The "F" Word and a Can of Worms

I am probably going to make some people very angry with this post, but I'm okay with it. That being said, let's talk about feminism, shall we?

Feminism can mean a wide variety of things to a wide variety of people. To some, it means equal wages and equal rights as citizens; to others, it means fighting against our established social structure to break down the patriarchy; and to others, it means arguing for feminine existence separate from the influence of men entirely. This makes it understandably difficult to have a conversation about feminism because there is no set definition. It also means that conservatively-minded women may be loathe to refer to themselves as feminists in order to avoid being lumped in with the extremist viewpoints oft associated with the term.

I have no problem calling myself a feminist, but I prefer to preface it with the modifier “conservative.” I believe that if a woman performs the exact same job functions as a man, in the same location and economy, with the same precision and efficiency, she deserves the same pay. I believe that women are entitled to the same inalienable rights as citizens of their respective countries as their male counterparts. I am also passionate about a woman's right to freedom from sexual harassment and abuse, whether in the workplace, on the street, or in their own homes.

However, I do not adhere to the following “feminist” viewpoints:

• I am not a separatist. I do not believe that the only way to achieve total feminine freedom is by rejecting the patriarchy and the entire male gender.
• I do not believe that pornography or prostitution are empowering when the choice is made freely rather than by necessity; I think that both industries are enslaving and demoralizing by their very nature.
• I do not believe that men and women are essentially the same; while we are both human and share many biological features, we are quite different in the way our minds and bodies are wired. (Oh, and I believe we were designed that way; I don't believe it was some cosmic happenstance.)

Then, of course, there are the sticky issues that I would like to clarify before saying with any finality whether I am for or against. For example, reproductive rights. Of course women should have the same amount of say (if not more) in whether to pursue having children as their partners, and they should have the same access to contraceptives like birth control pills or condoms. However, an overwhelmingly popular point of argument with modern feminism is the right to choose abortion, which I am passionately opposed to. The pursuit of reproductive rights only goes to the point where it doesn't impinge on the rights of someone else, specifically an unborn child. Go ahead and hate, but this is a stance I will not budge on.

I could talk about some of the more offensive thoughts I have on female gender identity, such as outward appearance and stereotypical femininity, but for now I'll leave those to rest. Besides, many of those opinions are constantly evolving, so I'll let discretion be the better part of valor.

I'd be interested to hear any thoughts my (few) readers have on this topic, but I would ask that you keep any posts to a kind tone that promotes open conversation (rather than anger and/or swearing).

Anyway, have a wonderful weekend, and God bless. 

Ardilla de Ecuador

Yesterday, my family and I said goodbye to a wonderful young woman, Gaby. She came to us in August of 2011 as an exchange student, not knowing who she would be staying with or what God would do with that school year. We were incredibly blessed to get to know her, and she is as much a sister to me now as my own flesh and blood. I know this will fade with time, but every time I think about her departure, I get a little teary-eyed. It's not easy to entrust family to an airplane and another country, even if it is the place she grew up. She is seriously considering coming back to the States in the fall for college, and she's even been accepted to my alma mater. Mom and Dad have offered to let her stay with them throughout her university career if she returns, and money is starting to come in from various places. I pray that God continues to open doors for her and makes His will evident... and, selfishly, I hope that His plans for her involve a return into our homes and our lives.

When I feel particularly emotional, whether it's positive or negative, I write music and poetry (the line is often blurred for me). This one is for you, Gaby - if my Spanish is terrible, lo siento. :)

Ardilla de Ecuador

A summer spent anxious, so incierto

To see what future God would deliver

Blindly she stepped into el aeropuerto

And yet, she trusted that He would be with her

She fell into our lives with love and abandon

A passionate learner and iniciador

Risk taker, thrill seeker, lover and fighter

Our little ardilla de Ecuador

Baila, baila, hermana linda

Tu alegría se llena la sala
Bella luz tu sonrisa brinda

Nos vemos pronto, ojalá!

She came para vivencia y conocimiento

But also found a place en mi corazón

A year of happy divertimento

The girl with two families, the girl with two homes

But all good things must come to an end

So we hugged and cried and said our goodbyes

We watched tu avión as it rounded the bend

And prayed for seguridad up in the skies.

Baila, baila, hermana linda

Tu alegría se llena la sala
Bella luz tu sonrisa brinda

Nos vemos pronto, ojalá!

