Fingerprints

I wrote this blog in a couple of chunks, the first section last Tuesday & Wednesday (12/6 & 12/7) and the last portion today (12/14), one week later.

     Do you remember the children's song "Hip Hip Hip Hippopotamus?" It has this line:
          God's fingerprints are everywhere, just to show how much he cares.
     Today God gave me a glimpse of his fingerprints in my life. My last post #101 was about not getting an offer to be in the fall class at the Dallas Fire Academy. This post is about the offer I got today, an offer that if I'd been in the academy in Dallas I never would have received.

     You see, this morning, I had an interview with the Chief and the Fire Marshall in McKinney. I went into the interview with the impression that offers weren't going to be given until early January. That's what I'd been told and I'd prepared myself to wait about a month. But after my interview the Chief asked that I wait outside for a few minutes while he and the Marshall talked. Two minutes later he walked out, shook my hand, and gave me a conditional offer! My day went from normal/slightly exciting to FREAKING AMAZING!!!!


On Monday (12/12) I had a Polygraph and a Psych evaluation for the position I'd accepted. I was nervous. I have this thing...I overthink. I can't seem to shut my mind off, no matter how hard I try. Through all 500 and something Psych questions and the evaluation I was trying to be honest and not choose the answers based on what I thought they wanted. During the Polygraph I prayed God would help me through it.

     I don't know if you've ever taken a Polygraph, but they suck!! I used to think, as long as your honest you should be fine...then I took one. I confessed everything I could think of to the guy, like ALL my deep dark secrets - well the ones that were applicable to the questions he asked anyway. But then when I'm hooked up to the machine my mind is racing the whole time, "Did I forget to tell him something? No I told him that. He didn't ask about that. That was before I was 17, he said since then. The question has nothing to do with that." And on and on my mind went, making me more and more nervous. On top of that, the guy asked one of the questions wrong the first time, which might not sound like a big deal, but completely threw me off. And then my phone started buzzing in my pocket which threw off the test.

Anyway, the guy told me then and there that my Polygraph results were inconclusive. He didn't know what that would mean for me, McKinney could ask me to take it again, they could not care, or they could rescind my offer. And the lady who did my Psych eval, she didn't give me any feedback, I might have passed with flying colors or I could have failed terribly, we will probably never know.

So yesterday I worried a bit and was down. But my day ended spectacularly. I went to the Shane & Shane/Phil Wickham Christmas Concert at The Porch (the Young Adult service at my church). We spent the night worshiping God and I was reminded about His fingerprints. We sang praises and laughed and everything was as it should be, with me knowing that God is in control. That all that shame I felt in my polygraph, all those thoughts and worries, all of them were lies from the enemy, for I am Free in Christ & God has forgiven all my sins. That He loves me more than I can imagine and His plan is far better than any plan I can come up with. I don't know that plan and that's okay.

Then, about an hour ago, I got an email...

Dear Meredith: 

The selection process of the McKinney Fire Department serves to measure areas that are crucial to the position of McKinney Firefighters. This process includes successfully passing all steps of the hiring process.

I regret to inform you that you did not pass the Polygraph and/or Psychological Exam as required by the conditional offer letter. As a result, your conditional offer of employment is hereby rescinded. 

We wish you well in your future employment endeavors. 

City of McKinney 
Human Resources Department

I still don't know His plan. I'm still sad. I'm kinda angry. I'm confused. I want this to be some kind of practical joke. I want to be starting the next chapter of my life. I want to move forward instead of feeling stagnant...again. I want to know.
But I KNOW God is good.

Last night one of the songs we sang was Psalm 23, which opens with the line:
The Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want
Obviously I've still got some growing to do. It continues:

In green pastures He makes me lie down He restores my soul and leads me on for His Name

for His great Name

surely goodness surely mercy right beside me all my days and I will dwell in Your house forever and bless Your Holy Name

Maybe this is my green pasture. Maybe I'm not ready for the next chapter yet. Maybe the timing just isn't right. I don't know.
But I know MY God is good. I know that I don't need the things my heart is longing for. All I need is Him. I know that God is working in my life. I know His fingerprints are here, I'm just too close to see. I know His plan is good. I know that good doesn't always feel good.
But I know my God is good. And I am loved.

