I instantly became angry and started yelling at my body, “You worked all the other past times, why can’t you work this time?” and “Come on now, just feel numb already, what you are waiting for?”  At that moment my safety blanket instantly slipped out from under me, and I felt the self-hate running rapidly through my veins. I quickly became very guarded against AFH staff and the other residents in the house whenever they were anywhere near me.  But to the staff this loss of my safety blanket meant something much different.  It meant me seeing that I could no longer continue to “fix” myself with this bandaid. I need to “fix” myself by taking off the bandaids and treating what’s underneath. At that moment my hope that “it” would go away with adding just one more bandaid became shattered; a hope that never really existed in the first place.

Once I was able to see what the staff saw I was both sad and happy.  Sad because I realized I could no longer continue to deny hurt, a part of life that is going to be there whether you fight against it or with it. And since my “coping mechanism” no longer works, there is no use in continuing to use it when the it only adds to the hurt. But ironically I am happy for the same reason.

I am tired of trying to appear okay, and I don’t have the excuse of “just one more time” because now I know that next time no longer exists.  I want to live, not just exist in an empty shell, by experiencing and embracing, not fighting, the emotions that come with the good times and the rough times. Yet I am terrified of leaving behind the known, and jumping into the unknown. In reality every time I used my “coping mechanism” just one more time I was deepening that fear and sabotaging myself and my family by emotionally cutting them out of my life.  Yes there are still days, honestly most days, that I’m terrified of accepting the fact that hurt and joy are a part of life that I’m built to feel. I continue to fight this fact because I’m terrified of exposing the “real Kelly” even to myself.

By now you might be wondering why I used quotation marks around the words coping mechanism.  The answer is simple, my coping mechanism of self-injury, cutting, isn’t a coping mechanism that’s needed anymore to survive the past, present and future tears and blows. A Friend’s House has given me the gifts of time and unconditional love to learn how to create a voice that’s expressed with dignity and firmly stood behind. Baby steps, baby steps.

-Kelly

Music, once admitted to the soul, becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies (Edward George Bulwer Lytton)

Dance is the hidden language of the soul (Martha Graham: 1894-1991)

Music can alter my mind into a state of deep relaxation by allowing my mind to slowly drift away from the current world of pain and sorrow into a world that’s replaced with stillness and silence. Music can also inspire the words in my head to flow onto a page, or an image in my mind, to become a visual picture in my sketchbook. Music can create and encourage laughter; whether it’s that silent laugh in your head or a burst of laughter out loud when nobody is looking. Music can create memories, memories that remind you of dark times of pain, or light times of reminiscence. On the days where the worries seem distant I turn to the song where I can tap my fingers to the beat, while on the other days where the worries are near I turn to the song that wraps it’s arms around me as it gently evokes a feeling of peace and a temporary thought that “everything will be ok.”

As a child, and still with that mind of a child, a yearning dream of mine is imagining myself, and actually being, the singer on stage who’s able to close her eyes and clench her fist as she pours out her emotions, dreams, and secrets with no hesitation or fear of showing her real self. The second dream consists of me, once again, being that one and only, vulnerable dancer on stage who is able to let go and allow herself to feel the emotions as her body moves from a curled ball of sadness and hurt, into a standing figure of determination and poise. I want to feel that freedom of expression and release of emotions so badly, yet every time I try I become afraid and timid, even in the room alone with the door shut. And I walk away from allowing myself to break and feel, really feel.

Given this desire, yet accompanied with fear, one of my major goals at AFH is to be able to create a dance, or movements of expression, that shows that transformation from the curled ball on day one to the hope of a standing figure on graduation day. I know this sounds like a far off goal since I cannot even dance in a room by myself with the door shut, but for many years I imagined being able to check this one off the list. I’ve tried to imagine how life would feel with this item checked. Would it be a life with inner peace and comfort that nobody could take away? Would it be a life where I no longer turn to self destruction to “feel” then numb away the painful, or even uncomfortable pleasant, emotions?  I don’t know these answers but if I continue to let my fear win I will never know these two answers, so I might as well try to give myself the chance to explore the questions and possibly find the answers that have always seemed so distant, yet near….

