Last night I posted some pictures on Facebook. It was a beautiful Friday night, we were in a beautiful spot and I was with some beautiful people. After dinner together our neighbor friends, my brother and I took our dogs down to the river and went exploring off the trail. We had some good laughs and nice talks. The memories we captured I'll go back to and smile when they come to mind. From the looks of what I posted last night and the past few days it may look like my life is positive and maybe outdoorsy. From the looks of my timeline everything is great. I'm usually smiling or posting some random thing I'm doing.
But people only see a very small fraction of my life. No one knew about the feelings of loneliness and doubt I experienced just hours before we went out. No one saw me sitting on the curb of Wendy's Thursday night at 11:30 pm because I was too tired to cook dinner after work. No one sees my messy room where half of my clean clothes are still in the wash basket and the other half are slowly becoming friends with the dirty clothes pile.
I would say that I am a happy person. I have so much to be thankful for. In fact, many amazing things happen in my life everyday that it would be way overboard if I documented it all. However, I think a problem can lie if we perceive what others post on Facebook, Instagram and other social media as exactly how their life goes.
Every day there's a few posts related to fitness goals accomplished. Before and after pictures are documented after the completion of a thirty day shred or sixty days of "clean eating" or whatever. Despite my best intentions, I can count on one hand how many sit-ups I did this summer (and I was still sore the next day). And I can promise that the bowls of ice cream consumed far exceeds that number. I scroll through social media to see moments captured by happy couples; holding hands and gazing into the sunset in perfect lighting. I feel a slight pang, because I don't know when that time will come for me. I see others days, vacations, clean rooms, fitness accomplishments and creative ideas. It is so easy to feel a sense of inadequacy purely based on what others post on social media. Sometimes I even feel behind in life or this sense that I'm not where I should be. The funny thing is that seeing someone's post about a ten mile run never motivated me enough to get out the door and go on one myself. It just left me feeling like "I should do that..someday, sometime.."
I know I'm not the only one that has felt like their life is less exciting after seeing someone's life changing trip across Central America. And I also know I'm not the only one who loves scrolling through their news feed when they have a minute. Social media is good, and I love seeing what my friends are up to who I don't get to see often. It is also fun to document memories with friends when you're all together and the laughs just keep coming. The problem starts when we're sitting home alone and we start comparing our lives to other's daily highlights. We can not get sucked into the comparison trap that is so easy to get tangled in. Galatians 1:10 says "For am I now seeking approval of man or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ." We each have unique lives that are telling a story so amazing that Facebook just can't cover. We live in such a time of quick, instant gratification that it's hard to remember the inevitability that our lives will have slow times and fun doesn't always abound every three seconds. Sometimes we will have nothing to do on a Friday night, and that's okay. No one is less of a person because of this. I believe these moments happen more then talked about, but there's this underlying pressure to always needing to be doing something "cool". I would blame the recent uprise in social media for this because we're constantly bombared with other's daily highlight reels. I wonder what life was like fifteen years without Facebook. There was probably less keeping in touch with long distance friends, but probably more freedom and contentment because we didn't have access to always see what our friends were up to.
Social media can only capture so much, and we are in control of what we put on. It only makes sense that we want to post things that capture us at our best. Everyone has low points daily and in life in general. Yes, this isn't earth shattering news, but seems to be easy to slip the mind when all we see are certain things. It's also easy for thoughts to creep in like "I'm the only one going through this issue." or "I'm the only one with a boring life." This is so far from the truth. We shouldn't go to Facebook for validation for these thoughts, but so often we do. It is only when we learn to embrace our uniqueness with the lives and circumstances we've been given, that we can then generate a positive change in our own lives. Real change does not come looking outside in on the life of someone else. Living vicariously through another person does more harm then good. If we find ourselves starting to feel less than, it is best to just put down the phone, go for a walk and just be thankful for the breath in our lungs. Each of us has amazing, God given gifts. We have a heart beat for a reason and we each have so much to offer the world. No amount of trips, friends or workouts make anyone's life better then someone else's. No matter if you did 400 sit-ups or 400 minus 396; you're life is telling a beautiful story. And whether or not it is documented on Facebook is besides the point.
