Thankfulness

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Water and fallen leaves.

One is a life source, and the other is a dying object. The fallen leaves remind us that dying is sometimes beautiful. The combination of the two is striking.

This is the time where autumn is ending and winter is beginning. The days are getting shorter and colder. The days might be hard or getting more difficult, but God is here. Let Him into your suffering. He doesn’t often choose to erase it, but he helps you through it.

This year, I have so much to be thankful for. Probably the biggest things are my life and my health. I almost died last year so I’m thankful for every breath I take. I’m thankful I’m alive, but I wonder “why me?” I don’t know why I survived or why I was chosen to have these TBI repercussions, but I realize that life is not about me. My story points to a God that doesn’t always say no. Sometimes, he says yes—to our prayers, to our hopes and our desires.

We often focus on the “no’s”—the times when he doesn’t answer our prayers the way we desire. We hear, repeatedly, the trite phase “If God shuts a door, he opens a window”. We see broken dreams and unanswered prayers around every block. But, sometimes, God does choose to answer our prayers the way we imagine. Sometimes, God chooses to say “yes”. Let’s cling to those moments.

I’m thankful for the hardships because they allow me to cling closely to the One who creates my dreams.

So this season may be bittersweet, but you’re alive

Seasons 

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Seasons.

Summer turns into autumn.

Fall is a season where the earth is preparing for slumber—for hibernation. It’s never been more beautiful to realize that sometimes we need to be buried in order to grow; we need to enter into a season of barrenness in order to be fruitful later.

We can’t always be in a season of summer-of harvest. That’s the way agriculture works-there is a purpose for every season. It’s the same with our spiritual life. When our soul is in autumn, it’s in a season of preparation. It’s preparing for winter where it looks barren and unfruitful. It prepares for a dry season just before it’s fruitful again. You may not like those seasons-the seasons where God seems far away, but hold fast to the promises given to you in the summer-the fruitful seasons. The promises of the spring to come. 

Sometimes, a season lasts a couple of weeks. Sometimes, it lasts a couple of years. Eventually, the season changes. You rotate through seasons like the earth. Each season lasts for awhile and then comes around again. 

In the seasons were your soul soars and God seems close, tuck the truths God teaches you into the back of your mind so you can pull them out and remember them during the tough times. I feel like I’m coming out of a season of trials. It’s still going to be a long road, but things are looking up. I’m feeling more like myself everyday. I don’t know exactly what season it was. It seemed like a winter season but I knew God was there even if it didn’t feel like it. 

That’s the thing about seasons of the soul. Sometimes, they are clear cut, and sometimes, they seem like one season, but act like another. 

So whatever season your soul is in, remember this: “You are loved. You are loved more than you will ever know by the God of the universe.”

5 Things My TBI Taught Me

Posted on by fearlessatheart

As the anniversary of my accident approaches, my mind is swamped with emotions. Here are a few things I’m learning about myself and God.
1. Life is precious. Embrace every moment.

Almost dying makes you appreciate living so much more. You are thankful for every breathe because you know it only takes a moment for everything to be taken from you. You see everything with new eyes, and you’re thankful for even the mundane things that used to be frustrating.

2. God is ultimately good even if it doesn’t look like it.

God always shows up. He sits with you in the mess and holds you, if you allow Him. The little things that happen are more than just coincidence. It’s not a coincidence that on a particularly hard day, I received a watercolor from a dear friend. It’s not a coincidence that a friend texts me to get coffee after a hard week when I feel like a failure. These are not coincidences. They are God kisses or moments where God whispers “You are more loved than you can ever know. This may not be how you planned your life going, but I’m in control.”

3. Patience is truly a virtue. It’s a hard lesson to learn.

Everything requires patience-my healing, driving and learning a new job. I want to be back to normal NOW. You don’t realize how much you need your brain to function until it’s broken. It literally influences everything you do. I want to do everything, but I can’t. I almost died. I can’t expect to be back to my energetic, sassy self immediately. It will take some time. It takes 2-3 years for a brain to heal. I’m not even 12 months into a 24-36 month period. I have more good days than bad ones, and hopefully soon, I’ll have only good ones. I just have to be patient and give myself grace.

