personal

Breaking the Silence

So…it’s been a minute. My last blog entry was at the end of July. A lot has happened since then. Like, A LOT. I’ve been wanting to jump back into blogging and have tried more than once, but I know there’s something that needs to be addressed before I start “normal” posts again. It simply wouldn’t feel right if I went on in this thing as though a significant life event had not occurred. So I’ll talk about it and I’ll probably cry while I do so, but I’ll talk about it. I feel like I have to.

Besides moving twice since July - yeah, you read that right. Don’t even ask. - and really wrestling with sudden and inexplicable bouts of depression, the end of summer/beginning of fall were already a lot to handle. I was missing family, missing friends in NH. I missed going to church and seeing people in general. I wasn’t feeling like me some days, and I was having a really hard time. In September it got a whole lot worse.

Most people know by now that my mom passed away suddenly and unexpectedly late September 2. We knew she was sick, had been sick for close to two years, and wasn’t in her best condition. But she was still “okay.” So when I got the call from my brother that night telling me she was gone, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Some days I still don’t. It’s been almost two months and it still feels like I just talked to her yesterday. But it also feels like she’s been gone for so long.

Before I moved I had people, family, insinuating that my decision to leave NH was selfish. Mom was sick. Who was going to take care of her? Who was going to take care of my dad if anything happened to her? Guilt tried to change my mind but in the end, I made the decision I felt was right. Ultimately, Mom helped me come to peace with that decision. She wasn’t thrilled I was moving in with my boyfriend. Many weren’t and didn’t have a problem telling me so and why. But in the moment I wrestled most with it, a moment after I was already gone, Mom told me to stop it. She asked if I was happy, if I was as healthy as I could be, and if Conrad was treating me right. I said yes to all of the above, and her exact words were, “Then stop it.” Meaning stop feeling guilty.

The night she died, all that guilt came rushing back ten fold, and it hasn’t really left. It’s changed as the days have passed, taking on different monikers, sometimes faces. I feel guilty for not being there when it happened. I feel guilty for not being there for my dad now. I feel guilty for making my brother take Mom’s place as Dad’s caretaker, and for making him take over in general, especially when work isn’t cooperating, hours aren’t adding up, and they’re having trouble paying rent. I feel incredibly guilty. I’m trying not to, but I’ve always been the caretaker. And not being there, being unable to help, makes me feel awful.

And I miss my mom. So. Much. We didn’t always have the best relationship, and goodness knows we didn’t always see eye to eye, but she was my mom. There hasn’t been a day since she died that I haven’t thought of her. In the past few weeks I’ve started having the daily urge to call her. Like, you’d think after a few days my brain would catch on, but no. I’ll be making dinner, walking the dog, or even writing, and my brain will go, “I haven’t heard from Mom in awhile. I should call her.” It’s a split second thought that I can never catch quick enough and it always hurts.

Basically, I’m a mess. I’m still here, but I’m a mess. Every day, to some degree. I’m still writing, in fact I’ve actually started a brand new thriller project, but it’s also a mess. I’m trying to get back into a good writing schedule, trying to get back into working on the podcast, trying to allow myself good days and not feel guilty for those. But it’s hard.

In two weeks I’ll be back in NH for an early Thanksgiving with the family. I’d already made plans to go with Conrad for the actual Thanksgiving and had discussed it with Mom some time ago. Growing up, we hardly ever celebrated holidays on the actual day she she didn’t care if it was early. I wasn’t planning on going back up so soon after being there for her service, but someone incredibly generous bought me a ticket back, no questions asked and no strings attached. Hopefully because of that I’ll be able to get back for Christmas.

Anyway, this is starting to turn into a personal journal ramble and I have always wanted to try to keep this blog semi-professional. I just wanted to let everyone know where I’ve been, where I am now, and where things are hopefully going. Thank you all for understanding my silence and sticking with me. You don’t know how much I appreciate it. Hopefully normal blogs will resume sometime soon.

