spiders and milestones

For several years after college graduation, I worked as a nanny.  I worked for years prior with middle and elementary school aged children, but never with toddlers. Now, if you have never worked with small children, there are some obstacles that you may or may not be aware of. For example, it is imperative to have a bathroom door with either kid-proof locks or no locks at all. It may also behoove you to develop an ability to follow at least three lines of non-sensical conversation at a time just in case one of the things mumbled along the way is "I think I'm gonna throw up."

The obstacle that shocked me the most was the day that the middle child brought me a spider while we were at the park. I am very frightened of spiders. There a lot of things that don't unsettle me - spiders do not fall into that category. I drew in a quick a breath.

"Wha's whong?" asked the 2 year old.

In that split-second, I had to make a decision. I had to decide whether or not I was going to teach him to be afraid of something which I feared. I had this weird out-of-time experience where I realized that 22-23 years ago, I was that 2 year old. I remembered bringing my father daddy-long-legs' dangling between my pinched fingers.

"Nothing," I breathed. "Sometimes I think I don't like spiders but then I remember that there is nothing to be afraid of."

He paused, tilted his head. "Oh. Okay." And off he toddled with the spider.

I remember vividly the moments in my life where, for the first time, I was confronted with the idea that people different than me were supposed to be mean, or scary. I grew up surrounded by people of different ethnicities, religious beliefs, political ideologies, ability levels. Was it perfect? Hell no. I am sure there were plenty of acts of of prejudice and fear happening all around me. I never observed it. And I was aware, to some degree, that elsewhere in this big world existed pain and hate and terrible, divisive lines meant to instill fear.

But those lines simply weren't a part of my world.

It is hard to say definitively which moment came first for me, because every time I think I have hit the first one, another pops up. I remember so vividly the first time I had a friend over who panicked when she saw a black man in my house. It was my mom's boyfriend.  He lived with us. Surely I mentioned him to her, I thought. I knew I had talked about him before. It never occurred to me that I needed to clarify his skin color.

I remember the first time that someone in our family lashed out at him over nothing. Later, I realized that this was because of some unspoken fear they must have perceived because he was different from them. I remember when his niece, who was younger than me was raped. I was alarmed but when I asked my mom if they got the guy - she told me they hadn't even gone to the police. Instead, he took a few days off work to go protect her house and family. It made no sense to me at the time.  It was a decision made out of a fear that I had no way to comprehend.

I remember the first time I heard a Christian friend process the choice to end a friendship because of differences in faith. I was confused, because they got along so well. There were no major conflicts - just a difference in theologies.

The first time all my college friends met some of my best friends from home via Skype and were confused afterwards about why I had not specified my friends from home were a different ethnicity from me. The first time I had a man make derogatory comments about my body. The first time I was scorned for my faith. The first time I was grabbed and groped without permission. The first time I heard someone mock a friend with a disability. The list goes on and on. It goes all the way up to last Christmas when I had my closest friend of 10 years tell me that, although I had been nothing but a great friend to her (her words, not mine) that she could no longer be friends with me because I am white.

Anyone who knows me knows that my memory is, honestly, not that great. I lose my keys, my phone, my shoes, pretty much anything detachable from me, about 50 times a day. I can't remember what I had for dinner two nights ago to save my life. If you asked me what I did for my thirteenth birthday party, I wouldn't have an answer - although it seemed so terribly important at the time.

So, I have been thinking a great deal this week about why these memories stick out to me. It seems strange, doesn't it? Why do I remember these upsetting moments much more clearly than the happy ones?

The conclusion that I have come to for now is that these moments represent moments of learning in my life. With every one of these memories, I learned a little bit about the darkness that tears our world apart. Each of these tiny moments serve almost like my Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. It shows me tiny glimpse of what it would be like to give into the idea the differences are something to be afraid of.

