have answers for why you want me to do things a certain way, and if I think I have a better way, I expect you to explain why you still want to do it your way. This makes me sound like a miserable employee, but at the end of the day, even if a leader doesn't know it, that's the kind of employee that they want and need.

Though it's hurt me too, my stubbornness has actually helped my faith in a lot of ways. I stand firm for my faith, and I'm not shaken because stubbornness is just a part of me.

But as I think about all of the things that I'm stubborn about... all of the things I fight for... all of the things that I beat myself up about if I give in on... I feel a little silly. I'm working to become more deliberate about choosing which things are worth being stubborn about, and which things I should just let go. Because really, a martyr who will die for anything, really isn't a martyr at all.

The Sometimes Rocky Road: Relationship Advice for Anyone

My husband is my favorite person in the world. As I type this, he's laying next to me asleep and snoring, with crazy hair, blowing his stink breath on me. And he's still my favorite person. We're about a month out from our second wedding anniversary, which is also our seventh anniversary as a couple. Yes, that's right, we're one of those crazy high school sweetheart couples that made it through. That fact usually elicits a few "aww"s. Even just telling people we've been together since we were 16 usually gets response like, "You have the relationship I want!" or "You're so cute!" But to be honest, while finding my soul mate at 16 saved me heartache in a lot of areas, it's a lot less adorable-ness and a lot more work than most people understand. Discover yourself as a person, graduate high school, make college plans, decide on a future career... all while nurturing the most important relationship in your life (other than God)? Sure, no problem. But when you make a metal alloy, the metals lose their individual characteristics, and the atoms of different sizes and shapes combine, creating something entirely new... and stronger. I want to share with you a few things I've learned about our relationship that are a little less "aww," that you need to know and know how to deal with, if you want a successful relationship.

1. Your relationship will struggle if God isn't at the center, no matter how hard to work.

I am a hard worker. And I'm stubborn as heck. But all of my hard work could never match the blessing of what God has for Nate and I as a couple. I think Nate and I had God in our relationship for most of our seven years, but we always tried to make him feel like the awkward third wheel. "Oh, hey God... we were actually just going to a movie... Come along? Well, okay." But I think that about six months ago, we truly took the step to put Him first, each other second, and let everything else fall into place. That decision has been a blessing above and beyond what I could even imagine.

2. There will be moments when nothing seems sacred anymore.

I remember the first time Nate and I farted in front of each other. Is that weird? Because we both do, and for some reason, we love that story. It was about 6 months after we started dating, and we were actually celebrating Christmas at my parents' house. My mom had made double chocolate cheesecake, which apparently is both a delicious dessert and a colon cleanser. We started talking about how our stomachs hurt, and I did it... I farted. And he chuckled like it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen/heard. Fast forward six and a half years and my farts are usually met with total disgust or even a non-response. Seven years has taken the mystery out of just about everything, but that's okay. Mystery is for puppy love. When I was first pregnant, I think I had a trimester's worth of morning sickness in about 24 hours a few days prior to finding out I was pregnant. I woke up at about 2am on a Sunday, horrified, and RAN to the bathroom to sit on the toilet. In the process of expelling everything except my soul out of me, I ALSO started vomiting. I was already on the toilet, so I just threw up all over our small bathroom's floor. These delightful sounds beckoned my husband and he ran towards the bathroom. "Oh God..." he said, looking at me with huge eyes, as everything that I had ever consumed shot out of both ends Exorcist style. I began to sob, and he told me to get in the shower, and he would clean it up. Now, that alone should win him husband of the century, but as I cried in the shower and he cleaned up my vomit... I said something that wins him husband of the millennium.

"Nate," I whimpered softly.
"Ya honey?" He said, being the champ he is, cleaning up my puke.
"I think... I think I s*** the bed."
"You think what?" he said slowly, sure he had misheard.
"I S*** THE BED!!" I sobbed loudly. "I woke up and it was too late!"