This isn't a post to prompt a halt to the social media. However, if comparison is an issue I would encourage it. Sometimes a break can be refreshing. How sad would it be if we were so focused on what talents or accomplishments we lacked (because we were busy comparing ourselves on Facebook) that we missed out on what we were amazing at and created for?
I hope you enjoy and embrace the normals, highs and even lows that life brings you today.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
My Sweet Aunt Emma
Despite my brain being in a fog from a pesky summer head cold, I've been thinking so much about my Aunt Emma since her passing almost two weeks ago. I needed to write to share my thoughts about how she changed my life and those around her, even toward the end.
My Great Aunt Emma peacefully passed away June 30th at the age of 98. I had the honor of visiting her bimonthly at Conestoga View.
After signing in I reluctantly grab a visitors pass. It always looks like the past three people who wore the pass used it as a napkin to wipe off their hands after lunch. I wait for the five minute elevator ride to take me to floor number seven. The same thoughts run through my head during the ride up: "I could take the steps so much quicker." "Where is the stair case anyway?" "How did people get anything done when elevators were so slow in the seventies?" "Am I just being impatient?" As my thoughts continue to linger eventually the doors open and I'm spit out to my desired floor.
I am immediately introduced to scents of the floor. Institutional food mixed with bodily fluids mixed with nail polish remover. I try to tell my brain which smell to focus on to lessen the likelihood of me physically looking like I smell something awful. Oh look, ladies getting their nails done. How cute! I am distracted at this adorable site as four elderly ladies sit at the table and fan their fingers for the Resident Assistant to paint their nails. As endearing as this site is, I continue my mission and scan the common space to look for her.
She is easy to find. She is sitting in the glider by the window smiling. She is dressed to the T, and looks like she has been waiting for me all day. "Hi Aunt Emma! It's Emily!" I gently touch the top of her hand and slowly bend down to embrace her for a hug. I don't want to freak her out because I know with her dementia it will take her a while to remember me. And despite the continuity of my visits I notice her dementia gets worse as time goes, making each visit more of a memory jog. She doesn't look scared at all by me and even though I know she has no idea who I am yet she embraces me for a strong hug and cheerful greeting. I am always impressed by the strength of her hugs for being so small. We sit down in the common area surrounded by others. She always offers me the best of what she has right away. Whether it is the comfy glider, or the sandwich she's eating for lunch; her selflessness and desire to see others comfortable is one trait that never left her.
We usually begin our visit by a five minute introduction and explanation of how we are related. "Now I know I know you, but remind me again; Who ARE you?" she would ask me every time. "Now which one's Carol?" When I would tell her I'm Carol's granddaughter and Michelle's daughter. Once we sort have those bases covered we would talk about life and what was going on in the Conestoga View world. "Oh, I love it here." She would always say. Then she proceeds to point out the most ordinary things and describe how wonderful they are and how grateful she to be there. "Look at this chair! It's so wonderful. See, it's right by the window, and I just sit here and look outside." She smiles and rocks contently in the glider. The sun from the seventh story shines through and gives her short white hair almost a halo appearance. "Now what is it you do?" she asks with such interest. Depending on the time I would tell her I was in nurses training or I was a nurse. She smiles so big with familiarity. Nursing was such a big part of Aunt Emma's life that no matter how much of the world she forgets; nursing is so tightly wound in her DNA she will always remember it. Relief comes over me that we have something we can talk about that she remembers. I ask about where she worked and the adventures and places nursing took her. I know she went as far as Colorado and Hawaii to nurse, which back then I'm sure was huge adventure for a Mennonite woman from Akron, PA. Not being able to fully remember locations she says "I've been a lot places and did a lot of things. Yes, it's good work we do." We chat a little more about helping people and I tell her how cool I think it is she traveled so much in her career. Aunt Emma received many accolades for being the amazing human and nurse, and I often would tell her I hope I'm as good of a nurse as she was. She would smile and at this point the dementia is as far away as it can be. She grabs my hand, leans in and says "You'll be a good one. I know it." With her tendency to repeat herself and the multiple visits, she said this many times. However, each time it gave me chills and I silently vow to myself to do my part to make this true.
