Going Greek

I’m not someone that is particularly fond of admitting that I was wrong about something, so let’s go ahead and appreciate that this entire post is a revelation within itself. But while we are here I will go ahead and say it, I was wrong. Incredibly wrong. And thank goodness I discovered this before I let one of the greatest opportunities of my lifetime pass me by.

I was raised in a fairly conservative family full of aunts and uncles that for the most part went one of two places, Freed Hardeman or Auburn. My father’s two sisters both attended FHU, a smaller Christian college in Henderson, Tennessee and there were certainly no Greek organizations available to them there. My uncle and aunt on my mother’s side both went to Auburn but both my mother and my aunt were in band so they were immediately thrust into a group and had little time for themselves with the hectic schedule of an Auburn band member. My father transferred from Freed after completing two years there and entered the engineering program at Auburn which also left little time for a social life. Not only that, both of my parents had a wonderful Christian Student Center that they were blessed to be a part of. It was run by a brilliant and Christ focused man and wife that did everything in their power to keep their church functioning like a family. So needless to say, sororities and fraternities were not really things I was exposed to in life. Growing up I basically accepted all cliché and stereotypical assumptions of what “Greek life” really was. My view of sororities was based on the interpretation I developed from Legally Blonde and as far as frats I was under the impression that they were exactly what you saw on any public television show which in a brief summary consisted only of minor criminal acts and drunken evenings.

 When I came to Troy University as a freshman, I was broken. I had just lost my sister and I entered school with blinders on. I wasn’t open to anyone or anything, I was purely trying to survive my grief, and furthermore the idea of calling anyone a “sister” was acutely painful, so I completely ignored all encouragements to Rush and absolutely refused to expose myself to anyone in the Greek community. I am ashamed to say that over the past few years of my life I have developed a life view of intolerance. But not your conventional kind. I have seen a lot of things. I have had a very unique set of life experiences that have separated me from many of my friends. And because of the suffering I have witnessed and the people I have had the opportunity of serving that have stolen my heart, I developed this reverse racism towards the people around me. Throughout my first two years of college I began discriminating against middle to upper class white people. I was almost disgusted by them. I looked around campus at all the people in nice clothes with meal plans and paid for housing and hated them just for having things because of my compassions towards those that didn’t. I became close minded and hardened my heart towards people that had just as much of a soul as anyone else, just because they weren’t suffering outwardly. How awful of me. I had become exactly what I didn’t want to be, just by being more understanding towards one group of people than another. It’s great that I can walk into project housing and not be frightened and it’s awesome that I can speak to a homeless person without turning my nose, but it is just as sinful for me to develop preconceived notions about other children of God on this campus.

This summer God slapped me in the face. And I couldn’t be more grateful. In the spring semester of 2014 I came to the realization that I couldn’t financially afford another summer of mission work and I was devastated. I had also realized that I was a couple of hours behind in my classification as a junior and since graduating late is not an option, I needed to take at least three summer classes. So the decision was made for me to remain in Troy this summer and work as a waitress to save money and take the classes that were required. And let me tell you I could not have been more bitter about it. Not only is Troy downright suffocating in regards to its size, there was no one here and I was in school while my friends were doing wonderful things with their summer and I was a brat about it. I started work at the restaurant with the intentions of making money, not worrying about friends, and going home at the end of the night to continue pouting about how awful my summer was. That’s when a few lovely people entered my life like a whirlwind and turned it upside down. As the summer continued I was exposed to two of the first Greek people I had ever been around and they became my best friends. I was shocked to discover that they were nothing like I had expected them to be, and as I continued to be around them and meet their friends I realized that they were just people. They ordered water with their meals, not pitchers of beer. And we watched movies at their house, not crazy parties. They took me as I was, and they didn’t ask me to change. Throughout the summer my friend continued to encourage me to Rush, but I was still so unsure. I was going to be a junior, who pledges at 21? And what if no one liked me? And what would my parents think? She was more than patient and insisted that I do what was best for me, but that I needed to decide that for myself, not based on anyone else. I came to the conclusion that it has been a long time since I felt at home. I have been at Troy for two years and never found a place that fit. What’s more, it has been a long time since I have done something for myself. And I wanted this. I wanted to feel loved and encouraged by a group of people. I wanted to let my hair down a little and enjoy being a kid while I still had the chance. And most dear to my heart, I wanted sisters. So I did it.

I have always been scared to call anyone a sister. I had a sister. And she was the most perfect and wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. Anytime she is forgotten or I feel as though she has been replaced it pains me. No one will be the sister to me that she was. But I can love like she did. I can be the sister she was to each of these ladies that will soon become mine, and when I ache for her I know they will replenish me with the love she can no longer offer. My sister loved big so it will take a small army to assist her. I miss my Bailey, and if she could be here I would choose her over any sister in the world. But I know her, and I know that if this is an opportunity for to feel loved and supported, and if there could be someone to care for me like she used to, she would want that for me.

The other day I was at a house getting ready for semi-formal (a frivolous event I never would have believed I would have been a part of, but alas) and as we were sitting there experimenting with makeup colors and burning our fingers on curling irons, Bailey came up. I don’t remember why or how but I sat there with these girls and felt completely comfortable pouring my heart out about her. And it was so comforting getting to talk about her, and share stories about this conqueror for Christ and have them fall in love with her just as much as everyone else does. And I was so thankful for that. But what shocked me even more was what followed. As we sat there, each girl began sharing their own story of loss. A best friend, a grandfather, a cousin. And this is when God molded my heart. I sat there in stunned realization that all of my assumptions about these women that I had developed over the years, were completely wrong. Just because they were beautiful and took cute pictures and went to fun events and associated themselves with letters, their lives weren’t perfect. They can’t escape that reality of living any more than I could. At the end of the day, life is a challenge for anyone that is a part of it. And no one is exempt from the harshness of pain or struggle. Everyone is battling something, everyone has personal obstacles, and no one’s is bigger or smaller than mine. As I sat there listening to the honesty of their convictions and their desires for their future and the lessons from their heartaches I knew I was where I belonged. So I am sorry. For spending too much time judging what I didn’t know. And thank you. Thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for taking me as I am. Thank you for already loving me more than I knew was possible. Thank you for encouraging me to be my best self. Thank you for being willing to be my sister. And most of all, thank you for bringing me home.

2 years

The way I see it you can look at God one of two ways. You can choose to believe that God is within every single moment of every single day. That His hand is a part of each decision whether large or small. That every action is divinely created. If you get stuck in traffic God had specifically designed this event giving you some sort of opportunity. Everyone you meet has a very specific intention for your life. Every pause, every thought, every inkling- is God. Or you can choose to believe that God is all powerful and He set the world into motion and certainly has the power to intervene, but has chosen not to. He instead allows things to happen the way they are going to and He sits back and essentially knows the outcome but doesn’t encourage or prevent any particular decisions. I’m not sure at this stage in my life which I believe. I think it is sometimes different for everyone. I don’t believe it is necessarily crucial to have this defined. But it does create two very opposite world views that leave little room for wavering. Once you have committed to believing one, they can’t bleed into one another. And you have to adopt the entire concept to your entire life. So I can believe that Bailey was created, to die. That every second of every day was preparing her for this tragic death. That every thought we every had pertaining to her was supposed to be some sort of clue of her early departure. That every moment of that night, set the timing perfectly for that wreck to happen at that place, and that time. Or I can choose to believe that there wasn’t necessarily a set plan. Life happens the way it does and sometimes it consists of terrible things that are in no way fair. But God is above it, watching and aware, but not interfering. And frankly I don’t know which one makes me feel better. Part of me would prefer that have been her purpose. That she had this “mission” almost. God created and designed this perfect girl for this life that would teach us so much, and that was the deal all along. And part of me would much rather believe that God didn’t arrange this entire thing. That He allows life to happen because it has to, but he didn’t sacrifice her for some Divine message we were supposed to grasp. I will never claim to be wise or act like I in any way have this figured out. I don’t understand how death selects. I have more trouble understanding why I have made it this long and she has not. I put myself in far more dangerous situations and I am far less impressive. I often feel very inadequate and I wonder why God gave me this testimony. I am sure that Bailey could have done far more with it and that she would have had much more success in this life than I, so it astounds me that God chose to leave me here with a message that I could potentially completely ruin.
I think the first year I was so frantic to find a meaning. I was desperate to find the end result. I didn’t question God or the action, but I needed to understand the purpose of it all. I needed to discover my “job”. What was I supposed to do with this new life? Because that is honestly how it felt. My entire worldview was changed in three minutes. It took one event with an astounding message of clarity to completely altar how I looked at life, and Christ, and humanity. And when you are faced with that revelation, what do you do? Where do you go from there? So I spent a year trying to figure out what Bailey’s death was supposed to mean for me, and my life. I was convinced I was supposed to do something in her name, and spend my life respecting her in some way. That my new life was to be centered around her. But two years removed with a little more clarity and my decision making not so clouded with emotion, I don’t think that was what Bailey’s death was supposed to teach me at all. Bailey didn’t expect me to change God’s plan for my life, because she wasn’t here to live her own anymore. God designed each of us with very separate paths and very separate missions and testimonies. He never expected me to pick up Bailey’s life and continue it for her. He knew that I would lose Bailey, and He knew that would affect me profoundly and for eternity. It changed me in more ways that I can count. But it was meant to mold me, for MY mission, not for hers. Some people ask me if they think Bailey would be proud of me for going to Houston or starting Impact Troy or whatever else. Or they insist that she is looking down on it all and is more than pleased with me. And that may be true. But frankly, Bailey would be delighted in whatever I chose to do with my life. She was my biggest fan. And whether I was studying to become a biologist or an English teacher, as long as Christ was the center of my life she would be more than excited for me. I don’t have to make any radical life decisions because she died to please her. With that being said, I do believe God has called me to do certain things that may not be ‘normal’ and I am more than looking forward to fulfilling those duties. But I think one of the best things I did for myself this year was remove that burden of responsibility that had convinced me I had to “do” something with her death. I hope my blogs are helpful. I hope my writing is able to touch people in ways that I can’t explain. I hope that I am the vessel Christ has called me to be. But I also feel content if they aren’t. Bailey dying wasn’t some “lesson” for our family or an opportunity for us to lead or show people how to grieve. I don’t believe that’s how God works. He didn’t “choose” us because He believed we were strong enough to handle it. Tragic things happen. That’s life. It’s why He created Heaven as our actual home and made it so much greater than anything we could imagine. If this place was so wonderful we wouldn’t want to leave. An awful thing happened to our family, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Ever. But it just happened. There’s no moral to the story here, no big finale. We may never understand the purpose and there may never be a defining theme. So you just pick up the pieces. You try to live each day the best you can. God makes good out of bad because that’s who He is and good is all He can produce. But there is no reason. There is no selection. It just, is. And that might be there hardest part of death or sickness or tragedy, to grasp. That at the end of the day there is no rhyme or reason to any of it. It is just this world. So having made this revelation over the course of this year, this is what I propose.
We make it through.
That’s it. We figure out how to navigate this thing called life because all we have to do is make it to the finish line and we have won. We surround ourselves with people that love us. We find our kindred Christian spirits. We pick up as many souls as possible on the way. We light our communities, and cities, and country, and the world with hope of what life could hold. But we remember at the end of the day that if someone dies, or we never get married, or we can’t have children, or we get cancer, or something awful and terrible happens to us that we could never believe would be God’s plan for our life- We just have to make it through. I believe in a place called Heaven. I believe that it will be miraculous and beyond my wildest dreams. I believe without a doubt that it will be so much more than what we are among now. If anything, losing Bay has caused me to focus more on my destination than ever before. I covet my Heavenly home.
So with the tradition of the anniversary of December 2^nd, here is my letter to Heaven.