Ya, please say "Aww" to that people. Because someone that will clean up multiple bodily excretions of yours in one night is more adorable than a Nicholas Sparks book, hands down.

3. You can tell a lot from the fights you have.

When Nate and I first got married, we had a HUGE fight. Probably one of our biggest. And I left. I just left. And it was late, probably midnight or so. I didn't have anywhere to go, but I had to just get out of there. I was SO mad. He kept calling my cell phone, and on about the fifth call, I had burned through a lot of gas, so I picked up.

"WHAT" I said.
"I know you're mad," he said.
"Oh, you think?" I yelled sarcastically.
Nate responded softly. "If you don't want to see me, then come home, and I'll leave for the night. It's late and I don't want anything to happen to you."
I wanted to yell at him some more, but how can you even respond to that with anything but love?

4. You'll want to give up.

Nate and I don't use the word divorce. We've never fought to a level where we'd even have used it, but we don't even say it jokingly. But about three years into our relationship, we wanted to give up. It was at the point where you've been together long enough that everything seems boring, but not long enough that you've truly invested in each other. We were also making huge life choices, and in the process, trying to figure out if we were making decisions for "me" or "we." We spent the night on the phone, talking about whether we really wanted to be together, and I think at one point, I hung up on him. At the time, he was on his cell phone at Kroger. About 30 seconds after I hung up on him, leaving our relationship in an uncertain place, he ran into his ex-girlfriend. They chatted for a bit, and she told him that they should hang out that night. "Ya, sounds good," he said.

To this day, I am so thankful that Nate paused a couple seconds, turned around and said, "Actually, my girlfriend and I are fighting right now... Tonight's probably not the best time for us to hang out."

5. Money can ruin everything.

I've only given Nate one ultimatum in our entire marriage (other than the 40 or so I jokingly gave about him proposing). But I've only given one seriously, because I think ultimatums are tacky and if something is that wrong, than you should probably just leave.

Nate really didn't have a lot of good examples in how to handle money, and his spending habits showed that. He was in an apartment he couldn't afford, paying everything on an always-nearly-maxed credit card, and it just wasn't good. I knew that, but I was trying to let him deal with the situation himself. That is, until I found out about the second credit card he had opened when he maxed the first one's limit.

When he realized I knew, he started crying before I even said anything (ya, I guess I'm that big of a b-word). But God gave me calmness and I actually hugged him, even though I wanted to punch him in the face. "You know we can't get married if you don't get this debt paid down," I said. "We need a good start to our marriage." And I hugged him tighter. A year later, we owned a home together, and got married with no consumer debt.

So those are five kind of crappy things about relationships, but in the end, if you're with the person that God has for you to be with and you're prepared for those circumstances, your life and relationship will be a BLESSING. It's not all roses, but when you have someone to lay next to you snoring and blowing their stink breath on you that you can truly thank God for, you don't mind fighting for that relationship.

Happy Two-Seven Year Anniversary, Nate! <3

Why We Will Tithe - Hint: It's Not Because of Nate's Professor's Legalistic Views

For anyone who missed my last status update... Nate took on his professor on an issue that came up in his class. Nate's professor said, "If you say you are a Christian and love God, but don't tithe (at least 10%) then your words mean nothing." I'll be honest, that really ticked me off. Part of me wanted to remind Nate that the professor is the one who gives him grades, but most of me just wanted to watch Nate pour over scripture and think carefully about the matter at hand. If a pastor told me what this dude said when I first started attending church, I think I would have probably told him that people like him were the reason I'd never wanted to attend church in the first place. I'm not a fan of the hard and fast rules on non-salvation issues, and I'm also not a fan of people sounding so judgmental and legalistic. PLEASE don't let this dude tell that to the single mom who's trying to rediscover her faith or the person who's been laid off, but gives freely of their time since they don't have the financials to tithe.