It's not that I was not raised to see color, religion, politics, gender, or ability. I see them very well. I was just raised, thankfully, never to be afraid of the things that were different from me. Curious? Definitely. Cautious? Perhaps. Fearful? No. Hateful? Never.

It saddens me the more and more I realize that my childhood is not a common story.

Fear is such a powerful motivator. It really is. Think about it. I bet that you have a handful or more of pretty stark memories in your life. Can you remember a moment where you were afraid? I can. It knocks the breath out of me. My heart rate goes up. I start to panic.

It is easy to shut things out and focus on yourself and survival when you are afraid. Our bodies are built with a fight-or-flight response. It makes sense that fear paralyzes us.

I guess what I am ultimately saying is this: Of course a lot of people are shutting other people out right now. They have been taught to fear the differences in others. But, fear makes us resistant to change.

There are a lot of things that make this discussion applicable to our political environment right now. There is the #BlackLivesMatter vs. #All/BlueLivesMatter issue. There are class issues out the wazoo. There are issues about letting in Syrian refugees. There debacles over tackling rape culture and the stigma and taboo of mental disorders in our country. There are fights over gun rights and gun control.

But you guys, we are all people. Which means, we all know exactly what fear feels like.

Now, I have yet to uncover a major world religion that teaches that fear is a good thing. I have also yet to uncover a major world religion that teaches that we should prioritize ourselves over others. In almost every religion that I have studied (Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Taoism, Hindu - some more than others) we are taught that fear is unproductive. It is not something that we should allow in our hearts because it hardens us.

It is fascinating really. I think if I asked almost anyone I know if the are glad for the civil rights movement in the 1960's they would affirm that they are. We look at historic scenarios - the Holocaust, civil rights movements, even the AIDS epidemic of the 1980's. Generally speaking, these scenarios are painted with good guys and bad guys. Who are the bad guys? Most often, they are the groups of people whose actions are motivated by fear. They are the people who resist change. They hide  behind opinions instead of fact.

It is easy to look back in time and say "Yeah, that was wrong. They should never have done that/said that/treated people like that." Hindsight is 20/20, after all. And it's easy to think about and align ourselves with a side when it is hypothetical.

But what about when we find ourselves face to face with it? What will we do when we have the opportunity to speak out for the oppressed, the terrorized, the maltreated, not in a hypothetical scenario, but in a real life moment?

When I was in high school, I discovered Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s Letter from a Birmingham Jail. It spoke volumes to me. I found chords of resonance with his empassioned words directed at a hurting world and those of misguided faith. This, this was a man whose ideas I could get behind.

I was invited to be a part of the #BlackLivesMatter protest at Mall of America last year that garnered national media coverage. I didn't. And that is now one of the memories that sticks in my head.  For the first time, I saw the fear and the darkness that imprints these memories into my mind, not in the actions of another, but in myself. It was awful.

Sure, I can argue the logistics behind it to death. I could say that I don't think it was well-planned or that they shouldn't have protested on private property, or a million different things. But bottom-line, if I really look at my motivations. I was scared.

And I had that luxury.

I had the luxury to be afraid because, if I didn't go, if I didn't say anything, my life would not be any different.

It is easy to say that we want equality for others, that we want life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness for all. But when we have a choice to step out of our safe homes, our comfy living rooms, into the scary reality where people aren't treated equal, where they aren't loved, cherished or valued, will we do it?

We risk being stepped on, hurt, scared, losing a lot - but in 20 years, will you be proud of your actions?

It doesn't really matter what divisive issue we are talking about. It doesn't really matter what faith you follow.

Locking ourselves up in fear solves no problems. It certainly doesn't protect anyone or change the future.The next time you find yourself isolated to one side of a humanitarian issue, I would urge you to pause. Just briefly ask yourself: Am I afraid? Am validating my opinions with fear?

If the answer is yes, maybe try stepping outside the box for a little bit. Live with the fear. Even just for a day.

stepping on rocks

*** Forewarning: This post tackles some politics and draws up some big faith-oriented questions for me. If it's not your thing, feel free to stop now and tune in next time.

