Born

Today is not my birthday, but I was recently reminded of the story of the day I was born when visiting with my brother. It’s been bustling about in my mind ever since so I thought I’d share it.

I was born on a Tuesday afternoon on May 11th, 1993. I was due on June 6th.

My Dad had been laid off right around the time my Mom found out she was pregnant with me. While he stayed at home taking care of my older brother, she was working at Intel full time the entire time she was pregnant. Her boss wasn’t entirely understanding of her situation and worked her very hard with little time off.

Due to the strain of her job she developed preeclampsia, a disorder related to high blood pressure that can affect the development and growth of the baby. Because of this my parents routinely went to ultrasounds to check up on my progress.

When they went into St. Vincent’s Hospital in Portland on May 11th, the doctors found that I was developing normally. When they first started the ultrasound, all my measurable vital signs were normal, but after a few minutes my heart rate suddenly dropped dramatically. The umbilical chord had gotten tied around my neck, and they just so happened to be doing the ultrasound right at the moment it began to tighten, cutting off my oxygen supply.

Within seconds the number of doctors in the room went from two to more than 10. They injected my Mom with anesthesia in preparation to perform an emergency C-section, and within 10 minutes I was out. At almost a month early, I weighed in at four pounds 11 ounces.

If my parents hadn’t decided to make an appointment that day, at that exact time, I wouldn’t have made it. If even for some reason they had to wait a few minutes longer, they likely would’ve started the ultrasound to find that I didn’t have a heartbeat. 

But that wasn’t the case that day.

I was born.

 

 

 

 

 

2015

2015 is a year that is ending far different than it began, and far better. At the start of the year I was unsure of myself, discouraged, and tired.

New Year’s Eve last year all I could think of to post on social media was a line from a John Mark McMillan song called “Heart Runs”: “From the dirt You draw me out, and You draw me out again. I’m coming back from the dead, I’m coming out of my skin.”

It was a time where I felt like I was stuck in the dirt and needed God to draw me out.

The year started out on a bit of a bleak note, but it soon began to accelerate quickly.

Fast forward to now and I have graduated college, I have a new job I will be starting at the start of the year, and I am dating the best woman on the planet.

But moreover, this year has given me such a strong sense of the Lord’s faithfulness, provision, and love.

In the face of shadows closing in from every side, God’s light never fades.

In the presence of doubts and discouragement, God always comes through.

In the wake of terrible hate, God’s love and grace overcomes.

This year has been exciting, challenging, and transformative. While there were some dark times, it overall has been the best yet. If there is anything I will be taking away from this year between my life, and what the rest of the world has faced, It is that I know God is the solution.

Where there is emptiness, He is the completion.

Where there is bitterness, He is the resolution.

Where there is brokenness, He is the restoration.

I love that the year always ends around Christmas. When reflecting on the past year, it is so beautiful to do so in light of God coming down to meet us on Earth. Throughout everything we face, He is here to meet with us. He celebrates with us during our happy times, comforts us during times of grief, and always meets us with unconditional love.

Throughout the past year, the years before, and in the years to come, God is with us.

Outro

While most students are looking forward to Christmas break right now, I’m looking forward to having an even longer break from school. An indefinite one.

I had originally planned on graduating this past Spring, but complications with my schedule arose and I made the decision to spread out my courses and take an extra semester.

But I am finally here. I have only a little over a week before I exit the period of life I have been in since I was six years old: schooling.

I exited high school at a time where I was beginning to change dramatically. I had always been an extremely reserved and timid person, but over the course of my senior year, I had slowly begun to break out of my shell.

From that point until now I have experienced the most dramatic change in myself so far in my life. I had to grow up a lot. I went through periods of confusion, times of darkness, moments of joy, and plenty of times of adventure.

I discovered my strengths, my weaknesses, who I am becoming, and, at far too much cost, who I certainly am not and never want to be.

I find myself coming out of the best, and some of the worst years I have ever experienced. But I can soundly say I am ending out on of the best times. By far the best. And most importantly, with the best person beside me. Her name is Abby.

While school has for a long time felt like an unwanted weight on my shoulders, I am so grateful for everything I have learned.