That being said, for some reason his words bothered me more than they should have. And longer than they should have. And on one end, it didn't make sense. I'm a Christian... I don't give 10% of my income... I know that my words don't mean nothing to the God who created me and loves me. So it wasn't that part that bothered me. Professionally, I try really hard to take criticism/advice well. And people have given me some really stupid feedback, to be totally honest. Feedback that I could have thrown away without a second thought. But I always make a point to examine what they've said. Poor communicators will give vague and unhelpful advice, but I make it a rule to take time to get to the bottom of what they're really saying, or what grain of truth I can get out of it. Was it the way I handled a specific situation? Was it verbal or non-verbal? Even the worst advice or feedback I've been given has usually given me insight in some small way.

I still think Nate's professor was wrong in his magical black and white 10% statement, but I began thinking about why it was bothering me. I prayed about it and realized that God and I hadn't talked money in a while. And I had never really felt called to give more, to be totally honest. Feeling called, I started our household budget over, with 10% taken off the top for a tithe.

To be honest, it's hard to cut my budget. We operate on a pretty lean system. We've ditched smart phones, don't have cable, pay for the cheapest Netflix package ($7.99 a month), call Comcast what seems like every stinkin' day to keep a reasonable rate on our internet, and keep our house too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. We live debt-free, other than Nate's student loans (in the process of sloooooowly paying off) and our mortgage (less than $475 a month, including insurance and taxes). As I went through the categories, I could think of a lot of reasons that now isn't the time to up our giving...

• We're having a baby - we have to buy stuff for it, plus medical bills, plus we're trying to contribute to a college fund for her.
• We're moving - we feel called by God to move to Bloomington, so we're doing it, which could mean increased housing expenses and uncertainties 
• We're finally in a really good place with our finances

But when I got to the end of the budget, I had done it, coming out about $6 short a month. But if God can feed thousands from almost nothing, I'm sure he'll provide $6 a month or opportunities to save $6 in other areas. And I thought about all the reasons we SHOULD tithe.

• Nate's studying for and feeling called to the ministry, and tithing shows our respect for the system and our faith in God to provide
• Our daughter will come into the world knowing where our values lie
• We will be asking others to help financially support our vision for the church plant we're participating in, and if we're not giving absolutely all we can, how could we begin to ask others to?
• It's God money, anyways... he's just trusting us with it.

So, I continue to swear up and down that Nate's professor is wrong, and I do truly believe that. But his words and others' feedback allowed me to take time with God to re-evaluate our giving and be at the tithing level in September. When I talked to Nate about it this morning, he said "Sure, let's do it"... quickly followed by, "Is it only 7am? Why are you waking me up?" He had spent hours in scripture to debate this topic with his professor, but at the end of the day, Nate is the first to faithfully submit without question. Speaking of questions... does anyone have $6 I can have? I'm going to need it this month. ;-)

Moving Boxes of Rocks

Good, bad, or otherwise, I've never been an overly sentimental person. This is not new information to most people who know me, but as my reading audience has expanded, I think it's only fair to start with that. I didn't cry at my wedding (I did throw up, but that's another story), I never understood why people wanted me to go to my senior prom so badly (I didn't, and honestly will never regret it - I married my date, and we've done much cooler things since then), and I didn't even attend my college graduation (it was raining and I didn't feel like driving 35 minutes there). The same is true with physical places. When we graduated high school and my friends sighed and said, "We may never come back here..." I wanted to throw a praise hand up, say hallelujah and get out of there.

But I try to respect the sentimental. I have to, because my mom and sister are very much the sentimental types. I remember when we moved from our first house to the house my parents live at now, I was about 10 and MacKenzie was 7. I didn't know if that girl was going to make it through the move. First, she didn't want to move, which, fine, I get. Then, she wanted to take her rock collection with her. Her massive, extensive, heavy rock collection. And here's the thing about her rock collection... NONE OF THEM WERE EVEN COOL. In our old house, we had large stone landscape in a lot of areas, instead of gravel or mulch, and MacKenzie, the little recluse, would spend hours examining the rocks, and select a few... probably every day... to bring back inside with her. I believe the final compromise was "one small box of rocks" got to come to the new house, which I thought was beyond generous - to load a moving van with a box of rocks.


