the truth about me...

You never know what is waiting for you when you step onto an elevator. Sometimes, the people you’re riding with are real creepy and stare at you the whole time. Other times, it’s pretty chill, laid back, mostly quiet, and maybe ask “do you think it’ll rain today?” right before you reach your destination. No matter the situation, you can always count on one thing...it will always smell funky. 

Everyday holds a new elevator experience. Today was no different. Before boarding the elevator, one of my friends stepped out; her mother was with her, which provided the content for the elevator conversation. We boarded, and with pushing the buttons marked 5 and 6 on the wall, we embarked on our journey. One of the girls on board said something about how much the girl and mom looked alike. She proceeded to tell us how much she enjoyed seeing child and parent together, pointing out the similarities in looks and actions. Then the doors opened on the 5th floor and we separated, each going our own ways, conversation ceased, but the topic continued to plague me for some time. 

Flashback: I was 10 years old. My mom woke me up in the middle of the night. She was holding a phone and saying “Honey, I found him! He’s on the phone! Here!” I was still groggy and half-asleep, but I took the phone. That was the only time I’ve ever spoken to my birthfather. 

And I don’t remember any of the conversation. I don’t remember the sound of his voice. The only picture I had of him was when he was 18 years old, a senior in high school, but that picture was lost when we moved, and I don’t remember the details. It’s hard, living the life of an adoptee. Because we had an open adoption, I have more information than most, especially about my birthmother, and I’m ever so grateful for what I have. But at the same time, it brings even more questions to the surface. 

Sometimes I just sit and wonder what my father is like. What color are his eyes? Do I look anything like him? Do I have his mannerisms? Do we have the same personalities? Do we like any of the same things (sports, subjects, food)? Those questions run through my head all the time, but that’s fine, because these are the mild questions, unanswerable?...true, but mild. The one question that all adopted children have to face is the most difficult, the most painful: 

Why didn’t they want me? What was wrong with me? 

I won’t pretend that these questions didn’t make me question my own value. No, I’ve had to deal with rejection, with the thoughts that I’m unloveable. I’ve struggled over these questions for years. The truth in all of this was that my birthmother gave me up because she loved me and she wanted me to have a better life than what she could offer. It was a sacrifice, not a rejection. Being older, I understand that now and I owe my life to her. But those questions are still there.

I wanna know my birthfather. I think about him all the time. For a while, I didn’t want to have anything to do with him, but lately...I can’t deny that there is a burning void in my life, like a part of me is missing. I want people to see us and make comments about how I look like him. Will I be able to live a successful life without knowing him? Yes, but I still want to know him. I will find him. Someday :)

Every time I think about this, I realize again how faithful God is. You can see God’s hand on my life in just how trippy my whole story is. God truly is my Father. I talk to Him about it all the time, about why me and not some other random person. And His response is always the same: “Because I wanted you.” God amazes me. I love how He takes my deepest and darkest, most tormenting question, and turns it into a lovestory. 

I want people to see us and point out how much I look like Him. I want people to see my Father in me. 

Matthew 7:16 “You will know them by their fruit...”

I could tell so much more about my history and about how I’ve dealt with things, but I wanted to keep this somewhat short. I guess you’ll just have to wait for my book ;)

the struggle for surrender.

Why is it that every time I go home everyone has to ask me the exact same question? Care to guess what question? You got it! “So...do you have a boyfriend?” Seriously, without fail, my entire family asks me this question. No! Ok? No. My 14 year old little brother is so tired of my answer that he is always suggesting that he should come to my school and find me one because “Steph, you’re 20...you need a boyfriend.” Why is this so high on everyone’s list?

It’s always been my desire to get married. Always. Even when I was real young I started thinking about boys. I guess you could say that I was “boy crazy”. But all of the guys that I liked back then turned out to be real jerks: one became a druggie, another was arrested, and the others just turned away from God. I know how to pick em...let me tell you. (joke)

When I was 13, I started praying for my future husband. I wrote down a list of all of the things that I wanted in a husband...and the list was like 3 pages long, even at 13 years old. I considered that list my “mail-order” for a husband and read it to God several times.  Though my list has changed some through the years, my dream of getting married never did. It’s always been understood, in my mind, that I’m going to meet the man that God has for me and I’m going to get married. Period. I had decided.

The other day, God was talking to me about surrender and that there was one area of my life that I hadn’t given to Him. I was perplexed. Surely, I had given all that I am to Him. And then He told me that I needed to surrender my longing for marriage. I felt that His request was just absurd and, to be honest, I blew Him off for a couple of days. To clarify, I’ve never really had a problem with surrendering; sure, it’s a process, but it’s been easy to give up things for God, like some of my dreams and even my career path of choice, but this? 

A few days later, He brought it up again. I knew that I needed to give it to Him, but the thought of possibly not getting married tore me apart. I couldn’t breathe. I struggled to find the words. Finally, God asked me “Am I not enough for you? Is My love not enough?” I was heartbroken. What could I do? If I answered no, then I was saying that God’s love, that is so encompassing and overwhelming that I can’t even grasp it’s worth, wasn’t good enough for me. On the other hand, if I answered yes, I was giving up one of my most foundational and intimate desires. Through my tears, I surrendered. That was the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do. I was sitting on the floor, crying, and I felt God’s peace enter the room. And I just felt God smile and say to me “I’m proud of you, daughter. I know that was hard, but you needed to trust Me. I have your list. I know what you want, but I also know who you need. I’ve heard your prayers; those words were not wasted. I have him. Continue to trust Me and I will draw his heart to yours. Just wait. He’s on the way.” 