-Kelly

About two minuets later though Michelle* asked Sarah*, other residents standing next to me, asked “Is that the Nazi sign?” Sarah responded, “It sure looks like it.”  Michelle then asked me “That’s the Nazi sign isn’t it?” My response was only an angry “Yes.”

Oddly enough all the grass beside the symbol was green and alive, yet the grass of the symbol was brown and dead, as if the person drew the sign onto the ground by using weed killer as their pencil.  Honestly, I was taken aback and speechless, a view that just a second ago spoke of calmness and tranquility had became a view that loudly spoke of discrimination and racism. Discrimination and racism that our society has tried so hard to deny as being part of the past and not the present, while examples like this strikingly show it’s still active and alive. But of all places why would someone willingly, and blatantly, choose to make this hateful statement at a state park? Where kids should be able to laugh about silly things, play on the playground, picnic with their families, kayak on the lake, play catch, throw a football and other activities remind adults of times when life was simpler?  Why take those opportunities away from children by invading their space with discrimination and racism, a social issue that already often surrounds them at school, home, or on the streets?  Isn’t it hard enough for students, and not just “those other students,” to have to put up with discrimination at school by both peers and even teachers?

Then some return home to an environment that’s emotionally or physically unsafe?

It seems with our materialistic and time-oriented society that kids are being forced to grow up while their bodies and minds are still actively forming and developing. I wonder what it will take for us, society, to realize that a 10 year old boy/girl is just that, a 10 year old boy/girl.

- Not a parent of their parents,

- not victims of racism and discrimination (in an ideal world),

- not having to work and worry about helping mom and dad pay the bills

- not having to have their identity from the streets,

- not having to fear where food is going to come from the next day…you get the idea.

After this brief discussion I was curious to research where the swastika originated from. It turns out the swastika is the oldest known symbol that has been used for over 3000 years, with artifacts, such as pottery and coins from the ancient Troy, showing that the Swastika was a commonly used symbol as far back as 1000 BCE. Here are a few excerpts that I found interesting.

Original meaning:

The word “swastika” comes from the Sanskrit svastika- “su” meaning “good,” “asti meaning “to be” and “ka” as gift.  Until the Nazis used this symbol, the swastika was used by many cultures to represent life, sun, power, strength, and good luck.

What does the Swastika mean now?

“There is a great debate as to what the swastika means now. For 3,000 years, the swastika meant life and good luck. But because of the Nazis, it has also taken on a meaning of death and hate.

These conflicting meanings are causing problems in today’s society. For Buddhists and Hindus, the swastika is a very religious symbol that is commonly used. Chirag Badlani shares a story about one time when he went to make some photocopies of some Hindu Gods for his temple. While standing in line to pay for the photocopies, some people behind him in line noticed that one of the pictures had a swastika. They called him a Nazi.

Unfortunately, the Nazis were so effective at their use of the swastika emblem, that many do not even know any other meaning for the swastika. Can there be two completely opposite meanings for one symbol?” (http://history1900s.about.com/cs/swastika/a/swastikahistory.htm)

As I read the article with the above excerpt I was shocked at how a symbol that was created over 3,000 years ago to represent light and peace has transformed into a symbol in today’s society that represents racism and death.  Aren’t there enough words in Webster’s Dictionary, and in our everyday language, that are degrading to others? Why do we need to add to these words instead of creating words that portray the original meaning of the Swastika?

-Kelly

*names were changed to protect their privacy

I don’t enjoy exercising, but I know it’s important to integrate into my life. As I thought about how to make this change, I started to get discouraged. I don’t want to spend money to join a gym. I already feel like my evenings are full, so how can I add 30-60 minutes of exercise? And I really don’t like mornings, so the last thing I want to do is get up earlier to exercise.