Dear Bailey,

It is absolutely impossible for me to believe that you have been gone for two years. At times it feels like such a short amount and at others it feels as though we have been forced to live without you for much longer than that. I still remember the 2^nd like it was yesterday, and sometimes that haunts me. I remember every heart wrenching moment from seeing you for the last time, to lowering you in the ground. They are painful memories, and I avoid them, but they are acute and looming especially this time of year. The calendar makes me nauseous. But it is important for you to understand that I don’t feel this way every day. Mostly when I think of you it is fond and warm and comforting. It’s just these few days that are tough. I want to share with you instead what I have learned this year. It has been a long one, full of missing you. There is not a day that goes by that something doesn’t happen that I wish I could tell you. You know what I think I miss the most about you? I miss your companionship obviously and the friendship we shared. But I really miss being a big sister to you. I miss having someone to learn from my mistakes or even triumphs. Life seems so much more worthwhile when you can pass something along. So I am going to be your big sister today. Play along, I need this. Here is what I learned in 2013. First of all, Disney is perfect and if you ever get the chance to do the college program you totally should. I don’t know what you want to major in so it may not work with your schedule, but if you can fit it in, do it. Partly because you would love it and partly because I could visit you and get in for free. Two, love is a confusing and terrifying and beautiful and sometimes disappointing thing. And because it is such a complex emotion it is mostly just scary. But even if it could hurt, I don’t want you to ever miss out on the chance to experience it. It is the energy of this world, the vibrancy of this life. And even when it doesn’t work out, one day you will look back and be glad you felt it at all. Also, never take any situation for granted. Even if you can’t understand why something didn’t work out the way you envisioned it, there is always a lesson to be learned. You may not ever understand what the specific lesson is, but take every situation in stride. Be aware and honest of all the actions that went into it, both yours and others. Remember the definition of insanity. Thirdly, listening to God is hard. And frankly you will never know if you are doing it right. There will be time you are absolutely certain God was pointing you a certain direction and then you realize halfway there that was in no way the plan. That’s okay, it happens. Just turn around and pray on the way back so that maybe you get a clearer picture and can guess right the next time. God commends those that are actively trying to listen, even if we don’t always hear correctly. Four, don’t make decisions based on other people. Ever. Your life is between you and God. And sometimes that’s hard. There may be times that even your family doesn’t understand or agree with God’s calling for your life. But at the end of the day these are your earthly friends and earthly family and the only person you have to answer to is your Heavenly father. He determines a much larger fate for you than anyone down here. Five, don’t be afraid to go against the status quo. God may call you to do something different. It may be something He hasn’t called anyone else around you to do. But you have to commit to that. As the body of Christ, we HAVE to have people that are faithful enough to do something radical if God asks it of them. Fear is a tool of the devil. And sixth, if you are lucky enough to love someone as much as I love you, tell them every day. Tell everyone around you exactly how you feel. Because this life is too short for shame. There is no embarrassment in being brave enough to admit love. Love everyone. Dangerously and compassionately with your whole being. Even when it is not returned, there is no regretting love. It is perfect. God created it. Show it and express it every day, in every way, to everyone.
I miss being your sister. I miss having you as my best friend. I miss you every second of every day.
But I love you so much more.
Thank you for being mine.

Your loving big sister,
Elise

The truth behind Disney.

I have heard it said that the second year of grieving is harder than the first. I was unsure how I felt about this until the second year has been upon me for eleven months now and I must say that I certainly agree. In year one everything is still foggy. Part of you is still in shock. You just brace yourself for each event, each “first”, and for the most part you are showered with love and encouragement because of how fresh the event is. People remember. Year two is when things get serious. It begins to dawn on you that this is permanent. There is an unsettling reality you discover that leaves you feeling nothing less than empty. You are no longer trying to make it through the next moment, you are suddenly overwhelmed with the fact that this aching will continue, forever. You will go on every single day for the rest of your life, just missing someone. Longing for them to be with you in a way they will never be capable of again. And that is exhausting. It is absolutely draining to miss someone all the time. For a while I believe I just trained myself to be without her. I had certainly been without people before. I was never a homebody so I had spent many weeks away from home, and this never bothered me. I wasn’t one to call and check in, I’d see my parents when I got around to it. So I assumed that missing Bailey would be the same. I would come to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t see her, and that was that. But I never prepared myself for the fact that I was going to have to MISS her. To really want for her to be here, when she can’t be. I have crossed over into this state of not knowing if I am grieving the person she was, and missing the sister I had, or grieving the person she could have been, and the relationship we were going to enjoy. One day I miss her the way she was, and the next day I am imagining what life would have looked like with her in it. There are days when I spend every other hour listening to her recorded voicemail on my phone so I can hear her voice again, and really commit it to memory. And there are other days that I spend my time daydreaming about what she would sound like now, and what color her hair would be. What colleges would she be looking at? Would she come stay in my house with me in Troy? Everything that happens, big or small, I wonder how different it would be if she were around. This past week I visited Disney for a day. I know, a day, but I was in desperate withdrawal and needed a quick fix and that’s all that was possible on my college budget. Now I will in no way tell you I am not obsessed with Disney, because I am. I love the man, I love the company, I love the place, I believe in it all. I adore Disney. But what most people don’t understand about my love for Disney is that is actually a little more deep than meets the eye. I’ll explain.
I hate going home. There, I admit it. I hate visiting Decatur. And that sounds awful, and I feel terrible, but it’s true. I never got to” get over” Bailey not being there. When Bailey passed I literally had three weeks in my hometown before I moved away for college. And three weeks in grief’s time, is no time. In those three weeks I was certainly showered with love and prayers and endless support, but then I left. I left home, I left safe, I left known, and I was on my own. Completely and utterly alone. In a place that Bailey had never been. Nor had I really for that matter. No one knew me and no one knew her, and I had to navigate her death through all of that? With that being said, I had tons of cards and calls and support from home, but physically I was alone. And it was difficult. Now during this time everyone was back in Decatur moving on with their lives. They were discovering how to move about in this “new normal.” But I never had that. I never learned how to live in our home without her. I never learned how to walk into Beltline and not see her casket in my mind. I never learned how to drive by Austin and not picture her friend’s devastations. I never learned how to look at my brother’s and not see them in tiny suits for their first funeral. I never learned how to make pleasant memories in Decatur. The last things I have there hold nothing but pain and sorrow, and death. At home, I share a hall with someone that is no longer alive. I share a bathroom with someone I will never see again. And I don’t understand that. I can’t process the severity of that. At this point in my life, Decatur is a place filled with lovely and wonderful people, and my family that I love, but mostly it’s just the place that my sister and best friend, died. And that’s that.
And Troy is a place that Bailey never was.
But then there is Disney. And as absolutely insane as this thought process might seem, Bailey didn’t die in Disney.
So Decatur is where she is supposed to be, and Troy is where she never was, but Disney is where she never ceased to be.
Stay with me. I cannot recount to you all of the wonderful memories our family has in Disney. I can’t remember a time we weren’t begging our parents to go back. From the time Bay and I were tiny, to the time little Carter came around, we adored the place. We walked into those parks together, happy as we could be, sharing in one another’s delight moment by moment. We rode the rollercoasters for Dad and went to every single show and parade for me. Someone endured the Teacups with Bailey each year and Dumbo was ridden in rounds. We posed for as many pictures as Mother could possibly snap and as the boys came around we readjusted to Jedi training and Star Wars rides. It’s so easy to believe in magic when you are in Disney, to dream of an alternate reality where everything is going your way. So when I am in Disney, mesmerized by pixie dust, I also feel surrounded by Bailey’s spirit. She’s not a vacancy. She is in every store and on every street corner. I can turn down Main Street and watched her skip towards the castle. I can ride the rapids in Animal Kingdom and hear her laughter. I can endure Mission Space in Epcot to remember her scream. And I can drag her with me to Beauty and the Beast in Hollywood Studios and hear her grumble. And most importantly, I can cry to Wishes and feel her beside me, tears sliding down just as shamelessly.
I have always had this really strange fear of someday falling in love with someone that didn’t know her. She is such a large part of me I cannot imagine sharing my life with someone who doesn’t know who she is. How can they fully understand me if they can’t understand that part of my life? But I do know that if that time comes, and I need someone to understand who Bailey is, not who she was, or could have been, but who she still exists to be, I will take them to the Happiest Place on Earth. We will remember her together in the most magical place.
In her Neverland, where she will never ever have to grow up.