I am walking out a much better person than when I walked in.

It’s strange looking back at the experiences that at the time were brand new to me but now seem so long ago, at all the fears I had that I now know to be irrational, and at all the hopes I had that were realized.

I look forward to more of this happening in the future.

The nature of growing up is a series of moments where you feel like you’ve made it, but consciously knowing that you’ll never fully make it.

As I close the curtain on my college career I do so looking forward to rest, yet knowing that life’s biggest challenges lie ahead, as well as life’s biggest adventures.

 

 

 

A Necessary Silence

To say I’m sick of writing about this sort of thing would be a really massive understatement.

I’m tired of seeing report after report of more death.

My heart is thoroughly broken from hearing reports of dozens and hundreds killed.

The rhetoric surrounding these sorts of incidents has become so predictable it’s barely even worth mentioning at this point.

People become so eager to make themselves heard during these times, yet few realize the value of remaining silent.

This is not to say there is no merit in expressing condolences, but many people make mistakes in wasting breath and energy once this part has been done.

And while the sentiment of “I’m praying for you” is appreciated by some, the majority will take it as a superficial attempt to evangelize to them. In France, there was backlash by many against the hashtag #prayforparis, as many people saw religion as the cause for this sort of violence in the first place.

Perhaps our best way of truly loving those who are experiencing grief and fear, in a way that will actually make them feel loved, ends with our condolences and begins with actually praying, rather than telling it to them.

I have also noticed a lot of negativity surrounding this issue. And while it’s very difficult to take on this subject in a positive manner, I have been hearing lots of discouraging things being said. Particularly, I have been hearing people say that terrorism will always be around.

While some people try to say this out of an effort to be realistic, I just can’t accept it. I am a psychology major and one of the most fascinating concepts to me is the idea of learned helplessness. This is what happens when people face repeated failure or trauma and effectively are taught that things will never change. It is most often talked about on the individual level, but there is no doubt that collective learned helplessness is beginning to creep into the fabric of our thinking.

We are beginning to act as if we have exhausted every option and that any effort is now futile. I think we have hardly tried enough, or prayed enough.

I also know that Jesus told us to pray for His Kingdom to come down, and for it to be on earth as it is in Heaven. It wouldn’t make sense for Him to ask us to pray for something that couldn’t be delivered.

“Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens.” – J.R.R. Tolkien

 

 

Our worst defeat yet

I really didn’t think I would be writing a second post about this subject, but given the reactions I have seen over the past week, I had to say something.

In the week following the horrific acts of terror carried out in Paris and Beirut, the world responded with love and empathy for France. Moments of silence were held, French flags were waved, and many speeches were made by politicians to show their support.

All of these are necessary and appropriate after such an event. But these gestures are expected, and are in fact, merely gestures.

Then governors of U.S. states started speaking up. It started with the governors of Alabama and Michigan publicly declaring that they were opposed to Syrian refugees entering their states, citing security concerns in the wake of the attacks. As of right now, over half of the governors in the country have made the same declaration.

There are a number of problems that arise from these decisions, including the fact that the Paris attackers were not refugees, or even immigrants. They were natural born Frenchmen. There also is the fact that the states do not have the authority to make the decision to not let in refugees.

But these are insignificant compared to the real issue at hand: refusing Syrian refugees out of fear gives ISIS their most significant accomplishment yet.

ISIS is a terrorist group. They act with brutality and violence, but they are not simply bloodthirsty barbarians. What they truly aim for is to plant fear into the hearts of the good people of the world. They hate American resolve, they despise acts of bravery and kindness, and they wage war against the goodness in humanity.

Even if the refugees did pose a threat, which they don’t, the declarations made by 31 U.S. governors no doubt hit the ears of ISIS terrorists like music.

With these declarations, we as a nation out ourselves as pure hypocrites. We superficially claim opposition to terrorism while acting as its ally.

The United States is the most prosperous and powerful nation the world has ever seen. When we have such a strong ability to provide shelter and protection to those who are fleeing terror, yet allow fear to get in the way of practically loving those who need it most, we actively succumb to central goal of terrorism.