At one point I realized I was full of excuses. Then I thought about an exercise our licensed therapist did with our staff. She had us write down goals that we seem to always have, but on which we don’t make progress. Many of them were similar to typical resolutions (lose weight, read more books, eat healthier, etc.). Then she asked us to think about what’s stopping us from accomplishing these goals. We didn’t discuss the reasons out loud, but I knew my lack of discipline and laziness often stopped me.

What she did next really caught my attention. She explained that we all struggle to reach these goals even though many of us know how to make a plan, have supportive families and friends to hold us accountable, and have the resources to get started.

She concluded by emphasizing how much more challenging it must be for our residents to work toward their goals day-in and day-out.

Wow. I felt like I had just been slapped across the face. I immediately remembered the times I wanted to tell residents, “start making better decisions, stop cutting yourself, or quit listening to the unhealthy people in your life.” But change is just not that easy, and thankfully our therapeutic staff members have a better perspective than me.

My goal of exercising 3-5 times a week is nothing compared to the issues our residents work on. I haven’t been plagued with nightmares and flashbacks of being abused by my father. I don’t know what it’s like to have an anxiety attack at lunch because I hate food. I can’t imagine not having friends, family and a church body whom I trust for guidance and encouragement.

I’m striving to better balance accountability with grace. This balance is a daily discussion among staff at AFH, and is critical to the success of our residents.

We know the young women we serve this year will need love, professional care, accountability and grace. We know some of them may complete the Assessment Stage and then leave, while others will persevere through graduation. We are resolved to celebrate success with them each step of the way, and to provide the best care possible. Thank you for all that you have given to help young women. Not only are the residents growing, but I believe I can speak on behalf of the staff members and say each of us is growing too.

I never thought that I would ever write an entire blog entry for the sole purpose of promoting a book.  I love to read, but I am also a somewhat picky reader.  Unlike my broad taste in music, my acceptance of literary works is much more selective.  I will not read a book if it doesn’t capture my interest in the first paragraph.  I will not read a book if I find it to be excessively detailed (I don’t need to know that she was drinking off-brand diet cola out of a blue glass containing a crack in the lip unless it is pertinent to the story), unapologetically morally offensive, unrealistic, or nonsensical.  Because of this, I seldom read fiction.  I think autobiographies are more captivating and more urgent.  There is something about the reality contained therein that serves to convince me of the worth of the story.  I find autobiographies compelling, endearing, and admirable for the simple fact that the author has made himself vulnerable to the masses—and once it is on paper and in someone else’s hands, there is no turning back.  I am impressed, I suppose, by the courage it takes to put one’s secrets out there for the world to inspect.  And I am inspired by the remarkable tales of overcoming some of life’s most difficult challenges against all odds.  Rarely do I come across a work of fiction that moves me in the same way.

13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher is a crucial exception.  This book, Asher’s first novel, contains everything I love about reading “true” stories and then some.  It is raw, heart wrenching, and, unfortunately, extremely realistic.  A story within a story, it is narrated primarily by Hannah Baker, a girl who committed suicide and left behind audiocassettes explaining what drove her to it.  Don’t be fooled into thinking that the book reads like one long pity-party where Hannah blames everyone else for her final decision.  That was my concern at first, but it isn’t like that at all.  The book does, however, make its readers painfully aware of how our seemingly insignificant actions, or lack thereof, can have a tremendous impact on those around us.  It presents in a profound yet relatable way the important truth that our lives do not take place in a vacuum—our choices, words, facial expressions, and body language affect others in ways we are often completely unaware of.