Today, in a discussion of politics and minimum wage, I witnessed an exchange that knocked the wind out of me. One friend posted a picture with a heartbreaking story of a woman who exemplifies struggles faced by many in our country. His point was that our country needs to change because of this heartbreak. I completely agree, with sentiment and politics, in fact.

The comment thread then contained something to the effect of "Why is our country like this? Why do we keep voting for people that tear this country apart?"

The consensus? Hate and Jesus.

And it was followed by "I've never met a God type that did not have some kind of disparaging attitude."

I think I read this sentence a solid 20 or 30 times. I composed at least 4 different responses. I couldn't bring myself to post any of them.

I don't know that I disagree. No - that's not true, I disagree. I think more accurately it should be "Hate and people who say they do things for/because of Jesus."

WHY?! Why the hell is that statement even possible? I am not writing this to support one political cause or another. I have my opinions - everyone should as long as they make an effort to be well informed.

But why is it that the majority of people I work with in a number of jobs on an almost daily basis have only experienced hatred and persecution at the hands of Christ followers? I haven't always been a "God type". On days like this, I remember why.

I don't have answers. I have nothing to expound upon at this point in time.

All I know is that the statement is sorely well-founded and breaks my heart to the core.

On days like that, how do you fight the feeling that everything you believe in and fight for is not some colossal waste of time and energy? I don't know.

what i have never been able to explain about depression

I think for everyone it’s different for everyone. Especially as I have grown, optimism is a trait that other people seem to associate with me frequently. Which is so odd. Because I was such a pessimist growing up. By the time I was fourteen I felt jaded as fuck – so skeptical of people’s ability to love and care and be genuine. So I make a real attempt to change that as often as I can. Until the depression hits.

It’s hard to describe the moment you become entranced. I just feel this downward pull forever. This crabbiness, this hatefulness, this sad rage building. And I hate myself for it. Until that moment strikes. If you listen close, I feel like you could hear it with a stethoscope. It’s this small click. Or maybe it’s a fall. Or a push. Or a ….something. But all of a sudden you find this coziness in this dark little corner where suddenly you don’t give a fuck. It doesn’t hurt to be rageful or lonely or sad to the bottom of your soul – because you can’t fathom what it’s like to be completely happy.

Maybe it’s because it eats at you until you are just encompassed whole. And then… well, it’s like this warm spot that you forgot existed. Just welcoming you back. Holding you. And that’s what gets me.

What people never seem to understand. Depression isn’t cold. It’s this mournfully beautiful, inviting place where you feel comforted and strangely welcome. And that’s why it’s tempting to never leave.

Leaving means explaining. It means having to the listen to the people who tell you they understand when they don’t. It means dealing with looks from friends who go from being supportive to “Just come on already.”

Like there’s a timeline on it. Like I can just turn it off. Like I would want to.

Because, obviously, Christians don’t deal with depression. Because optimists don’t have depression. Because people who have no dramatically desperate circumstances in their life can’t  get depression. Because you have people who love you, you can’t get depression. Because you smile and laugh and live joyfully 80 percent of the time you shouldn't have depression. Insert sarcasm here.

And I’m one of the lucky ones. My depressive bouts cycle every 1-2 years, with my really bad episodes falling somewhere from 4-5 years.

If you haven’t sat in this space before. This probably reads to you as aggressive… or crazy… I’m not sure. Because I can’t imagine a world where I don’t know what this feels like.

Here’s what I really want you to know.

Just because I hurt doesn’t mean I quit loving you.| No amount of telling me you want me to feel better will actually make me feel better.| Please don’t be afraid to hug me or comfort me. I need human touch now more than ever.| Yes, I know there are medications.| Sometimes I’m not actually tired, I just don’t feel like explaining it.| I get that it’s awkward and you don’t know what to do. Neither do I.| If I could just snap myself out of it, I would.| Depression is constricting, immobilizing, and scary – as much for me as for you.| I want to laugh and smile, but it feels like I forgot how.| Not everyone’s depression is the same.

