To Whom It May Concern: Failure, Freedom, and The Future

"We are all failures at least, all the best of us are."-J.M. Barrie

So, I turned 29 a couple of weeks ago. It's not 30, but for me, it's a rather important milestone, coinciding with a new beginning in my life. Some of you have noticed my relative silence in the past year and a half from the Internet world---haven't been blogging or relishing in the plethora of theological or political discussions happening as I once did. My activity in this forum has pretty much been limited to posting random pictures from my everyday life, the occasional vague status update, or recycling quotes/lyrics/videos that resonate with me. I despise "over-sharing" via facebook, and I have no intention of airing the most intimate and guarded details of my personal life in such a public forum, but a general update and basic explanation for my disappearance seems warranted.

Failure. If I had to sum up the "theme" of the year 2011 in one word, that would be it: failure (Or a trendier way to put it: 2011 was an "Epic Fail"). Sure, I graduated from college with a near perfect GPA, but all my straight A's couldn't erase the F's I earned outside of school. I got divorced and might as well have worn a huge scarlet D on my chest. Though divorce is such a common occurrence in this day and age, it is an utterly agonizing, horrifying, and often incapacitating experience that ruptures and transforms every single aspect of your life. Like the wobbly tower of a near-finished game of Jenga, the last wooden slat of my hollowed-out 10-year marriage was yanked out and finally crumbled, crashing to the ground. However my own personal definition of "success" was formed (from a mixture of the bible, my church tradition, my own ideals, hopes, and expectations), ending up divorced at 28, after ten years of marriage, seemed like the worst way in which I could fail. I feared hurting my ex-husband, hurting my son, hurting my family, and my friends. I feared being scrutinized, rejected, judged, condemned, abandoned, betrayed, and hated. I feared losing all that had come familiar to me. Even though, the familiar was broken, damaging, and painful, the familiar is always less scary than the unknown. Sadly, many of my fears were warranted. It hurt. I let people down. People let me down. I lost friends. I was consumed and disappeared.

Failure (A.K.A. Divorce), for so long, was not an option. I hate to fail, and everything that comes along with it: feelings of disappointment, inadequacy, humiliation, and the gnawing awareness of letting down everyone you love. There's a certain involuntary vulnerability that failure demands. So, I denied failure haunted me, ignored it, fought against it, prayed against it, rejected it, but most of all, I feared it. I spent years in emotional paralysis because of the fear to fail in this way. Failure was the mental Boogey-Man lurking the dark halls of my mind, hiding in locked closets in my heart, threatening to destroy everything. I knew well the consequences of this failure.Dissolving a ten year marriage doesn't just end the husband-wife relationship (as if that un-tangling process isn't complicated and painful enough), but a divorce ripples out beyond a splitting couple into the lives of their immediate and extended families, friends, churches, and communities.

Divorce changes everything. It changes the very orientation of your life: where you live, how

you function on a daily basis, how you interact with the larger circle of people in your life, how you speak and see relationships. Divorce shines a harsh, unforgiving spotlight on the corpse of a

marriage, and then rips open the blinds for the whole world to peer inside and speculate whose fault the death is: Was it a murder? Was it a suicide? An accidental overdose? Whose fault was it anyway? People have questions, assumptions, advice, opinions, and oh, do they want answers. Rumors circulate. Bits and pieces of "the story" are traded like baseball cards. Battle lines are drawn. Sides are taken. Family and friends are put in the middle. Children hear and see things they never should.