10 Hard Facts I Learned from Social Media Fasting (and One Beautiful Truth)

Sometime about six weeks ago I realized something was wrong. Every single day, I was waking up feeling anxious, depressed, more tired than I had any reason to be, and cloaked by a general weight of hopelessness. It didn’t make any sense. I had a man who loved me deeper and more genuinely than anyone ever has before, a sweet puppy to snuggle, a roof over my head, and food in the fridge. Yes, I was missing other human beings. Of course I was. Who hasn’t been? But the feelings I was wrestling with still weren’t making any sense. So I did what I always did: rolled out of bed, got my coffee, sat down on the couch to do my usual routine. Instagram first, because it always makes me smile. Timehop, then email. Next was Facebook. Oh, hello creeping sense of rage and frustration. Let’s switch to Twitter. Well good morning, disgust, fear, and “I don’t want to live on this planet anymore,” syndrome! Let’s go back to Facebook. Maybe I’ll feel better when I’m not reading tweets about who’s being canceled this week and I’m just comparing myself to everyone posting status updates about how they’re making the most of quarantine and solving world hunger.

Huh. Okay, I’m beginning to see the problem.

It was then that I realized these apps I use to “keep in touch” with people were making me feel worse about my life than I had any right to feel. So I deleted them from my phone. And so, for the past five weeks, I have not scrolled my Facebook feed or checked Twitter tags. And I am stunned at how much lighter I feel. I’ve also realized some things I don’t think I would have realized had I still been so entrenched in the FoMO that kept me scrolling minute after minute.

  1. No One Cares

    This sounds like a really harsh and obvious attention seeking statement, but at its very base level, it’s true. No one cares about every little thing I’m thinking in the moment, or what I made for dinner, or that it’s hotter down here than I was prepared for, or that my neighbors are terrible human beings. No. One. Cares. At least, not as much as I do. Any you know what? That’s okay. That’s actually a good thing. If people were hanging on my every typed word, I’d start to question the sanity of my friends and family.

  2. It’s a Waste of Time

    Before I took the apps off my phone, not only would I wake up and start scrolling, but I’d scroll if I found myself with a few minutes in between projects, in a moment of writer’s block or needing to let an idea marinate. I’d open the apps in the bathroom, or while making dinner, or if the boyfriend was on his phone, or really, any spare moment I could. Except those moments never just stayed moments. They’d turn into minutes, which quickly add up. It’s embarrassing to say, but I would not be in the least bit surprised if my accumulated time during the day was two or more hours. TWO HOURS. I could have done so much more with that time.

  3. It’s Addictive

    I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to stop scrolling and reading, but my brain just kept my finger moving and telling me, “just one more post.” Even when all I was seeing were stupid memes, or political posts, or articles, and none of it contained a real, actual life update from the people I was supposedly on there to keep touch with. I’d find myself opening Twitter in idle moments without even thinking about it because my brain had trained itself to do that. Why? What was I getting out of any of it that was beneficial to me? Nothing, that’s what.

  4. It Kills Self-Confidence

    I learned a long time ago that Facebook is where you lie about how great your life is and Twitter is where you just complain about anything, everything, and everyone. Where Twitter depressed me because everyone’s lives were crap, Facebook depressed me because my life wasn’t anywhere near as wonderful as everyone else. I didn’t have the partner* who randomly cleaned the house, got me iced coffee and flowers, made dinner, and had the kids all dressed in matching outfits, family-selfie ready. I didn’t make the perfect meal. I wasn’t making masks or going to protests. I wasn’t raising money for charity, and I certainly wasn’t losing weight. What the heck was I doing with my life? I’m just a fat, lazy, uncaring, gross human being who was a large waste of space. I am not measuring up to anyone on my feed. Clearly, I never would.

