Again, dear readers, I am not able to talk with each of you face-to-face.  This makes me more sad than you know!  In hopes to give you some more perspective of the life of this blogger behind the screen, here are seven things you might notice if we met.


1.  I have an obsession with Spanish.
It's been an obsession seriously ever since I was a four-year-old girl having a dream about witnessing in a Spanish speaking country.  Maybe it's the fact that my dad is a pastor who used to frequently go on missions trips, or maybe it's because my mom is so big on international Christianity.  Either way, Spanish-ness and the wonderful language itself have a part in my past and have a place to stay.

So, if we ever meet, prepare yourself for movie watching.. in Spanish. Brace yourself for random song outbursts.. in Spanish.  And I apologize in advance when I start speaking to you, occasionally, in Spanish.  If you come in my car, too, well the tunes might sound a little foreign to your ears cause I got my Spanish Hillsong jam.  I'm nowhere near fluent, though, but I seem to love it more each time I speak/hear/listen/write it.


2.  I can be absolutely terrible at texting or messaging back.
Call it short-term memory loss or blame it on the fact that my phone could basically be anywhere at any given time (and I probably couldn't tell you where), but it's just the unintentional reality.

{Really, I'm trying to improve, though..}


3.  I'll always choose left.
When faced with the choice: right or left? my theory is: always take the road left traveled...


4.  I (potentially) have problems navigating... through my home-town.
Starbucks drinker {leaning over to my table}: Hey, do you know you way around this city really well?
Me: oh! I'm so sorry, but I don't... (to myself: uhm, why don't I know this?  Wait.  You've been living here for ten years, Deborah, and don't know your way around {the struggle is real}.  Well, this is awkward..)


5. I just really love shoes (like, a lot).
When I was five years old, my dad lost me.  We were in Target, and I disappeared.  He ended up finding me... in the shoe section.  Ever since then, I like to say, my love of those wonderful things we put on our feet have only grown.

I may potentially dig pretty strange ones, too, and match them with outfits that are.. unconventional.  (Hey, somebody's gotta do it, right?)  My Dominican Republic canvas shoes may have seen the sunlight (or lack-of) more than a few times in the middle of winter even, and -let me tell you- they have negative two traction. 
  

6.  I'm a men's small.
Being a tall-ish and broad-shouldered girl has it's downsides (though I think it's like amazing, in general). Truth be told, a men's small in clothes can fit me pretty well, and my man clothes are some of my favorites (this zip-up I have, though..).

It only gets a little weird when you're at a youth retreat and you see a guy wearing a shirt that you happen to also have brought with.  {It just keeps life fun, right?}


7. One word: croutons.  
I'm not big on comfort food, but I do have a go-to snack: croutons (Olive Garden ones, in particular).  I may have been recently found sitting on the floor with a mega-sized bag of these crunching and typing away.  (Really, there's just a seasoning that can't be beat..)

 
Now it's your turn!  I would love to hear something(s) that I would notice about you on the other side of this screen if we met.  Feel free to comment below!

My feet were going over both the slushy puddles and the ice.

When I opened the mailbox, I saw the letter.  It read "Honors Program" above the college's name in the top left corner.

My feet skipped over both the puddles and ice as I literally ran inside.  My heart was pounding, but my stomach was filled with an ocean of dread and apprehension.  My mind was coated in doubt, but my heart wouldn't stop beating hope.

It didn't take long.  "We're sorry, but we are unable to accept everyone who applies."  My mind's doubt was icing into cold, numbing fact while my heart moved from beating hope to bleeding disappointment.

I knew it was doubtful.  Only fifteen people out of the entire incoming class are selected, and my APA stylistic mishap had been haunting me during the final days of waiting.  I had not been able to rid myself of the hope, though.  A different school, nicknamed "the Harvard of the Evangelicals," had already accepted me and even given me their highest academic scholarship.  My ACT score allowed me to apply for this elitist program.  I was co-presidnet of the National Honors Society, for Pete's sake.

Yet, I was facing "you're a good candidate for our 'second-chance' opportunity."

I dropped the letter and turned away.

I dropped the letter and felt my hope drop to the floor.  I turned away and felt like my dreams had totally turned away from me and left me in a place unable to engage in the shattered reality I now faced.

Very few times have I literally not been able to speak because my emotions are like a torrent washing me so completely that words are buried and my tongue is too coated in their waves to move.  This was one of those times, and I...

lost it.

I would like to say otherwise, but it's just the truth: this rejection letter felt like it broke a dam inside of me that allowed a flood of held-back doubts and too-long held fears to pour out.

This was supposed to be the final confirmation that I should go to this school.
I prayed.  I prayed, yet this is the result that I get.  again.  
My family literally can't afford the practically $18,000 that this is going to cost us; doesn't God understand that?
Why, why is the effort (forget about my own effort) of my parents yet again seemingly unrewarded?
Why do I have to deal with all the doubt and baggage that this is going to cause me from this day forward?  I. do. not. have. the. strength.
Why do I have to carry and work through what this is bringing up in my life?  When can it just be what I wanted?

Tears are an interesting reality.  Although it may feel like they are drowning you, they're often just washing you clean: washing you clean of gunk that has been building up inside.  Sometimes, something as strong as a torrent of tears is the only thing that can wash that buildup out.

When the buildup was coming down, I see this: we're not built to stand alone.

When the hope was dropping to the floor, I see this: maybe our hope should start at the floor.  It should start beneath us and be grounding us.  It should be an anchor for our soul, and this is not an anchor that 'ties us down' but one that enables us to stand up (Hebrews 6:19).

When my whole reality seemed to darken, I see this: God is light, and in Him, there is just no darkness (1 John 1:15).  Isn't that enough?

When my life seems shaken, I see this: though the hills be shaken and the very mountains move, His steadfast love just isn't going to change (Isaiah 54:10).  Doesn't that steadfast love still have you covered even when, hey, it seems like it's forgotten about you?

When my heart is bleeding and I don't think I even have the strength to cover the wound, I see this: when I am weak, oh man, then is when I am actually strong (2 Corinthians 12:10).

When life brings you through solid ice of doubts, fears, and crumpled dreams, I see this: life has both the pain and cold and danger of ice, but there is always the melting of this ice where the pain will fade, and you will find that you are stronger for enduring the ice.  Really, though, both ice and melting puddles are made of water, but they just come in different forms.  And both are good.

Now, that letter is now sitting not even eight feet away from me.  I wanted to burn it not even a week ago.  Today, I want to frame it.  Call that strange desire swap what you will - character defect, bizarre tendency - but I've seen that in the dark tears of weakness are the brightest cleansings of His strength.  

And I don't want to forget that.


Update:  The day after receiving the honors program rejection letter, I got a phone call.  The leadership development program that I'd applied to at the same school had accepted me.  Frankly, this program is the better fit for me at this point in my life, and it is highly doubtful that I would have been able to be in both programs.  Yet, I had to live through an emotional hell before finding out this news.  But, my God is the God of heaven, and I want to encourage you: hang on.  He's just not finished yet. 

I'm sick of "Christians."