Beauty.

Yesterday on my way to work I got on the bus, and there was this middle-aged man sitting at the front of the bus who looked noticeably disheveled. He seemed out of place amidst the executive-(looking)types with their neatly pressed clothes and carefully-crafted appearance, commuting to another mundane day at the office. This man had two large bags with him, which seemed to contain many, if not all, of his worldly possessions. No one sat beside him. He had a noticeable tic, which caused him to make abrupt movements. I was honestly a little bit on edge, along with many others on the bus, as we glanced away, trying in vain not to bring attention to him.

A couple of stops later, a large handful of mostly more executive-looking types boarded the bus. The man in the front seat put out his hand for high fives from each of these new passengers. Some humoured him, to his delight, and others pretended not to notice. The last person to get on was a teenage boy of about 16, who gave a high five which turned into a fist bump, then a handshake. The boy then stepped over one of the man's bags, and sat in the empty seat next to him. A look of pure joy took over the man's face.

The man unzipped one of his bags and pulled out a newspaper, giving it to the boy. The boy smiled, and began reading the headlines as the man closed his bag. Then the man took the newspaper from the boy, placed it on the boy's shoulder, and rested his head there. The man tenderly clasped the boy's hands in his and began kissing them. The two held each other in innocent, pure affection.

My brain couldn't process what I was seeing. What beauty! What love of one human to another! These gentlemen were of different ages, races, and socioeconomic statuses, yet those barriers were broken through a simple act of selflessness. My eyes filled with tears and I was thankful that the brightness allowed for me to keep my sunglasses on. I glanced up at the other passengers around me, and many of them were sporting similar welled eyes and tear-stained faces.

The bus pulled into the station, and the man and the boy exchanged another high-five-fist-bump-handshake thing with enormous and bright smiles before going their separate ways. They had ridden that bus together for less than 10 minutes, yet likely changed the entire day's outlook both for themselves, and all those around them during that time.

What might it look like if we spread love like butter (or guac or hummus or whatever)? What kind of impact might that have upon this society and city where people seem to have no time to give to anyone or anything more?

Break Through.

It's been approximately forever since I've blogged about anything. Nine months is totally forever, according to people I know who have had babies. Truth is, this school year was hard. I was stretched in directions I didn't know existed. Relationships endured trials which would culminate in their refinement or severance, though neither party knew which one at the outset. The struggle against the thorn-in-the-flesh of panic attacks continued. Questions about the future persisted--Why am I getting this degree? What do I plan to do vocationally? How am I ever going to pay down all this student debt? Am I ever going to be able to afford to live anywhere? Can I even get into a sufficiently lucrative career to support myself? Where are my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual supports going to come from in the future?

Blah blah blah. Noise noise noise.

Beneath all of these questions and self-doubts was this undercurrent of something like, "God has a plan. Trust him. This is all going to work out better than you could have imagined." Truthfully, I'm not sure how I would have made it through this year without that mantra persisting like a bagpipe drone against the tumultuous, dissonant recesses of my anxiety-stricken mind which immediately jump to the worst case scenario as the only possible outcome, and also the one that I somehow deserve.

But I've noticed my mind changing over the past year. It's quicker and more natural than it once was to grab onto the promises of God as truth, and to peacefully and patiently wait on the outcome which he has foreknown from the very foundations of the world, expecting to be surprised by joy.

I just came back from this Celtic Christianity tour to Ireland and the UK (talk about being financially responsible). This was another situation where I wasn't sure how the logistics were going to work out, but felt like God was saying, "Go. Trust me." Basically every logistical hiccup that could have occurred along the journey, did--and, would you believe it, they all worked out. The Lord has taught me little object lessons about his providence like this before, and how his will always prevails… Like that time I actually finished my undergraduate degree while battling a mental illness that wouldn't let me sit still for more than 20 minutes in a lecture hall without having a panic attack, if I even made it to the campus at all (or maybe that speaks more to my tenacity, or just plain craziness…)

With that in mind, I arrived in Ireland, eagerly anticipating the discovery of what God was going to show me. I'd read about the Celts' emphasis on the care of creation, which had found a special place in my heart as a kind of closet Bohemian-hippie-flower-child-wannabe. Over the first couple of days, I read about the Celtic love of nature and wholeness, juxtaposed to the greed, insecurity, and short-sightedness of their Western European contemporaries, who were chopping down forests to build massive cathedrals as an act of worship to the God whose creation they were destroying. Of course, the Celts also built monasteries and cathedrals, and probably decimated a few forests and fields in the process, which was an interesting thing to think about.