We continue to chat in the common room when suddenly we here a cry and moan. Heads turn and attention is drawn to the middle aged man with special needs. He is sitting on the couch with his legs drawn to his chest. His face turns cherry red and big, fat tears roll down his face. It is unclear what provoked the melt down, but the folks don't seemed too concerned. Apparently this occurs multiple times a day, and these crying episodes are just per his baseline. Someone offers an "It's okayyy…" from across the room. But once people see who it is they just return to what they are doing. There are nails to paint, pills to pass, and TV to watch. Aunt Emma sees him, touches my hand and excuses herself from our conversation. She walks across the room to the couch where the man is sitting. She puts her hand on his shoulder and gently rubs his back. The man cries harder and tears are now soaking his sweater. "Let me show you how to fix this." she says referring to his tears. She reaches up her sleeve and pulls out two used tissues. She dries the mans tears and then shows him how to do it himself. She watches as the man fumbles with the tissues and attempts to pat his eyes. This lesson is easing his crying and he is slowly calming down. The sobs are turning into soft sniffles. "Okay." Aunt Emma gently takes the tissues from his hands and refolds them as she's about to reinforce the lesson. "Next time you feel sad you just go like this." She shows him again how to wipe his tears and blow his nose. She gives him the tissues for his keeping, pats him again and walks away. She comes back to me as I try to hold in my own tears. "He wasn't very happy." She says. "Hopefully that helped." We continue our conversation and she talks like nothing happened. But I know from across the room on that couch, that mans world was made a little brighter.
There were so many times I saw Aunt Emma make people's lives a little brighter. People loved her and she loved people. Having a failing memory and three roommates might provoke someone to be grumpy or to expect pity. That was never the case with her. She was always happy, but not the fake kind of happy where people put on a front just to make others feel okay. No, Aunt Emma was always optimistic and looked for best and humor in all situations. Her constant peaceful disposition was always refreshing to be around. She always displayed manners and class to everyone she encountered, even when others didn't do the same. I was honored and inspired every time I visited her. I would leave committed to wanting to be kinder, more positive and to look for the others who need help; just like Aunt Emma.
About a week before she passed away I was visiting her daily. I would go in either before or after work. Even if it was late and the doors were locked, the people at the front desk would let me in. I would sit beside her on the bed, read some Psalms, or just hold her hand. She looked so at ease and beautiful even toward the end. One night I was just holding her hand. Time was just passing, and nothing special was going on. I let my hand go as I prepared to leave. Immediately I felt a weak grip. My Aunt Emma with all the strength she could muster grabbed my hand and placed it closer to her chest. Chills ran down my spine, and I froze in that moment not wanting to forget any of it. Right there on the seventh floor in Conestoga View, I felt like the luckiest girl, most loved girl in the world. I kissed her and left. As I left her dark room and into the florescent lit hallway, I still had chills from that moment and promised myself to never forget that. I took the five minute elevator ride down only this time my thoughts were more somber but my heart still full of love.
After Aunt Emma passed my Grandma and I were talking. She told me that I remind her of Aunt Emma sometimes. And honestly it took a lot of work for my head not to swell too much. I only got to know Aunt Emma well in the later stages of her life, but it was nonetheless one of the most inspiring relationships I've had. I only heard stories form others about her in her prime. The combination of these stories and the cumulation of my visits with her make her one of my heroes.