A story containing such delicate material and such an imperative message could have easily slipped up and become cheesy, over-dramatic, preachy, or cliché.  It could have come across as glorifying suicide or encouraging revenge.  But Jay Asher avoids these pitfalls beautifully.  No character in the novel is painted as an absolute monster, though some commit horrendous acts.  Each one is instead portrayed for what they are:  human, fallible, and prone to making mistakes, but irreplaceably valuable.  It speaks to some of the most sensitive subjects in life—shattered dreams, regret, despair, and death—but it also includes hope, determination, repentance, transformation, forgiveness, and second chances.  Despite being worth the read for its subject matter alone, the cleverly-crafted suspense leaves me feeling like calling it a page-turner falls horribly short.  Above all, it accomplishes what every book worth reading should…it reaches into the depths of the soul and demands a response from the reader.  It is not a book that one can simply finish, put down, and walk away from unchanged.

I would actually go so far as to suggest that 13 Reasons Why be required reading for 7^th or 8^th grade students.  I sincerely believe that reading the novel and discussing the content, despite its delicacy, could be an entire curriculum in and of itself, and would without a doubt be more effective than occasionally having a speaker come in and talk about bullying or suicide.  This book really does have the potential to be life-altering, especially for middle and high school students, where teasing, taunting, gossiping, and degrading comments seem to be accepted as par-the-course.  Regardless of age, I think this is a book everyone should read and talk about.

We do not talk about suicide enough, and when we do, in my opinion, we go about it in a strange, side-stepping way.  We like to assure ourselves and everyone else that we had absolutely no part in someone else’s death, that we are not to blame—that no one is to blame, or worse, we feel content to blame the victim.  I think this book illustrates well that when someone we come into contact with on a daily basis despairs to the point of no return, to the point of taking their own life, perhaps it would do us some good to think about how it got to that point instead of ignoring it.  I don’t mean to say we should blame ourselves or thrust ourselves into such a state of guilt that we fall into despair.  Nor do I mean to pretend that we can solve such a difficult problem just by reading and discussing a book.  But I do think we should take the opportunity to become aware of what we as individuals can change and what we, as a society, cannot encourage or even tolerate, and I think 13 Reasons Why is the perfect catalyst to begin the discussion.  Awareness is absolutely essential.  Thinking about the issue, as opposed to ignoring it, is a great first step.  Now, where to from here?

Thank you, Jay Asher, for getting me thinking.

Love in Christ,

Emily

Things have been getting busy around here, and from what I hear they will only get busier as we get closer to Christmas.  Last weekend, we were blessed to be able to go to a really neat pottery painting studio in Fort Wayne.  Most of us were first-timers, or first-time-in-a-LONG-timers.  We all picked very different pieces, which I guess is a good reflection of how different we all are from each other.  It was a great experience, and I can’t wait to see the finished products in a few days.

Yesterday was full of excitement, too—we got to ride a combine!  Now, maybe you Indiana “natives” don’t find this to be anything out of the ordinary, but keep in mind that most of us staying here at A Friend’s House are city girls.  One of the staff members’ dads was harvesting a soy bean field and we got to take turns in the “passenger” seat.  I can’t believe how huge those things are!  The wheels alone are taller than I am!  Even though it was a dusty, dirty, pollen-filled experience, it was still a blast. J

During the past couple of weeks, I watched two movies that are major tear-jerkers.  Now, people die in movies all the time, but for some reason, this time I was really emotionally moved by the stories.  I think that so many times we tell ourselves that it’s just a movie and there is no reason for us to get upset, but at the same time, many of the movies portray real stories—a family member dying of cancer, for instance—and perhaps we ought to be affected by them.  In my opinion, the best movies, books, paintings, magazine articles, and songs serve to remind us about what is important in life.  They speak to our hearts as well as our minds, inspiring us to make a difference in this world in whatever ways we can.  I remember calling my sister right after I saw My Sister’s Keeper just to tell her that I loved her.  Or even just a few weeks ago, after watching The Last Song (which, I’ll admit, is kind of cheesy), I realized how grateful I am to be on good terms with my father.