Prepare, don't plan.

College is particularly talented at making you acutely aware of your relationship status. I’m fairly certain that universities were actually created as a social experiment and served as the world’s first dating event, roughly the equivalent of speed and online dating now. In college you are literally packed into a town with similarly aged people with way too much free time and little to no serious responsibilities. And this makes room for all sorts of relationships to form. And while most also create lifelong friendships, the one thing you are truly most concerned about is finding is your spouse. And anyone that tells you this is not the case is quite frankly, lying. Now I am not insinuating that this is the only reason people go to college. If that were my case I would certainly be at a Christian school picking through all the missions majors. However, even if it is not the motivating factor in receiving a diploma, it is certainly in the back of everyone’s mind with each passing school year and birthday. I will admit that I really didn’t believe this would ever concern me, growing up. I have striven to avoid most social stigmas and when people told me I would eventually have baby fever and want a husband, I brushed this off as emotions I wouldn’t have to deal with. And rest assured that baby fever is nowhere near me. In fact, I have the opposite of that. Baby anti-fever. But as embarrassing as it is, I confess my worry in the husband area has become a bit of a nuisance. I in no way believe I am ready for that commitment, nor do I really want to be. I have no interest in being married at this particular point in my life. But there are times that I would like to know that it is somewhat a possibility for my life. That being said, if I am honest with myself, I am very content with where I am now. I have achieved a balance that I haven’t had in a long time. You see, before when I wasn’t in a relationship or didn’t have some guy to fill my time with some sort of attention, it made me nervous. I had to be looking for the next one. And it’s not that I would define myself with guys, because I don’t. In fact, usually I do the opposite. I become so concerned with that thought that I keep my relationship almost a step away from secret, so I will still seem independent. But if I didn’t have a guy on the sidelines or backstage to fill my time or boost my ego, I was panicked. Especially if I was ever truly hurt, the way I would assuage my heartbreak was by simply, replacing. But God intervened. And it has been a turning point for me. Not too long ago, I fell down the tree of heartbreak and hit every branch on the way down. And when I landed, I frantically looked around, trying desperately to find someone to fix those bruises. Someone, as in another boy, to distract me from what I felt was a devastating loss. But for the first time in a long time, there was no one there. And not only was there no one there, but my challenge was increased by me moving to Houston, where I knew absolutely no one. And let me tell you, there were slim pickin’s in Houston, my friends. So there I was, bruised and broken with no one but God, girl friends, and kiddos. And you know what? It was the best thing that has ever happen to me, post-boy troubles. I spent a summer allowing children to heal me. I created close and honest friendships and truly allowed people inside my normally, tightly-sealed walls. And I learned to truly rely on God as my ultimate Comforter. And after a full summer of contentment I was nervous about coming back to school and being surround by couples and difficult memories. But God has continued to provide comfort and strength and I have found a balance that doesn’t require a man. A balance within myself that in no way comes easily or naturally, but has certainly made me better. I am beyond confident that I am in no condition to be in any sort of a romantic relationship right now, and what’s more I am CONTENT with that. So with all of that being said, why would I in any way be worried about a husband if I don’t even want a boyfriend? And the answer to that is simple. I’m not worried about a husband. Right now. In fact, it doesn’t even cross my mind on most days. It’s when I think to the future, when I foolishly try to plan my own life, that I get concerned. I am certain that God has called me into missions. I know that I was designed and created to go into the mission field and I in no way intend to deny God in that aspect of my life. But how is that going to work? Ideally, I would find a man that would want to do missions alongside, but what if I fall in love with an engineer? Will he stay here and I will travel and we will have a makeshift military relationship? Will that make me a bad wife? I certainly desire to fulfill the idea of a Godly wife, but which is worse, not living up to God’s expectations of me as a spouse, or as a missionary? I legitimately wrestle with these thoughts. And after I do this for too long, I start to think, well the answer to this equation is really quite simple, you need to be alone. Alone. That is a terrifying word. And this is when I start to hyperventilate. I am usually pretty good at living in the moment. I don’t stress over things that are in years to come. I struggle to see the point in that. But college essentially, is all about preparing for your future. Professors remind you of that daily. And I am basically throwing myself into a sea of unknowns. I suppose we all are essentially, but apparently I have to go big or go home because I really have no clue what the plan is. This past week we were given an assignment to chart out our financial plan for the next 10 years of our lives. He told us to factor in your spouse’s pay as well, if you were married or in a committed relationship. So all my classmates went and researched their nice stable jobs and talked to their cute little boyfriends and figured out what their lives would look like. And out of the 22 person class literally 17 of them factored in a spouse pay because they were either already married or that confident in their relationship. So that left me in a group of 5 others uncertain about that part of their lives. And out of that 5, 4 of them had at least their own job to be confident in, with a very detailed 5 year plan and 401K. And what did I have? A big fat question mark. Over the entire thing. And truly, I am fine with that. I am more than excited to be the hands and feet of Christ. But when people continue to urge you to look into your future and all you see are uncertainties, it can start to concern you. So this lead me to a 4 hour prayer. Literally, 4 hours of me and God just talking it out. And I am really not very good at praying. It is certainly where I lack spiritually. But I was so overwhelmed and so desired to pour my heart out to God that I sat with Him and we talked, for 4 hours. I was more than surprised to look up and see that much time had passed. And in this prayer I spoke to Him about all of these things, but mostly about my husband. Whomever he is. And the Lord brought me to this conclusion. It is my responsibility as a Christian woman, to prepare for my husband. And so I will. I will pray for him, and think of him. I will not make decisions out of impatience for him. I want him to feel cherished and cared for, even before we met. I want him to know that I thought of him, in every decision and kept away from things that would not be productive towards our relationship. I want to be considerate, and think about how my actions today will affect his feelings in the future. I want to wait, because I truly believe the man God prepared for me is worth waiting for. But what I have come to realize in these past few weeks is that there is a difference in preparing, and planning. God expects me to prepare for my husband, not plan for him. As of now the only person that should have any influence in my life, is the Lord. The other day I was looking at a mission opportunity I’m interested in after I graduate. It is a full year mission and as I was sitting here, falling in love with the idea of this World Race, I stopped and consciously thought, “But what if I am engaged? Or married? Or in a committed relationship? I can’t leave him for a year.” ELISE, who is ‘him’? There is no ‘him’. I am limiting God’s plan for MY life and HIS work by continuing to put a figurative man into the equation. Here lies the problem. It is appropriate for me to ready myself spiritually for meeting my husband, but it is no way okay for me to make decisions for my own life based on someone I want to meet. And what’s more, I don’t think that is how God works. He isn’t going to just give me the man of my dreams because I denied Him. So throughout hours of prayer and thought this is what I continue to feel God say to me. Not right now. I have always heard that God gives three answers to prayer. Yes, no, or not right now. And I always hated the thought of, “not right now.” I’d rather just accept the facts, come to terms with the answer, and move on. But here I am, continuing to be reassured by a stupid “not right now”. But truly, it has created quite a peace within me. I really believe that if I devote my life to Christ as I am feeling Him call me to do, if I give Him these years of my life and dive into His work fearlessly, He will fulfill my needs and desires in His time. I feel God whisper, “Focus on me. Do my work. You are more useful to me by yourself right now. So forge ahead. Do as I am asking of you. I will fulfill your desires later.” And maybe this is foolish. Maybe this isn’t God’s voice. But I can’t help but feel very certain that this is a spoken truth in my life right now. So I am accepting it. And I am finding peace and contentment within the “not right now.” I know that if God is withholding it, it’s going to be something great. For now I will live in my balance and constantly remind myself to trust, and not fear. To live, and not worry. And to prepare, not plan.

I prefer the little people.