At her viewing last week my great aunts gave me one of Aunt Emma's necklaces. I wore it to work yesterday. The combination of battling a cold, working a second twelve and having a heavy assignment made for a difficult shift. Mid shift I took a bathroom break and washed my hands. I caught my reflection and saw the necklace. Immediately I thought of aunt Emma. I thought of her tenacious personality and optimism. I revisited a memory of her smiling and trying to make the best of a situation. I adjusted the necklace and as well as my attitude. And just like Aunt Emma made the seventh floor at Conestoga View a little better, I decided to make the seventh floor at LGH a little better as well.
My Great Aunt Emma peacefully passed away June 30th at the age of 98. I had the honor of visiting her bimonthly at Conestoga View.
After signing in I reluctantly grab a visitors pass. It always looks like the past three people who wore the pass used it as a napkin to wipe off their hands after lunch. I wait for the five minute elevator ride to take me to floor number seven. The same thoughts run through my head during the ride up: "I could take the steps so much quicker." "Where is the stair case anyway?" "How did people get anything done when elevators were so slow in the seventies?" "Am I just being impatient?" As my thoughts continue to linger eventually the doors open and I'm spit out to my desired floor.
I am immediately introduced to scents of the floor. Institutional food mixed with bodily fluids mixed with nail polish remover. I try to tell my brain which smell to focus on to lessen the likelihood of me physically looking like I smell something awful. Oh look, ladies getting their nails done. How cute! I am distracted at this adorable site as four elderly ladies sit at the table and fan their fingers for the Resident Assistant to paint their nails. As endearing as this site is, I continue my mission and scan the common space to look for her.
She is easy to find. She is sitting in the glider by the window smiling. She is dressed to the T, and looks like she has been waiting for me all day. "Hi Aunt Emma! It's Emily!" I gently touch the top of her hand and slowly bend down to embrace her for a hug. I don't want to freak her out because I know with her dementia it will take her a while to remember me. And despite the continuity of my visits I notice her dementia gets worse as time goes, making each visit more of a memory jog. She doesn't look scared at all by me and even though I know she has no idea who I am yet she embraces me for a strong hug and cheerful greeting. I am always impressed by the strength of her hugs for being so small. We sit down in the common area surrounded by others. She always offers me the best of what she has right away. Whether it is the comfy glider, or the sandwich she's eating for lunch; her selflessness and desire to see others comfortable is one trait that never left her.
We usually begin our visit by a five minute introduction and explanation of how we are related. "Now I know I know you, but remind me again; Who ARE you?" she would ask me every time. "Now which one's Carol?" When I would tell her I'm Carol's granddaughter and Michelle's daughter. Once we sort have those bases covered we would talk about life and what was going on in the Conestoga View world. "Oh, I love it here." She would always say. Then she proceeds to point out the most ordinary things and describe how wonderful they are and how grateful she to be there. "Look at this chair! It's so wonderful. See, it's right by the window, and I just sit here and look outside." She smiles and rocks contently in the glider. The sun from the seventh story shines through and gives her short white hair almost a halo appearance. "Now what is it you do?" she asks with such interest. Depending on the time I would tell her I was in nurses training or I was a nurse. She smiles so big with familiarity. Nursing was such a big part of Aunt Emma's life that no matter how much of the world she forgets; nursing is so tightly wound in her DNA she will always remember it. Relief comes over me that we have something we can talk about that she remembers. I ask about where she worked and the adventures and places nursing took her. I know she went as far as Colorado and Hawaii to nurse, which back then I'm sure was huge adventure for a Mennonite woman from Akron, PA. Not being able to fully remember locations she says "I've been a lot places and did a lot of things. Yes, it's good work we do." We chat a little more about helping people and I tell her how cool I think it is she traveled so much in her career. Aunt Emma received many accolades for being the amazing human and nurse, and I often would tell her I hope I'm as good of a nurse as she was. She would smile and at this point the dementia is as far away as it can be. She grabs my hand, leans in and says "You'll be a good one. I know it." With her tendency to repeat herself and the multiple visits, she said this many times. However, each time it gave me chills and I silently vow to myself to do my part to make this true.