I might have met my rock collection last night, though. Last night, Nate and I went over to our church's ministry center in Morton to help load stuff up and clean, as our church moves into their first permanent location in Pekin. Prior to now, our church met at the Morton High School, then Morton Cinemas, then Tremont High School... and along the way we acquired our ministry space in the Field Shopping Center in Morton, where the pastors' offices are located and we have a space for meetings, student ministry, and other outreach. I think in a lot of ways, that space has been the site of more spiritual growth for Nate and me than any other area. As I swept the large open room in front, I thought about all of the youth groups we had there - my first message to the students on honoring their bodies, telling them my struggles with depression, Nate's first message on love and acceptance, Nate first expressing his hope to pursue a call to ministry, and talking with students and getting to know them and their struggles and their hearts. I also thought about my grandparents attending church there for the first time for one of our Christmas Eve services. As I moved into Connie's office and started sweeping, I thought about how she had mentored Nate and I there, or even just taken time to laugh with us. And as I vacuumed Dale's office, I thought about how terrified Nate and I were while we sat in there for marriage counseling, and how we came out of the sessions more terrified, but also more empowered and devoted to making a marriage work than ever before. As I cleaned these spaces, I started to get upset. "This place means too much to me to leave!" I thought, for probably one of the first times in my life. I wanted to shout to everyone to bring everything they had moved back into the building... or figure out a way to move the whole building, or something. I wanted to take it ALL with us. I didn't just want to take one small box of rocks.

But at the end of the day, those milestones aren't in the walls or the carpet or the chairs or the desks. Just like MacKenzie eventually realized that her childhood and memories weren't in those rocks. The milestones, the memories, the growth - they're in the people. Those things happened because of God and because of the people who worked to do his work in the world and invest in people who want to do the same. Where we're moving... God will be there. He's already there, working through the same people, through new people, and bringing more people to do his work every day. If I mourned that building, I'd just be mourning a big collection of rocks... and that would just be silly, right MacKenzie?

You Only Live Once #YOLO

The #YOLO is everywhere. By everywhere, I mean mostly on Facebook posts of young people doing stupid things. But really, it's kind of become this mini-movement. Drake sings/raps about it, one of those stupid young heart throb guys (Justin Bieber? Zach Efron?) tattooed it on their hand. The Washington Post did an article on #YOLO and this is an excerpt - "YOLO, or “You only live once,” is sort of a teen interjection for “Carpe Diem.” Only it’s short on the noble idea of living life to its fullest — and more focused on brash decisions and their consequences."

Don't get me wrong, I don't disagree that you only live once (it's a fact people), but I'm just kind of upset about what this has become and what it COULD have become. When it comes down to it, our life on earth is short and that's what #YOLO is about, but how our life is executed based on that principle is what irks me.

I never see really positive, exciting statuses featuring #YOLO. It's always really stupid stuff usually involving reckless behavior, alcohol, drugs, or all of the above. And I get it. Please don't think I do. I know I act like a grumpy 80 year-old lady 95% of the time, but please remember I'm 23. That's young. I get it, and I got it even more about eight years ago. Because as young people, we constantly and consistently make bad decisions, and then try to find people or ways to validate them as being legitimate ways of living. Welcome to high school... for everyone. So now, young people don't even need friends to tell us how cool our "Demi Bad" tattoo is (Yes, this is a real tattoo Nate's 15 year old cousin has... her name is Demi, but anyone who doesn't know this would just assume that she was "sort of bad" based on the tattoo or maybe that demi-bad was how the tattoo rated for artistic quality). Young people don't need friends to tell them how awesome it is that they out-drank everyone, took our pants off, and jogged around the neighborhood and still managed to score with our crush — because now there is #YOLO. The #YOLO is there to validate you when you're hungover and feeling empty.