#101

I will not be getting an offer to attend the Dallas Fire Academy this Fall. I needed to be top 40...

That's the news that ended my long and wonderful Saturday. My first reaction was anger at the men who didn't see me as good enough, then annoyance with God for ending such a great day that way and for His plan not aligning with my wants. But beyond initial feelings, I was too exhausted to process so I went to bed. I spent all day yesterday watching TV and eating left-over pie in my bed. I didn't talk to anyone (other than a few phrases to my roommates), I didn't go anywhere, I just spent the day alone, not really mourning or stewing, but just being, kind of recovering from a busy summer, a busy month, and a particularly exciting but stressful week.

So today, now, is really the first time I'm thinking about and processing the news that I won't be starting with Dallas this fall. And honestly I'm okay with it. I'm choosing to be okay. Yes, I wanted it; I'm anxious to be on my way along this new path, but as my family pointed out, there are other cities I've applied to/am applying to. I'll get in when and where God wants me to; He could be saving my life, and He could be saving someone else's.

I have trouble sometimes with the head/heart connection. So my head is there 100%...okay maybe like 90%, but logically I get it and I trust that it's for the best. My heart, my feelings are another matter. I'm still sad and frustrated, but I'm working on it. Honestly, and we're about to go pretty deep here, one of my core struggles in life is trust & belief, so the enemy is having a field day playing with those. I don't know why I struggle with trusting God and believing He's good; it honestly makes no logical sense, but my heart is all kinds of messed up and it struggles daily with these issues.

I know my parents love me unconditionally; I also know that my parents are nowhere near perfect, but they would do almost anything for me. And yet I struggle to grasp how a God that is perfect, that is the very source of love, could do the same. I know I haven't earned it, and I know Christ's sacrifice was payment for my failures, but sometimes...sometimes it doesn't seem like enough. It breaks my heart to admit I think that at times, but that's step one right? I can't ask God to fix me if I won't admit I'm broken.

As for my trust issues, I've never really understood where those come from, but I guess it's kind of hard to trust someone you don't understand. Trust is a choice, or so I'm told, but I don't really understand how. I mean I can say all day I trust you, and I can even want to...but that doesn't make it true. However, with some people, I don't remember ever choosing to trust them, I just do, 'cause I know in my heart they always want what's best for me...I don't know how to make my heart know that.

I usually try to end my posts with a nice little bow. I mean that's what we're taught in English, right? I should know considering who my Mother is, we're taught to end papers with a conclusion paragraph that restates the main ideas of the paper and draws everything back together completely-- the perfect little bow. But I just can't--because perfect little bows aren't reality. Reality is a lopsided double knot that's going to come untied anyway.

Yes, I'll keep praying and choosing to trust God 'cause I'm never going to understand the bigger plan and I don't have a better option. 'Cause my only other option is me and I KNOW I can't trust me. But that doesn't mean each day isn't going to be a struggle, each day is going to be a battle, and, yes, I know God's already won the war, but that doesn't take away from the reality of my current fight. I'm sure I'll fail some days. But I'll win more. And eventually...I don't know what will happen eventually, and that sucks, but if I did know I'm sure I'd find a way to screw it up. I don't want to follow a God I can comprehend, I want to follow a God whose plans are so great I could never imagine them, and I do.

Runaway

When I went off to college, I thought it would fix everything. I thought I would transform into the beautiful independent woman that I pictured myself as. I thought I would find my path, my husband, my life. But that’s not what happens when you run away from your problems.

A lot happened that year when I was eighteen. I was graduating high school, on top of the world, I knew everything. I had plans. I was going to college, I was going to become a movie editor, I was going to get married at twenty-two to the man of my dreams, and by thirty I would have three to five kids in a house with a pool. 

Then the world as I knew it ended.

And it was my fault. 

