her first

I went with my baby sister (L) to her first concert a couple of nights ago. She talked the whole way there and was beyond excited. I was too, I couldn’t wait to experience this first with her. She’s almost 13 (roughly the same age I was when I went to my first concert. It was exciting to watch. We walked up to the Wiltern (she had no idea how lucky she was to be seeing her first concert there) and the scene before my eyes made me stop dead in my tracks. I watched my innocent little sister walk through a metal detector. (Disclaimer: I am not complaining about them, I was thankful they were there.) I paused for a second thinking back to my first concert and remembering that there were no metal detectors, just bag checks. I was overwhelmed by the fact that this is the world that L lives in. This is the society that she will be forced to spend her teenage years in. There will be fear in her heart when she starts her first day of high school next year. While I believe and acknowledge that 9/11 changed our country, I am also not blind to the fact that it’s progressively got worse since then. When shootings happen, I don’t know how to respond and I rarely get past the fact that people died. Families are left to grieve and all too often children are left with scarring images and memories that they will never recover from. While I have opinions (which are just that, simply opinions) about the political side of all of this, my heart can rarely get to the point of processing the political side of shootings and/or terrorist attacks. Last Sunday I stood in the Sunday school classroom with my little 3-6 year olds with very overwhelming feelings. My church meets in a school and for a second I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a teacher in a situation like that. It was a horrific feeling as I stared at the smiling and perfect faces of the precious kids in the room with me. I’ve felt convicted in the past week as I’ve thought about this tragedy in light of eternity. You can say or believe what you want in this time. You can have your opinions, that’s fine. But there is one thing that’s missing and it’s the most important thing. The church is called to be the hands and feet of Jesus. The church is called to reach out to and love the broken. So I guess I’m just asking where is the church in all of this? How is the church representing the love of God in the midst of so much evil and pain?

It has to start within our hearts as individuals. The church has to step up and the church has to be the love of God. There is not amount of laws or decisions that can be made to stop the evil from happening. 

But God.

healing.

2017 was a hard year for me to understand while I was in the midst of it, it felt mundane and painful and good all at once. I started 2018 off very sick which has caused me to reflect on the previous year more than I usually would. If I could sum up 2017 in just two words for you, those words would be healing and restoration. Those things happened for me as an individual and for my tiny little family as well. The end of 2016 left me with more questions than answers. Questions I feel like I battled for most of 2017. The pain of sudden and tragic death, the pain of being farther from where I wanted to be, and the fear of the unknown left me crippled. The Lord took Evan and I through a very deep, rough, and painful 12 month season of healing. I choke back the tears as I write this because I remember so many exhausting nights. Nights where we would fight about literally nothing to come to to the conclusion that we were two hurting people. I couldn't tell you how many times I screamed at my husband through the tears, "don't they know what they took from us"? I wanted someone to acknowledge the pain that had built up in my heart and in my soul for the past few years. It was in the quiet moments that followed those words, the moments where even my husband himself didn't know what to say that I felt God say "I know what they took". It felt like these conversations came more often than I would've liked and were a huge reminder to me that I wasn't as healed as I thought it was. But each one of those conversations took us farther into the healing process. Each of those difficult conversations led us to the Cross. 2017 reminded me that I was no longer the person who I was spiritually 2-3 years ago. In so many ways this was a bad thing but in so many ways it was good. My walk with God was no longer "easy" and no longer "black and white". Instead it was real, honest, and sometimes brutally ugly. Remembering last year has left me with a deeper desire for the child like faith. It has brought me to a point of wanting more of Jesus and less of this world. The year took a lot out of me and left me gasping for a breath of fresh air. The end of 2017 was literally perfect. It was a quiet night as Evan and I discussed the things we look forward to in 2018. That talk left a joy in my heart that I can't quite explain. I reached one simple conclusion as the year ended, the painful journey of healing (as far as my finite eyes can see) has prepared us for what God has in store in 2018. I don't wish to re-live 2017 by any stretch but, I wouldn't trade it for anything. I am so thankful for the healing in 2017 because I can calmly step in 2018. I hate the way the new year is always portrayed and due to my depression/anxiety, I hate New Years Eve and mostly New Years Day. But I will tell you, there is something(s) about 2017 that have left me with hope.
Here's to healing, restoration, and new things.
Happy 2018!

dear hero,

To the Man who married a broken Woman:

On behalf of every lady who struggles with mental illness and body image issues, we say thank you. You are truly a hero. Not a day goes by where we don't sit back and quietly admire your strength all while thanking God for you. Why? Because you stand by us in our battles. You help fight our battle and if we look closely, many times you are the only one fighting our battle.