  5. It Made me Feel More Homesick Than Not

    Y’all, it’s hard moving away from everything and everyone you love to start a life in a totally new place with only one familiar person in your day to day. I thought seeing friends and family, reading about everything they were doing, would make me feel closer to them. And it did for a little while. But then, it made me realize just how far away I was. All the stories I was seeing online, all the pictures, the game nights I was missing (for a few months, anyway)…these things I was seeing on Facebook were things I used to be part of. In person. Sometimes I’d even talk to someone on the phone or over Skype and a subject would come up I didn’t know about. The response would be, “Well I posted it on Facebook.” and that sucked. It hurts, honestly. We’ve stopped communicating with each other the way we were meant to, leaving it up to social media to let people into our lives. It made me feel so much father away from everyone than 1,000 miles.

  6. It Fuels Rage and Anxiety

    Have you ever noticed how right everyone is? No one is ever wrong. Myself included. We’re always right, we are incredibly entitled, and no one else’s opinion matters unless it lines up with our own. Anyone who thinks otherwise, anyone who dares to publicly challenge a stated “fact” is then shut down at best, shamed, or, at worst case, ganged up on by a swarm of other indignants to show you just how wrong you are and make you feel like the lowest of the low. The real winners are the ones who say something along the lines of, “You should just kill yourself to rid the world of your stupidity.” Yeah, that’s an actual thing I’ve had thrown at me for disagreeing with an opinion stated on a post they didn’t even write. The internet can be a beautiful place full of knowledge and revelations, but take one step out of place and you wind up in an incredibly toxic universe.

  7. It Takes Me Out of the Moment

    So many times I have been experiencing something amazing, terrible, or in between, and my first thought was, “I should post about this.” My thoughts were on my social media accounts, wondering how many likes or comments I’d get if I said whatever inane thing had come to my head that, in the moment, I thought was so brilliant. Instead of enjoying the moment and breathing it in, or sitting with the discomfort of a bad moment, or even just the rare quiet of a down or “boring” moment, I’m missing the moment. It’s passing me by as I type away on my phone. I’m ignoring the beauty that could be found, the revelation in the silence, and the understanding that could come from unrest. Honestly, this was the worst of my realizations.

  8. It Kills Personal Relationships

    How many times has someone been talking to you while you’re on your phone and you’ve found yourself going, “Huh…what?" You realize you’re not listening so you click off your phone and put it away, but even then you’re still not really listening because your mind is on the very thing that was distracting you in the first place. How many times have you been on the other end of that and found yourself frustrated over the lack of attention you were being given? Pretty sure we can all raise our hands to both. We’ve stopped “whole-face” listening. Heck, we’re not even half-faced listening most of the time anymore.

  9. FoMO - Fear of Missing Out

    I found this more prevalent when it came to Twitter than Facebook. What if I miss something big happening in the news or the entertainment world? What if someone I follow, some editor or agent, says they’re now open to submissions and I miss my chance? What if one of my friends is having a bad day and a silly gif from me could help turn it all around? What if I miss my shot at getting retweeted by someone famous?! I mean! Insert the biggest eye roll in history here. It creates this never ending, ever growing sense of anxiety that I am somehow going to miss out on something immeasurably important if I am not constantly checking my feeds. It’s the need to know everything about everything all the time, and it’s so unhealthy.

  10. It Begs for Word Vomit

    When we, as humans, believe we have a platform, we will talk about anything we feel we want to for as long as we can, and without censor. We feel justified in our feelings and opinions, entitled to our thoughts, and justified in sharing them with the world. With righteous indignation to fuel us, we spew out words that harm instead of help, and we feel no remorse. In fact, we’re silently begging for confrontation. The day I found myself getting into an argument with someone on Facebook and refreshing the page every ten seconds to see if they replied so I could leave an even smarter reply, I knew I had a problem.

Social media can bring us together when it’s used correctly. I had hoped with the world in chaos as it is that Facebook and Twitter, all the other social media outlets, would be filled with love, compassion, and support for our fellow human beings. Instead, it has become filled with vitriol and arrogance. And quite honestly, it makes me terribly sad.