I think that our society’s obsession with staying young is likely directly related to our discomfort with death.  We avoid wrinkles, gray hair, and sagging skin as if they were kisses from the grim reaper instead of just a natural, beautiful part of life.  Perhaps this is really just one way we subconsciously try to avoid death altogether.  The media seems to reinforce the belief that young = life, fun, enjoyment, spontaneity, energy, and that old = lifeless, boredom, sorrow, fatigue, chore.  And this simply isn’t the case, especially for those of us who know Christ, because we know that every moment of our lives here on earth is an opportunity to give Him praise and further His mission.  Still, there is something about being confronted with the concept of death that shakes us into reality.  It’s not something most people like to think about, even those of us that believe in the possibility of eternal joy in Heaven after life here on earth.  It remains true that a very real pain occurs as the result of the separation we experience when a loved one dies, despite believing we will see them again someday in Heaven.

There is something strangely beautiful about how quickly the possibility of loss of life cuts us to the core.  Suddenly, everything else seems exceedingly unimportant.  Holding a grudge, clinging to anger, or remaining bitter very quickly lose their appeal when we realize that we may have only weeks, days, or moments left with the person who we need to forgive—or receive forgiveness from.  Maybe the reality of death is something we would do well to keep in mind, not in the sense that we should live in fear, but in the sense of being aware that this earthly life is finite; tomorrow is not guaranteed.  We never really know if we will live beyond today, so with this knowledge, maybe now is the time to reach out to that estranged family member.  Maybe now is the time to forgive and forget.  Maybe now is the time to recognize God as the pilot, not the passenger.

Yes, now is definitely the time.

Love in Christ,

Emily

I apologize for the fact that I haven’t been writing every week like I normally do.  I haven’t been particularly busy, but when I sat down to write, the words just weren’t really there.  A few weeks ago, I had a sort of realization that I needed to be quieter—in conversation, in my own head, and especially in prayer, the most important conversation of my life.  So maybe that is part of why I felt like I didn’t have a lot to say.

One of my best friends and I had a notebook in junior high that we wrote back and forth to each other in.  She once apologized to me that her notes were so short when mine were so long.  Sometimes, if the right topic comes up, I have a tendency to get up on my soap box and be really long-winded with my explanations and defenses of my opinions.  Sadly, there are other times when it would be more important for me to speak up about my convictions, and I remain quiet.  That is what prompted me to begin praying about being quieter in mind, voice, and prayer.  I want to speak passionately when necessary, but I would also like to be able to listen at all times…and I mean really listen to people, not just hear them talking.

My sister and I both love music.  I don’t say that lightly, either.  A lot of people like music, but my entire family is moved by music.  When we go on vacation, we often forget to pack socks, we sometimes forget our cell phone chargers, we may even forget the directions, but never once have we neglected to bring tons of CDs and an Ipod with playlists made specifically for the road trip.  When I am riding with other people, I can’t help but find it odd that they would rather talk than blare the radio and soak up the songs.  My sister and I listen to music differently, though.  After hearing a song only once, I can always remember the music of a song but rarely can I remember the lyrics.  My sister, on the other hand, can hear a song once and remember almost every word—even if she doesn’t clearly remember the music.

Last Saturday during chores I had the radio on, and a song that I thought I knew came on.  It was John Mayer’s Waitin’ On The World.  I must have heard the song at least a hundred times, but I only knew a couple lines of one verse and the chorus.  When I started to sing along to the chorus, for the first time I began to question the message behind the song.

“So we keep waiting… waitin’ on the world to change.

We keep on waiting… waitin’ on the world to change.”

I wondered, “Wait a second, John, why are you just waiting around for the world to change?  That isn’t how it works.  Like Ghandi said, we have to BE the change we want to see.”  In an effort to make sense of these lyrics, I attempted to remember the rest of the words to the song.  It was then that I realized that despite knowing the music by heart, and despite numerous opportunities to truly listen to what John Mayer was saying, I didn’t have a clue what the song was about.  After printing the song out and reading the words carefully, I was blown away by how wholeheartedly I disagreed with its message.  I had always said, “I love this song!” whenever it came on the radio.  I was hearing it, but I wasn’t really listening.