Part of me really loves college. Truly, I do. I thoroughly enjoy the late movies nights, campus ministry events, and occasional class of interest. And I am sure that I will appreciate my college education even more in later years if it helps me achieve a job with a paycheck that prevents me from living in a cardboard box on the corner of the street somewhere. But I want to know who thought it would be a good idea to cram young adults together on a campus from the ages of 18-24 and think that would in any way be a functional environment. And not only are the maturity levels of each individual differing colossally, let’s also throw in people from other countries so we can have further difficulty understanding one another, as if humans weren’t complex enough. Now don’t get me wrong, I adore diversity. In fact, one of my favorite things about Troy is the amount of international students I get to experience on a daily basis. But with all these factors working together the concept of college alone is absolute madness.  If you are fortunate, and among the vast majority, Americans are born into a fairly regular home environment. They have a mom and a dad and sometimes siblings and they are raised in a home. And in this home, you are taught a certain set of values and core beliefs, whether this is taught verbally or through actions and example. You form your first few ideas about life in this atmosphere, and it shapes your outlook on the rest of the human experience either purposefully or subconsciously. You continue growing and you spend more and more time away from your home in other settings that both test your original beliefs and help you form new ones. But at any given time in your pre-college life, there were always people surrounding you that believed close to exactly what you did, and were extremely supportive of the lifestyle that assimilated with their own. If you were an only child and had never understood the concept of sharing, you went to elementary school and a teacher helped you along the path of learning such a thing, and that became a staple rule for being a part of that classroom. Everyone around you supported and adopted the same set of rules. Or if you went to middle school and your teacher asked you to write a paper on evolution and you made the decision not to, you had your family at home that stood behind you because of their faith that was the same as yours. But in college you live with, sit next to, and eat by people with a completely different set of beliefs and values. You can literally walk into a room on your first day and end up sleeping in the same room as someone with an enormously opposite outlook on life. And at times, that can be very exciting. I can’t even begin to describe all the things I have learned from people because they have been so wonderfully different from me. But it can also be quite discouraging, and lonely, and can very quickly make you feel as though you have lost all sense of community. This will be my third semester in college and I have certainly found a home in my church here. I know that when I need to be surrounding by people with the same eternal goal as I, my place there is always waiting for me. But I also spend many evenings just frustrated with people around my age. If there is one thing I have learned by being in college, it is that I prefer the little people. The hardest thing for me about being a young adult in a college city is the lack of children. 18-24 year olds positively baffle me. Even more so than middle and high schoolers. Because at that age, we had an excuse. We were young, our brains weren’t fully developed, our hormones were crazy, it’s part of being that age, etc. Fine. But I look around me at halfway grown adults and cannot even fathom what the heck some of them are thinking half the time. Somehow some people have wandered around on this earth for more than 18 years and have yet to learn a thing. And I don’t mean the freshman that come to school not knowing how to do laundry (although that is fairly ridiculous in it’s own right). I mean, how did we make it this far in life and still not understand or know how to treat PEOPLE. It shouldn’t be a foreign concept at this point. Not only have we been surrounded by people our entire lives but we also spend most of our education talking about, people. And these people are either discussed because they treated people well, or they treated them poorly. Think about it. Some of the most famous men you studied in history. Martin Luther King Junior, treated people well. Adolf Hitler, treated people poorly. Jesus, treated people well. Joseph Stalin, treated people poorly. Abraham Lincoln, treated people well. Osama Bin Laden, treated people poorly. So not only do we have enough life experience ourselves, we also have written examples of how to treat people, and how not to. MLK teaches us to treat people equally, while Hitler shows how NOT to handle bitterness with a particular race. Jesus teaches us to treat people with love and kindness, while Stalin shows us how to be a murdering jerk. And Lincoln teaches us how to treat people with respect and show honesty, while Bin Laden shows us how to be a real coward. But after all of these things we STILL manage to mess this up on a daily basis. We cheat and we lie and we hurt people regularly. And we convince ourselves the things we do aren’t a big deal. I’m not putting anyone in a gas chamber, so lying to my friend isn’t that deep. But remind yourself of a time you were lied to, and be honest with how deep that hurt really goes. Anytime I sit down to talk to my friends here in Troy, 97% of their stress is not based on actual school or financial problems or health issues. Almost always their problems are rooted in people. Other people trying to survive this life just as we are that somehow can’t manage to treat each other with respect. I appreciate that golden rule of “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”, that’s certainly a valid point and something to be thought about. But let’s take a second. This verse, is found once in the Bible. That’s the only time they bother to bring it up. But in the King James Version of the Bible the word “love” is used 310 times. I certainly think that is a testament as to what our motives should be. Doing unto to others as you would have them do to you, comes from such a selfish place. It’s a good illustration, but it’s easy to confuse why we are acting the way we are. Is this so I don’t get bad Kharma, or do I truly care about how my actions are affecting others? But if we can grasp the concept of love, if we can embed that in our hearts and make that the sole motivation of our being, we could start of revolution. A revolution of people that cared. And it would be weird. People would notice. Because that is not our natural inclination. It’s not a part of human nature. But what if every action we made in a day, was made out of love?  We didn’t lie, because the thought of hurting someone else with false words would break our own hearts. We wouldn’t cheat, because we would love ourselves enough to do things correctly and courageously. There would be no sexual impurity, because we would care about our partner enough to guard his or her mind and soul. There would be arguments, because the need to be right would seem unimportant against the feelings of another person. I think that is why children are so easy. Love IS in their nature. It is as simple as breathing. They radiate purity and wholeness. Being around them heals me. They make me a better version of myself. And I miss that. But I am being called to a greater challenge right now. And that challenge is greater only because of my own flaws and shortcomings. I struggle to connect and understand college kids. And sometimes I get frustrated and want to shake them until they understand. But one of the most exciting things about being here, especially among our campus ministry, is watching people transform and seeing them “get it”, and being a part of a group of people that’s focus is above.  I am in no way doing this living thing perfectly. I know that I fail daily. But I also know that everything starts with a single step. So let’s start a movement of love.

Joy in the trials.

Sometimes, I like to throw myself a pity party. Mind you I try to keep these parties to a minimum, and I tend to only invite a few people, but occasionally I find myself sitting on the floor of somewhere crying over my really not-so-rotten life to some poor soul that is stuck listening to me because they were foolish enough to offer. This person usually ends up being my dad, and because we no longer live within the same house, it’s usually over the phone so he has really no way of escaping. Poor guy. To defend myself, I’m being dramatic. It is very rare that I allow myself to do this. But sometimes, especially as a female, you need to sob and ramble on about every terrible thing that has happened to you over the past five years. Or longer if it’s a real good come apart. So the other day one of these scarce break downs happened upon me and I found myself on the phone with my daddy telling him all about how much I was hurting and how awful it was and after consoling me on the situation for a while my dad finally said, “Well, just another learning experience out of the way.” I of course responded with, “But dad, I’m TIRED of learning experiences..” because I wasn’t quite done feeling sorry for myself, but distance from the conversation, and some healing time, has allowed me to look at that statement and find it to be comforting and even slightly, joyful. How selfish of me not to yearn for “learning experiences”!! Because even during the terrible, awful, no good, very bad ones, you grow. And growth is a beautiful thing. I believe losing Bailey was absolutely essential for my adulthood. That statement in and of itself sounds terrible, but it’s something I am truly convicted in. God used that to prepare me. He taught me things in that horrifying experience that have made my life today, functional. For example, I used to absolutely stink at accepting any form of help. And asking for it? Simply out of the question. When I was dealing with things I wanted to be left alone. I wanted to crawl into my little corner of the universe, take an hour or two to deal with it, and then come out, and move on. And I wanted the whole world to move on with me and not pester me about it. If I said I was fine, I was fine. And for anyone to come in and pet on me or attempt to comfort me or offer me anything of any kind, was offensive to me. I don’t need your help, I didn’t ask for your help, I am not your project, good bye. But when you have a congregation of roughly 750 members all doing their best to give you what you need in EVERY possible form, you learn (QUICKLY) how to graciously accept their advances. I also used to be terrible about acting like things didn’t happen. Especially in any sort of romantic situation. If there was a break up I pretended that person had died. Completely disintegrated into the earth, gone to all those that knew him. And I never dealt with any of my emotions. I just convinced myself and others that I was okay, simply by acting like I was. And then God showed me I couldn’t handle everything in life that way. Then I used to have a really bad habit of feeling as if I always had to look like I had everything put together. That is one I struggle with to this day. I have this ridiculous need to have my perpetual game face on. I must look strong and never weak, because the weak get taken advantage of and the strong are respected. But I have learned there is something beautiful about a humble heart and a broken spirit. And recently, I have adopted a method of self-preservation that has opened my eyes to a completely new world. I don’t always have to do what makes me look confident or like I have it all figured out. I don’t have to win the “who is most over this situation game.”  I am at peace with stepping away from that fight and doing what’s best for me, even if that makes some question my inner strength. Sometimes you have to find your own peace, and be okay if it’s not how everyone else seeks it.  I’ve always laughed at the verse in Romans that says we should rejoice in our sufferings, because it produces endurance. It’s one of those verses that I look up and God and think, “Come on, you’re a smart guy, you can’t actually think we were going to be able to do this, right?” And I can’t say that I have done any rejoicing lately over the fact that Bailey isn’t here. But I will say I have come to a place where I can find joy in her memory, and peace in her death. Contentment in missing her, and confidence that this is exactly how it was supposed to be. I don’t enjoy life’s “learning experiences”. I think it is safe to say that nobody does. But God, my Almighty Father, Creator, and the Great I Am holds me in His righteous hand. And through all the things He has pulled me through, I am confident that He will not fail me today, or tomorrow, or the day after that, or any day to come. And that faith will always bring me the comfort and peace that I need.

