Perfection Doesn't Aim for the Stars

I know I've wrote about this before, but it's fresh in my mind and my heart again tonight, and this may be more for me than for anyone who reads this.
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I'm feeling a little bummed today. When I tell you why I'm bummed, you might laugh. It's honestly kind of a silly reason to be bummed, actually...

I got a 93% on a test today.

I know, I know, the majority - if not all - of you are thinking, "Man, I would've killed for a 93% on a test!" All of my friends in my undergrad years thought the same thing. I can't tell you how many times I heard them exclaim excitedly that they got a B- on a paper, or complain that the hours upon hours they spent studying still only got them a C on the test. I never studied, ever, and wrote my 5-10 page papers the night before or even the morning they were due...and always got A's, if not 100%.

But the times I didn't get those 100%'s were as agonizing to me as the C's were to my friends.

For me, not getting a perfect score was personal. It wasn't my paper that was flawed...I was flawed. Or else that's what I imaged my professors thought of me. The imagined disappointment on their faces when they read and graded my work was heart crushing. "I can't believe that Sara of all people would've gotten this wrong! I had such high hopes in her," and would shake their heads sadly as they marked off points in red pen. The 93 points I had received meant nothing...I had failed them on those 7 points.

But I could never talk to anyone about it. My friends wouldn't understand how anyone could be sad about an A-, and the only other "smart" people I knew were always a little smug and smart-assed about it. So for fear of seeming smug and smart-assed, I kept quiet, blushing and muttering an answer only if my friends asked what I got on the-most-difficult-test-in-the-universe. Looking back now, I guess the smug students were probably under the same sort of pressure I was feeling, but we didn't know how to explain it.

I couldn't really tell you exactly what prompted my perfectionism. As a kid I was shy and quiet around everyone except my family (who told me often that I was actually too loud), which led to a constant loneliness that I've struggled with since probably 3rd grade. But even shy kids want positive attention. Thinking about it now, I don't think I was really encouraged or praised for much growing up, my grades and maybe piano were the only times I got a genuine "That's great, Sara!" Everything else I did got, at best, a preoccupied, "That's nice, dear."

I got a C once on my 4th grade quarterly report card, and while I don't remember how my parents reacted, I definitely remember disappointment. Not necessarily from them or my teacher, but from myself. School was the one thing I was good at and I had - in my mind - failed. The one thing I gained approval for, and I had almost lost it. From then on out it was A's only; 100's were the best but I'd settle for 95's.

The thing about constant "perfection" though is that if you've already attained it and constantly maintain it, there's really nothing surprising or impressive about it anymore. It mostly becomes a little joke when I don't get a 100; "What?! Sara got a 99?! Oh, the horror!!" Said in jest, usually with a loving twinkle in the eye...but still the little arrows of accusation fly straight to my heart: "You're not perfect. They're not going to love you if you're not perfect. Why would anyone want to love someone who's not perfect? No one loves you."

And these lies started popping up in other areas of my life outside of school. A small stutter or misspoken sentence in a "normal" conversation in a group setting: "Imperfection!" the lies say, "It would be better if you said nothing at all. Better yet, just stay home next time, then you won't have to be around other people who would see your imperfection and therefore not love you." So I stay home. Boys I had a crushes on started dating someone else: "Imperfection! If you had been more beautiful, more noticeable, more perfect, he would have picked you! But don't let him see you, or else he'll see all your plain, stuttering imperfection and won't love you!" So I dress unnoticeably and don't talk to boys for years, watching my crushes all fall in love, get married, and have children with their beautiful wives.

But through the persistent love of several wonderful friends and mentors over the last decade, and I've finally begun to accept the Truth of who God has made me to be, and that He finds me beautiful and worth loving despite my "imperfections", and actually doesn't even see them because He's so besotted with me. By "begun", I mostly mean that I can say it out loud, and if I focus enough that all I see is His face I may actually believe it with my whole heart for a moment or two. He thinks I'm "more than just a beautiful mess" (to quote Matthew West) and it's messing with my heart...in a good way. But the scars still hurt, and lies that have been believed for decades are sometimes tricky to uproot fully. Sometimes when I think Jesus and I have finally gotten the last one pulled out, another root pops up and proves even trickier to dig out. Enter grad school.