Because my new book is being released soon, I’m coming back to the world of social media, but at a very limited capacity. I’m keeping Facebook off my phone and have already cut my list of friends by more than half. I’m going to block certain topics on Twitter and I’m weeding out that list as well. The second I feel myself sliding backward, they’re gone. I have too much to worry about without needlessly adding to it all.

If you’ve never done a social media fast, I encourage you to give it a try. You’ll be amazed at the beauty you find when your eyes aren’t glued to a screen, the words God will whisper in your ear when you’re not listening to another random video, and the in-person relationships that will overshadow the virtual ones.

Before I leave this post, I did promise the one beautiful truth. It actually ties in with number 4 and the little * I left in there. What I realized during this fast was that some of the best moments are the ones you don’t want to share with the world. Or anyone else, for that matter. They’re perfect just as they are and involve exactly who they should, no more and no less. And those are memories I don’t need to share on the internet to always remember.

* For the record, I have an amazing boyfriend who is always looking for ways to make me happy, smile, and feel better about myself just the way I am. I have never felt so blessed in life as I have having him to love and love me back. I would never want that picture perfect family because, man, can you imagine the upkeep?

Head Above Water

How are you?

It’s a question I’ve been getting asked a lot lately, mostly through texts or messages. Nine times out of ten I have ignored the question or just chosen not to respond. Not because I don’t want to talk to anyone or I’m being rude. It sounds ridiculous to say but lately, even just returning a text is too much for me. It leads to conversation and conversation is not a thing I am up for right now. And honestly, it changes so frequently that I don’t know how to honestly answer. I may be great one minute and then bawling my eyes out the next.

This year has been kind of a nightmare and we’re still only halfway through.

Between my mom’s cancer, coming to accept her decision about her treatment, my dad’s stroke, him coming home and seeing him have to relearn things like a preschool kid, him going back in the hospital for a severe infection, my brother’s vacillation between helpfulness, severe depression, and rage, me being a taxi and running errands for two adults I don’t even live with, really struggling with the loneliness and separation of a long distance relationship, and taking care of my own health issues… I’m tired. I am so tired and overwhelmed. And I’m gonna be honest, I’m really wrestling with my faith in all of this.

I hate to even admit to that because my relationship with God, my ability to go to Him with anything and everything and know it’s going to be all right even when it seems life is at its darkest, has always been the thing that keeps me from drowning. Right now, that’s not there. I have a lot of hurt, confusion, even anger. I don’t understand why any of this is happening, let alone why it’s all happening at the same time. I just don’t understand, and I’m struggling to remind myself that God is good no matter what.

Most of the time when people ask how you are, it’s a polite societal impulse. We don’t really want to know how the other person is really doing but we ask because it’s what we’re supposed to do. You get your very surfacy answer, nothing too deep, and you move on. For most of you who have asked how I am, I know this is not the case. I know you’re asking and checking in on me out of love and concern. And I apologize for being a sucky friend and not keeping you up to date, but it’s hard to make this admission over and over.

How are you?

Honestly, I am a complete mess. But I’m doing my best to not get pulled under.

In September of last year, Avril Lavine released her first song after a long period of silence.It’s nothing like she’s ever released before, speaking of needing God to keep her from drowning and how much of a struggle it is to see through to the other side of the storm. It’s a gorgeous song with lyrics that just so perfectly encapsulate how I’m feeling.

So that’s how I am. I’m praying, sincerely praying, the rest of this year goes a little bit smoother, and that my faith will grow through all of this turbulence.

Next post will be back to the usual writing-centric stuff you’ve come to expect from me. I just needed to get this out to give myself some release. Thanks for understanding.