Content

I am naturally a happy person. It is not hard for me to find joy in everyday life. I don’t require anything extravagant, the simple fact that I am breathing is enough to make me smile. And for the most part, it’s hard to take that away from me. I have worked on learning not to let others dictate my outlook on a single second, for every second I allow myself to be bitter because of someone else’s actions, I give them the control of my own. Happy is not an issue. My biggest struggle as a human being, is contentment. Many people would believe that those are one in the same, but I believe that they are incredibly different and frankly contentment is a far more difficult state to reach than happiness. The word happy is defined as “delighted, pleased, or glad over a particular thing.” It is impossible for anyone actively involved in the human experience to not have had a moment of happiness. Happiness is not contingent on circumstances, it is simply a feeling created by a particular thing regardless of its surroundings. And because “happy” is a reaction, it can change just as quickly. You can have a moment happiness, but contentment is an actual state of mind. Content is defined as “being satisfied, an eased mind.” Now that’s tough. The past year and a half of my life has been one big decision after another. Do you go to college right after Bay dies, or do you wait? Do you go to Houston, or do you stay? Do you take the Disney internship, or go to school? Do you go back to Troy, or try somewhere different? And each decision has thrown me into completely different cities with completely different people and completely different plans. As difficult as that could be at times, I love change. I feel that if I am always moving, I am always growing. I am terrified of becoming complacent. I never want to become too comfortable, if I am always searching I will always discover, and with discovery comes continued awestruck wonder in my God. But here I am, at 19, and I’m stuck. Confined by superficial expectations and social stigma, going to a four year college to get a degree in “who knows what” to do “who knows what” with my life. And the frustrating part is, I KNOW what this is life is about. I understand and believe with no doubt that the only thing my heart and soul should yearn for is my Lord and Savior. I get that His spirit is my breath and life and all I want to do is praise Him and spend my life encouraging His followers and worshipping Him for all of His greatness. All I want to do from the time I wake to the time I rest is SERVE HIM. But I have to have a degree? I need a resume? And beyond that, this life requires money? And I have to find a way to make money, so that I can pay money, to serve? How incredibly frustrating! So I cry out to God, “I want to be sent, I want to GO, I am ready to go and be that disciple!” But God says, “Wait.” And I respond, “I am tired of waiting!” But God replies, “Be patient.” And I reason with God saying, “You have given me a spirit that is willing to move. I have the heart of a nomad, and I have learned all I can here, send me.” But God says, “Find peace, and be content.” I tend to wander. And when I go on these wandering quests I will walk, sometimes for hours, with these thoughts wrestling themselves in my mind. And lately I have focused these thoughts into prayers and my prayers have become centered around the sole idea of contentment, and what that could mean for my life. I can’t name a time in my life that I can honestly say I was content. I am never satisfied. I am always looking for the next thing and sometimes in spite of my drive and determination, I get ahead of myself and neglect the things that could be worked on now to look into the future on what can come next. My Father knows this. He knit me inside my mother’s womb. He created in me a spirit of fearlessness but allowed Satan to plant the seed of discomfort. And there comes a point when you must put aside your strength, in order to address your weakness. I may not be a huge fan of education, and I may not see that point in it at all. I may be ready to know what my life will look like. But right now, God is calling me to be content. To find ways to grow where He has placed me, rather than look for the next place I can go. To excel in the little things, until He has something bigger set up for me. To allow myself to be satisfied in His spirit, and let the rest fall into place. To ease my mind and shut out the doubts whispered by Satan, and be confident in the person I am being right now, whether I feel I am being extraordinary or not. Extraordinary people are not created by searching for ways to become great, they are found in the moments that greatness was required and they were brave enough to stand. My sister had a way of pouring herself into everything she did. I have a terrible habit on focusing on one thing and being completely perfect in that, but allowing everything else to fall to the side. Not Bailey. She found a way to achieve a balance and because of that, showed Christ in all aspects of her life. So my focus for this semester is just that. Aside from working on my patience, I am praying that I find contentment. And in finding contentment I achieve a balance. A balance that allows me to throw myself into everything I do full force with the simple motivation of showing Christ through it, so that all I do reflects my love and dedication to Him. Only bad part of having Bay around as such a great example is she made it look so easy. Hard to live up to that stinker, but I don’t mind living every day trying.

All I can say.

Dear Bailey,

At three years old, I was granted the greatest role of my entire life. At the time I was unaware of its implications and the true severity of this honor God had given me, but nonetheless I became the older sister of a blonde haired, green eyed little girl. You came into my life quietly, and remained that way most of the time. You were sweet, and passive, and happy to do whatever I wanted. And you did. We would play tea party for hours, but only if I got to pour the tea. We could play pretend for days, but I had to assign the parts. And you normally ended up as a tree or the male. Yet after all this abuse you still found a way to absolutely adore me and rarely had any problems with any of my stipulations. Maybe you didn’t know better. Maybe I was intimidating or convincing. Or maybe you just understood that loving me, was more important than beating me. But those things were small. No harm done there. We were children. We lived in light and danced in happiness. But things changed. Teenage years came around and the light turned to dark and confusion was the only thing dancing and I became a person you didn’t recognize. A person you couldn’t possibly have been proud of. A person you were ridiculed to even be associated with. But with a strength I will never understand, you managed to love me through it. You could spend a day at school filled with people trashing my name and telling you dreadful things about me, but you could still come home and lay on my bed, and ask me about MY day. You believed in me, when very little had the ability to do so. And then I came back. The light wins, victory is ours and we are reunited again. For a little while. But then someone needed you more. For whatever reason you were called away from this earth and for the first time in our lives, we were separated. But I persevered. And here we are a year later and the light is still prevailing. And when I think of these things, I can’t help but feel like I have heard a form of this story before. There seemed to be another man that loved those that didn’t deserve his love. A man that was ridiculed for his seemingly immoral company. A man that believed in those that no one else could. A man that was taken from this earth to serve his higher purpose elsewhere. And it completely baffles me that my entire life I looked for Jesus. I looked for a living breathing person that I could see Jesus in. And as I was searching, God continued to throw the answer in my face. I asked you to move over so I could see past you and continue looking for this outstanding example. But you were right there. YOU were what God was trying to show me.
There are no words for this day. There is no way to form thoughts around the dread and anxiety that comes with this date. You my dear, may never understand the tremendous impact you had on this earth. Even if I were able to tell you, you would not believe me. Sometimes we play the “if it had been me” game, but I have found such comfort in knowing that God planned this perfectly. Your voice, even in death, is so much louder than mine. And I tried my entire life to be loud. But that wasn’t the point, was it? Because while I was putting on a show and trying to PROVE who I was, you were just quietly living it out. And that’s what made the difference. You didn’t need a stage or a flashy song, you were happy to humbly serve your God in your way. And that’s the real lesson here. The loudest voice, the moving leaders, and the most effective examples are quite simply, the sincere.  The Christians that are willing to live out their lives humbly, and possibly without any credit at all.
You need to know that I am fine. In fact, I am the lucky one. I got a chance to spend 15 years of my life with the greatest person this world has seen in a long time, and I even had the honor of calling her my sister and my best friend. I know I will always miss you. And this will hurt in years to come. I will want you at my wedding, and that is not possible. I will want you to be an aunt to my children, but that cannot happen. I will need you when our parents die, but you cannot be here. I will want you to grow old with me, but that is also out of reach. And I wont lie to you and tell you I wont cry. There will be days that I am angry, and days that I am happy. Sometimes I might be bitter, and others I might be positive. There will be days that I triumph in every way, and there will also be days that I sit in the bottom of the shower and bawl. But that’s okay. I count it all as gain. I am so thankful that the Lord gave me someone that was this hard to lose. This kind of love doesn’t always happen, and I cant imagine a life where this didn’t hurt as much as it does! Because that would have been a life without your love. So after a year, here is what I need to say.
Thank you. For being the most caring, compassionate, wonderful sister a girl could ever have.
 I’m sorry. For all the times I made it difficult to be my sister.
And here’s what I ask of you in the future. When I grab my necklace know that I am directly connecting with you. It’s my way of holding your hand. When I sing, know I am at my happiest, and you need not to worry. When I speak, know that I feel wildly accomplished and your always in the crowd in my head. When I give, know that I usually picture you as the recipient. When I write, know that I feel closest to God. It’s the one time I am able to strip down my walls and truly be a vessel. I feel the Holy Spirit move through my fingers and I would have never known about this channel without you. When I scratch the back of my neck, know that I am stressed and I could use some peace if possible. When I run, know that I am trying to clear my head, and help me keep it empty. When I cry, know I need to feel you there. I don’t care how, I just do. And when I smile, know that a large part of any happiness is due to you. And whenever either of those precious boys needs me, KNOW I will be there no matter what.
There is no graceful way to end a letter to Heaven. I really do not know if you “read” these or how any of that works, but I believe that in some way, you receive whatever message I am trying to send. I hope that after this year you are able to look down on me with some sort of pride. It was hard, but I did it all for you. I miss you, and I promise I will never ever stop trying. Every day I will wake in the morning and actively pursue the Lord and I will do whatever it takes to make it to you one day. And to bring everyone that I can with me. I love you sweet sister. Thank you for everything.

Your loving big sister,
Elise

Year One.

If you are ever a part of a funeral, you will find the phrase you hear more than any other is, “Time heals.” I’ve heard this before, and even applied it in certain times in my life. And in all other situations this is normally applicable. In middle school when rumors spread and you are the center of ridicule, you feel as if it is the absolute end of the world, but you soon learn that if you wait it out, two weeks later the ever so intelligent minds of middle schoolers will find someone else to talk about. In high school when you and the “love of your life” have broken up you feel certain that you will die right then and there from utter sorrow and separation anxiety. But after a month or so you find yourself back out with your friends, sometimes slowly mending, but eventually returning to your original state. But death is not that way. Because there is nothing to return to. Time doesn’t HEAL. Because healing would imply that it could be fixed. You refer to healing when you are speaking of a broken bone or a scrape. And you use the term “heal” because doctors or experts of some sort believe that the bone will grow back together and be just as good as it was before. And be normal. And when a cut heals it mends and tiny skin particles lace intricately to make it seem as though you were never hurt at all. And that’s healing. But there is no healing after death. It’s like becoming paralyzed. With assistance, you might be able to do most of the things you used to do. And you might even be happy again. But you will never go back to the way you were before. You will still look down every day and realize that you are paralyzed and remember how you got to be that way. You have to make almost every decision you made before, differently. Bailey is the first thought I have in the morning and the last thought in the evening. She determines the radio station, the candle scent, the color schemes, the movie selection, and my dessert; because all of those things can completely change my mood. I can’t listen to For Good or I Will Stand By You because she named them our “sister songs”.  I can’t have anything lime green because that was her color. I can’t have evergreen candles because of our little joke surrounding forest smells. I can’t watch My Sisters Keeper because we saw it together in theaters and cried throughout the whole thing on one another’s shoulders. I can’t have red velvet cake because it was her favorite and my mother loved to make it for her. And maybe I will be able to do these things again. I will reteach myself how to bare these memories. But either way, that loss controls those thoughts.