Ferns! Inside!

Shortly after arriving on the island of Iona, after a long day of plane, bus, and ferry trips, and a couple of violent panic attacks, I went to walk off the adrenaline hangover, and ended up in the abbey. What struck me immediately were the ferns and flowers growing through random locations on the interior stone walls of the chapel. After snapping a couple of photos, because tourism, I stopped to contemplate this occurrence. One of my lesser-known hobbies is looking at pictures of abandoned buildings. The thought came to my mind that if this type of picture were to show up on one of the urban explorer pages that I follow on social media, then the top comment might be something like "I love it when the earth reclaims what is rightfully hers". People like me are kind of obsessed with trying to find order amid chaos. Greenery overtaking a manmade structure, abandoned or not, is seen as the natural order of things being restored. There's something fulfilling and enigmatic and wonderful about it. 

Different island, different structure, same story. 

Yet, the situation becomes all the more complex and holistic and appreciable when I can consider, as a Christian, who the creator and ruler of nature is. The irony of a structure which was built as a house of worship to the Creator God being overrun, and eventually physically destroyed, by that which the Creator God has made is absolutely delicious! As we continued to travel around the island, and other locations, I noticed this more and more--in old monastic ruins, and crumbling stone walls, life was bursting forth. The symbolism is incredibly rich. God will break through any structure or circumstance which we place between ourselves and him, even if it is constructed with the purest of intentions. There is nothing we can do to stop it. His will will be accomplished. 

On one hand, thank God that there is nothing on earth or in heaven that can separate us from his love. Praise the One who cares more deeply for each of us than anyone on earth, and whose purpose for our lives will always prevail. On another hand, that level of vulnerability and surrender of control is absolutely frightening. I can either prune away the weeds which disturb my stone-faced appearance of put-togetherness, or I can acknowledge them as God-given gifts which remind me of both who I am, and whose I am, and which reassure me that my God, my Father in heaven who is perpetually with me, who neither slumbers nor sleeps, who created the universe and is restoring all things, is doing a new thing in me which he will see through to completion.

So, while the panic over the uncertainties within the peripheral details of my earthly life continues to rear its ugly head at unexpected moments, I remember He in whom I abide, He in whom my hope and security rests, and He whose purposes cannot be thwarted by anything. His light overcomes all darkness.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Five Years.

I like getting sentimental sometimes. I also like marking anniversaries of big changes and other important dates to remember their significance, and reflect on the growth that has occurred since then, or through those trials.

Five years ago this week, I had my first panic attack. Sometimes I feel like I tell this story tirelessly, and that maybe I sound like one of those annoying social media activists or internet social justice warriors. That's never been my intent.

Before anxiety, my ego was enormous. I was the smartest, most well-rounded person to ever grace the face of the planet, and I implicitly pushed that agenda on nearly everyone I met. I was obsessed with making a first impression of omniscience and unparalleled experience to potential new friends, professors, strangers, and people I knew I didn't like. Those things are what makes a person cool (read: massively insecure), right? In my mind, I had to be the best at everything to give myself a chance at being noticed or liked.

Then I learned what it's like to have your body go into overdrive for no reason, without warning, for hours at a time. Your brain says stop while your body says go and the messages get so lost in the confusion and mistranslation that the only response that makes sense to bring back some semblance of control is to hit yourself until your legs are purple, or bite your fingers until you draw blood, and you cry the whole time, not because it hurts, but because you don't know how to make it stop, or how things got so bad, or if life will ever be different, or if it's even worth it to go on living.

Living that life broke me in ways I could never imagine, and wouldn't have known how to have planned for. Living that life showed me that it is impossible, and unethical, for me to judge a person by what I perceive from their outward persona. Living that life taught me about people who yearn for and deserve justice, who scream out for it, yet are silenced by the murmurs of the loudest voices of Western society who determine what is most important to all of us: business, productivity, bureaucracy, capitalism, government, the rat race…

Living that life allowed me to see what true, pure, unconditional love looks like, and where it comes from. It incited me getting the help I need to heal broken and distorted images of what I thought I needed to be in order to be loved, accepted, and heard.