My first semester of college was ruined, and I no longer knew who I was. I tried to cling to my old dreams, but they no longer fit with who I was becoming. The next four years turned into a frantic search for who I was and what I was supposed to be doing with my life. I changed my major on a yearly basis as my dreams changed from editor to doctor to just being me. I switched primary friend groups almost as often with only a strong few staying constant. I swung between being the nerd, to the fitness guru who never studied, to the couch potato who also never studied. It wasn’t until I was graduating and leaving that I realized I had found who I was. In the month after graduation, still looking for a job in some unknown field and preparing to move back in with my parents, I realized that somewhere in the midst of the searching and the grieving and the fighting, I’d found myself.
I’d made friends and had experiences that had allowed the real me to resurface. I hadn't fully dealt with what happened and was nowhere near healed, but I'd been able to heal just enough to find myself...or at least enough to realize that I didn't have to. Have you ever heard the saying, "There's no one alive that is youer than you," by Dr. Seuss? It's simple and silly, but oh so true. I didn't spend four years trying to find myself. I was always me, right there in the midst of the pain, I was me and I was changing. I spent four years not understanding myself and learning that I don't need to have a plan, God has one. One of the first questions you get as a young adult meeting new people is: "What do you do?" And if you don't have an awesome, adulty answer and you aren't going to grad school you're left with this awkward, "Um, well I'm ..." and then trying to come up with a cooler way of saying a temp, or an assistant, figuring it out, or any number of other things society doesn't deem as an adult job/career worth pursuing. But the thing is, my identity isn't in my career, it isn't in where I'm headed or what I'm doing it. My identity is in who I'm doing it for, Christ.

That summer, that year, when I started college is my moment. My moment I regret and wish with all my heart I could take back, and yet I wouldn’t be who I am today without it. I wouldn’t be where I am or know whom I know if I hadn’t gone through that terrible year. I wish I could say I now understand the bigger picture and I don’t have regrets, but that’s simply not true. Now I know that I’ll never get the bigger picture, it’s not my job to get it. I do have regrets, but I try to learn from my sins and better myself. While I can rarely tell why something is happening as it happens, I do have a better understanding when I look back and thus a greater appreciation for the way God works.

Just a House

My Dad and I stopped by my grandparents' house this weekend. He's hoping to have the estate sale some time in the next two weeks. Everyone has had plenty of time to look through things and find sentimental pieces to keep in memory of Grandpa (Charlie) or Grandma Elaine. Now it's time to let go of the things that are just stuff and, ultimately, the house. When I realized this moment was so near I turned to my Dad, as we sat in the F-150 he'd inherited from Grandpa, his own piece of his dad, and told him with complete sincerity, "You know you're not allowed to sell your house right? Seriously not until I can buy it." Daddy chuckled and responded with, "I know, it will be weird, seeing someone else live here, but it's just a house."

Home

Um no, it is not just a house. My great-grandfather built this house. I grew up in this house. Countless sleepovers, birthday parties, pets, fights, adventures have been had in this house. You cannot just give away my memories. It was and is hard enough watching grandparents move or their former houses being sold off, but you can't sell our house!

This led to a conversation of when my Mom's great-aunt sold the family farm and with it all my dreams of what my future wedding would be. My dad lightly pointed out they were his wedding memories, and my heart ached even more.

8.30.86

Unlike my mother, who was a military brat, I lived in the same house from birth until college (and even then I lived there over the summers and for a few long months after graduating). I moved across the hall at the age of 3 when my dad finished his addition to the family home, but other than that I'd lived in the exact same place for 18 years. Suffice it to say, I'd grown comfortable with my place there; the only major change was a paint job when I was around 6 and then again as a tween, and I liked it that way, void of any major disruptions.

I was awakened to the fact that this home was no longer mine (though I am always welcome back) when my mother started redoing MY bedroom the summer after I graduated from college....while I was still in it. I watched her systematically erase my childhood...or at least that's how it felt. I know she was actually turning it into a more mature and neutral space for all visitors, including myself...but it's weird to think of myself as a visitor in this place (except when it comes to chores, I'm cool with being a visitor in that respect, lol).