We continue to chat in the common room when suddenly we here a cry and moan. Heads turn and attention is drawn to the middle aged man with special needs. He is sitting on the couch with his legs drawn to his chest. His face turns cherry red and big, fat tears roll down his face. It is unclear what provoked the melt down, but the folks don't seemed too concerned. Apparently this occurs multiple times a day, and these crying episodes are just per his baseline. Someone offers an "It's okayyy…" from across the room. But once people see who it is they just return to what they are doing. There are nails to paint, pills to pass, and TV to watch. Aunt Emma sees him, touches my hand and excuses herself from our conversation. She walks across the room to the couch where the man is sitting. She puts her hand on his shoulder and gently rubs his back. The man cries harder and tears are now soaking his sweater. "Let me show you how to fix this." she says referring to his tears. She reaches up her sleeve and pulls out two used tissues. She dries the mans tears and then shows him how to do it himself. She watches as the man fumbles with the tissues and attempts to pat his eyes. This lesson is easing his crying and he is slowly calming down. The sobs are turning into soft sniffles. "Okay." Aunt Emma gently takes the tissues from his hands and refolds them as she's about to reinforce the lesson. "Next time you feel sad you just go like this." She shows him again how to wipe his tears and blow his nose. She gives him the tissues for his keeping, pats him again and walks away. She comes back to me as I try to hold in my own tears. "He wasn't very happy." She says. "Hopefully that helped." We continue our conversation and she talks like nothing happened. But I know from across the room on that couch, that mans world was made a little brighter.
There were so many times I saw Aunt Emma make people's lives a little brighter. People loved her and she loved people. Having a failing memory and three roommates might provoke someone to be grumpy or to expect pity. That was never the case with her. She was always happy, but not the fake kind of happy where people put on a front just to make others feel okay. No, Aunt Emma was always optimistic and looked for best and humor in all situations. Her constant peaceful disposition was always refreshing to be around. She always displayed manners and class to everyone she encountered, even when others didn't do the same. I was honored and inspired every time I visited her. I would leave committed to wanting to be kinder, more positive and to look for the others who need help; just like Aunt Emma.
About a week before she passed away I was visiting her daily. I would go in either before or after work. Even if it was late and the doors were locked, the people at the front desk would let me in. I would sit beside her on the bed, read some Psalms, or just hold her hand. She looked so at ease and beautiful even toward the end. One night I was just holding her hand. Time was just passing, and nothing special was going on. I let my hand go as I prepared to leave. Immediately I felt a weak grip. My Aunt Emma with all the strength she could muster grabbed my hand and placed it closer to her chest. Chills ran down my spine, and I froze in that moment not wanting to forget any of it. Right there on the seventh floor in Conestoga View, I felt like the luckiest girl, most loved girl in the world. I kissed her and left. As I left her dark room and into the florescent lit hallway, I still had chills from that moment and promised myself to never forget that. I took the five minute elevator ride down only this time my thoughts were more somber but my heart still full of love.
After Aunt Emma passed my Grandma and I were talking. She told me that I remind her of Aunt Emma sometimes. And honestly it took a lot of work for my head not to swell too much. I only got to know Aunt Emma well in the later stages of her life, but it was nonetheless one of the most inspiring relationships I've had. I only heard stories form others about her in her prime. The combination of these stories and the cumulation of my visits with her make her one of my heroes.