The vast brokenness of this world never ceases to leave me completely baffled (and if you spend much time around me, you've likely heard me let out an "ugh, humans!" or two in frustration). We fall victim to the brokenness of ourselves and others all the time. There is a restorer, a healer, a comforter, a redeemer, who is working on our behalf to make us whole, only because he loves us too much to leave us alone in our mess.

What does that restoration look like? For me, it's been finding joy in the simple things of life--getting together to laugh and chat and be vulnerable with friends; sipping an Americano in a crowded café, or listening to music on the subway as I feel calm, warm, and safe in the arms of Jesus while watching the world go bustling by; feeling like I can be my real, true self in conversations without having to project a certain image in order to be accepted by myself and others; drinking in the beauty of the seasons, and marveling at how God has intricately and intentionally created all that is, and foreknown how they will all interact and come together.

There is freedom in knowing that we are not meant to achieve wholeness on this earth, and that it is not our responsibility to orchestrate our own restoration plan for ourselves or others.

We just have to be.

When Jesus was baptized, before he began his ministry, his Father called him his beloved Son, in whom he was well pleased. Through him, we have access to the title of beloved children of God as well.

We need only be.

The last five years have been unspeakably difficult. They've also been typified by unparalleled growth and reward. Beauty rises from ashes. We are still approaching the day when there will be no more death, mourning, crying or pain, but in the meantime, there is joy to be found in the visible progress of the restoration that is taking place. For this, I am thankful. 

The Kingdom of Dog... uhh, God.

I often feel like I'm sitting on the fence of the Kingdom of God, not knowing if I want in or out. As I was walking to work one morning last week, I was thinking about this, and was reminded of dogs (but I think about dogs a lot too, so that's no surprise). 

I remember seeing a funny t-shirt in a catalogue as a kid that depicted a to-do list for the day:

-let dog in

-let dog out

-let dog in

-let dog out

-let dog in

-let dog out

Ad nausaeum…

Dog goes out to pee, then comes back in, then sees squirrel outside, then hears you unwrapping cheese, then hears the neighbour's dog barking, then smells you starting to make dinner, then has to go out and chase the letter carrier, then needs to come in and be enough of a suck to get a treat from you as recompense for scaring away the bad guy…

Dogs think they know what they want in the moment, and to a certain extent, we do too.

I want to be in a relationship with a God who loves me unconditionally, but find myself yo-yo-ing back and forth between that state of being and another one that makes me want to get as far away as possible because I know that I can't conquer my own human nature which says that I deserve utter desolation, hopelessness, and loneliness.

The good news is that through Christ, that brokenness is overcome. God isn't some irate dog owner who lets us bark and whine outside the door of his house because he's frustrated, or lazy, or preoccupied. Even though we willingly left that house on a whim to chase after some transient and fleeting thing, and realized it wasn't as good as the paradise we had inside the warm shelter of the house, and maybe even got sprayed by a skunk or something to boot, just as another reminder of our vulnerability, he will never make us wait longer than it takes us to realize where we really want to be. He's good, and shows a deeper unconditional love for us, and joy in our decision to choose him even than any dog as their owner comes home from a long day at the office, or a few weeks' vacation.

Sometimes it takes a bit of wandering around alone outside before I realize it, but I want that. I think as humans we yearn for that sense of belonging and love. We just need to remember that it's there.

What if things got better?

Over the last several weeks, I've been ever-so-carefully tiptoeing out into the possibility that maybe anxiety isn't a thing that needs to define me anymore. I feel absolutely like a broken record every time I mention that awful "a-word" (or the "p-word" or the "d-word" for that matter), because the nature of this illness is that it comes and goes in waves and cycles and unpredictable bouts of mania and downward spirals… But for the first time in years, I'm actually starting to feel better, stable, grounded, and like I just might be leading a normal life.

Our individualistic culture doesn't like the word "normal." We celebrate differences and abnormalities as if these are the pinnacles that we should strive for above all else, because the individual is god… My opinions there encompass a long conversation for another time. I was incapable of remembering what "normal" was while I couldn't experience it, but now that it is returning in shades, I'm in awe, excited, and overjoyed at what is yet just invisible on the horizon.