This semester I started the Master's of Arts in Library Science program online through Mizzou. I love it!!! I don't know why it's taken me so long to start school again. I love learning, I love that feeling of figuring out something new and making connections to the things in my life that I've just been plodding through without understanding. God gave me as a beautiful gift a highly intelligent brain, and it feels great to be using it to it's full potential again.

And as you can imagine, up till now all of my assignments have earned me a 100%...until this test from last week. Instantly after seeing my grade on the test, my heart sunk and shame started creeping in again. I honestly opened up the test and quickly scrolled down to find the ones I'd missed, ignoring the 23 of the 25 questions that got full marks just to zero in on the ones I got wrong.

And right now I'm faced with a choice. Stew over this grade, and how it will affect my average for the class; or go completely against my own brain and heart and choose to believe something so radical I almost can't think it to type it out.........

I am still loved.....

and if possible I am loved even more so now simply because I dared to think it, despite the habit of self-hatred. It is so much simpler to just give in to habitual thinking, and my mind has been trained to despise myself when I am imperfect. But no...I am loved by my family and my friends, some of which are boys (no Dad, just because they are boys and my friends does not make any of them my boyfriend!! ;-P ).

But most importantly, I am loved by God...and in the end, that's the only thing that matters.

A Promise is a Promise (or: How my Stomach Tried Out for the Olympic Gymnastic Team this Month)

A few Sundays ago, my pastor spoke about how we press on through the difficult times by holding onto the promises God has for us. I could think of a few of the promises I've received over the years from God, but nothing really stood out to me. Jim told us to ask God for new promises to take us through our new seasons, but honestly my first response was, "Oh, I don't want to trouble God with another request." That's how I usually respond when people tell me God has something to give me. "It's ok, I don't really want to bug Him about it; He doesn't need to give me anything, let Him use it to bless others instead, I'm not really worth the effort."

Then towards the end of the service one of my dear lovely teens came up behind me and wordlessly gave me a leftover doughnut hole from the coffee shop. Just one. But it was my favorite kind, and as I'd been at church since 8am my stomach was getting a bit restless. I smiled at her in thanks (Jim was still preaching, so couldn't talk very loud), and bit into the doughnut. As I enjoyed the bite, I thanked God for the small morsel that held my hunger at bay for a little while longer till it was lunchtime. And He told me right back:

"I will give you what you need when you need it."

I paused mid-chew, amazed that I had heard Him so clearly, and that He had actually given me a new promise when I was avoiding asking Him for one. And it wasn't just a random promise out of the blue; I knew this one was supposed to be for the upcoming season in my life. I had just purchased a new-to-me truck, and the monthly payments on it were going to be a little more than I had anticipated, especially since I'd just moved into a new apartment where the rent is a little higher than I'm used to paying, adding on a few of those extra amenities like heating and electric and internet to pay for. But there it was clearly: God was going to give me exactly what I need exactly when I needed it.

I've walked with God hopefully for long enough now to know the difference between a true "Need" and a desired "Want." Sometimes, the wants seem terribly like needs, but really we can do without them. But something about the fierce love and claim that was in God's voice when He spoke His promise to me let me know that when the going got tough in the next season, I didn't have to worry about the true needs, that He would supply.

And boy, have I needed that Promise!

Unexpectedly, the sales tax on my truck hit me like a sledgehammer. And I didn't have the money to pay it. "Lord, where am I going to get this money in three days?!!" And with the largest bite of humble pie, I called my parents, who graciously loaned me the amount I needed. Boy, talk about something I didn't want, but definitely needed!! I'm almost 30 years old (yes, I know, I look much younger). I shouldn't have to go asking my parents for money! It was bad enough when I thought I wouldn't be able to get a loan without my dad co-signing for me, but having to swallow my pride and go to the bank with my mom so she could get out several hundred dollars in cash was quite a dreadful experience. 

But...God gave me what I needed when I needed it, even though it wasn't the way I wanted it to happen.

About a month ago at work, we found out that a great co-worker and friend was moving to another job. We, along with several others at the branch, made a great team, pioneering several new and/or improved programs and ideas at our branch, and to honestly become better at our jobs by simply encouraging each other. I had always said to other coworkers that I never wanted to be an assistant manager, but if he ever became manager, I'd apply in a heartbeat. The day he told us he was leaving for another branch, he pointedly reminded me that the assistant manager position was still open...twice. I got the hint, but was reluctant to apply. Did I have it in me to be in a manager position at a library, even if it was only as an assistant? 