Thank you for all those times that you hold us close and tight knowing full well that we can't feel anything. Thank you for the way you allow us to fight off an anxiety attack with no judgment. Thank you for knowing that the feeling of water cascading over our faces can somehow help depression. Thank you for not judging us when things have to be a certain way because if they aren't, we will go into a full blown anxiety attack.

To the man that has carefully wrestled a knife, pills, or gun out of his wife hands. Thank you. Thank you for enduring the trashing that often comes when you have to hold us back from the knife. Thank you for picking us up off the floor and carrying us to bed while fight for the one thing that would take our life.

To the man that has found his wife on the floor in the middle of anxiety attack. Thank you for learning how to cope with those. For somehow knowing when we need to be held and when we simply need your presence in the room. Thank you for not allowing us to hyperventilate when we can't seem to breathe. Thank you for quietly reminding us of truth and attempting to bring things back into perspective.

And to the man that keeps a careful journal of the food his wife has eaten. Who watches her every move during a meal. And asks multiple times a day what she's eaten. To that man who makes certain he knows where his wife is following a meal. To the man who looks at his wife and reminds her of how beautiful she is.

You are valuable. You are necessary. You are appreciated. We may not tell you enough, but we couldn't do this without you. We love you, we are thankful for you, we applaud you, and we cheer you on.

i felt today.

Here I am being completely and totally raw. I am being real, personal, and vulnerable. Some days I feel everything while some days I feel nothing. Other days I feel some things and a few minutes later I am utterly numb. It's part of the process, it's part of the depression and the anxiety.

But today I felt everything. I think it's because I allowed myself to. I slept through my husband getting ready for work. So I woke up alone with my thoughts. I cried because I miss our Uncle that we lost a year ago today. At one random moment I fell into a daze as I recounted that day. I walked slowly as I remembered the pain my husband suffered through. I watched him lose his first loved one since we had been together. Then I watched his strength starting that day and lasting up until today. We drove to San Diego to be with his family on that Tuesday morning. We both cried off and on and we both grew that day. Our relationship grew stronger as we weathered death for the millionth time together.

I was feeling everything today and that is because I wasn't scared to, I allowed those feelings.

Then I got the news tonight. The news I had been dreading and avoiding for months. The kind of news that isn't the end of the world but shatters your heart. And now, now I can't feel anything. I feel numb again.

Unfortunately, that is how it goes. It sucks and I hate it and it is painful. But I am fighting and I am pushing forward. And I am choosing to believe Romans 8:26. Choosing to believe that even when I am numb, that I can still pray and that Christ will still hear me.

"In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans."
Romans 8:26 NKJV

mornings.

Mornings are really rough. But probably not for the reason your thinking.

Lately I have come to the realization that I do not like to talk about or acknowledge my depression because it makes people squirm. Because according to the church (I am talking the global church), a Christian should never be depressed. Because the stigma that society has attached to depression is rather sickening and in my opinion makes depression worse. I am not proud of my depression and every time it hits, I wish more than anything that I could run away from it. I. Hate. Depression.

But I am done hiding from it, and I am done pretending like it isn't a struggle in my life. I no longer allow room for judgmental people to speak hurtful things. I know that dealing with depression is not for everyone and that is ok. I am thankful for the friends or should I say "family" that have chosen to stand by me and support me through this struggle.

My depression has been pretty bad these past few months. Mornings are always the hardest part of the day for me. I always wake up tired, no matter how much sleep I get. I can't be awake for longer than two hours before I have to have my coffee. My alarm clock goes off and my heart hurts.

"Gold" by Sir Sly blasts 3 different times every 10 minutes until I wake up. I have come to resent "Gold" (shouldn't choose a song you really love to wake you every morning) as it comes as a sad reminder that every move I make for the next three to four hours will hurt. Some mornings hurt so bad that I am certain I won't even make it out of bed.

Mornings are a terrible reminder of how weak I am. The sun hits me and I am reminded that the day is going to be hard. I will have to fight to get through it. Sometimes mornings feel the darkest. I have to wake up early and I have to be social. I think a lot of it revolves around the fear of not knowing how bad my depression and/or anxiety will be that day. Waking up just as tired as when you went to bed is a really difficult concept. But every morning I wake up and it hits me, "I am so beyond tired". "I am going to have to fight like crazy to make it through this day". The thought passes through my mind that an anxiety attack could hit me at work, at church, or even while I'm driving. One little thing could hit me where I am sensitive and before you know I am thrown into another bout of depression. I am fighting to keep my head above water.