I imagine that being enveloped by depression must be a lot like being constricted by a snake. It’s painful and crushing but warm. The pressure can be relaxing –

until, of course, you can’t breathe.

in consequential love

Last week, in between tour groups coming up to the cabin, I was approached by four older hikers (two couples). We got to talking about wildlife here in the park. I told them about the amazing(ly brief) opportunity I had to glimpse one of our wolves here in the park several days earlier. From there, the discussion led to the role wolves play in the ecosystems they are a part of. These couples happened to visit Yellowstone the year wolves were introduced. (see video below)

Over the past weeks, I have been considering what is widely known as the butterfly effect - the idea that even the most minute changes and decisions have a distinct impact on the chain of events in our world. Played out to the Nth degree, each action has the potential for amazing consequence. This morning I happened to be reading a book where a character's backstory involves a crash with a deer that left a parent dead.

Out of nowhere, a memory struck me. I have no idea how old I was. Old enough to ride in the front passenger seat. Perhaps shortly after the divorce? I only vaguely recall that we were in my dad's gold Ford Explorer - I believe... I can't remember the circumstances of the visit, but we were on our way home from visiting my grandparents. We had exited the interstate and we on the notoriously winding, dark country roads back to our neighborhood. I was drifting in that state of pleasant semi-consciousness that settles in on late night, back road, car rides. I remember my sternum slamming into the safety-locked seatbelt and my eyes jumping open just in time to see a deer dash - over? in front of the hood? Like I said, semi-consciousness. I remember gasping for air when I realized no major accident had occurred. I would have to ask my dad. Honestly, I have little faith that his memory, filled with such vast amounts of intellect, have bothered to store away such a seemingly inconsequential run in.

But I did. I never knew why. 

Then this morning, I wondered about the butterfly effect. I wondered what would have happened if we had left my grandparents house a split second sooner. My Granny has been gone for 8 years. It is easily the most significant loss in my life. It was several days before my 17th birthday. And sometimes, I cry when I realize that I struggle to remember her voice or her laugh. 

But this morning, as I thought about that run-in with the deer, I wondered if I went back for an extra hug. It's honestly probably been several years since I could vividly recall a specific interaction with her down to the feel of the moment. Vague things, yes. An occasional detail here or there. This morning, though - I remembered exactly what it felt like to hug her goodbye, standing in the driveway. I almost always went back for more than one hug. Or leaned out the car window for one after buckling in. I felt her arms, soft, kind of saggy but strong as a whip underneath. I felt her smile pressed against the top of my head. 

And for the first time in years, I could remember how she chuckled when I ran back for one last hug.

Like I said, I cannot specifically recall if that's what happened that night. There are so many stop lights, stop signs, traffic patterns that could have accounted for that split second of difference. But I think so often, if we look, we will find that love actually saves us in these inconsequential ordinary moments.

When I heard her laugh this morning, it restored a little bit of my faith. We are all powerful to save those around us with our unremarkable acts of love. Sometimes it's not the way we show our love, but that we show our love that redeems us.

A note on my Granny: In my blogs, I talk a lot about joy. Joy was my grandmother's name. It is a concept, emotion, philosophy (whatever you want to call it) that has had a monumental impact on the person I strive to be. Perhaps I will elaborate more someday.

missions, metaphors, and mångata

"Did you know that a nuclear power plant saved the North American crocodile from extinction?"

Well, did you? In fact, I learned all about it today from a very enthusiastic tourist from south Florida. You see, on a typical work day, I ride out to the cabin I am stationed at for work, change into my 1930's era clothing, open all the nail pierced shutters (a story for a different day), and await the bus loads of tourists. Once they get there, I give a roughly 10 minute presentation on the history of the cabin and the people who have worked there. Afterwards, several things happen. The porch is rushed by a wall of people wanting to peek inside the cabin. Sometimes there is applause. I get smiles, thank you's and compliments from several of the visitors. And then, I answer questions. 