So, failure was the enemy to be kept at bay at all cost. And it did cost me.The only problem was I was living a lie, a lie with noble intentions, but a lie, nonetheless. Success (as it was defined for me or defined by me) was a relentless taskmaster whose burden grew so heavy, that I was crushed beneath it. I watched myself and my ex-husband slowly, though alarmingly, deteriorate, caught in a dysfunctional cycle with no easy answers. In the end, maintaining an appearance of success was so unbearable, that I begin to long for failure, to pine for it, dare I say, hope for it. Suddenly all the devastating consequences of failure seemed a small price to pay to be freed from a prison of "success." Suddenly, failure was not so menacing. When I finally found the courage to turn on the light in the dark halls and closets of my mind and heart, failure no longer looked like the terrifying Boogey-Man I had always imagined. Failure took the form a patient, gracious mother quietly beckoning me to humbly rest in her arms, teaching me to mourn before I could rejoice, to bleed before I could heal, to die before I could be reborn. Failure taught me that no matter how painful and devastating the truth may be, it is the only thing that will set you free in the end.

Failure left no stone un-turned--emotionally, mentally, spiritually, financially, socially---nothing is the same and nothing will ever be the same again. It meant losing friends, facing my own brokenness, finding the courage to tell a complicated truth when living a much simpler lie seemed kinder and more convenient for everyone. But failure also brought bitter-sweet relief. It

revealed who my true friends are, and gave me the chance to love in a way I never thought possible. Sometimes facing your own failure, whether a true failure or perceived failure, may indeed be a tragic end to one chapter in our lives, but it *can*also give us an opportunity to start again, with a renewed hope for the future. And sometimes, through failure, we can learn to live again better than we could before. And I hope that's the direction I am headed towards.

Baby Rylan Sawyer is Here!

"Whoever invented the epidural should be seated at the right hand of Christ." --Me.

Baby Rylan Sawyer finally arrived on June 9! I have been the biggest slacker when it came to blogging throughout this pregnancy. But I did want to share some pics for those of you who may still be checking in every now and again. :)



Here is Rylan Sawyer fresh out of the oven....


Our first family photo at the hospital.

Rylan and I taking a much needed nap.....

Rylan sleeping. He's obsessed with his hands, they have to be touching his face at all times...
My dog Scrappy cuddling with Rylan. Here, I thought my dog would be super jealous, but it turns out he loves little Ryles.


Rylan smiling right before dosing off to sleep.


Hopefully, once I get into the swing of things with a new baby, the creative juices will start flowing again and I can get back to writing. Thanks everyone for your prayers!

Civilized Killing

A poem I wrote last year is getting published in a small collection of poetry from The American Poet's Society. It's always an honor to get published. So, I thought I'd repost it. :)

Civilized Killing

Ancient Arrows
Former slayers in the wars of men
Now mounted on the walls of their dens

Useless arrows
Too impractical for the modern age
There are easier ways to pierce a flesh-bound cage

Savage Arrows
Too barbaric for the modern man
You lack the dignity of the bombs in our hands

Hang, shrouded in mystery
Teach us something of our history

You are a senior citizen of war
Knocking on death's door
Lingering on life support
To indulge our indignant thrill

Show us how far mankind has come
As we polish our efficient guns
Those brutal savages knew none
Of the civilized ways to kill

Hang, shrouded in mystery
Teach us something of our history

Back In The Saddle

All of us who professionally use the mass media are the shapers of society. we can vulgarize that society. We can brutalize it. Or we can help lift it onto a higher level.--William Bernbach,

Well, I have been looking for a full-time job since school let out, with no luck. Out of the blue, my former editor from the Dawson Community News called and asked if I'd be interested in filling their summer internship position again this year! This is very exciting because not only is it a full-time, PAID internship, but I actually will get to do what I love, journalism. Last year was a priceless experience, and this year is shaping up to be even better. My editor said that I can pick up right where I left off, which was covering stories by myself, writing my own articles, and finding stories. There is no learning period this time around. I already know the people, the usual contacts (police, fire department, school officials, etc.), and the overall area. I get to jump right back into to covering crime, town events, feature stories, and fires and accidents (my least favorite things to do). Journalism appeals to me because I get to interact with all different kinds of people, I get to be "in the know," and I get to learn a different style of writing.