Time has never been a comforting thing for me. It terrifies me to live in a world without Bailey and time only inches me farther and farther away from her existence. Which further solidifies the frustrating fact that I have no control over time. So maybe that’s my real anger towards it. This month, has been impossible. Every memory I have of this time last year, is fresh and bright.. and she is there. And then I fast forward to that night. And whatever memory I was attempting to enjoy becomes screeching tires and a fatal car crash. Every happy memory feels disgustingly fake and forced. Because I know what happens next. I know that doesn’t last. The year marker brings new fears and puts others to rest. I have told myself all year, if you make it through the first year, you’ve won. And that triumph will still be in place. I will take joy in the spite I will throw at the devil. He challenged me with everything he had, and he lost. But I am also acutely aware of how things will change after this year is up. People are understanding of loss, to an extent. But many believe that a year is plenty of time to be “okay”. And honestly, I believed that as well at first. I was under the assumption that once I covered the “firsts” it would be easier, and I would miss her less. But what I have had to come to accept is that I am in for a lifetime of missing her. There is no finish line for grief. Missing her will never stop. So like someone paralyzed, there is no healing, there is only coping. There is learning how to live without your original mobility, even learning how to make the best of it. But there is no way to be completely whole again. With that being said, there are plenty of ways to fill your life to its absolute fullest through Christ Jesus. And the Lord has blessed me in so many ways this year through this tragic and awful thing. My Lord has grown from my distant God to my comforting Father and knowing God in that intimate way has truly been the most rewarding part of this year.  So what I have learned about time is this, it does not heal, but it does teach. It gives you a chance to distance yourself from a situation and truly understand and appreciate the blessings that came from it. The friendships that were formed or strengthened. The family bonds you have a new found appreciation for. The church family you might have taken advantage of before, or the community you were convinced you wanted to leave.  I am not ready for it to be a year, but I can say I am so grateful to have made it this far. The support system I have is overwhelming and I can’t thank half of you enough for the encouragement you have given me this year. I hope I am able to give back to you all in some way in the future. For now, I will write. And in that regard, thank you for listening. The positive feedback I continue to receive has allowed writing to become my safe haven of expression, the one place I am completely honest and shamelessly naked. I hope God will continue to use it in His way. Here’s to the upcoming year of learning, may it be as rewarding as the last. God bless you all.

National Sibling Day.

I woke up today in a terrible mood. Which is very odd for me, but true nonetheless. God continued to give me opportunities to turn this around and make today a good day, and like the stubborn child I am I shot them to the ground and allowed myself to remain grumpy.  I wasted an entire day pouting. And I justified all of this simply because it is apparently National Sibling Day. Instead of scrolling down my Newsfeed or Instagram and smiling at the happy faces of brothers and sisters of my friends, I let bitterness creep into my heart and I frowned feeling sorry for myself. But by this evening I had finally had enough of my pity party and I decided to sit down and pray. And in this prayer I decided to tell God all of the reasons I was thankful He made me a big sister, and how grateful I am for each sibling He gave me. And here’s summary of what I told my Father.

Thank you for making me Bailey’s big sister. She taught me more in her short life span than anyone has. I’m sorry that I get caught up making excuses for myself, because I miss her. I know that she would not be proud of that. God, I’m thankful that you allowed me to be her best friend. There are many people in this world more deserving of that role, but I’m glad you let it be me. Thank you for sharing her laugh with me, and her smile. Thank you for letting me be her shoulder, when she’d had a rough day at school. Thank you for letting me be her cheer leader and letting me remind her that no boy will ever be good enough for her. Thank you for giving me absolutely no ability with musical instruments, so I could always be in awe of her when she played. Thank you for giving her long legs, so I can wear her sweat pants when I miss her. Thank you for sending your Son to die for us, so that she has the opportunity to live with you now. And thank you for giving ME the hope of Heaven so I may someday see her again. Help me to have a positive outlook on a future without her, and help me have the knowledge to understand that she is always with me as long as I walk with You.
Thank you for making me Drew’s big sister. His tender disposition and sweet heart remind me of Bailey every day. But thank you for the things that make Drew unique also. Thank you for making him much smarter than me, so that I may learn from him. Thank you for making him so thoughtful, because he is often the most understanding person I know. Thank you for making him strong, so that we can relate. Thank you for making us so different, so that we always find each other amusing. Thank you for letting me drive him places safely, because our car talks are always the best. Thank you for keeping him healthy, so I could always enjoy him. And thank you for giving him Bailey, he definitely deserved a big sister like her. Please continue to keep him safe, and continue to give me guidance and show me the ways I can be the best sister to him.
And thank you for making me Carter’s big sister. His goofy grin and energetic humor makes me smile constantly. Thank you for making him so much like me, because it is so fun to watch him grow. Thank you for making him funny, so he is always able to cheer us up. Thank you for making him resilient, so that he may live a life free of sorrow. Thank you for letting me watch him as a teenager, it made our bond even stronger. Thank you for giving me a voice, because we love to have loud sing alongs in the car. Thank you for letting me know You, I love telling Him all about You and Your promises. And thank you for also giving Him Bailey. I don’t know a child more deserving of her love. Help me to carry on that love and please continue to keep him healthy, happy, and safe.

I know there is nothing I could have done to deserve the honor of being the eldest Robinson. I try to remind myself and thank God every day for that blessing. Sometimes in the midst of a busy world, I get caught up with what I feel like is missing and instead of recognizing what I have, I cant seem to see past the giant void I feel. But today, on National Sibling Day I am going to be thankful. Thankful for the time I got with my sweet sister, and thankful for the time I get to continue having with my precious brothers. It is the greatest gift I have ever received.  

IMPACT- Day Two.

I woke up on day two nervous, anxious, and nauseous, but ready to meet those children. We woke up each morning around six to load a bus by seven for the hour and a half commute from Galveston to Houston. When we arrived, I couldn’t get off that bus quick enough. I charged into the building towards the class room to have absolutely everything perfectly prepared for those sweet kids when they came in. And once set up was finished, the most agonizing portion began, waiting. I could not shake the pit in the bottom of my stomach. I was about to meet Gilberto. The child my sister had claimed changed her life. This child that I had imagined finding since she had passed. He was about to be here, in this room, and I had no idea how to approach him. I had played out every possible scenario in my head and I knew I had to lower my expectations. What if he didn’t like me?? That was possible. He didn’t know nor understand how important meeting him was to me. He held no obligation for my feelings. He was a regular kid coming for VBS, completely unaware of how special he was to me. The interns informed us it was tradition for them to create a spirit line up the hall that they would enter when they exited the buses. I stood there scanning the children, faking screams as they entered, zoned into finding Gilberto. And then he came in. It was no big moment to him. Or anyone else really. But there he was. His big honest brown eyes widened at the amount of people, his sheepish grin spread out across his face, and he hung his head in embarrassment as he walked through the line. I had found him. And I followed him. He grabbed his name tag from the leaders and walked into the next hall. He was clearly reserved. Many of his friends had begun to cut up and he remained in line, smiling after them. The interns would say something to him and he would just respond with a grin. He had very little to say, he was just thankful to be there. He turned the next corner towards the main meeting area and I walked right up to him. “Gilberto isn’t it?? I’m Elise!! I’m one of your teachers this week. I’m in green group with you!” I beamed at the child, excitement seeping from my pores and Gilberto stared. There was not even a smile. In fact, he looked frightened and instead of grabbing my hand and joining me as I had hoped, he purposefully walked around me and walked into the large room alone. I could have cried. I had imagined that moment so differently. Here I was hoping to have a huge reunion with this child, and he thought I was a freak. I stood up and collected myself, and determined I walked into the meeting room, found him, and planted myself beside him, refusing to move even when he looked up at me with slight disgust. He had no interest in me whatsoever. And as fun sing ensued and I tried even harder, grabbing his hands and dancing and smiling, but he only became even more annoyed and continued to pull his hands away and turn his face. I was crushed. Didn’t he understand that I had come here for him?? I needed him to like me, I needed him to care for me as he had my sister. And as Fun Sing came to a close he walked swiftly away from me into his reading room only looking back to make sure there was a good distance in between us. Feeling hopeless, I leaned up against the wall and prayed. I prayed that God show me what this child needed from me. I prayed that God give me some insight to what I was supposed to do. I had done everything I could think of!! I had smiled, been inviting, danced, sang, been energetic… And as I am going through all the things I had done it became more and more clear to me what I had done wrong. I had watched Gilberto in the hall, and he was a Bailey. He was quiet and gentle and sweet. And I had come at him intense and aggressive and he was not conditioned for that. For this kid to respond to me as he did Bailey, I had to be LIKE Bailey. And that blew my mind. I had never been intimidated by mission work because I do well with people. I love people. And I love to make them feel warm and welcome. I love to laugh and dance and make children feel excited to be there. But the problem with all of those things is that it began with what I, ELISE, loved. And this wasn’t about ME. Ultimately, it was about HIM. And I needed to change myself to fit Gilberto’s needs. He didn’t need energy, he needed gentle. He didn’t need excitement, he needed understanding. So in that moment I raced through memories of Bay and tried to document her mannerisms so that I could be as much like her as possible for this child. “Please God, let this work. Show me how it’s done Bay.” I clutched my necklace, and walked boldly towards the door, spotted him through the window, and stepped in quietly, sitting down next to him without saying a word. He looked at me carefully, shifting his only his eyes, but I looked ahead, pretending not to notice him and listening intently to the reading coaches instructions. She passed out books and I volunteered to read the books aloud to the class. I love reading to children. I read loudly with animation, changing my voices for each of the characters. But I glanced at Gilberto only twice, and spent most of the time focused on the book and the rest of the class. After I had finished reading, we were told to allow our little buddies to read to us, and to help them along if they had any issues. And everyone turned to their kids to start working. I looked down and Gilberto and asked, “Can you read?” I adjusted my voice to be quieter and soft, the way I remember Bay’s being. He looked up, and said nothing, but did respond with a slight grin. I handed him the book, and crossed my arms, waiting to see how he would react. And as I expected he opened the book and began to read. And he was brilliant. He sped through the book with ease, without a stutter or pause, and finished his work sheets the same. And we slowly began to click. Bailey had a way of making you feel comfortable in any setting. You didn’t have to be talking to spend time with Bailey. You could just sit and enjoy each other’s presence without having to force chatter. And that’s what we did. He rested his arm on my leg as he did his work sheets, and he was content. He didn’t need me to continue talking, he was happy I was there, and he had work to do. After he had finished his work we leaned up against the wall and I asked him a few questions. He would respond, but with quick and concise answers. At one point he asked me why I talked so much so I sealed my lips and responded with a grin. He went back to his book, flipping through the pages silently, but I watched him smiling and I knew I was doing better. After reading time we went into the main assembly for the Bible story and prayer before lunch. I sat down and Gilberto plopped in my lap and I couldn’t help but beam. We had all been anticipating asking Gilberto about Bailey. Whether he remembered her and what if anything he could tell us about her. Mollie looked at me and mouthed, “Have you asked him yet?” I shook my head and she nodded. I wanted to wait for the right moment to ask him. I had seen how overwhelmed he could get and I wanted him to be focused and comfortable when I asked him a question I had been holding for six months. We sat and listened to the Bible story and then went into our classroom for lunch and for more Bible time. At this time I was able to meet more of the children in my group and spend more time with Gilberto. We had them do prayer journals and the children blew us away with their selfless responses. Gilberto told me he wanted to pray for his little sister because she was sad. I asked him why she was sad and he said because she didn’t like to be away from him and she was in the kindergarten class. He wrote, “I want to pray for Jamina so she won’t be sad and she will love VBS like me.” I was in love. I also fell in love with an energetic, rough little boy name Ricardo that latched onto me pretty quickly.  He sat in my lap and kissed my face after knowing me for fifteen minutes and pulled at my hair when he wanted my attention. And by the end of class, I was wishing it could go on forever. At the end of the day they go back to assembly for what they call “Ticket Time” in which they celebrate good behavior during the day by presenting prizes to those that had received tickets throughout the day. Because of Gilberto’s timidity towards the yelling and dancing, I allowed him to shrink back and spent my time jumping around with Ricardo yelling back to Gilberto only twice and watching him smile in return. As they announced his bus route he ran over without a word and hugged my waist, and ran for the bus. I stood outside and waved until the bus was out of sight. Then I loaded my own bus, fell into a seat in exhaustion, and road the whole way back smiling with contentment, confident that Bailey was proud of the work I had done.