Hello, Lovely

Several weeks ago, I walked into church and saw a friend I hadn't seen in weeks. I'll call her Gabby for privacy's sake. Though there were several groups of people between us, I made like a fish swimming upstream and slowly worked my way through the sanctuary until I could get to her. As soon as I was close enough and we made eye contact, I broke into a huge smile, threw my arms around her, and said, "Hello, gorgeous!" In my embrace she gave a light, almost bitter laugh and replied, "I certainly don't feel gorgeous." As we parted, I realized she didn't have any make up on, her hair was carelessly put up, and her clothes were not as "up to standard" as what everyone has come to expect from her, simply because she is always so put together. And yet, she was beautiful.

It's rare these days that I don't greet my female friends with some variation of the way I greeted Gabby that day. "Hey, beautiful." "Hello, lovely." I don't say these words carelessly, but honestly. We live in a world that is so focused on outer beauty that we often forget that age old adage of beauty being more than skin deep. In this wonderful age where we are beginning to accept the fact that a woman doesn't have to be a size two or even a size twelve to be beautiful, we're still not quite yet there when it comes to looking beyond the flesh. Let's face it, men are visual creatures but women are just as visual. We pass someone on the street who is better dressed, taller, has better hair, and we think, "Ugh. Her life must be so perfect. I bet she's so stuck up." Who knows what men think? I don't know that I want to be privy to that information. The point is, we don't see someone like that and think, "I bet she has a generous spirit." We still, whether we mean to or not, on some level, let our eyes determine how we view others.
 

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Don't think for a second that I think I am any different. I know I make snap judgements of others based on what I saw, especially strangers. How fair is that? Without getting to know someone, I think I have them all figured out just by seeing them across the room. That outfit must have cost a fortune; clearly she has money. Look at that piercing; such an attention seeker. Look at how short that skirt is; no standards and no shame.

But what if people did that to me? Now, I'm not a huge fan of this term, but I'll be the first to admit that I have resting bitch face, meaning if I am not smiling or making an active effort to show some kind of emotion on my face, I look ticked. I'm not. Generally, it takes a great deal to get me irritated enough to the point where I actually am angry. I've also been told I look like a lost or abandoned child. So, you know, my go-to faces aren't the best representative of who I am, yet people who don't know me see me and assume I am one way or another. They hear I am on disability and look at me only to see nothing wrong on the surface, which leads to other judgements.

Guys, we have got to stop doing this to each other. And by guys, I mean all of us. We have to stop assuming we know someone just by what we see. You can never know a person's heart by looking at the name brand shoes they're wearing or how well kept they are. I have found in my own life that there are people I have made snap judgements about, thinking, "I will never have anything in common with this person," who have gone on to be some of my closest, dearest friends.

That is what beauty really is. When you see a person and you light up because you know you can trust them, that you can be honest and vulnerable with them...I don't know anything more beautiful than the glow of someone who has someone invested in them and loving them for exactly who they are.
 

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Ladies, if I see you and greet you with this compliment, people know that I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I don't care about your make up, your hair, your clothes...I care about you, and I do think you're beautiful. Love makes everyone beautiful, and there is no greater example of that than the unconditional love we receive from God. If He can look at a walking, talking mess like me and think, "That's my beautiful, precious daughter," the least I can do is try to look at others through His eyes. Who knows? My next life-long friend could be among those I have harshly misjudged because I was too distracted by what was on the outside to see what was on the inside.

That being said, I'm going to style my pink hair, put on my sparkly gray zebra print sweater, and go do some errands.

Adventures in Depression

I'm not exactly sure when it happened. For years I'd managed to keep everything under control, and not just on the outside. Sure, I got good at hiding it for awhile, but at some point I wasn't "faking it until I was making it", I was actually doing all right. And it lasted for quite a few years. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, it hit me. It was this sudden weight tied to my ankles and heaviness in my chest. I knew what it was but I was afraid that if I gave it a name I would be admitting it had returned. I was sad. I was tired. I was lonely.

I was depressed.

For safety sake, I'll say here that this is a trigger warning for what you will find between the stars. And some of what you read may be unsettling. Especially if you only know me as the happy, smiling girl you see at church every week, or the producer who is always giggling and cheerful in cast meetings. You have been warned.