Surrender. You can almost hear the struggle by the way it sounds. Surrender. But through surrender comes victory, much like through the darkness comes the dawn. Surrender is hard and you can’t always see the outcome. It’s not painless. But the peace and freedom that floods your being afterward is enough. 

Surrender was my battle, but freedom is my victory. 

the limitation's the limit.

Commercials. I hate them. Sometimes I get those little jingles stuck in my head for days. I hate the Neosporin Band-aid commercial “When you fall always squeeze...then stick!” I hate it for 2 reasons: 1) the song is terrible and I find myself singing it while doing the dishes and 2) the puppeteering is absolutely awful and I can say that because I am a puppeteer and I know of what I speak. But I guess I can’t really hate on it because the advertisement is clearly effective. 

I’ve never really considered billboards very effective, mostly because I’m the one driving and I never see them because I’m watching the road, ensuring the safety of society at large...like any competent passerby, hence, it’s ineffectiveness. However, I had an experience with one just the other day that has continued to plague my mind. The billboard was simple and all it said was...

“‘What would you attempt for Me if you knew you could not fail?’ -God”

Wow. I have no idea what this “advertisement” was actually for, but I was totally taken aback by this. But once the contemplation process started, I was challenged. I hate failure. I shy away from things that have the potential to make me be even slightly unsuccessful. I mean, I know my strengths and I know my weaknesses, and I’m not going to run with something that’s strongest requirement is my biggest weakness. Let’s be realistic...that’s just not gonna happen. 

I guess you could say that I let my perceptions of my own limitations be my limitation. I let my weaknesses govern what I’m willing and able to do. But I serve an infallible God. Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do ALL things through Christ Who strengthens me.” This is a great verse and I always use it to bring immediate encouragement to my life or to others...but what if I actually started living this lifestyle? 

And then I started thinking about how my dreams would differ if I truly believed that I could not fail. Would I dare to dream the impossible? What have I already labeled as ‘impossible’? By limiting myself I am limiting God, which seems absurd, but it entirely true. God wants to work through me, but only through what I allow Him to. God is such a gentleman, and He will only take and use what I give to Him. So, if I set limits on myself, I set limits on what He is able to accomplish through me. And that’s a serious no-no, but one that I make over and over. 

Don’t let your perceptions of your limitations limit what God can do in you and through you. Abandon yourself to Him. Toss away your limits. Your God is limitless. Do you think He made you to be limited? To be kept in a box? Quit being your own hinderance. Keep dreaming, because the One who gives you dreams is the One Who will give you all that you need to see it become your reality. 

Represent.

I was 4 years old when I first discovered my mother’s tube of lipstick. It was on the bathroom counter, and being 4, the top of the counter was just about eye level, so it was just within my reach. I grabbed it. It fit perfectly in my hand, like one of those jumbo crayons. I took off the lid and was intrigued by the fierce shade of redish pink that protruded from one end. I had seen my mom use it on her face, so naturally I wanted to see how it would look on my arm. So, I drew a thick redish pink line on my arm. As if that wasn’t enough, I had to test out the lipstick on my leg, again, drawing another thick redish pink line. The real trouble started when I noticed the white wall behind me. Oh, I had so much fun. By the time my mom found me, I had an entire section of the wall covered with random lines and circle, attempted stick figures, if you will. Needless to say, my mom wasn’t happy. And yes, I got a spanking.

You’d think I would have learned my lesson...but here I am...16 years later. A few weeks ago, a thought kept popping into my head. It was a portion of the song “Beautiful Things” by Gungor. I felt like I needed to write it down, in a spot where I would see it often. Hence, the reason why “You make beautiful things” is written on the wall next to my bed in my dorm room. I read it every morning. It surprises me how a simple 4-word sentence could have so much meaning and could speak to me in so many different ways. And others have seen it, too. In fact, most of the people who come into my room notice the small square of white wall that’s marked by pencil scratchings. 

I guess you could say that life is like a big blank canvas...or a wall. When people look at you, they see your wall. You carry it with you. Your wall gives you away; it tells who you really are. Its a true, unbiased reflection of your character. What do people see when they look at you? So many different things affect the wall, some big, some small. But I don’t think we realize how much we’re affected by certain things. It’s so easy to build up a tolerance to things. Some people call it becoming ‘desensitized'. I like to call it a slow compromise.

“Brothers, whatever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely, of good report; if there be any virtue or praise, think on these things.” ~Philippians 4:8

What are you representing?

Apply this verse into your life. Memorize it. Choose to represent Jesus Christ. He’s the only thing that matters! We get so caught up in trying to represent ourselves that we forget the reason that we’re here. Represent Christ, and He’ll be ALL the representation you’ll ever need.

What’s being written on your wall?