After long talks with several people that I trust and respect, I went ahead and applied. And then proceeded to get really, really, really excited about it. I did research on the area of town where the branch is located, searching out their school website and finding new ways to interact with the community up there. The town looked great, the job looked great, and the pay raise looked great. 

The only thing that wasn't great...my nice, new little truck gets 14 miles to the gallon...and the branch is almost 30 miles one way from my newly signed one-year lease apartment.

I talked to several people about it, and almost everyone said that this sounded like the perfect opportunity for me. I did my homework for the interview (and had a blast doing it, I'm such a dork), and thought the actual interview went really well.

But the thing that got me the most about the whole process wasn't the job or the preparation, it was the butterflies in my stomach. I haven't been this worried since senior year of high school agonizing over the biggest decision of my life: what to do next year. My mantra back then was Matthew 6:32-33..."Your heavenly Father knows what you need. Seek first His Kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." I realized that something in my heart desperately wanted God to be a part of this whole thing. So I prayed and worshiped and chose to focus on my Jesus instead of the job. It was hard, believe me! Every five minutes or so I would remember why I was praying and the butterflies would churn up the hurricane in my stomach again (What if they did hire me? When will I start? To whom will I leave my numerous duties at my current branch? Will I be adequate enough to do the job? What if they didn't choose me? Are they thinking right now about how I'm inadequate for the job?) 

But as I gave voice each one of those dangerous little butterflies (or should I call them buttery-lies?), I realized that none of them made me feel as loved and content and peaceful like I did when I was with the One who promised to take care of my needs. 

If I was to get this job, it would be because my Promiser made it happen. And what my Promiser wanted to happen did....

I didn't get the job.

Is my heart broken? Yes. Am I disappointed? Highly. Am I having to summon up a single iota of excitement for the same ole tasks I've been doing for forever (cough...a year and a half...cough cough) at my now still same branch? Definitely. 

Am I thankful that God made this happen? I have never been more sure about anything in my life.

Because it wasn't my friend and former co-worker who made the final decision, nor was it his boss. It wasn't my lack of managerial experience (because honestly, I don't have a lot of experience; I was kinda hoping the new job would provide it for me), nor was it the fact that the person who got the job has a degree in Library Science. It was God's decision to not give me the job. Probably because I was starting to look at the job as being the catalyst for my provision.

I am down to the last few pages of my current journal (this ties in, I promise). With my finances such as they are this month, I'm pinching pennies to fill my tank with gas, let alone to buy a new journal. But I found myself in Barnes and Nobel this weekend and decided to browse, cause I'm a sucker for unlined parchment bound in leather.  There was one journal that was exactly the kind I'd been looking for, but price on the back of the book was $12, or, to put it in perspective...4 gallons of milk. I put it down to keep looking, finding other journals with almost half the pages yet costing much more. I went back to the first one, thinking it was better than nothing; and there, on the front of the book, was a discounted price sticker saying it was $5. 

"I will give you what you need when you need it. Even if it's something as small as a journal, or something as large as the money to pay for your truck."

And I trust Him to do as He says. Because He loves me, and has proven Himself faithful. He is my inheritance, and that's all I need to know.

"Lord, You are my portion and my cup of blessing; You hold my future.

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance."