To the 31 governors who have made those declarations, it’s time to stop worrying about ISIS’s next move.

You were it.

heartache in paris

i had half of a blog post written about essena o’neill and social media, but after tonight, i simply can’t bring myself to do it. it just seems wrong.

over a hundred and fifty are dead in paris after a series of barbaric shootings and bombings all over the city. the worst of the violence happened at a concert where people were held hostage and executed one by one.

honestly, i don’t know what exactly to write. all i know is i feel low. i’m pissed. i think about what could possibly go through someone’s head when they decide that they want to go through with something like that.

i can’t imagine the shock that friends and family members experience upon hearing their loved ones are dead. odds are the thought of a best friend, a husband, a sister, suddenly being killed, wasn’t on the minds of the people of paris today. yet this was the reality for so many today in the capital of france.

odds are there are many spouses who didn’t think to say goodbye for the last time. it’s likely there were many sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers who wish they could say i love you again.

i imagine there are so many people right now who wish they had said sorry, or i forgive you just a little sooner.

it can be so easy to see these stories as numbers on a screen, or to get caught up in political banter between talking heads on the tv. too often we see these sorts of things and feel satisfied once we’ve shared the new trending hashtag. or we feel like we have done our full duty by telling others to pray, or even actually taking time to pray ourselves.

i don’t know exactly how to respond to this. all i know is that the hearts of so many people in france ache right now. and my heart aches with them.

Born in Portlandia

The past five years seem to have been one huge marketing campaign for the city of Portland. My whole life I always thought it was just a decent sized city nestled into a pretty part of the country. I never thought of it as being significant in any way.

Then, almost out nowhere it seemed like, people started throwing around the word “hipster” and phrases like “keep Portland weird”. Suddenly we had our own TV show and people were calling things “Portlandy”.

Coffee wasn’t simply coffee anymore, it was now a science. Everything became “artisan”. Socks, salt, even toothbrushes were all fair game for becoming a craft.

Places my parents took me as a child, such as haystack rock, the Pittock mansion, and Mt. Hood, were now internet sensations.

Growing up, Portland to me wasn’t a trendy place to go take photos or a place to find the best cup of coffee. It was the place that I knew my Dad worked at. It was the place we went when my parents took us to the zoo. It was where OMSI was.

Before I knew what “cool” was I knew that my home was a place where summers were prime and that weather during all the other times of the year was pretty dismal, except during rare snowfalls and morning fog.

Before Multnomah falls appeared on every Instagram feed of everyone who has ever been to Portland, it was the place we stopped to on the way to summer camp.

I’ll admit, it is pretty cool to see my hometown getting so much attention lately. And while it is home to all things weird, trendy, and beautiful, it will always be so much more to me.

To me it is my community. There is such a strong sense of connection here. While it is a major U.S. city, it has the feel of a small town at times. Whenever I meet someone who is new in town, they always mention how easy it is to feel like they belong. I love connecting with people and hearing their stories, and the people of Portland do this well.

Portland is also the place where I grew up. It is the place where I first began to understand the world. It is where I first began to learn about myself and my passions. A good friend of mine named Nathaniel once mentioned how there is something special about the place where you first started dreaming.

That is what Portland is to me, it is my home. I don’t know where life will take me, I just hope I am always able to return to the place where I first started dreaming.

Postcards

Astoria is one of my favorite places to explore in Oregon. It seems to be the perfect default coastal town to visit on a rainy day. There’s a cool abandoned WWII bunker to explore, the massive bridge, and best of all, shipwrecks. The most famous shipwreck in the area is the Peter Iredale. This historic shipwreck is now nothing more than a rusty skeleton laying partially buried near the shoreline, and it looks awesome. It is one of Oregon’s landmarks and has been the subject of many calendars, Instagram photos, and postcards alike.

And it almost got removed thanks to my four year old self.

When we were young, my parents loved taking me and my older brother to the beach. When they decided to take us to Astoria to see the old shipwreck they had someone take a photo of us in front of the shipwreck. All they remember is having a stranger take photos for us, posing for a few shots, and upon retrieving the camera and thanking the stranger, they suddenly realized I was gone.