Admitting I was depressed was such a hard thing to do. Harder than anyone knows. *In fact, many don't know that in my early twenties my depression was so bad that I had suicidal thoughts on more than one occasion. I remember nights I happened to be alone in my apartment, sitting on the floor and having vivid imaginations about how to go about doing it. Obviously I never went through with it, but I did find other very unhealthy ways to cope.* I suppose cope isn't the best word to use. Distract would be more accurate I suppose. But back then I had nothing going on. I had precious few friends, health issues no one understood, anxiety beyond description, no job, and no real picture of my future. I saw no way out and I had plenty of reasons to be depressed. Now? Now....everything is so different.

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Post Secret

I've never had so many truly awesome things going on at once in my life. Let me tell you, when you ask God to use you and mean it with your whole heart...hang on. Because He'll take you for a ride. Don't ask to be used if you don't really want to be used. I'm just saying.

For awhile last year my relationship with God was a little strained. Not because of Him but because of me. I was questioning everything I thought He was telling me to do, all the while asking to be led in the direction He wanted me to go. I knew I was doing it but I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't trust enough to really, well, trust. It's like I was asking a cartographer for the right road to take, then asking a barber, a shoe salesman, and a blind man what they thought the cartographer's very straightforward directions meant. Texas didn't happen. Ben and I didn't work out. My car....my car... So I kind of kept my distance from God without moving too far away, if that make sense.

I knew, at least I felt, I had disappointed Him. So I kept Him at arm's length until fairly recently, actually. Through a group I was part of at church I had things stripped away and it was like a new beginning for my spirituality. That was when I asked God to use me. It was the true cry of my heart. And He began using me. Sometimes in ways I wouldn't have even expected. But then things He was doing with me and through me were amazing. So when did the bad stuff come back, and why couldn't I get rid of it?

For a few weeks I was having random anxiety attacks over silly things. Sometimes over nothing at all. Then I started having them in the middle of the night. They weren't things that woke me up, but happened in very vivid dreams I couldn't escape. So I'd wake up the next morning exhausted because my body had reacted as though I were having these massive attacks. A very dear friend of mine began praying for me (as I know others were) and the panic attacks subsided. But sleep was still elusive for awhile. I was so afraid of sleep that I did what I could to stay awake. And when I did fall asleep I could constantly wake up in fear of falling too deep asleep. 

Then there is the depression. I'll have you know I have never been happier in my life before than I am at this moment. But I've also never felt more broken. Wounded. Exposed. Raw. Insanely lonely. I hurt, and most days I hurt deeply. And for no reason. I praise God through it all because I know it's what I'm supposed to do (SO thankful for Alanna Story's newest album!)...but it won't go away.

Some Christians believe with everything in them that medication for depression and anxiety is a cop out. They'll tell you that you need to pray harder, or that there is some sin nature that is separating you from God and allowing these oppressive feelings to control you. I say that's crap. I say, unless you've ever struggled with these issues and have been on medication for it, you can't understand. It's not a crutch, it's not something to hide behind, and depression/anxiety not something anyone can willingly turn on or off.

For those who have the time (and can overlook a bit of language) I suggest you read this entry in "Hyperboloe and a Half" as well as part two because they are so accurate. I was there before for all of it from beginning to end. For a long time. I'm not going to allow myself to get there again.

So next week I'll opt to pick up the phone and call someone, a professional who will let me cry in her office while I try and will and pray away this chemical imbalance in my brain that makes me more prone to anxiety and depression than some than cry over a bowl of milk and soggy Wheaties. And instead of worrying about how people are going to judge me as I use to, I'll remind myself of the truth; that there is absolutely nothing wrong with seeking this type of help. Science has proven depression and anxiety are not simply "mood disorders" but real medical issues. If someone judges me for looking to correct that chemical imbalance they also judge the person who takes vitamins to make up for deficiencies, who takes cold medicine for a nasty cough...anyone who seeks medical treatment for any medical ailment.