4. I need to give myself permission to be weak.

It’s not beneficial for you to be strong all the time. I need to cry. I need to mourn my old life. I would be lying to myself if I said it wasn’t good, and I don’t want it back at times. Life is different and sometimes harder, but no less amazing. I have opportunities that I would have never had, and becoming close with people I didn’t even know existed. I’m learning the art of saying no. I am the kind of person that values independence, and wants to be seen as strong. There is beauty in allowing yourself to be vulnerable with people. There is strength in allowing yourself space to be weak and not carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

5. I’m stronger because I’ve survived.

I’ve learned several things about myself in the aftermath of the accident, but the main one is that I’m a survivor. I survived a car accident. Yes, I am going to be dealing with things for the rest of my life, but I survived. I know if something else comes against me, I can deal with it because I survived this thing. Everything else seems minor compared. I’m braver because I know that I can handle anything life throws at me with God at my side.

Daring to Hope 

Posted on by fearlessatheart

As many of you may know, I’m on the launch team for Katie Davis Majors’ new book, Daring to Hope: Finding God’s Goodness in the Broken and the Beautiful, that comes out October 3rd. I loved Kisses from Katie, so when I heard about this opportunity, I jumped on it. I spent the first 12 years of my life as a missionary kid, so Africa is my heart’s home.
This book couldn’t have come at a better time. Almost a year ago, my life changed drastically. I was in a car accident and almost died. Due to a brain injury, my life will never be the same. I wrestled a lot with God about His goodness and will. There are times where I didn’t see much good only hard things. Katie Davis Majors wrestles with many of the same questions swirling around in my brain.
Is God really good? Does He really love us? What do you do when God doesn’t show up in the way that you asked Him to?

These are questions that plague me. 

I wrestle with God, like Jacob with the angel. I pound my fists against His chest, crying “Why me? Why does everyone else’s life seem like they’re falling into place and mine looks like a mess? Why am I suffering, I have been a good person?” When I’m in the pits of despair, I wonder if God sees me. If He sees, how hard I am working. How much courage, just getting through the day, is taking? I grieve for who I was and the dreams I had. I wonder if God is even there.

Oftentimes, in the dry, hard places, when we don’t have a clue what God is doing, or even if He is there, He is drawing us to Himself the way He always intended.

“As I gazed at the rainbow, God whispered to me a deep truth. There is so much beauty to be found in a wound that is healed, in an unlikely friendship that is forged. There is much beauty to be found when the one we have nursed for hours and prayed for many more is healed and restored, or when the child we have faithfully advised and prayed for turns back to the Truth or any other happy ending. But there is also beauty to be found in sitting and praying by the bedside of an ill friend and holding her hand just before she slips away and looks into the face of Jesus. There is beauty to be found in the desperate and many-times-repeated unanswered prayers that have time and again ushered us to His feet. There is beauty to be found in a life poured out in faithfulness and obedience, no matter the circumstance. There is beauty to be found in the unlikely places, but in so many cases, we must be facing the storm to see it. Often, to behold this beauty, to be reminded of God’s promises in such a tangible way, we must turn toward, not away from, the darkness.” Katie Davis Majors  

This book has wrecked my ideas of God and brokenness. Sometimes, God chooses not to answer our prayers the way we want. It’s hard to trust God. It’s even harder to trust in His perfect timing. We often want what we want right now.

Often, He meets us in our mess and even in our doubts and says wait. It takes a lot of bravery to hope that God will say yes, but He might say no. It’s okay to be broken. This world is messy. Tragedy happens, unspeakable things occur, hearts break, but God’s not done with us yet.

 “He uses the bending and the breaking and the dying to prepare the harvest, to prepare more for us. We reach high to the Son and He comes down and pulls us closer. We lift our heads to Him in awe and we know that there might be hard the corner but we can look expectantly even to the bowing and the breaking, even the death of all we have planned, because we know in Him there will always be more” Katie Davis Majors 

So we dare to hope because God has shown His faithfulness. We see God’s provision. He hears our cries. He weeps for us and our suffering. He walks beside us in the midst of hardships. We dare to hope because He is still on the throne.

A Journey to Confidence 

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Insecurity has been a struggle for me since I can remember. I grew up on the mission field so I was always  different. I looked different when I was in Africa, and I acted different when I was in America. When I was growing up, I wanted blue eyes and straight hair because that’s what all “Americans” had. 

When we moved back, I was in 6th grade. Middle school is confusing enough without changing continents. My identity was all messed up-I didn’t know where I belonged and fit in. I looked like my peers, but I felt different. I found myself laughing at things because others were laughing. I had no idea what was funny. I got really good at making it seem like I knew about a book or movie that everyone else knew. I wanted to belong, but I felt different.

I craved belonging. 