Psalm 16:5-6

Storm

Kansas City had a beautiful thunderstorm come through a few days ago. It was exactly what I think of when I picture a perfect thunderstorm. First you have days of warm, sticky humidity, when you don't know whether to put on a light jacket or sweater because of the slight chill, or to take off the jacket because it's just too clammy to have anything too close. Then, the wind comes. Clouds start rolling in from the southwest, starting off wispy and light, then slowly billowing to epic heights. And as the towers of fluff move overhead, the world suddenly goes eery dark, made even more foreboding by the streetlights turn on in the middle of the afternoon. Then you hear it...far in the distance...a quiet rumbling. You pass it off as a truck on the not-to-distant highway, but then you hear it again...a little closer...a little longer... Soon come the first pitter-patter of rain on the windows. Then...the storm hits! Raindrops as big as your fist, drowning out all other noise as it attacks the rooftops with gusto. People huddle in their cars or in doorways, waiting...praying for a break in the salvo to possibly make it inside (or out) without falling prey to the torrent flooding down onto the world.  Then just as you brace yourself to run into the melee - blinding light! Your breath and the very blood in your veins pauses in expectation as the world stops and you begin to count...one one-thousand....two one-thousand...three one-thousand...rumble, grumble, Bellow, CRASH! And a fireworks display better than any 4th of July celebration begins. It's awe inspiring in it's deadly intensity, leaving you feeling both terrified at the sheer power and yet thrilled at the magnitude of it's beauty. At any moment, every moment, another flash and crash, slowly catching up to each other till they happen simultaneously on the street opposite. Then as suddenly as it began, the rage of the storm begins to wear itself out. The one one-thousands slowly grow farther apart, the rain slowly gives up the fight. And there, behind the chaos and strife...a cool, gentle breeze. You close your eyes and take a slow, deep breath. This is what you've been waiting for: the release of stifling air pressure; the scent of fresh, wet grass (or pavement, depending on your taste in scents); the lackadaisical meandering of a breeze following in it's passionate brother's wake, gently bringing a smile to your face and life to your heart.

...And then you realize that this is a metaphor for life sometimes, and you can't help but praise God for the flash/CRASHes, because you know the cool breeze is coming. Just hang on, hope, and praise. Stand in awe of the storm while it's crashing around you; I promise, the aftermath will be worth so much more. (and don't worry, I've been preaching this to myself for the last week. Still storming, but the sunset is spectacular!)

Chosen

Most people in church go on and on about how crafty and sly the devil is. It's right there in Genesis, the first time we see the devil show up as a character: "Now the serpent was the most cunning of all the animals..." But what people may not realize is that God is cleverer than that sly ole devil. I mean, He's God, He created Lucifer in the first place. The fallen angel's problem was that he thought he was better than God was (Ha!). But I know that in the face of my strongholds and lies that tend to plague my life, I forget that God is more crafty. For example...

Today I was rereading one of my favorite books: Celebration of Discipline by Richard  Foster. In the chapter on the discipline of meditation, Foster describes one way that people can use their imaginations to picture themselves with Jesus, walking with Him on the beach in Galilee, sitting and talking with Him in the gospel stories. So I decided to try it. I closed my eyes and started to daydream. But this time, instead of my normal time-wasting daydreams, I chose to daydream about me and Jesus.

Now, this is where God got clever. See, Satan really didn't like the idea that I may realize that I can daydream about Jesus instead of all of the other unhealthy daydreams he likes to feed me. So I'm picturing myself on the beach, looking over at the crowd of disciples and Jesus...when the thought runs through me, heart, soul, and mind: "Jesus wouldn't want me over there with Him."

"What?! How is that God being clever? Isn't that the enemy attacking with lies?" Well, yes, the enemy was telling me a lie; but the thing is, Satan's been telling me that lie for so long now, but this was the first time I actually heard it. It was as if I thought it loud enough that it interrupted my daydream like a slap in the face. Up till now, it's been a lie that has wormed it's way into my mind and heart softer than a whisper. It's always just been a feeling, a suggestion, a hint of an idea. But this time, the enemy got so freaked out by what I was about to do that he forgot himself and practically shouted it. And then it was almost as if God cupped His hand to His ear and said, "Oh, wait, what...what was that? You were telling My daughter a lie? Did you hear that, Dear One? The enemy was telling you a LIE." And then God smirked, cause I heard it and understood. (ok, maybe God didn't smirk, He doesn't really need to. It was more likely a pointed look at Satan saying, "BACK OFF, SHE'S MINE!!!")

And I realized (as Satan ran off with his tail between his legs) that for so long I have been under the assumption that I'm just a tag-a-long, a burden, an extra mouth to feed in the crowd just wanting a glimpse of Jesus. I don't want just a glimpse of Him, I want Him. But I've believed that my presence would just burden Him, that I'd be underfoot, and that He'd feel pressured to make time for me in His already hectic schedule of disciples clamouring for attention. So I backed away, loving Him from a distance, but ignoring any advances He made towards me. "It's alright, I know You're busy. Don't feel that You need to spend time with me to keep up an appearance. You're tired; go, sleep, I'll just love You from over here." If Jesus had really been around, that's what I would've done. Just sit back, afraid to approach for fear of overwhelming Him, afraid to find out that I would actually be a burden, that He would say, "Sara, I'm just too tired right now, can we get coffee maybe in a few weeks?"