Believe me when I say that these questions run the gamut. I have been asked how much the typical sled dogs weigh (hell if I know), do the mosquitoes up here actually bite(umm...), do they carry West Nile virus (wait, what?), if I live in the cabin year round (that would be a no) and if the outhouse out back is functional (that would be a yes.) 

Today after my second round of presentations, I met a very jovial older man from south Florida. He had an enormous smile on his face. He told me that he could tell I enjoyed talking about the sled dogs. And then he asked me the question that begin this post.

I stood, dumbfounded. Was this a real question? How did we get here? We are in Alaska...right?

But this kind and eager man shared with me all he knew about the recovery process of the American crocodile population in Florida. (For more information check this article from 2011 and another from 2012) As he concluded his saga, the man looked into my eyes and saw the question lurking there...

Where did this come from?

He smiled at me and said "You gave me so much information about something that you love - I just wanted to return the favor."

In that moment, I shook my head and smiled. In the almost 12 hours since that happened, I have not been able to stop smiling that someone found so much joy in an exchange of pleasantries and stories.

All day long I have been searching for the optimal metaphor, the most perfect picture to paint in order to explain effort that I am starting via this blog and my social media feed. 

What I found was mångata. Mångata is a Swedish term meaning "moon-road." More contextually, it is a word that describes the road-like reflection that moonlight creates on water.

Let me explain.

Over the past several months, even years. It feels as though the world has been knocked off it's moral axis. Perhaps it is actually a worsening of the global human condition. It could be that media is increasingly covering and/or exposing appalling, bizarre human behavior. It could be that I am noticing it more the older I get. More than likely, it is a combination of all three. I don't think there is any way to know for sure.

A few days ago, upon logging into social media and seeing everything from the conflicting points of outrage over the Duggar family scandal, to the continued hate speech from all sides of the "black vs blue lives" argument. And I hit a wall.

Is anyone else tired of breathing in and absorbing this toxic human righteousness everyday?

Is anyone else hurting, laboring from the weight of hateful exchanges that we are constantly exposed to via almost every form of online communication?

Am I the only one?

I can't be. I just know that I can't be. There has got to be someone else out there who attempts to stay informed in these things and ends up feeling like the have bricks on their chest. Odds are there is at least one other person out there who sees all the lines that get drawn to separate ourselves from others and just weeps. I know that I am not alone. I don't know if you, whoever you are reading this right now, understands. Maybe you just drew another line to stand on the other side of - I don't know.

Honestly, I don't much care. And so instead of lines, I will put forth hope. I will attempt to help with the reflection of the good. I hope to amplify positivity in the face of darkness. Find joy. Find hope. Find a way to illuminate a path towards the slightly less heavy space where we feel faith in humanity can possibly be restored. 

I seek to create a moon-road.

Mission of the month: Attempt to post at least one thing every day via social media that is intended to bring joy to people regardless of where they have drawn their lines in the sand.

My first share is this article about how high school students in Wasilla, AK have worked to help raise money for a local organization that seeks to prevent, evaluate, and treat child abuse. If we could all put forth such an amazing effort!

on stubbing your toes and the idea of reciprocity

Picture this: 

You wake up. It's a wonderful day off. You have slept in to your time of preference You roll out of bed and the weather is beautiful. Padding to the kitchen, you pour yourself a bowl of your favorite sugar-coated, childhood-memory-inducing cereal. There is just enough milk left in the fridge for one giant bowl. On the way to the living room to catch your favorite late morning reruns, you stub your toe.

The several things happen simultaneously. You spill your cereal and the last of your milk. Not only do you spill it, but the spill lands on the carpet, the upholstery of the couch, AND your pajamas. Your phone also starts ringing from a number that you don't know, but you suspect may be an employer calling to schedule an interview you have been dying to get. You miss the call. They don't leave a voicemail. You need to get milk out of everything before it sours.