At her viewing last week my great aunts gave me one of Aunt Emma's necklaces. I wore it to work yesterday. The combination of battling a cold, working a second twelve and having a heavy assignment made for a difficult shift. Mid shift I took a bathroom break and washed my hands. I caught my reflection and saw the necklace. Immediately I thought of aunt Emma. I thought of her tenacious personality and optimism. I revisited a memory of her smiling and trying to make the best of a situation. I adjusted the necklace and as well as my attitude. And just like Aunt Emma made the seventh floor at Conestoga View a little better, I decided to make the seventh floor at LGH a little better as well.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Changes in Nike Shoes
Today I bought my first pair of sneakers in three years. For three years I walked around in sneakers I wouldn't consider astheticaly pleasing, but had comfort and arch support; so who am I to complain? Yesterday while walking to work I felt my socks get wet beneath fresh fallen rain. When I looked under my shoe I realized the tread was worn down so much which would explain some recent shin splints I was experiencing. Although they didn't look too worn on the exterior, the sneakers that carried me through many twelve hour shifts and runs were wearing out and it was time to find a new pair.
I walked into Nike outlet with the mission to find a deal and my size. Immediately the smell of new clothes and upbeat music invited me in. Action shots of athletes with perfectly toned legs in Nike shoes grace the walls and remind customers that they too can become great and athletic if they wear Nikes as well. The tempo of the music is playing faster then I can think about how much I want to spend. I dodge clusters of people in deep contemplative thought about sneakers, athletic pursuits and of course, style.
I am either fortunate or unfortunate that my size is really difficult to find. For some reason 10.5 is the rarest shoe size in stock. Fortunate because it keeps the temptation to shop at bay. Unfortunate because when the time does come to look for shoes it is really difficult and frustrating. The cute shoes are always left for the small footed girls meanwhile the homely shoes are on the far bottom or way up top waiting for a girl with big feet to come find them. I have been known for being a bit of a tight wad, but honestly this is one of the biggest reasons I wait so long to buy shoes.
Another reason why I waited so long to buy new shoes was because I was so familiar with the ones I already had. I grew attached to them in a way (which I never thought was possible for how ugly I thought they were at first). They were predictable, always there and I knew they would get me through any shift or long run. When I came to grips with the fact that I had worn them down so much it was time for a new pair I was a little sad. Parting with something that worked well and no longer does is sometimes difficult.
Sometimes in life we get so used to doing things as they are it is easy to become comfortable with routine and status quo. It can be uncomfortable or even a bit scary to step out and try something new. We can live in routine for a long time and feel safe and secure. Stepping out involves risk, investment, commitment and obviously change. The possibility for things to go wrong increases. Being thrust out of a comfort zone into unchartered waters is both scary and risky.
Change is challenging and growing. Whether it's a new pair of sneakers or a career change forces us to do some introspection and reevaluate how we do things. We also have greater opportunity to rely on God to help us through. Doing life in such an orderly, routine predictable fashion gives us the feeling that we are in control of our own life and nothing can go wrong as long as we are in the drivers seat. While order and structure have there place in life, it can be easy to forget that God is ultimately in control. Also, how do we grow our faith when we have nothing to challenge us?
I would also consider it a first world problem that is takes intention to branch out of comfort zones. Living in America and being in a place where shelter, water, food and job are never in question is such a blessing. However, it can also be so easy to have a weaker faith because we have so much security. When change is inevitable (which it will be at some point or another), and our foundations are rocked, we need to be prepared and have the faith to trust in God for guidance, wisdom and direction to help us through whatever we need.
I love the quote that says "Faith starts the moment we step out of our comfort zone." Every week I have been trying to do something different that is out of my routine or comfort zone. I've been trying to be intentional about this, and so far its been neat. I'm only about three weeks in and the things I've been doing aren't anything too dramatic, but I've noticed how it shifts my day and forces me to pray more and seek God. I've been growing in my faith and as a person. I hope as time goes on my daily "challenges" or "dares" continue to grow in substance and faith.