I ended up finding my identity in academics. I was good at school so I became the smartest I could be. I embraced the title of “smart girl” because that meant people were noticing me. I was a people pleaser. How people saw me would make or break an experience. I would always have makeup on, dress nice, and be put together. It was people’s opinion that mattered and I usually came up short. Someone was always prettier, more talented, and smarter than me. This carried over to college. In my relationships, I was overly concerned about how people saw me. I became afraid that they were only my friends because of pity-because I initiated it.

I was becoming more confident in myself and accepting the uniqueness of my soul. Last fall, a series of events caused my insecurities to be taken out and hung like laundry on a line-flapping around in the wind. I turned to God, letting Him romance me as the lover of my soul. I was in the process of taking the down and folding them as God whispered “You are loved. You are enough.”

Then, the accident happened. My life changed that day, not just physically but emotionally as well. My close friends rarely left my side. My relationship with them was more than just convenient, it was deep. They weren’t friends with me out of pity-they chose me. Some of them were even at Grant before I was transferred there. In the hospital, I had more pressing issues than my physical appearance. I didn’t care how I looked. Survival was the upmost priority. 

Now, I’m insecure about specific things, like how I walk and how I talk, but I don’t care as much what people think. My need to please others is minimal. I don’t do things just because people expect it of me. No is a bigger part of my vocabulary. My outfits of choice are shirts and athletic shorts, which show my scars. It’s weird, because of my brain injury, I don’t know where I fit in the world anymore, but I’m more secure in myself-in what makes me Sara Beth. Life is short and my energy is limited so I choose to put my energy in things I’m really interested in. I had so many plans of how my life would go and then, they vanished after the accident. I am starting to get glimpses of the possibilities, which encourages my soul. 

It’s still a journey to a confidant me. Each day is better than the last. It requires so much bravery to love myself just as I am-all my quirks and faults. I’m learning to see myself as God sees me-a beautiful, smart, and loved daughter of the King.

Solitude 

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Solitude.

That word holds some stigma.

Loneliness. Seclusion. Desert. Backwoods.

When I returned from rehab, I had not been alone alone for several months. I craved solitude. I craved space for my soul to breathe. 

I used to despise solitude. I didn’t exactly know what to do when everything was quiet, and I could only hear my soul. Sometime during college, I learned the art of quieting my mind-being alone with God.

Now, people make me tired. I crave solitude. I need to be alone to let my brain rest. It takes a lot of brain energy to process what people are saying, to think about what to say next, and actually saying it. 

Sometimes, it’s frustrating because I want to be around people, but my brain is not having it. It gets overwhelmed quite easily. Solitude allows me to be alone with myself-process what I’m going through.

At times, it is just me and Jesus, and I’m okay with that. He calms my fears and quiets my soul.

Surrender 

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Surrender.

That’s been a theme throughout this season. I have to surrender control. I need to give up my plans. This is definitely not how I pictured my life a year ago. I would be living on my own in Akron, working with my best friend, and figuring out how to do this whole adult life.

I didn’t figure a car accident into my plans or being unemployed for 8 months. I don’t think anyone plans for life to sideswipe them.

Surrender control.

I realize how little control I have. I’m a planner. I mean I had my whole college career planned out at my second advising meeting. It is scary to realize you are not in charge of how your life will go. It is frightening to give up control-to let go of your plans, but that’s what God asks of me. I thought I had this all figured out last summer. I didn’t know what would happen after graduation, but things are more uncertain now. Sometimes, it’s challenging just getting through the day.

In church, we sang My Heart is Yours by Kristian Stanfill.

“My heart is Yours

My heart is Yours

Take it all

Take it all

My life in Your hands”

These lyrics really stood out to me. I can’t sing those lyrics, and not believe them. My life is in God’s hands-God’s perfect, caring hands. If I’m letting go of control, it is into capable hands. It’s terrifying surrendering control. It takes a lot of bravery to surrender control. It takes a lot of courage to continue to put one foot in front of the other when you have no idea what is coming.

The thing I cling to is that God is good. If he chooses not to heal me (because I believe He can), it’s about the bigger picture. It’s about God’s plan of love and redemption. So this life is not about me, it’s about God.

 

When God is big

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Something about mountains makes you feel so small.

They remind you of the bigger picture—that God is good and in charge of the world. It puts life into perspective. When all you have to focus on is your problems, they seem so big—so overwhelming.  But when you look at the mountains, you realize that you make up a small aspect of this big world. Your problems are only a blimp in the radar that is life.

Recently, I went to Seattle. Being in the mountains, my soul was able to breathe. I remember I felt this way last summer when I went to Montana. I had just taken my NCLEX. A lot of things where uncertain, but looking at those magnificent mountains, I knew God has everything under control. I realized the bigness of God and the smallness of me.