Let me just expound on what I mean by "normal" for a sec…

• I can get up and out the door in the morning without worrying about having a panic attack.
• I can feel confident committing to be present at social functions, and look forward to them, rather than playing out the scenarios of how I could acceptably cancel at the last minute without sounding like a dick because I'm not feeling up to it, only to feel too petrified to say anything and feel even worse for skipping out afterwards.
• I believe people are telling the truth and not just being nice when they exhort, edify, and compliment me.
• I can eat wheat and dairy without getting sick!
• When I look in the mirror, I see a confident, joyful, beautiful woman, rather than a long string of explicit, derogatory adjectives.
• I can truly be present with other people, and empathize with their concerns without being concerned about how anxious I feel and how that is coming across.
• I feel confident taking public transit for long trips.
• I don't feel the need to eat constantly to forget about the anxiety.
• I feel like I deserve to be happy, and that that's a good thing.
• I just feel joyful.
• I feel like I have the energy and capacity to love others, and actively seek out opportunities to do so.
• I understand that I'm still going to have good days and bad days and don't feel pressured to live up to an image of a put-together person who has all their stuff figured out--because I'm 23 and I don't have all the answers!

All of the above are happening nearly all the time. I never even conceived the thought, in my wildest fantasies that I would ever deserve and know the life that I get to live every day now.

There is hope for peace, joy, and life after the absolute hell that is mental illness.

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly." - John 10:10

A-freaking-men.

[Dis]connected.

Maybe I'm a little too enamoured with the monastic lifestyle, or maybe I’m just falling into this hipster, super trendy, minimalist thing (but pass me some organic, vegan, fair trade, non-GMO, nonfat, almond, kale, chia, flax, coconut, green smoothie thing while we're on that thought…?)

Last semester, I remember a little voice inside my head screaming "THIS IS NOT LIFE-GIVING!" as I mindlessly scrolled one-by-one through social media feeds. It doesn't take a genius to come to such a conclusion. Basically since I became a Christian I've been trying to not be sucked into the vortex of ostentatious religious piety and Christianese, because it's bloody weird. An idea that has repeatedly resurfaced over the last several months has been that I need to be less about the world and more about the Lord (Romans 12:1-2 for those who would like a Scripture reference). Anyway, I think I gave myself the ultimatum that as long as I was still doing well in school, there was no harm done. I still wanted to understand, though: why was I so addicted to this thing that was so mind-numbing?

There was my answer: it was mind-numbing. One of my most consistent coping mechanisms when I feel the anxiety starting to escalate is scrolling through facebook. It is utterly illogical that reading the idiocy of provocative, inflammatory comments will give me any sort of peace, yet, somehow, the feeling that I'm better, or smarter, or more useful than some misinformed stranger of the internet has become solace during the moments when I'm feeling my most useless, worthless, hopeless, and out of control.

Questions could be asked about why I don't turn to prayer or scripture seeking the comforts of release and truth during these times. I don't know. I guess I'm afraid of the implications if God won't be who he says he is at the moments where I feel like I need him the most. It also takes a lot more effort to open a Bible or make my lips move with hopeful expectation, becoming vulnerable to the rebuke, challenge, and transformation of the Holy One. It's actually pretty scary when you really think about it.

So, lent. Different church traditions say different things about lent. There's quite the spectrum ranging from "of course we do this, and you should too, and here's why," to "this is heresy because Jesus/the Bible doesn't explicitly say to do it." I've come to appreciate church tradition more and more as I've explored how much of it actually is rooted in scripture, in more ways than most Biblical literalists care to note. Admittedly, I haven't done a terrible amount of research on lent, but I think it's fairly indisputable to say that it is a time set apart to remove the "little-g-gods" from our lives which tend to stand in the way of our communion with the big-G, real-deal Father in heaven.

All this to say (in a painfully typical Helenz, long, convoluted manner) that I'm saying goodbye to facebook and instagram for lent. I anticipate this to be a good move for my spiritual life, and mental health, and also that it'll be incredibly challenging--in many senses of the word. I'm looking forward to embracing a simpler life, for sure, but also wary of the repercussions of being disconnected in this age that says you need to be 24/7.

Yes. Call/text/email me maybe?

What's in a name?