The only downside, to this otherwise awesome opportunity, is the drive. It is so friggin' far. Over an hour each way. So, for eight weeks, I will have to rise before the sun. Those of you who know me personally already know how I loathe mornings. But I adjusted fine last summer, I know I can do it again. I'll have to get some good books on CD to fill the long drive. Then I will be set.

Anyway, I am very psyched about being a reporter again!

You Like Me, You Really Like Me!

Kathy from The Carnival Inside my Head nominated me for the Subversive Blogger Award and as "scary" as the word subversive sounds, this is actually a compliment, one that is particularly meaningful to me.

The description for this award is as follows:

“Subversive bloggers are unsatisfied with the status quo, whether in church, politics, economics or any other power-laden institution, and they are searching for (and blogging about) what is new (or a “return to”) - even though it may be labeled as sacrilege, dangerous, or subversive.”

Here are the rules:

1. If you are tagged, write a post with links to five subversive blogs.

2. Link back to this post on JakeBouma.com so people can easily find the origin of the meme.

3. Optional: Proudly display the “Subversive Blogger Award” somewhere on your blog.
That’s all there is to it.

Keep in mind that this award is meant as an encouragement to bloggers to keep doing what they’re already doing - being subversive (however you interpret it). May we never forget that Jesus (and His message) was the original and ultimate subversive.

I nominate:

David, over at Imagination Conversion (I would nominate Mak too, but she's been nominated several times already, I think).

Terry over at Ornaments of Grace. We disagree on many things, but also agree on the important things. Disagree or not, she definitely challenges the status quo.

Mike Clawson over at Emerging Pensees

Linda over at Christian Feminism

Derek over at Rebel God.

All these bloggers challenge the status quo in their own unique and creative ways. Thank you all for giving me something to think about.

As for me, I have been in a bit of a blogging slump. I am officially finished with school, but I have been working a lot and am currently on the hunt for a full-time job. I can't seem to find the time to put together anything compelling. On a personal note, I've been in a very private, introspective mood, kind of keeping to myself and thinking over a variety of things. I've also been reading two rather depressing books, which are proving to be extremely beneficial for me, but are depressing nonetheless. All of this to say, my blogging well is running dry at the moment. But after tomorrow, things should settle back down, at least in the busy department.

Parable of the Lost...Dog?

"What do you think? If any man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go and search for the one that is straying? If it turns out that he finds it, truly I say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine which have not gone astray,"--Jesus, Matthew 18:12-13

I have to interrupt the women series to post about this while it is fresh in my mind. Since yesterday morning, all I have done is cry my eyes out, pray, agonize and drive around looking for my runaway dog. I periodically checked in on blog world to get my mind off of it.

This is me and Aravis, at a much skinnier time in both our lives. :)

It all started yesterday morning. I awoke to find one of our outside dogs, Aravis, missing from the yard. She dug her way out of the fence. I went out front and saw her hobbling down the road back towards our house. She had a huge gash on her left front paw and could barely walk on it. I immediately called the vet, which is about 4 or 5 miles away, to set up a time to bring her in.

When we got there, I lifted her out of the car and as I carried her up to the vet's office, she panicked, flipped out of arms, and took off with her leash still attached! She ran directly into oncoming traffic. A truck almost hit her, but swerved at the last second. She ran across the street, through a parking lot, down a long, STEEP, ravine and disappeared into the field of high grass. Only more busy roads surrounded the field. She was gone.

Those of you who know me already know at this point that I was devastated. We have ten dogs (two inside dogs and eight outside dogs) and we love them like people. My husband and I often say that dogs are God's best creation. I drove around in circles for hours calling her name, crying, hitting my steering wheel, and dropping a few expletives. I did not spot her once. I went home defeated, convinced I'd never find her again alive. My worst fear was finding her hit on the side of the road.

I woke up this morning to VIOLENT thunder and lightening. All I could think about was my poor, scared, wounded dog trying to fend for herself out there with no way to come home. As soon as the storm let up, I started driving around again. My voice was hoarse from calling her name.