Or worse...afraid of finding out that I would just be another face in the crowd. Unknown. Unrecognized. Unloved.

There was another woman like that in the Bible. She actually could've gotten some serious repercussions from touching Jesus, as she was by Jewish law unclean. She'd been unclean for 12 years. Can you imagine...not being able to touch anyone for 12 years for fear of making them unclean as well? Granted, they would only be unclean for a week, but it probably wouldn't make her any friends if she kept touching people. So when she heard about Jesus, and knew in her heart that He could heal her, she didn't want to create a fuss, she didn't want Him or anyone else to even know that she touched Him. She was content to remain a hidden unseen face in the crowd.

But, like me, God did not let her go unnoticed. He stopped mid-stride, turned to look for her, giving her the opportunity to dare and take that first step forward towards Him, and then He called her "Daughter." (Mark 5:24-34). I don't think I would've heard anything else after that. I would've been too overwhelmed. I was just chosen by the One powerful enough to heal, to redeem, to set free, to send the devil fleeing. He stopped just for me. I'm not just a face in the crowd, a mouth to feed, a block on the calendar.

I'm the one He walks towards up the beach, holds out His hand and asks-with a hopeful smile and twinkle in His eyes, "Sara, come with Me?"

How could I say no?

Thoughts on thoughts...

What would happen if at the end of each day I wrote down each and every thought that went through my mind? Would I be able to share each thought with others? Would I be ashamed to show anyone anything that I wrote down?

I'm a thinker. I think about a mile a second (some of my coworkers and my closest friends can attest to this). But I'm also a dreamer, an Imaginarian, if you will. Sometimes, my imagination let's me see things in ways I wouldn't have before. It gives me creative ways to describe how I'm feeling and how I see the world and the people around me. Honestly, I would rather write this whole blog entry as an allegory, it would come out much easier than me just saying it like it is. I don't have words for "like it is", but I could write you a whole story about a girl who had a hard time speaking but once she began singing... actually, now that I think about, I did start writing such a story, I should keep working on that.

But sometimes, when I don't want to connect with the "like it is", I escape to dreaming. And sometimes the dreaming leads to imagining how things should be, how they could be, how they might be. The problem is- most of the time, I don't do this dreaming with God. The dreams I come up with, honestly they probably won't happen. But I spend my time thinking about them anyway. Essentially, I am telling God, "Yeah, Your idea for this story of my life is ok and all, but I think it would be better if it went like this..." I'm putting my own imagination above the Great Imaginarian that thought all of creation up in the first place.

At some point, I wake up from my dreams, and find that I don't really like myself for thinking them, but also find that story I'm supposed to be living is duller, less vivid and alive. That I'm less alive than I was a few years ago. When did that start happening? How do I get color and excitement and respect for my story back again?

The thing is, God already writes down each and every single one of my thoughts. My good ideas, my bad ones. My life-giving dreams, and the ones that, upon reflection, bring me disappointment and shame. He sees them all. If I really understood that, why am I just letting my imagination run wild?

If I started writing my thoughts down, being truly honest with myself of each and every one of them (that I honestly can remember), maybe it will change how I think throughout the day. Maybe I'll start daydreaming and suddenly think, I'll have to write this down tonight. Will I have the courage and strength to stop if I recognize that the current train of thought isn't one I'd want God to write down, or other people to read if I wrote it down? Some of my dreams are nice ones, seemingly innocent little day-dreams that are pleasant to imagine after a long day. But imagining I'm Cinderella for an hour before I fall asleep doesn't actually make my Prince show up at the door; instead it makes me bitter and filled with self-pity when I look at my less-than-romantic life and ask God, "Where is he, already?!" (As if God would send me my Prince, or anything else I demanded, in any other time-frame than His own.) I don't want that, that's not who I am, and it's not how I'm meant to live life.

If I start keeping myself accountable to what I am thinking, maybe I'll be able to recognize the things I allow into my thoughts, say "NO" to the ones that lead me to prideful despair, and instead catch Jesus' eye and say "What are You thinking about right now?" I know from experience that this is a way better way to think through life...why did I stop?