I don’t know how many other areas in my life this happens in.  I hear the gospel every weekend, but do I listen?  Do I keep it in mind throughout the week?  Am I receptive to the Word, do I allow it to impact me in the way that it should?  By that, I’m not talking about being emotionally moved to tears or excitement by a homily or a sermon, though there isn’t necessarily anything wrong with that.  I mean, do I take in the gospel message and allow it to nourish me, to change me, to help me grow?  Do I produce fruit that benefits others?  Am I a conduit for God’s love?  Sometimes I listen.  Sometimes I just hear.

I don’t like to look at or explain Christianity as one single moment in time where I made a choice and said a prayer and that was that.  I think that this description, though sadly somewhat common, falls so far short that it is almost cringe-worthy.  In every single moment that I am breathing, I have a choice to say yes to God, or to say no.  Every moment is an opportunity to love God and love others.  Mother Theresa’s picture and story has been popping up in a lot of places lately because the 100^th anniversary of her birthday just passed.  She based most of her life’s work on the call she felt to serve the poorest of the poor in the slums of Calcutta.  She had the ability to see Jesus in everyone.  And so she served Him, in the least of His.

There is that verse in the Bible where Jesus is talking about how many people will say to Him, Lord, Lord…. and He will say He never knew them.  I can’t help but wonder if this directly relates to what I’m talking about.  Maybe we can hear Him without actually listening to Him.  Maybe we can think we are doing everything He tells us to do without actually living out the Greatest Commandment.  And so how do we tell the difference?  I don’t think this verse is God’s way of saying, “You better be terrified because I bet you wholeheartedly believe you’re following me just like these suckers did!”  I think what He is saying is that we can’t ever just assume we’re doing enough.  Instead, we ought to listen attentively to His Word and to the prompting of the Holy Spirit so that we can know how, not if, we need to do more.

Most of us know when we’re falling short.  I know when I’m only giving 85% or 75% or 50%.  Once upon a time, I would have given myself an out—in God’s name, too—and said, “Well, I’m not perfect.  No one is perfect.  I’m human.  I’m supposed to screw up.  Not my fault.”  Now I know that to do so is to deny that God’s grace is infinitely powerful, and certainly powerful enough to effect real change and growth in my life if I cooperate.  So now when I know I am falling short, I pray.  I ask God to give me the strength to work through and overcome whatever fault or struggle I am dealing with.  I ask Him to mold my heart into one that is receptive to His grace.  Lastly, I ask Him to help me love Him more and to continue to allow me to experience His love and mercy so that I can better extend that same love and mercy to others.

Mark 9:24 says, “Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!”  It is in the spirit of this verse that I pray—with the knowledge that God has already granted me grace upon grace, and with the knowledge also that I ought not take it for granted or forget where my ability to love comes from.  To cease to pray for these things would mean either that I wasn’t focusing on it anymore, or that I think I don’t need any more help in this area (yikes! Pride alert!), at which point I would have to remind myself that there is always room for growth—always!  How beautiful and awesome is the Love of God, that He is constantly pouring Himself out for us, on us, and in us?  How much joy and peace is there in realizing that we need not worry about overflowing and spilling out onto others, that indeed this is the goal?  It’s overwhelming—but it’s a good overwhelming!

I invite you to challenge yourself in the same way that I have challenged myself over the past couple of weeks.  Evaluate where in your life you might only be hearing and not quite listening.  Be prepared for the areas that God might reveal to you, but trust that He doesn’t ever give us more than we can handle.  I am still in awe of the work He has done, and continues to do, in my life.  I pray that you experience the same awe, peace, and joy.

Love in Christ,

Emily