IMPACT- Day One.

My sister had a heart for mission work. Her giving spirit and willingness to work, along with her purity and compassion made her impossible to dislike. Children felt they could trust her, teens could relate to her, and adults understood her. She had a gentleness and humbleness that is recognized universally and in turn, made her influential in any setting. I remember her coming home from Impact Houston in the summer of 2012 and seeing a maturity in my sister I had never recognized before. She came back energized and confident, as though she had found a place that she could really thrive. I remember her speaking so highly of the program, the trip, and all the many wonderful people she had met while in Houston.  I remember being disappointed I had not gone as well, but there was no real urgency for me to make the trip myself. I decided that could be Bailey’s thing, even when she encouraged me to join her the next year. She insisted it was an indescribable experience and I would just have to go and see for myself. I remember how sincere she was. How she truly longed that I could understand the journey she had been on. And all these things came to mind even more clearly when she was gone. In December, I made it my mission to make it to Houston. To fulfill this “dream” she had for me. It became an obsession. I researched people she had come in contact with and children she had become especially close to. I wanted to interact with kids she had touched and meet people that had known her in one of her most life changing experiences. I had to put these pieces of who she was together. Because I knew Bailey at home. I knew Bailey as my little sister. But I wanted to know Bailey as just, Bailey. The Bailey that others had met. The strong, confident, independent Bailey that I rarely got to see. I wanted to go somewhere that no one knew me. They had no preconceived notions of who I was. They could give me a completely unflawed vision of who my sweet sister was to them.  So I informed Scott that I was chaperoning, and on the day of July 7^th, I packed my bags and entered a bus headed for Houston, Texas. I can’t describe the overwhelming feeling that greeted me in boarding that bus. For the first time ever in any sort of mission work, I was honestly terrified. I knew the week was going to be completely emotionally consuming and I didn’t know if I was up for the challenge. Was I asking for it by coming on this trip?? Was I just setting myself up to be depressed?? But I was determined to do this. For me, for her, for her friends, for Scott, and for my Lord. So I sat down in a bus seat, wrapped her blanket around me, grabbed my necklace, and I prayed. I prayed hard. I prayed that God would give me the strength to make it through the week, the knowledge to see the things I was meant to see, and the patience to understand how to act on them. And as we began our thirteen hour journey to Houston I felt myself cry. Embarrassed, I buried my head in the blanket and curled in a ball until I felt someone over me. I looked up and Scott smiled down. As usual, sweet Scott came with comfort and understanding. So he sat down beside me with my blanket wrapped legs in his lap, and we prepared ourselves for the emotional ride ahead.

We drove through the night on Saturday and arrived at a Cracker Barrel in Texas on Sunday morning. We got out to eat breakfast and change from our bus riding clothes, to church attire. We then rode into Houston and onto the road where the little Impact church sat. I wouldn’t have known if the kids from last year hadn’t jumped up in excitement. There are three buildings that make up the Impact church. The main building, where they host church and VBS II, the middle school building, and the education building where they have their Sunday school classes and VBS I. Because of the amazing work the Impact church does, they have too many kids to hold in one building. They have been forced to separate the large quantity of children into 2 VBS groups, and Beltline was placed with VBS I. Sunday morning we began with their Sunday school classes. Daniel Lane, a senior from our Beltline group, and I were put in a room with the 4^th graders to observe and help when needed. Now Impact Houston has what they call “interns” that the church brings in each year. People apply for these positions and the staff hand picks them for the summer. The interns are in charge of discipline while the youth groups are there and crowd control, but on a larger scale they teach Sunday school classes and help lead the groups throughout the week. They do an amazing job and it was an honor to get to work with them throughout the week. We met our first group of kids and a sassy group of girls that I hit it off with right away. I sat with them during class and they filled me in on their lives of boys, nail polish, hot Cheetohs, and their cousins that didn’t get along. Now three of the girls were three peas in a pod. They truly believed they were too cool for school and they were proud of it. They were skinny and had their hair braided similarly, and were dressed in cute little outfits. There was a fourth girl in the group that seemed to be the odd man out and she clung to me right away. She was a larger girl and she clearly didn’t have the same amount of attention at home as the other three. You could tell her hair hadn’t been done recently and two of the girls commented on her dress being the same one she had worn the Sunday before. But she had the sweetest heart and I enjoyed listening to her talk about God. At one point we were talking about things that annoyed us, and what we could do to change that, whether that meant being more patient or more understanding or removing ourselves from a situation. Most of the girls misunderstood the assignment and instead, wrote down the ways the people that annoyed them could change themselves so they weren’t as annoying. I will admit, Daniel and I had a hard time not laughing at some of their responses, but Shay’s answer was the one that truly pricked my heart. When asked what annoyed her she wrote, “When the other girls make fun of my weight.” And when asked what she could do to change that she wrote, “Realize that God loves me the way that I am and not let it hurt my feelings.”  How powerful. For a fourth grader to understand that her Father doesn’t look at the outward appearances as the world does, but He understands her heart. And that the people of this world will always tease you, but it is up to you whether or not you let it bother you. I don’t do that at 19, much less at 10. I allow anything and everything to hold me back. I allow my weight, my hair, my eyes, my cheeks, my toes, and everything else to dictate my mood. I will let one comment about my size, change my complete outlook on the day. I will stop myself from doing something, if I feel like someone will judge the way I look doing it. And Shontay was able to realize in the fourth grade that none of that matters?? Despite my fears for the week, and my anxiety towards meeting the children the next day, at that moment I felt hope. I felt fulfilled. And I smiled at her knowing that if I met one child like that in my day one, then I was bound to meet at least one more, and I was looking forward to the next moment I got to see my Savior smile back at me from inside a child.