I got the same feeling when I took in the mountains this summer. God is bigger than a brain injury, and it took looking at the mountains for that to sink in. It is not about me, it is all about Him. I play a small role in adventure called life. When I focus on all my problems, it becomes all about me. I think, “Why me? This isn’t fair.” But, when I take in the mountains, I figure out that this situation is about more than just me. I get a glimpse into the big picture.

Something about mountains puts life into perspective. You realize that the God who created the grandiose mountains cares about your thoughts and desires. This God holds your heart in his hands. He cares about your struggles. You don’t have to do it all by yourself. You may be small and overwhelmed by your seemingly big problems. But God is bigger than any problem. God is bigger. When I see the mountains, I picture my problems as big as them. God holds my problems in his hands. He picks up those mountains as if they are nothing.

Looking at the grandness of the mountains, I knew, in my soul, that God holds everything in his hands. He has a plan for my life. I just have to put my life in His large and capable hands.

Looking at the mountains, my soul was able to breathe because it finally sunk in that God is bigger than any problem I faced. The pressure was lifted from my soul because God had control.

10 Things I Wish My Doctor Had Told Me About Mild Traumatic Brain Injury (mTBI)

Posted on by fearlessatheart

csequoia's avatarThe Foggy Shore

0215100954brainconcussion1. You can’t push through.  Regardless of how strong or tough or determined you are, you can’t bully you’re way through recovering from an mTBI.  I know you’re going to try, but you will save us both a lot of time if you didn’t.

2. Rest.  I mean completely rest.  Stop work, stop TV, stop looking at your phone. Just sit on a couch, pet a cat, and stare out the window.  I know it’s inconvenient, I know you can’t afford to, I know you don’t have time… but you will really really regret it if you don’t.

3. You need help.  Like – significant help – in every aspect of your life.  You might not think you do, you might not know you do… but you do.  Trust me on this one.

4. Your easy social life and party days are over.  Loud noises, bright flashing lights, even regular fluorescent lights – all those things…

View original post 459 more words

Choose Joy

Posted on by fearlessatheart

I lost my joy. I am not ashamed to admit it.

A couple weeks ago, I realized that I wouldn’t return to floor nursing as soon as I thought. I could push to return, but it wouldn’t be smart to rush my healing. It hit me hard.

Like really hard.

I picture floor nursing as normal. That, in my head, was the defining factor of being a nurse. That’s what everyone I graduated with is doing. However twisted or false the thought was, I thought floor nursing makes someone a nurse. I hadn’t even been a nurse, a floor nurse, for 6 months.

I lost the will to fight. I thought, “If I can’t be normal, why even try.”

The only reason I made it this far was that I was a fighter. If I couldn’t do something, I would try again until I got it. I was determined.

So when I lost the will to fight, I got more irritable and grumpy. I used the word “stuck” in reference to staying in Mansfield. I lost my joy.

I wrote things because I know I used to believe it or I should believe it, but I didn’t. I hoped by writing them, they would sink into my heart.

I keep saying I won’t be normal again. I wasn’t normal before my accident. I grew up in Africa so that makes me different. Normal is overrated anyway. I won’t be the same Sara I was before my accident, but I’m still Sara. I may have different strengths and hardships, that is inevitable, but I’m alive. I am still making progress. My rehab doctor says it takes about two years for the brain to fully heal.

I’m only 6 months into a 24 months period. I have made a ton of progress, but I still have a long way to go.  

Today, I decided to fight. I gained back my will to fight. My brother says, “Those who say they can and those who say they can’t are both right”. If I have the attitude that I won’t do it, then I won’t return to floor nursing. And maybe I won’t return, but at least I’ll go down fighting.

So I’ve decided to choose joy. Joy is not happiness. Joy is not an emotion, it’s a choice. Joy is believing that God is in control and that God is good. It is to base your joy on something that is eternal.

I choose joy. I’ve decided to get my joy back.

Especially when it’s hard, I need to choose joy. It will not always be easy to choose joy. It is easier to sit in my bed, moping about the fact that I won’t return to floor nursing as fast as I hoped. But, that is not beneficial to me or the people around me.

That doesn’t mean I’m always happy. This is definitely not how I pictured my life going. There are plenty of times where I yell at God, and wondering why me.

I choose joy because regardless of how I feel, I know that God is good. I just lost sight of that for a moment.

Even when it feels so far away, I choose joy.