This long-winded post is mostly my confession, but also an offer of encouragement to anyone else out there that may be struggling. Don't ever feel ashamed for asking for help and actively seeking it out. Ever.

 

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My Father's Image

Every few weeks it seems there is a new quiz making its way around Facebook. "What's Your Maturity Age?", "What Color is your Aura?", personality tests, you name it and there is a quiz for it on Facebook, and if there isn't, well just wait a few days and it will exist. One test that recently made the ever-important news feed of "Most Recent" among my friends was a quiz that would help you determine whether you were more right-brained or left-brained. I've taken many of these types of tests before and have always, even as a young child, been a right-brainer. But I decided to take this one because it gave percentages and I was curious. After a handful of questions it was determined that I was 75% right-brained. I wasn't shocked at anything but the high percentage and the fact that they could determine this after just ten questions.

At first I questioned what that actually meant for me. Did that mean I wasn't analytical? Insightful? Was I just not that smart? My mind went a little crazy as it tends to do far too often. Then I took a breath and reminded myself that I am not dumb. I oftentimes feel like I am but then I have those moments where I say something so right and intelligent that I even amaze myself. (Has anyone ever seen "Drop Dead Diva"? Well I kind of feel like Deb sometimes when random moments of sheer brilliance come spouting from the Jane part of her brain.) And then I started thinking about it a little deeper. Maybe I'm not a genius but that doesn't make me less than. Quite the contrary, I think.

A good friend of mine gifted me with a bible study called "30 Life Principles" when she heard I was looking for a study to do on my own. I thought it looked decent enough to give it a try, so one morning I sat down with the intent of just kind of reading things over and get to a couple of the first chapter questions later. I was hooked almost from question one. These were questions I'd heard asked before but were posed in such a way that the answers truly became personal and reflective. And I started writing answers, looking up verses, reading deeper, and an hour later I'd done the whole first chapter. It was fantastic!

One of the questions asked was, "When God said, 'Let Us make man in Our image according to Our likeness', what do you think He meant?". This whole right-brained thing and my obsessive over-analyzing made me go back to this question and chew it over a bit more.

I am made in the image of God. I have known this in my head since I was a child. As an adult I still keep that truth tucked away in my vault of bible knowledge. But what does it mean? Does it mean that God is a short overweight white girl with skin problems? I'm pretty sure He's not. But I am still made in His image in a way that is better than any physical likeness I could ever imagine.

Before all else, God is a creator. That's one of the names He is often referred to as, the Great Creator. That's what He is called in one of my stories. Before man ever walked the earth He took seven days (be they literal or whatever you believe) to simply create. He made beauty from nothing. He brought life to a lifeless plain. He painted the first magnificent sunset and wrote the very first love story. He created man. Simply put, He created.  

There are many times that very simple things will start me thinking of a potential story or, more recently, lyrics. Christmas Eve I was sitting in the sanctuary during service at Centerpoint and one simple word, the very way it was presented, started my brain on this rush of images and ideas. And as I chastised myself and tried to focus on the presentation once more I idly thought, "The dreaded writer's curse." And very quietly, as if the last word of my thought was echoing through a cave, it changed and came back to me as a whispered "blessing". I am blessed to be able to find inspiration everywhere and in almost everything. I love it and I praise God for it every time He gives me a new idea. That time was a little different because I was in church and was supposed to be paying attention, but with that simple tender exchange of words in my mind He reminded me that my creativity is a gift He was gracious enough to give me. He reminded me once again that I am indeed made in His image because I am also a creator.

Others have His compassion, His grace, His endless capacity and desire for knowledge. He put a little of himself in all of us but knew if He put all of His true awesomeness into one single human it would just be like creating another god. And there can only be One.

I am made in God's image. I finally know this not only in my head but now in my heart as well. So other people can be the brains, others can even be the great beauty. I'm quite happy being the creator.