The way I remember it is this: I was holding my brother’s hand when I looked at the waves and got scared, then I dashed as fast as I could towards the opposite side of the beach away from the ocean.

I really don’t remember much of the running part. All I remember is that once I had stopped running, I sat down to watch some kites whirling through the air.

My peaceful kite watching was abruptly interrupted by my brother calling my name and running up to me. My mom followed immediately after with a hasty jog. Then I noticed a sight that will always stick with me. My dad followed far behind all of them, walking slowly with his head down. Through the bright reflection of the sun coming off the ocean I could see streams of blood flowing down his legs.

When we reached the parking lot, the police had arrived. With them had come a digging crew with a crane.

When they couldn’t find me nearby, my parents thought that I must have somehow gotten trapped somewhere underneath or inside the shipwreck. My dad had sliced his legs open while looking through the rusty skeleton of the old ship. Still unsure if I was stuck in there or not, they called the police. From what I was told, they were prepared to unearth the historic landmark to see if I had gotten stuck underneath it.

It’s a good thing I got distracted by kites and didn’t run off too far, or else all those calendars, Instragrams, and postcards would never look the same again.

Off Days

Every now and again it seems to come around again. It’s hard to say exactly how often it happens, but I would estimate it happens to me anywhere between three to ten times in a year. Some days, for no apparent reason, just seem off. It’s something just about everyone I have talked to can attest to experiencing. Everything can seem just fine, more or less, yet throughout the day I find myself feeling all around disconnected. It’s as if I consciously know and experience everything the same as usual yet, on some level, everything feels unmistakably odd and unnatural. There is no short way to describe it. Really, there should a new word for it that sounds much more elegant and and less vague than saying a day feels off. I go through these days, go to bed, and wake up the next day with everything feeling back to normal again.

Whenever I have these days, everything for some reason feel empty. Every action, every step, and every conversation seems like a missed opportunity. It’s as if every single minute of the day was wasted somehow, and as if every decision was an irreversible mistake. The specifics of these days go forgotten, but the feeling is unforgettable.

When I stop to think about it, these days should not be all too surprising to me. The life that is expected of people now leaves little time for silence or rest. Each day is a constant race from place to place, from one obligation to another, and from one thought to the next. When rest does happen, it typically feels shallow and rushed. It seems more of a temporary escape from life rather than a replenishment of it.

I’d like to think these days are tying to tell me something. Even if I feel obligated to be here or there, to say this or to do that, maybe I don’t really need to. Perhaps I don’t need to fill the air with words as much as I think I do. Those times that felt like missed opportunities could have been opportunities to stop and be silent. They could be opportunities to reflect and learn something new about myself or someone else. Hopefully as I grow wiser, and as I learn to rest better, I can begin to replace those off days with ones that truly replenish life in me.

A Real Hope

Looking back in my life, there was a significant period where the idea of a bright future seemed like nothing more than a grand fantasy. All I could see was every bit of evidence stacked up against me for life ever being able to be any different than it always had been. The prospect of having hope in my mind was the same thing as a delusion.

Over the years, this mindset followed me as I went through high school, and on into my early years of college. Even as I progressed, and as my anxieties proved to be for nothing, a nameless fear stirred constantly in the back of my mind. A growing heaviness lived deep in my bones.

Yet all the while, a new air rushed in my lungs. A faithful rhythm flowed through my veins. And an inexplicable readiness spurred my feet forward.

Even though it seemed hope was nothing more than a fleeting fantasy, I always decided to hang onto it. As if only to see if it would last. As if only to keep pretending it was real for just a little longer.

Not only did it last, it thrived. Even when I wanted to be cynical. Even in the face of a reality I thought was almost offensive to hope. Because why joke at a time like this?

Even when I tried to push it out of the way with what I perceived to be realism, hope was stubborn.

It soon became clear to me, that what I had been a delusion this whole time could not be fake. How could this thing that was bringing me life be dead? How could something so unshakeable not be real?

Thinking back to these days, I remember just how ridiculous I thought it was to try to hope, to try to think that it could ever get better. But seeing how many anxieties were never realized, and how much beauty has filled my life, I now know that refusing to hope is far more foolish.