I am alive and I am sensitive. I am feeling everything the morning holds. I am trying to run the race with joy and not fall into a state of depression.

But I'm thankful because even the most difficult morning brings the most beautiful reminder of Gods grace. The various struggles I face every morning also remind me that God is good and He is so full of grace. No matter how low my mornings feel, God is always faithful.

Always.

going home.

I still remember the first time I experienced death. I was 4  years old and my memory of it is very vague. One minute my great grandfather was there and the next thing I knew I found myself in a cemetery beside my grieving family. I don't remember much from his funeral. I remember the 21 gunshots and the airmen that handed my great grandma a folded up flag. And I remember my mother hysterically crying as friends and family paid  their respects to one of the Air Force' greatest. The older I got the more real death became. I was raised believing in life after death, in heaven and hell. Death is a painful part of life no doubt. But there is a hope children of God have that makes death just a little bit easier. I have been to countless funerals and memorial services, and let me tell you the difference between one for a saved individual and one for an unsaved individual is drastic. Death is a very real and very tragic thing no matter the circumstance. The hope Christ brings doesn't completely remove the sting of death, something our fragile hearts weren't meant to feel. As death came through the fall of man. It's a touchy and uncomfortable topic for most people and rightfully so, it's an horrendous thing to face. I often think about the fragility of life and the reality that no one is promised tomorrow. I've thought a lot this week about life and death, through it all I'm so thankful to have my hope anchored in Christ. I'm thankful that His love is stronger than death. I'm thankful Jesus conquered the finality of the grave. And I'm thankful that no matter how painful things are, I'm simply going home.

zero.

Before I write this, I want to make sure that I explain a little background. I am writing this with a heart heavy and burdened for this generation. These thoughts are coming from someone who struggled with body image in high school and turned to anorexia. This is also coming from someone who is still a size double zero because I cant manage to gain weight. I struggled with years of pain and hurt and eventually healing that followed the lifestyle of starving myself to look "prettier". 

Lately I have noticed how young girls who are preteen and early teens are dressing. What they are obsessing over and what they are focused on. They want to eat the right foods so their bodies stay just so, they dress like they are twenty, and they focus their minds on things older girls should worry about. Then I see high school girls wearing more make up then I have ever worn and dressing in ways that would only grab guys attention. And why wouldn't they be seeking after this? Isn't this the message the world is sending them? Isn't this the message WE are sending them? We are telling young girls that they need to be a small size, they need to wear make up, they need to dress to attract guys. We are living and encouraging a sex crazed/weight obsessed/unrealistic generation. We shouldn't expect much more from a world that is corrupt in sin, but us Christians should not be encouraging this. It hurts me how often Christians are just like the world in this area (I am preaching to the choir here as I too am guilty of this. I won't call out specific things, but I know we as a church fall short in the area of encouraging real beauty. Exercise is no longer a mean to be healthy, it's an obsession to be the perfect size (I am not saying everyone exercises for this reason). Everywhere I look the stores are selling the most ridiculous clothes for preteen girls as well as teenage girls. Shirts too low or dare I say too short (not sure what fashion statement we are trying to make with shirts that don't quite cover our stomach, classy right?) And the shorts these days are just beyond anything I wanted to see and I am girl!! I said earlier we were raising a sex crazed generation and you might be wondering how that fits in with this topic of dress and make up. Well what is the point of wearing revealing clothes and so much make up that we could draw things on your face? That answer is simple, to draw attention. And who is the attention coming from? Guys of course. So we are teaching these girls to dress and appear a certain way so they can get a guy to stare at them and then have horrible thoughts? What is this lie we are allowing them to buy into that they have to be a size zero or whatever the "perfect size" is? Who even came up with that perfect size!?!? I don't think that parents or even older girls who are Christians realize what they are creating for these precious children when they encourage any of these things. And no I am not saying any of these things are wrong. I wear make up and dress somewhat fashionably. What I am saying is that as adults we are encouraging this in ways we don't even know. I guess I am saying to you women that you examine your life and the kind of example you are setting for younger girls. Think a little harder about the consequences such as the heartache, the feelings of not being enough, and the feelings of not being beautiful before you talk or before you get dressed. Don't encourage girls to be obsessed with their looks because who they are and what they do with their lives is what matters most in the end. 

I pray Proverbs 31: 30 is not just a verse that we plaster on t shirts and bumper stickers but something we live out for the generation that follows.

-Ariana