I think the reason I hate this #YOLO movement so much is because of what it could have been. Because life DOES have #YOLO moments. But they generally don't involving drinking too much, driving too fast, getting tattoos, or anything like that. Want to hear my #YOLO moments?

• My husband is pursuing a call to ministry, and even though we don't know what the future holds, we're moving our little family to plant a church because we feel called by God. #YOLO
• Last year, my great grandmother who I loved with all my heart passed away. I hadn't seen her in nearly five years because it broke my heart to see her in her severe deterioration from Alzheimer's, but when I knew she was going to pass, I visited her nursing home by myself for the first and last time to tell her good-bye and that I love her, even though I was terrified. #YOLO
• I started dating my husband when I was 16, and instead of giving up when times got hard (real hard) or believing people when they called it "puppy love," we worked our butts off to create a relationship that would stand the test of time and committed to never give up on each other. #YOLO

"You only live once" is a fact. It shouldn't be a scare tactic, but it shouldn't be a validation for being an idiot, either. When you find your validation in a faith in Christ, you still only live once... but it's forever. And it's a life with purpose and meaning. So remember that. #YOLO

Leeroooooooooooy Jenkiiiiiiiiiiiiiiins! (OR "I Don't Know About Your Tactics")

When it comes to most areas of my life, you can just call me Leeroy Jenkins. If you don't get that reference, you definitely have missed a piece of YouTube gold, and you need to view it below. (The beginning is really boring... but just wait! ALSO, there is some profanity... fair warning.)




I'm like Leeroy, not in the sense of being ill-prepared or haphazard, but in the sense that the only thing I hate more than being told what to do, is being told how to do it. This started from a very early age. My mom was pretty good about choosing her battles in this arena, so as long as the end-goal was accomplished, she gave me mostly free reign. I wanted to cook, but I didn't want to use a recipe. I wanted to decorate hair bows with her, but I wanted to do it my way.

And in a lot of areas of my life, this "skill" has actually been a huge blessing. In the workplace and my personal life, I constantly find shortcuts and have an odd passion for strategic planning and efficiency. If you tell me the reason something is done a certain way is "because it's always been done that way" KNOW that's not a good enough reason for me.

This tendency also got in my way at times, though. I remember playing softball when I was younger. I really enjoyed it and I was good... not amazing... but good. Playing for a team that was a consistent state qualifier was awesome. I mostly played outfield on that team, and if you know anything about the outfield, you know the importance of hitting your cut-off when throwing it in. Our coach was a cut-off NAZI, and probably needless to say, I sometimes just wanted to do things my way.

I remember one time specifically; we were in the field with a big hitter at bat and a runner on third. The batter hit a deep fly ball to me in left field, and I caught it. Next, I was supposed to throw it to my cut-off at shortstop to stop the runner from tagging up. Without a thought or hesitation, I mustered everything I had... and threw that sucker to home plate. It was a great throw... one hop... our catcher made the tag... Quite possibly should have been on ESPN highlights. Everyone was ecstatic—except my coach. When she told me I was running for that play, it totally blew my little seventh grade mind.

“I MADE that play. WHY am I running?” I asked.

“Sometimes HOW we do things is more important than what we do,” she said firmly.

And then I ran.

Just like Leeroy Jenkins and his friends... I had the same end goal as my coach... but my tactics were not favorable. And I realized the other day how often I do this to God. As I’ve grown in my faith, I’ve become actually pretty gifted in judging what God wants to happen in a situation and what his call is in my life and the lives of those in my circle of influence. But looking at some situations, I’ve totally been pulling a Leeroy Jenkins on God.

God will carefully plan and prepare the hearts of people, gather others to work together to accomplish his mission, know and follow a perfect timing... but that’s IF... IF he can stop me from charging into the situation yelling, “Aliiiiiiiiiii Mooooooooorrison!” with guns blazing.