As I was driving, I started to get really angry. These kind of things tend to happen to me A LOT, so much so that I've started to expect the worst in these kind of situations. After hours of searching, I was "talking" to God, okay, yelling at God, recounting all the worry, anxiety, desperation, and fervor of the past twenty-four hours, expressing how the thought of giving up or finding her dead was almost unbearable. The prayer was laced with a "it's not fair," attitude. In the middle of my rant, within in the deepest part of me, I felt God say, "Imagine how I've searched for you." Ouch. I nearly drove off the road. I pulled over and just wept over my steering wheel. How many times have I wandered off? I realized that I am a lot like my dog. She really loves us, but is ruled by fear. She's always cowering until she's sure she's not in trouble. She kind of expects the worst. Sound familiar? I started thinking about the mind-blowing notion of God searching for me and still searching for all of me. Just then, I heard a faint yelp. I got out of my car and yelled for Aravis. I did this for a half hour before finally giving up. I got back in my car and started to turn around. Just before driving off, I saw her standing in the middle of a field about a quarter of a mile away. I jumped out of my car and called her to come. She stood there looking at me for a moment. I couldn't believe it! I thanked God over and over again out loud. But then Aravis ran off again and I imeediately switched to dropping the F-bomb in frustration. Thanking God in one breath, dropping the F-bomb in the other....OY.

Anyway, I had to run after her through a FLOODED field. I got mud up to my knees and she was no where in sight... again. I finally heard some rustling in the thicket and she poked her head out. I called her in my nicest voice, since I knew she wanted to come to me, but was also scared (another familiar spiritual problem). It didn't matter. No matter how nice sounding my voice was, she wouldn't come close enough. Finally, I decided to lay prostrate on the ground, in the mud (Dog people know that this is a way to communicate a non-threatening demeanor). So I laid there for a few moments and she cautiously circled around me, and finally collapsed on top of me, digging her head into me, shaking and wimpering.

As I sat there hugging my wet, muddy, wounded, fearful, nutbag of a dog, I realized how happy I was to have found her. I wasn't angry with her, I felt compassion for her. I didn't care that I was covered in mud from head to toe or how filthy she was, I just wanted to take care of her. And I wondered if this is how God feels when we finally surrender and come close enough to Him to be found? I wondered how often God is searching for me and I don't even know it? I wondered how often God is reaching out to me and I'm too wrapped up in my own baggage and fear to realize it? There are parts of myself that still cower and run from God's extended embrace because of fear. But today the reality of how far God goes to find us, how far He was willing to wade through the muck and mire of human filthiness, just came to life. The parable of the lost sheep came alive through my own parable of my lost dog.

Best Posts of 2007

I decided to bite off of my fellow bloggers and do a recap of my favorite posts from each month in 2007. So, in honor of the new year, here are my personal favorites of 2007.

April: Blessed Are The Peacemakers, For They Shall Be Called...Liberal Hippies?

May: Abracadabra, Hocus Pocus, Jesus! and The Fine Line Between Faith and Denial

June: The Myth of Avoiding The Appearance of Evil and But Are We Really Pro-life?

July: For Anyone Clinging To The Sparks of Hope For Change (This post is on Jim Wallis's God Politics: Why the Right Gets it Wrong and The Left Doesn't Get it: It's one of the best books I've ever read, and should be required reading for any Christian desiring to live out God's Kingdom here on earth, even in the messy political realm.

August: Lying For The 'Truth' (a lesson on how far even Christian organizations will go to rally support for their pet causes....)

Septemeber: Lifehouse Skit and The Real Outcry Against Sodom

October: How My Boy Makes Me Proud

Novemeber: The Upside Down Kingdom (book reveiw of Brian McLaren's The Secret Message of Jesus, excellent book!) and To Emerge Or Not To Emerge?