I find Christian spirituality quite difficult to talk about. There are, of course, extremists on both ends of the spiritual spectrum within the faith--those who are quite flamboyant and open about how they feel the Spirit of God, and those who think that those people are crazy. I grew up in what I believe to be the latter tradition, although on the non-evangelical side of things, which makes it all the more atypical and confusing. And then there is the predicament of trying to explain spirituality, particularly connected to one religion, as legitimate…

I've always wanted to feel connected to God. There weren't very many prominent figures in my life growing up whom I felt were truly connected to God, but when I did encounter such an individual, I was drawn to their sense of peace and confidence in God. As a kid trying to hide feelings of depression, holy crap, did I need that confidence that God loved me, and had a plan for me, and was going to be my strength no matter what.

I could make excuses of why I thought I didn't deserve God, and play the blame game over how relationship with God was never modeled well or encouraged by the adults in my life, but I think by this point I've reached the point where I've acknowledged that I just need to get over it, be an adult, and be accountable for my own faith.

When I was first exposed to, well, let's just call it "non-liturgical spirituality," I thought it was bloody crazy. It seemed so illogical and ethereal. I thought that people who raised their hands or danced during musical worship, or spoke of dreams or visions or prophetic words that they believed to be from God, or claimed that God had done x in their life/in someone else's life after they had prayed about it, were freaking bonkers, and if I'm being totally honest, part of me wanted to slap them across the face and shout "control yourself, you're being totally illogical and stupid!" (There's a really beautiful irony in the fact that I'm now doing my masters in spiritual formation…) I had a theoretical, hypothetical understanding and knowledge of a God who was good, but little context for the application of that knowledge.

There have been revelations of that God that have entered the more non-liturgical spirituality side of things over the last few years. I've encountered God in many of the ways that I thought were totally illegitimate before. My heart has been softened a bit to that side of things.

But I'd be lying if I said I didn't still have doubts.

Does God actually care about the things that we care about, or is he preoccupied with his own interests? Where is God when people are suffering? Why does God allow people to do so many evil things in his name?

Generally, the last few months of being at seminary have been pretty stable on the mental health front, and as I've been growing in understanding of God and who he is and how he functions, I've been gaining confidence concerning his good intentions for humanity, and my place at his table--or so I thought.

In October I was on a retreat for a spiritual formation class. On the second night I had a dream interpreted that I'd had a couple of years ago. In half a sentence, it turned out to be a prophetic dream (now who's freaking bonkers, Helen?!) indicating that God uses me to speak into the lives of others when I share his Word with them. Cool. I was satisfied with that interpretation, but still apprehensive--what reason did God have to choose me for such an important task? What in me is even remotely worthy of such a noble call? 

When I went to receive communion in our chapel service the next morning, the girl who was distributing the wafers said to me, “Christ chose you,” as she gave me a wafer. I thought that “the body of Christ, broken for you” might have been a more appropriate statement for this context, but I shrugged off her slip of the tongue. After the service, she came and found me to advise me that those were not her words, she hadn’t said that to anybody else, and that she hadn’t planned to say it to me. I knew I needed to spend some time with God to figure out what that statement, “Christ chose you,” meant. 

Opportunely, there was a scheduled period of two hours’ silence following the coffee break after the service. I walked to a park with a group of people during this time, and sat alone by the river. I closed my eyes in prayer, asking God what the girl’s statement meant. I heard very clearly, “Christ chose you to share the message,” but wasn’t sure of the significance of that assertion. I sat in silence for a few moments, chewing on those words. As the sun was shining down on me, I was reminded of one of my favourite verses, John 1:5: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” Then it hit me: my name, Helen, means “light!” I know that in scripture we are all called to be light, but to have that personally affirmed was very special for me, and very powerful. It gave me a sense of purpose and determination to stick close to God, studying his Word, listening for his voice, and following his lead.

Anyone who's known me since I was a kid knows how much I hated my old lady name growing up, and probably also knows how upset and angry I was most of the time, mostly for reasons that were beyond my own comprehension. I cannot overemphasize how freaking awesome it is to see all of that being redeemed by the one who created me for a purpose that is infinitely greater in every way than anything I could ever envision for myself. Figuring out exactly what that looks like to live out that purpose is going to take some more time (like, probably the rest of my life), but I feel like I'm on the right track to getting there.