Don’t get me wrong... I’ve very much aligned my goals with God’s. I truly, deeply want people to know God, love God, live righteously and responsibly, and let go of baggage and bad habits... All of the things God wants. But sometimes I struggle to make my tactics match up with his.

I know He has perfect timing; I want to move forward now.

I know He is calling me to appeal with compassion; I want to beat some sense into people.

I know He wants me to actively love and care about the well-being of all people; I want to cut the list down a little.

Reading Psalm 37:7 the other day, it was like it had been written for me.

“Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him; do not fret when people succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes.”

So basically... No Leeroy Jenkins... hit your cut-off man... follow directions... BE STILL.

Because when we commit to doing God’s work, sometimes HOW we do things is more important than what we do.

The Mud

I shared part of my faith story tonight at Switch, our church’s student ministry that I volunteer at on Wednesdays. The story I wanted to tell tonight was the standard uplifting milestones. I accepted Jesus, I was baptized, I was sanctified, blah blah blah. That’s what I wanted to tell. But for some reason, when Connie asked me to share my story, I KNEW God didn’t want me to share that version. Because honestly, who does that help? Volunteering with Switch has changed my life, my faith, and my view on youth. These kids/teens/young adults are hilarious and smart and HONEST. Oh God, are these kids honest… I had a girl in my group ask me last week if it was okay that sometimes when she was angry about her life, she’d curse at God when she prayed. I told her that I would assume God would rather hear from her in an angry and profane way than not hear from her at all. What I’m trying to say is that none of these kids wanted or deserved the Disney version of my faith journey. So I’m going to share with you too, my struggle with Bipolar Disorder, which I have affectionately titled, “The Mud.”

I like the start my story at the end. At least the current end, because it’s a happy one. Look at me… I’m a Christian, a wife, a soon-to-be mother, I have a good job, a college degree, I’m a homeowner, I pay my taxes, I have no criminal record… I’m doing pretty well.

I never like to measure life in shallow accomplishments, though. For example, eight or so years ago, I was doing pretty well too. I was first in my class, student council class representative, cheerleader, working, involved in everything… Everyone wanted to be me. Except, well, me.

I wasn’t the girl in the black hoodie in the corner… I was the girl at the center of the pep rally. But I was miserable. That doesn’t even really begin to cover how I felt. I felt hopeless and lifeless, and I assumed it was my fault. It was so much worse, because a few months before that I was on a high like none other – I didn’t need sleep, I’d laugh at everything, I could finish my schoolwork in less than half the time it took everyone else. I had a great family, and as I said before, I truly had everything going for me, which really only made me feel more awful and guilty. I tried everything to make myself better. I joined more clubs, I worked even harder on my school work, I tried out for and made more teams, I got a job, I rebelled and started drinking and partying… nothing could make me hate myself less.

One night I was at a friend’s house with some people when her parents weren’t home, and we started drinking. Everyone had one shot… then I had a second… then I had a third… I was so out of control, that a friend I had called to yell at, called my parents and asked them to pick me up. I hated her for that, but I hate to think what would have happened if they wouldn’t have. When I see headlines for young people who die of overdoses, it makes my heart hurt almost like I knew them. Because, in a sense, I did.

My parents were furious, obviously, but all I could say when they asked me if I knew how much trouble I was in was, “I don’t care… I just want to die, anyway.” It wasn’t some big dramatic blow-out or presentation from me. They just needed to know what I had hid so long. The next few days are a blur in my head. I think that was a Friday night, and I think I went to Methodist on Monday. The 8th floor, to be exact. Or, the psychiatric ward, as most people know it. When I came in, we had to enter through the ER. An armed security guard then took me up. My parents could only visit for an hour a day, during the assigned hour.