December: Win The War On Christmas By Losing

Answering The Nudge

Yesterday (July 13Th), I was assigned to cover my first fire. The call came in over the police scanner as a construction fire. I grabbed my camera, ran to my car, and followed the passing fire trucks. We turned onto a long dirt road running through acres of wide-open land. The road continued to a thick forest and then down a steep hill was the house, completely engulfed in flames. Two fire stations were already there spraying massive amounts of water. There were some brave fire fighters on the first floor of the house checking for victims while the entire top floor was raging with flames. It looked like it could cave in at any moment. Thankfully, no one was home. I took a few photos and started up the hill to leave the firemen to their noble task.

As I got to my car, an older woman (early fifties) with tears running down her face ran toward me screaming, "What's happened!? Is my house OK?! Has there been a fire?" (We were up on the open land, where the trees were covering the view of her home, so she had no idea what was going on). Every single official was trying to get the fire under control before it spread, so I was the only one free to talk with her. I couldn't bare to tell her the extent of the damage. She pressed me for details, so I told her when the call came in, the house was 70% consumed in fire. She threw herself onto my shoulder and wept. "My parents are dead and all their pictures were in my house, all my memories. My kids' baby pictures."

In yet another moment of "unprofessionalism," I cried with this dear woman and hugged her. How could my heart not break for someone who went out to run a few errands only to return to find her entire HOME decimated (not just a house, but the place where she made her life, raised her kids, made her HOME-it was all gone). She told me her husband had left that morning and would be getting on a plane in an hour. Every time she spoke of her husband, she burst into tears, saying "He kissed me goodbye this morning and told me to be careful because it's Friday the 13Th," she sobbed. "I can't tell him, he's been looking forward to this trip for a year. He couldn't bare this." I don't think the extent of the damage had hit her yet, because she hadn't actually seen the house yet, but I knew she needed to call her husband and tell him to come home right away. I handed her my cell and encouraged her to call. She dialed the number and then started to have a bit of a panic attack.

She handed me the phone and said, "I just can't. Would you please tell him for me?"

That's right folks. I had to get on the phone and tell this man that his house was consumed in flames. Being the bearer of bad news is not fun task, but I couldn't refuse this broken woman, so I did it. Her husband was in shock. I opened with with "your wife and kids are completely fine and everyone is safe...." He, of course, rushed home to be with his wife.

As I waited with her, I felt God giving me a little nudge. And being the rebellious little brat that I am, I nudged Him right back. :) The lady was standing beside me shaking her head, crying, and muttering, "Oh God, why" (oh a phrase we are all familiar with). I finally heeded the constant nudging, and asked her if I could pray with her. Her whole face changed, almost smiling, and said "Oh yes." We bowed our heads and prayed the best I knew how, which seemed clumsy and overly simple. But when we were done, she took a deep breath, wiped the tears from her face and said. "Thank you. I needed that. I've been a nurse for 30 years, so I know what's important in life and in ain't buildings."

I truly hope these people find the strength in God that they'll need for this time in their lives and that God will use this fire to somehow bless them. I didn't want to be there, (I'm super sensitive and cry at the drop of a hat), but I'm glad I was sent to cover this assignment because if I offered just the tiniest bit of comfort and hope to this woman, then it was well worth it.

The Downside of Reporting

Today was a traumatic day. I was sent out to cover my first accident scene. On the way there, I only knew their had been a wreck. I did not know the extent of the damage. It seems a tractor trailor traveling east on a two-lane highway came around the curve too fast, side-swiping a mack truck in the opposite lane before flipping completely over onto a Ford Expedition. The male driver of the ford expedition was killed instantly. When I arrived at the scene, the young man's lifeless and mangled hand was sticking out from the heap of flattened metal and broken glass. The mack truck had collapsed on the gaurd rail, which completely caved in the driver's side of the windshield.