Mother's Day 2014

I don't know what exactly it is, but something about the way we associate memories to the atmosphere they took place in makes it incredibly hard to say goodbye. Maybe it's because so many of my happy memories happened in those places; it's like nothing will ever be quite as happy because it won't be here. I know that isn't true, but it feels like it sometimes. Like the family farm, it was the perfect wide open space to play as kids, and I remember it fondly and perfectly, but I've had even more happy memories in the homes my grandparents have lived in since then.

However, this is a little different. The house my grandfather lived in is the house my dad grew up in. It's 5 houses down from the house where I grew up. It's where I went after school in kindergarten to eat turkey sandwiches and watch Barney with my grandpa. It's where I played in the same room my dad did as a kid, and "helped" my grandpa in his garden. It's different because I'm old enough to be aware; I'm old enough to miss it. I'm old enough to know it's just a house and yet not.

My parents aren't moving; they aren't selling their house (not as far as I know, and if they are they have some explaining to do). But I still dread the day that they do. Because as sentimental as the farm was and my grandpa's house is, their house has even more history. My great-grandfather built their house, my grandpa helped. My dad added onto it with the help of my uncle and friends. This house is a part of my family. This house is where I fought with my brother over cartoons, cried for hours over my first loose tooth, jumped in puddles wearing my best nightgown, wrestled with cousins over Easter eggs, broke in through the bathroom after forgetting my key...this house is where I grew up; this house is where I became me. This home is just a house, and yet so much more.

That nightie used to be white.

I've dreamed about my future here, bringing my kids someday, teaching them softball in the yard, climbing in the tree house my dad built for us as kids. Watching my kids help their grandpa in the garden, tossing coins in the "wishing well," family cook outs and kids playing tag, family games of football. I've always imagined it with this place as the backdrop...it's the perfect backdrop. But this home is just a house. As the saying goes, "Home is where the heart is, and my heart is where you are." So I may shed a few tears when my grandfather's house is sold, and even more when my parents inevitably move, but that's okay because this house is just a house, and I'll still have my family to come home to.

An Open Letter to Teenagers

Know that you are loved.

If you stop reading right now or zone out and don't get any other point, I want you to know that, each and every one of you is loved.

I'm 24, and I'm sure some of you think that is really old, but it's not...I'm basically still a child, but I am far enough removed from High School that I can reflect on it more objectively than in past years. I think this is something a lot of you need to hear.

I can't speak for all of your teachers and coaches, there's always an exception, but I can speak for my Mom and many other educators.They are in your lives for a reason. They love you and they care about you.

That is probably why they bug you so much. The teachers that push you the hardest, that don't let you get away with being lazy, the ones that call your parents when your acting out, the coaches that make you run that extra sprint when your grades are slipping, these are the people that love you. They love teaching, coaching, mentoring, and molding. They are passionate about you and your future. Sometimes the most loving thing seems mean and harsh, but it is molding you into a more disciplined person.

Some are doing this because they simply have a passion for young people. Others are there for a much deeper, more important reason. They are in the classroom because God has called them to be there. God has called them to a ministry of impacting students, of spreading His love in the classroom, of being a light in a place that can often be the darkest corner of the world.

I know that some of you have incredibly hard lives. High School is a hard and awkward time for most people. Many of you are dealing with more than just school and hormones. Some of you have lost one or both of your parents. Some still have your parents physically, but emotionally they might as well not be there. For some your parents are present, but they are only a negative, abusive presence in your life. Some of you are battling emotional and/or mental hardships that you might not be able to explain to others. Others of you feel rejected by your peers. Some of you are hiding homelessness, addictions, abuse, or other struggles.

Most of you feel alone.

No matter how alone and different you feel, no matter how much guilt, shame, anger, or isolation you feel, you are loved. You are being prayed over daily.

...I feel like I should explain what prompted this letter.

My Mom is a teacher. She loves her students. Even when they hate her, and she doesn't feel like she's making much of a difference, she shows up and she loves them to the best of her ability. She prays for them, for their education, but also for their lives - their hearts.