The pediatric and adolescent section of the 8^th floor is a pretty weird place. Maybe that seems obvious to you, but the disorders that they mixed in there could be pretty volatile. If you’re a kid and you’re messed up… you go there. Substance abuse, rebellious behavior, chemical imbalance… We all made for one big crockpot of crazy in there. They take your shoelaces, anything sharp, and even anything that only MacGyver could find a way to use as a weapon. At first, I refused to talk to anyone. But even for me, that got pretty hard. There’s not exactly a ton to do, and leaving is slightly more than frowned upon. Even though it was an awful time and awful memory, I met people over that week who still affect my life. One girl I met there encouraged me to open up the Bible for the first time since my children’s Bible. In that week, I felt less judged and more accepted than I honestly have since then. I also found out that my wild swings in mood and behavior had a name: Bipolar Disorder. I started medications and was released from the hospital.

When I left, I was glad, but I soon realized that leaving meant returning to life… answering questions… picking up pieces. High school kids are hateful, and I heard all kinds of rumors about me… that I had gone to rehab, that people said my parents were pulling me out of school… But to the people that didn’t know me, I just had an incredibly poor immune system. Even with my medications, life was an unpleasant rollercoaster that I had no control over. My sophomore year, I had to have a home tutor administer my finals and missed almost 30 days of school. I needed more meds, I needed less meds, I needed a doctor, I needed a therapist… Sometimes it almost seemed worse on the other side of the diagnosis. The only thing that seemed steady in my life was the feeling of being dragged through a life I didn’t want to live. And I know now that was God dragging me.

I know people like to create these grand analogies about God carrying us through life, but I’m a little more pragmatic when I picture God. I wasn’t exactly working with him to get the other side, and I really think in some ways, he was doing everything he could to get me to the other side of the valley. If that meant he had to drag me by my hair, so be it. I don’t think I ever DENIED God’s existence. I just couldn’t see, at that point, why a God who loved me would grab me by my hopeless, limp arm and drag me through the mud. But now, I realize, every day God dragged me through that mud was another day that he didn’t leave me and didn’t let me stop moving forward. And just as a side note, if you know someone battling depression, please don’t tell them to have faith or pray more or “cheer up.” Those are absolutely vital, but no one would tell someone with diabetes or cancer that—and mental illness is still an illness that needs medical treatment… and maybe beyond even that, empathy and understanding.

There are still highs and lows in my life, as there have been for years. I’ve been blessed, because as I’ve gotten older and hormone levels have leveled out, I worked with a doctor to get off my meds about a year and a half ago. Will I need them again someday? Probably. I mean, statistically I shouldn’t have been able to get off them at all. And as much as I’ve tried to bury the pain associated with this, it always pops to the surface every once in a while. Nate and I were out to eat a month or so ago, and a woman was talking loudly about one of her nephews.

“He complains about how crazy she is… I tell him well maybe he should have thought about that before he started dating someone with Bipolar disorder. What is she going to collect disability her whole life?”

It makes me cringe. Cringe because of her ignorance, because maybe some of it has an ounce of truth in it, and most cringe because I feel broken and bare when I hear comments like that. I wanted to eloquently tell her my story. Or even just kick her in the head. But I couldn’t do either, because I felt exposed and vulnerable. When we try to hide our pain and insecurities, we give them power over us.

I know that my story could help people. I couldn’t find a single “happy ending” story when I got my diagnosis, so I didn’t know if I’d ever graduate or get married or get a job. Now I’ve done all of that and so much more. I don’t think it’s because there aren’t any “happy ending” stories… I think it’s because when people get to a point like I’m at, they crawl up and bask in their normality, never to look back.

So I don’t doubt the power of my story. I just doubt… me. I’m afraid you’ll judge me. Judge my capabilities as a wife… as a Christian… as a mother… even just as a person. I’m afraid maybe when I come over for dinner, you’ll give me a plastic knife, or that you won’t let me be around your kids because, you know, I’m crazy. But that’s okay. I’m not going to give my pain power over me anymore. God didn’t drag me through the mud so I could come out and live life constantly fearing mud. He dragged me through the mud so that I could help drag others through the mud. So I could laugh at the mud and learn from the mud. And so I could be prepared if I was ever in the mud again.