As I listened to all the EMT workers and police referring to the man as "the body," saying things like, "how do we extract the body from the vehicle," I couldn't help but think that "the body" was someone's son, someone's husband, someone's father, someone's friend. The man was probably driving down the road listening to the radio and contemplating what he was going to eat for lunch, completely clueless that his drive would be his last moments on earth. It's incredibly sad how life can end so abruptly without warning. While I was shocked and saddened by this tragic accident and feeling totally sheepish having to take photos for the paper, I understood that the men and women who deal with the fatalies on the highways have to compartmentalize to efficiently do their jobs: to treat those who surive, to properly handle those who died, and to accurately investigate the truth with a clear mind. It must be numbing to see so much sickness, inury, and death on a regular basis. And it was at this point that I realized the line of work I want to be in includes dealing with these unpleasant realities.

As I stared at the smoldering wreck with one solemn white sheet over the visible parts of the victim, I couldn't help but think of my own cousin who also died suddenly in a car crash only a few months ago. I know firsthand what sudden tragedy can do to a family, how all the elements of grief, despair, denial, resentment, anger, fear, and blame team up to emotionally paralyze the loved ones left on the side of the living. I felt for the people who were a part of that man's life and I pray that God gives them the strength and hope they'll need to get through it.

As much as I respect the news and realize its tremendous value to society when not abused-this is definitely the downside of the job.

First Time Ear-Wear!

Even though I will not be able to sport any of this "bling" for another month, I couldn't resist purchasing my first batch of earrings!

Just Call Me Smitty!

Hand me a pencil, a tape recorder, and one of those wide-brimmed hats that make you look gay or British because I am officially a reporter! I landed an 8 week internship as a paid reporter for the Dawson Community Newspaper! It all happened so fast. My journalism professor recommended me to the editor this week for the position. I whipped up my resume and portfolio to meet with the editor on Friday. She was very welcoming and the atmosphere was very casual. We chatted about school, some of my articles for the The Compass (The My Scene column won her over), and current events in the news, then she offered me the job! I can't believe it! So for 8 weeks, I'll have to get up at 6 A.M. and not get home until nearly 7 p.m. Mon-Fri., but it will be completely worth it! I’ll be covering real stories, writing articles, editing, and generating ideas for columns and stories! I can’t even begin to put into words how thrilled I am to be given this opportunity. Usually internships translate to slaving away for free in hopes that one day the minimal amount of time working amongst a chosen profession will look good on your resume. Not only will this look good on my resume, but it pays!

I'm going to try to burn some sermons on CDs, so I do not go completely batty on the ride down to Dawsonville. Can anyone recommend some good speakers? I already started burning every Tony Campolo message under the sun (God, I love that man) and some Calvary Chapel pastors that I enjoy. Any other suggestions?

Anyway, I am really looking forward to this experience, even if I just end up covering carnivals and town meetings, or even if I fall flat on my face and fail miserably. This is something I have always wanted to do, and just to get my foot in the door is such an honor!

Third Time's A Charm

Today, I sat squeezing the life out of my husband's hand as a scary lady held a gun to my head. It was loaded, not with bullets, but with 14 carat gold! I got my ears pierced, finally. My ears and I have not always seen eye to eye (yes, my ears have eyes, and a smart mouth, if you must know). They tend to resist change, and boy, they sure are snarky about it (snarky, it's a word...google it). We've been down this road before. At age ten, the first traumatic piercing episode occured, and my ears threw a temper tantrum that would make Little House of the Prairie's Nellie Olsen seem like a saint. The whole nightmare resulted in the skin of my ears growing over the backs of the earrings in a record amount of time. I had to get the earrings surgically removed. About four years ago, I tried again, but alas, my ears won round two as well. After eight weeks of meticulously rotating and cleaning my earrings, the first night I removed them, the holes were closed by morning.

On a bit of a spontaneous whim tonight at Walmart, I decided to give it another go. I'm sure William will regain full use of his hand in a few days (childbirth should be interesting). Anyway, about 24 years overdue, I finally have my ears pierced and hopefully they will stay that way! So, when my birthday and Christmas roll around, know that I have 24 years worth of earrings to catch up on!