And your toe hurts bad enough to merit a growling recitation of any and every swear word you know.

If you are me (on certain days, at least), you spend at least the hour or two being mad enough at yourself and your stupid toe that you become perpetually biting and rude to any and everyone who dares to impede on your wallowing.

Sometimes it feels like one stubbed toe ruins an entirely beautiful day.

Now this chain of events has never actually happened to me. Or at least not all at once.

Days like this have happened though. Sometimes even consecutively. There has been more than once in this life where I react irrationally and treat others far worse than they deserve to be treated because I have been having a toe-stubbed, cereal-spilled kind of day.

Lately, I have started asking myself why.

Why do we yell at people from behind our steering wheels when we are late for something? Why do we push back when someone pushes us? Why do we pinch kids who call us names in grade school?

What is it about these situations that incite aggressive reactions?

Think about it.

Maybe you came to the same conclusion I did at first - it's human nature. But what about human nature could possibly lead to that? Not everyone reacts that way - so is it truly human nature?

Think some more...

And here's where I ended up. I believe this desire to cause pain in others when we feel pain is actually a way of seeking sympathy and understanding. When we reach out in a state of pain, be it physical or psychological, and try to incite feelings of pain in others, it is actually our way of wanting someone to understand.

Think about that for a second. Often, this reaction is so subconscious that when you read the statements above, you may have gotten defensive. "I don't try to incite pain in others - I am better than that. I love and value people. I would never TRY to hurt some." I'm not suggesting that everyone is malicious, rage-filled, or revenge addicts. Not at all. What I am suggesting is that when we have bad days, our impatience and frustration with others is actually a manifestation of our need to be understood. But instead of reaching out to gain sympathy and understanding, we use our actions as stimuli to create in others the frustration, pain,and/or anger we feel.

It makes much more sense to me that we do what we do to make people understand us. Whether those actions are good or bad.

Lately, with the insane amount and frequency of escalating violent crime in our country, I have heard much talk about reciprocity. The conversations that I have heard it included in essentially equate it to "an eye for an eye" sort of philosophy. If someone hits me, they deserve to be hit. If someone kills, they deserve to be killed. As the death penalty and police brutality become more in focus issues in social lenses, this is a philosophy that continues to be debated. 

Before I touch on my personal perspective, here is something we need to understand first.

That is, in fact, NOT reciprocity. 

Rec-i-proc-i-ty: (noun) the practice of exchanging things with others for mutual benefit.

Reciprocity, as a social principle, is the rewarding of a positive action with another positive action. Seeking negative reciprocity is more often known as retaliatory action. When we hurt others or seek to cause pain because we have been hurt, we are retaliating. We are trying to return our pain. 

Because we are so desperate for understanding. And that is human nature.

As for me, I believe in love. It all goes back to being barefoot. When we are being retaliatory, we are not being vulnerable. We are being defensive, fighting others to remind ourselves that we can cause pain and not just feel it. I have been there. Just ask my parents. My brother. Anyone who knew my all through middle and high school. I was very, very into retaliation. I didn't always know it, and I certainly did not (always) seek it intentionally... but the goal was there. I felt alone, hurt, trampled on - and I sought to make others feel the same. I picked words with punch. I found ways to remind people that I was not worth caring about since that was the message I felt was so specially constructed for me.

And then I changed. Perhaps I will go more into depth one day. But there was a summer where I realized that I was wasting my energy being mad and hurt. Sure, I had a right to those feelings. But why was I acting like a toddler? When children get hit, sometimes they cry. Often, they hit back. They don't have words or social constructs put in their head to help them express the pain and fear they are experiencing. What do they do? They seek to make someone else feel the pain they feel - it is a way of ensuring they don't have to experience it alone. And, if you have ever been around a toddler in this situation, hopefully you have heard an adult say "Let's try to use our words."