"Wunderkind" by Alanis Morissette

(A song written (I think) about Lucy in the recent movie "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe", but I can't help feeling it fits me too...)
Oh, perilous place walk backwards toward youBlink disbelieving eyes chilled to the boneMost visibly brave, no apprehended bloomFirst to take this foot to virgin snow

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wondermentI am a wunderkind, ohI live the envelope pushed far enough to believe thisI am a princess on the way to my throneDestined to serve, destined to roam

Oh, ominous place, spellbound and un-childproofedMy least favorite chill to bear aloneCompatriots in place they’d cringe if I told youOur best back pocket secret, our bond full blown

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wondermentI am a wunderkind, ohI am a pioneer naive enough to believe thisI am a princess on the way to my throneDestined to seek, destined to know

Most beautiful placeReborn and blown off roofMy view about face weatherGreat will be done

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wondermentI am a wunderkind, ohI am a ground breaker naive enough to believe thisI am a princess on the way to my throne

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wondermentI am a wunderkind, ohI am a Joan of Arc and smart enough to believe thisI am a princess on the way to my throneDestined to reign, destined to roam

Wanderlust

I was sadly reminded today that I love adventure. Why "sadly," you ask? Because I haven't gone on an adventure in a long time. If I didn't have to worry about money, I honestly wouldn't be here anymore. If I didn't have to worry about the stigmata (and the genuine danger) of a single young woman traveling alone, I definitely wouldn't be here any more!

I want to backpack across Europe. Not because it's the cool thing to do, but because I love Europe, and what better way to get to know it than sleeping rough, learning a new language while you milk a random farmer's cow in payment for sleeping in his barn and eating breakfast with his family, walking to the next country using only the sun and stars as your compass.

I want to go to New Zealand for a while. Just to be able to cry at the sheer beauty of it. To be able to experience the culture(s) of people who live completely on the other side of the world from me, and to realize how big my world really is.

I want to live in the UK. I've been saying that for so many years, and it breaks my heart a little bit more each time I realize how long it's been since I visited, and how much longer it's been since I lived there (seven years, SEVEN! And only one trip back...did you hear that? That was another piece of my heart crying). I don't care where I move: Wales, Ireland, England, Scotland. It changes each year; currently Scotland is again at the top of the list. "But it rains all the time over there, and you can't understand a word they say, and they eat sheep guts for crying out loud!" I don't care. All it took was one road trip through the southern-most portion up to Edinburgh and I was in love. (We actually passed by a castle-esk mansion on the way back, and once it was pointed out to me, I semi-jokingly cried out the window, "Marry me?!" Semi-jokingly. If any of you happen to know a strapping young Scotsman looking for a lass...). I want to study history and archaeology at Oxford (for free). I want to hike from the mouth of the Thames to where it merely trickles out of the ground. I want to spend a night out on the lonely moors listening to the wind, just to see if the ghostly tales are true. I want to be an itinerant librarian for a whole farming community (they do it in South America, why not the hills of Ireland?)

But where am I? Just here. I'm getting tired of being asked, "What's new with you?" and having nothing to reply with other than, "Just work, and church, and hanging out with friends and family." All very nice. And to be honest, all very much what I am called to be doing right now. But I want to GO, to SEE, to EXPERIENCE, to BE. It's so hard to do on a limited salary. Some part of me keeps saying, "Sara, if you just put so much aside each month." But honestly, I don't know that I would have what I'd need had I started doing that 10 years ago. Things keep coming up, like my old car nearly dying on me several hundreds of dollars worth at a time, or buying a truck because I was afraid the car was going to fall apart on the highway, or chiropractic appointments to get my scoliosis straightened out (which it almost has, Praise the Lord!). Then there's the little things, like eating, having internet to write these blogs and watch Doctor Who episodes, putting gas in that extremely thirsty little truck.

My heart keeps asking God, "When?!" But honestly, my mind never listens to hear if there's an answer. Because in my mind, it's just all too hard. I don't have the money; I don't have a job over there; I don't want to leave my job here; I can't go just for a month because I can't leave my job for that long; I'm a single young woman who can't go by herself, it's not safe. But my biggest is hold-back is that I'm really afraid God will answer my "When" and say, "Never." I'm afraid that all I got were those 9 months and 1 week back seven and four years ago. And I'm afraid to actually leave. I love my church, I love my family, I love my job. And I really, really don't like change.

But there's a part of me that is so longing to just go....