Daddy's girl

I have always been a daddy’s girl. From the beginning, the relationship between my father and I has been special. For starters, we are basically the same person. We don’t stress about the little things. We have to be taken from any crowd, if you allow us to stand there and socialize we will be there for hours. We love to laugh. We love a good story, especially something inspirational. We love politics and history. We love family. We love God. But more than that some of our strongest convictions have come from what we have learned from each other. My father has learned to be more open minded and I have learned that a compassionate heart is never weary. I have learned that your home is a blessing from God and you are to use it to glorify Him, and he has learned words can be more powerful than he ever imagined. And above all of this, we understand that at the end of the day, we are there for each other, and our relationship can withstand any trials because it is founded on our love for the Lord, our original Father, who makes these earthly dads possible. The Father that allows us to connect and have these human interactions and imbedded love into our souls.  My definition of Father has changed many times throughout my life. As a child, my father was a man who protected me. A man who taught me right from wrong. A man who held my fingers as I started to walk on wobbly legs. A man who determined when I would eat or sleep. And as a child I depended on him completely. But as I have grown my father has taken on a different role. He no longer protects me, but stands beside me when times are tough and watches me take things on myself, whether it pains him or not. He allows me to be an adult and understands that he can no longer shelter me, so he stands in the wings and watches with pride. He no longer teaches me right from wrong, he has taught me everything I need to know. He is always willing to talk or give advice, but he is also wise enough to understand that he does not have all the answers and he often points me to the word of God so that I can seek my own understanding. He no longer holds my fingers or schedules my sleeping. I have grown from dependent to independent, which is the goal of a Godly father.  My father is an amazing man. In this year alone he lost his daughter and his best friend and yet he somehow manages to get up every morning, put a smile on his face, and lead what’s left of our family towards Heaven. When Mr. Chet passed, my dad was selected to be a Paul Bearer. Wanting to go in as a team, I asked if there was anything I could do to help and was told I could usher. We arrived that morning dressed in black. The same black dress I had fashioned for all of Beltline’s funerals, including my sister’s. For anyone that has lost a loved one, funerals are tough. It’s not a selfish thing, your body just naturally reacts. It’s like remembering a meal you ate before you had a stomach flu. No one means to make another’s funeral about themselves, but they create instant flashbacks, and Mr. Chet’s funeral was the first we had attended since our sweet Bailey’s. I walked in nervous and found my dad. I wanted to take care of him so badly. I wanted to take away his hurt and squeeze him to death. But I had to allow him to do this his way. So I watched him. All day. I walked up to the doors of the auditorium and peeked in the small glass window. I saw the coffin and my airway closed. I completely lost the ability to breathe. I walked swiftly to the bathroom and stared into the mirror. And I made a promise. I made a promise to make it through that day for the Humphries. To make it through that day for my dad. And to prove to everyone in that congregation that I was strong enough to handle this. That God hadn’t messed up giving me a challenge, he had chosen the right girl. I said a quick prayer, put on my game face, and I walked out of the bathroom ready to serve. I was instructed to stand about fifteen feet away from the family and weave the line of guests towards them. Talk to the people, greet them, and put them at as much ease as possible. My father stood at the back of the auditorium for a majority of the time. We would catch each other watching one another. But I was far too focused to be emotional. I thought very little of our own experience as I spoke to numerous people. I would flick my eyes towards the Humphries and then realize that was a poor decision. I focused on the crowd. The many many people that had been touched by that amazing man. And as the time for the funeral approached Mrs. Donna came to tell me it was time to lead the family back. We cut off the line and I stood to make a path for them, trying to stay out of the way. I assumed my work was done until I looked and saw Cara Paige veering away from the family. She came up to me, wrapped her arms around my hips, and laid her head on my chest. I felt my heart crumble and I laid my head on top of hers and held her close. I had wanted so badly to be helpful and for the first time that day I felt as though I was doing something right. And every emotion I could have possibly had at that moment whizzed through my head. I was taken back to Bailey’s funeral. I remembered walking up that aisle to leave and wanting to hold her so badly. To wrap arms around her one more time and feel her breathe against me. And with my eyes closed and Cara’s petite warm body near, she became my Bailey. She fulfilled what I had longed for since December 2^nd. And two people that were hurting, two people that were broken, were able to hold one another and fill that empty space with a little love. I put my arm around her waist and walked her up the aisle and to the foyer where I kissed her forehead. And I watched her walk down that hall that we had walked down. The hall that sealed the passageway and forever kept us from seeing our Bailey again. And after an entire day of swallowing tears and playing strong, I collapsed into weeping. I walked towards the wall and buried my faced and allowed by body to give into my break down. And as I cry I feel someone under me. I feel arms embrace me and I grab onto a man’s jacket that is against me. I don’t know who this person is, but I was too exhausted to care. And when I summoned the courage to look up, I saw my dad. And at the moment, I wouldn’t had wanted anyone else. And we cried. I am so thankful to have a father that isn’t afraid of emotion. One that understands that this life hurts and we need each other to lean on, and to cry into. My dad has taught me how to be strong. And being strong doesn’t mean you don’t weep. You take care of your responsibilities, and you don’t allow your emotions to get in the way when you are needed, but you take time to give yourself a break and understand that you can’t be strong around the clock. And you find people that understand this journey is a rugged road. I am glad to have my dad this Father’s day. I am glad we are given a day just to show him how important he is in our lives. I am glad that Bailey got to experience a dad as great as ours and I know that he and my mother are responsible for the beginnings of her faith and for her pathway to Heaven. I hope that as I age, I never grow weary in searching for my husband, and that I don’t allow myself to stop until I find someone as wonderful as my own father. Thank you for all that you do, all that you will do, and all that you didn’t have to do. I love you daddy.

Six blessings, for six months.

Six months sounds like a long time when you say it out loud. Six months is when a fetus develops their optic nerve. Six months is how long it takes for a fig tree to sprout. Six months is a full semester of school. Six months is half of an entire year. Time is an odd thing. During trauma it seems to slow down. You feel as if your life is a movie and everything is going on around you. But the scary part is when you sense your life change from slow motion to fast paced, and you realize the terrible, awful, no good thing about life is… It goes on. Whether you are prepared for it or not. And everyday the clock ticks. The seconds, minutes, and hours pass. Nights turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, and we slip farther and farther away from the time of Bailey on this earth. Memories become muddled. Sounds are hard to recall and her smell is impossible to find. I make an active decision to think about Bailey when I decide because otherwise, I am terrified to waste my memories of her. Scared that if I over use them, details will change or the memory itself will pass away forever. I carefully select which thoughts I wish to use. However, there is no measure of what I have lost, to how much I have gained. So here are a few things I have learned in this half of a year without Bay.

1. My God is my Father. He loves me immensely and He would never do anything to hurt me. He allows things to happen that benefit my faith. That cause me growth or cause others to grow through me. He hurts when I hurt, but He allows pain when it is what’s best for me. He gave me this trial because He knew I was strong enough to handle it, and my entire life up until now He has been training me to prepare me for this task. And much like a Father, I feel His pride when I surrender to His will.
2. Your church family, IS your family. Christ came to this earth to establish a church, to make a home for His followers in this imperfect world. Our Lord understands that this life makes us weary. He sees our burdens and pains. So He blesses us with relationships that carry us through the hard times. He gives us a place to rest, a safe haven from the reality of life. A place free of judgment and malice. And He fills this place with individuals from all walks of life that essentially have nothing in common besides the fact that they are all bound together by the blood of Christ. And because of His sacrifice He has created a way for them to become our family. In times of sorrow, they lend a shoulder. In times of heartache, they surround you with love. In times of happiness, they rejoice alongside you. In times of anger, they find ways to calm you. And in times of loss, they remind you who your family is.
3. Satan is a tricky fella. He uses tactics that we are blind to. He exerts his own powers to tempt us in every possible way. He causes confusion to create chaos. He slithers into your thoughts to muddle your knowledge in Christ. He prompts you to ask the wrong questions and he entices you with his fruit of lies. Do not be deceived by the world around you. Do not allow Satan to infect your heart.
4. You are not a freak. This grieving thing, everyone does it differently. There is no right or wrong way. As long as the way you choose to grieve does not hinder another Christian’s healing, you’re good. If you are not a crier, don’t cry. If you are emotional, weep when you see fit. If you feel the need to comfort others, do it. If you need to be alone, find a quiet place. Your process will be completely different from the person’s next to you. Pray on it, and God will show you what is best for you. Do not hesitate to do what your body is telling you, even if you feel it is unconventional. It might be just what someone needs to see or it could be a huge step on your highway to healing.
5. You can use it, or abuse it. I can allow Bailey’s death to change me for the better or the worse. It is solely my decision. I could turn to drugs and alcohol to drown out the world and destroy my life while blaming it on the death of my sister, or I can allow it to transform me into the person I am meant to be. Events such as these are not coincidences. They are not meant to be thrown away as a small stepping stone in your life. It is a monumental boulder that if you are strong enough to push aside, carry it on your back to make you stronger.
6. My sister wouldn’t change it. There are days that if given the choice, I would run to Heaven, grab her, and bring her home. But I had a dream once that changed my perspective. I was running through a long black hall and I saw the light of Heaven in front. I stopped at The Gates panting and looked up into the face of Peter. He looked at me, confused, and asked me what I was doing at the Gates of Heaven. I stood up boldly and announced, “I’m here to get my sister!” He smiled at me sympathetically, opened the Gates and said, “If she will go, you may have her.” I paid little attention to this remark as I was already sprinting through the streets of Heaven searching the faces for my baby sister. And I found her. I raced to her and embraced her, tears flowing down as I kissed her cheeks. We held each other for minutes but finally she pulled back and looked at me with a frown, “What are you doing here Elise?” she asked with a worried expression. “I’m here to get you Bailey!! I’m here to rescue you! Come home with me!!” I tugged at her hand anxiously and beamed at her with such pride. She gripped my hand, stared into my eyes and said, “But Elise, HE rescued me. And THIS is my home.” She walked towards me and kissed my forehead and after a bright flash, I woke up in bed. And I sobbed. As much as I breaks my heart to live here without my sister, I know that she is where she worked her entire life to be.

There are many other things God has taught me over the course of this time. But here are six things for six months that have been particular blessings. I hope they benefit you as well.