This analogy is so vivid for me because I just spent a year and a half being a nanny for three small boys. This conversation, for a solid three months, was almost a 3x/day routine. But it is worth saying every time because it is so important.

An eye for an eye doesn't fix anything. When we make people hurt to understand our pain, it doesn't fix our pain because it isolates the people we are ultimately trying to gain understanding from. Instead we are acting as conductors of electricity - we are passing on a charge that has to go somewhere. it funnels through chain reactions, leaving some form of pain and destruction in its path. 

I can't agree with retaliatory action. Not on principle, and especially not on faith. I think that is where a large part of my struggle comes in. I watch dozens of people in my life, some Christians, some not, who constantly advocate for pain. They advocate for isolating consequences as a result of negative behavior, many times through government action. And I question it. As do many non-Christians.

Because where is the love in retaliatory action? Where is the forgiveness and the vulnerability? Where is the willingness to sit in the pain of sin long enough for healing to begin if we are just passing on anger and hatred because we somehow believe that we are better than others? That's just not a faith I can stand on. Luckily, it isn't one I have to.

If you are a Christian friend reading this, know that you are being watched. Every move that you make is being held to a standard. It may not be right or fair, but it's what is happening. Please put down your need to pass along pain for understanding and instead sit in vulnerability. To say it will be hard and painful is an understatement. But if you are certain of your faith, know that you can rely on someone who has already been through it.

If you are a non-Christian friend reading this, I am sorry. I am sorry for any moment where I have acted in pain and caused to question my beliefs and my principles. There are no major world religions that I know of that advocate for the causing of pain to benefit one's own ego. I don't believe retaliatory behavior is justifiable. But we are all human. We will all fail. The only thing we can do is try, the next time around to sit with one another better in our moments of need - where the desire for empathy tempts us down a path to cause more pain. Please be patient with people because they are imperfect.

Today, I was watching an episode of Grey's Anatomy. Before you pick apart my taste in television shows, please listen to this anecdote. It's Christmas at the hospital. Most of the doctors and interns, skeptical about the holidays and faith in general, have been immersing themselves cases, avoiding acknowledgment or celebration of anything. An intern, Alex, is stressed and trying to study in between rounds to retake his boards, which he failed the first time. The stakes are high - if he does not pass, his internship is revoked and he does not become a surgeon. Systematically, the other interns have been helping Alex study by simulating undiagnosed patients. They one by one get called to cases. The last intern to come and help is Izzy, whom Alex has cheated on and lied to. Here's what happens:

This can be what it feels like - as a Christ-follower or not - to put a stop to retaliatory action. Even when we are mad and hurt, we choose helpfulness and forgiveness and vulnerability with those we care about.

Let's stop being eye-gougers.

what would you do if you weren't afraid?

And so it begins. In less than 12 hours I will get on a shuttle to Denali National Park where, for better or worse, I will spend the next four months of my life.

Living.

Loving.

...

Learning.

LEARNING.

I am so very excited about this opportunity but it seems that someone has forgotten to tell my anxiety that. I keep getting that feeling where my heart falls into my stomach and my stomach jumps into my throat.

 Which is exactly why I take the next steps. It is uncomfortable to leave behind everything and everyone I know for four months. It is petrifying to travel all this way for a job that I am only partially convinced I can do.

And it is breathtaking to do something that I am scared of anyway.

The past few weeks have been full of adventures, hellos, goodbyes, and a plethora of thoughts about how insane this is.

While I am scared out of my mind, I am even more ecstatic for the learning and possibilities that lie ahead. I am positive that when I come out on the other end of this journey, I will be a different person an a different track than if I had stayed complacently put in my life. Whether that track varies only marginally or is fully divergent from where I sat before, only God knows.

But I, for one, will be grateful that I did not let fear of the unknown keep me rooted comfortably in hectic routine.

Stay tuned for lessons to follow.