Someone egged my mom's classroom door. My first reaction was love for my Mom and anger at the student that hurt her. However a friend reminded me to check where my heart was, and to love the student. So I prayed. I prayed that my Mom would feel comforted and strengthened, and that she wouldn't be discouraged. And then I prayed for the student, that their eyes would be opened to the love God has for them. I prayed they would feel Him pursing them with love.

Then one of my other friends, a teacher's aid, had a rough encounter with a student and I was again reminded that teenagers are hurt, and often feel unloved. They live in a world where they aren't "cute kids" any more, but aren't yet adults either.

Know that you are loved.

You're in a period of your life that is awkward and hard, and you may often feel alone. You may feel like your teachers are just there to make life more boring and to keep you from having fun with your friends, but they're not. They are there to spur you on. To challenge you to do your very best.

They are there to love you.

Of Course I Want A Cookie

[This is not a blanket statement about all people who struggle with weight and body image. This is specifically about me. Some of it may be extrapolated and applied to others, but none of it is applicable to everyone, except the love :)]

"God doesn't make mistakes. Love the way you are." 

"God made you perfect just the way you are." 

"Love your body type." 

All good/true things, at least in some aspect. But here's the thing..some of us [raises hand and points at self] have a tendency to hear these statements and take them to mean that my weight problem is totally okay. God just made me fat...or at least fatter than average...really I should say fatter than healthy because the American average isn't healthy.  

Well, I'm sorry, but He didn't. God didn't make me fat. He didn't make me as this unhealthy person who was doomed to be chubby and unhappy with my appearance. Yes, He gave me a slow metabolism, but that's just a challenge like any other He uses to help us grow. 

I'm the one who took the healthy body God gave me and mistreated it. I abused it, fed it garbage and grease for years until I literally weighed as much as a grown man (despite being a 5'5" girl). I didn't fuel my body; I fed my appetite for sugar and fries. I didn't exercise regularly and strengthen my muscles; I watched Netflix regularly and let my muscles weaken. 

God did not give me the body I have. I turned the body He gave me into this...lets go with full-figured...I made myself this full-figured girl..um, woman? Whatever, you get the point.

Me at my cousin's wedding, at my heaviest just before starting this journey...I would
have started earlier, but I didn't want to steal the spotlight ;) lol, just kidding.

So now I'm trying to fix it. I'm eating better and working out, and I'm trying to chisel away all the damage I did to the beautiful creation God blessed me with. 

I must also say that most people tend toward extremes, and when it comes to our diet, neither extreme is healthy. Eating fried fast food constantly and being obese isn't good for you. But neither is starving yourself and being stick thin. Health is about balance. And it's about understanding our bodies and what is healthy.

Most doctors agree that a healthy adult my height should have a BMI between 19 and 24. Y'all, mine was in the low THIRTIES! That isn't healthy even if I look average!

So when people offer me a cookie or some chips, and I turn them down, I'm not trying to be rude. Of course I want the cookie, but I want to be healthy more. I'm also not starving myself or depriving myself of the so-called pleasures in life. Chances are I had some fruit earlier and I'm doing just fine.

When people look at me and hear that I'm on a diet, that I've lost 30 pounds and I'm not done yet, they legitimately argue with me. They say I'm being unhealthy, that I don't need to lose anymore. Our society's views of health are just so skewed. I've done the research; I know the science; I promise, I'm still not in the healthy weight range for my body type, but I'm almost there.

Before I finish, I have got to tell you, I legitimately feel so much better now! I took a break from dieting for the holidays, and by the time I was getting ready to start back up again, my body was actually craving vegetables! I don't even like most vegetables, but my body was telling me it missed being fueled. And the other day I had a crappy day, like crying off and on all day for basically no reason other than it was Monday. You know when my day finally got better? When I went for a run! Yea, being healthy sucks at first, but after a while your body actually starts to crave it, and that makes it easier and more fulfilling!

This is me, post workout, last week :) Looking all happy and feeling good.