So I ended up buying a new pair of shoes. And I'm happy to report I like the style a little more then my old pair. On my drive home I thought about all long days and muddy runs my old sneakers carried me through. I slight pang of sadness and fear that the other shoes won't live up to what my old shoes provided came over me. But who knows? Until we step out and try something new, we will never know. Maybe these will be the best shoes yet. There are many adventures to be had, things to learn and mountains to climb in a new pair of shoes.
I wish you the best this week as you climb your own mountains. I pray you have the most amazing discoveries as you continue to branch out and try new things.
I walked into Nike outlet with the mission to find a deal and my size. Immediately the smell of new clothes and upbeat music invited me in. Action shots of athletes with perfectly toned legs in Nike shoes grace the walls and remind customers that they too can become great and athletic if they wear Nikes as well. The tempo of the music is playing faster then I can think about how much I want to spend. I dodge clusters of people in deep contemplative thought about sneakers, athletic pursuits and of course, style.
I am either fortunate or unfortunate that my size is really difficult to find. For some reason 10.5 is the rarest shoe size in stock. Fortunate because it keeps the temptation to shop at bay. Unfortunate because when the time does come to look for shoes it is really difficult and frustrating. The cute shoes are always left for the small footed girls meanwhile the homely shoes are on the far bottom or way up top waiting for a girl with big feet to come find them. I have been known for being a bit of a tight wad, but honestly this is one of the biggest reasons I wait so long to buy shoes.
Another reason why I waited so long to buy new shoes was because I was so familiar with the ones I already had. I grew attached to them in a way (which I never thought was possible for how ugly I thought they were at first). They were predictable, always there and I knew they would get me through any shift or long run. When I came to grips with the fact that I had worn them down so much it was time for a new pair I was a little sad. Parting with something that worked well and no longer does is sometimes difficult.
Sometimes in life we get so used to doing things as they are it is easy to become comfortable with routine and status quo. It can be uncomfortable or even a bit scary to step out and try something new. We can live in routine for a long time and feel safe and secure. Stepping out involves risk, investment, commitment and obviously change. The possibility for things to go wrong increases. Being thrust out of a comfort zone into unchartered waters is both scary and risky.
Change is challenging and growing. Whether it's a new pair of sneakers or a career change forces us to do some introspection and reevaluate how we do things. We also have greater opportunity to rely on God to help us through. Doing life in such an orderly, routine predictable fashion gives us the feeling that we are in control of our own life and nothing can go wrong as long as we are in the drivers seat. While order and structure have there place in life, it can be easy to forget that God is ultimately in control. Also, how do we grow our faith when we have nothing to challenge us?
I would also consider it a first world problem that is takes intention to branch out of comfort zones. Living in America and being in a place where shelter, water, food and job are never in question is such a blessing. However, it can also be so easy to have a weaker faith because we have so much security. When change is inevitable (which it will be at some point or another), and our foundations are rocked, we need to be prepared and have the faith to trust in God for guidance, wisdom and direction to help us through whatever we need.
I love the quote that says "Faith starts the moment we step out of our comfort zone." Every week I have been trying to do something different that is out of my routine or comfort zone. I've been trying to be intentional about this, and so far its been neat. I'm only about three weeks in and the things I've been doing aren't anything too dramatic, but I've noticed how it shifts my day and forces me to pray more and seek God. I've been growing in my faith and as a person. I hope as time goes on my daily "challenges" or "dares" continue to grow in substance and faith.
So I ended up buying a new pair of shoes. And I'm happy to report I like the style a little more then my old pair. On my drive home I thought about all long days and muddy runs my old sneakers carried me through. I slight pang of sadness and fear that the other shoes won't live up to what my old shoes provided came over me. But who knows? Until we step out and try something new, we will never know. Maybe these will be the best shoes yet. There are many adventures to be had, things to learn and mountains to climb in a new pair of shoes.
I wish you the best this week as you climb your own mountains. I pray you have the most amazing discoveries as you continue to branch out and try new things.
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