Que Dios los bendiga toda tu vida
Our prayers and hopes go with you still

Hasta la vista, amiga querida

We love you and we always will!

God-Given Talent

I stink at drawing.

I mean it, truly awful. My faces are cartoonish, my animals look like they're the unfortunate result of a bad genetic mutation, and my hands?

Beach balls with hot dogs attached.

But that's okay. I've come to terms with the fact that I will never create art like my husband can. With just a ballpoint pen and a napkin, he can create striking images with perspective, shading, and depth. His eyes are particularly beautiful, partially because he has been fascinated with them and drawing them since he was a kid.

I can, however, sing well. And play trumpet. And I pick up other instruments quickly – piano, guitar, other brass such as trombone and French horn. My loved ones have expressed admiration at these talents, which have only gotten better with four years of study at university. As a lyric soprano, I am particularly fluid and and airy, with a flute-like sound; sixteenth runs and Baroque music fit my voice type well.

It sounds braggish, but it's simply the truth. I take no credit for the musical gifts I possess, the same way my husband takes none for his artwork. We have both studied and worked to perfect these talents, but we started from God-given natural abilities. Coming from a family that places high value in music as worship, I believe that working to improve talent is an essential facet of praising the God that granted it.

Everyone knows the parable of the talents found in Matthew 25. While it was not necessarily the parable's intended lesson, I find the play on the word “talent” quite fitting. Those who have been given much are expected to invest wisely and produce much. If one is blessed with a level of ability beyond the norm, it should be honed and used to bring Him glory. Our God is intentional; nothing escapes His sight and nothing happens by accident. Therefore, in the areas where you naturally excel, focus on developing even greater excellence and using your gifts to honor Him. This can be in any area, not just the arts: maybe you cook, maybe you're a great organizer, maybe you teach. Allow your talents and passions to give clues into God's plan for your life.

I'm reminded of a story my grandfather told me. When he was head of the music department at my alma mater, a young man called him out of the blue and asked for an appointment. When the scheduled time came, the young man shook his hand and said, “Sir, I believe God is calling me to be an organ major.” My grandfather asked him three questions:
      “Do you play any organ?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Do you read music at all?”

      “Not a bit, sir.”

      “Have you any natural ability for music?”

      “Not really.”
      “Then God is not calling you to be an organ major.”

I know that there are exceptions to this; Moses was not a natural public speaker, but God spoke to him very clearly via the burning bush and gave him the words. In general, however, I believe that our natural abilities make wonderful guideposts for God's intended plan for our lives. This is reflected in Scripture in 1 Corinthians 12.

So, if you're great with kids, pray and seek God's plan for that gift in your life. Maybe you're meant to teach; maybe you're meant to be a parent; maybe you're meant to serve as a church children's activities director. I don't believe that someone who naturally relates well to children and feels at home working with them is meant for a life without children in it in some way. Like I said before, our God is intentional. Explore, discover your talents, and seek the Lord's will in what role they will play in your life. Because odds are, the God that gave them to you has plans to use them.

What a Nightmare

Remembering my dreams on a regular basis is a pretty new occurrence for me. When I was a teenager, I could go months without recalling even a moment of these nightly subconscious visions. Lately, though, it seems like at least once or twice a week I have a dream that sticks with me after I wake up. Sometimes they're pleasant, like the black-and-white one I had last week; the plot line evades me now, but it had something to do with dancing in the rain. More often than not, unfortunately, it's nightmares that interrupt my sleep and have me waking in a cold sweat.

For example, last night's dream involved me walking in on my husband with another woman. Specific words and actions are blurry, but I woke up weeping into my pillow and sick to my stomach. Of course I felt incredibly relieved when I discovered that none of it was real, but like all dreams do, it made me think. Nightmares like that draw my own insecurities and issues to the surface; sometimes I choose to pray over them and deal with them, and sometimes I squelch them back down because I'm not ready yet.

I have been less than confident in my own abilities to properly maintain a relationship in the past, and I think this dream shows that it's a more deeply seated fear than I thought. I love my husband, but I worry over whether he's satisfied with me as a wife. Logical Becca knows that he loves me deeply and would never do anything to intentionally hurt me; Insecure Becca sees only her faults and wonders why he would choose me over someone else. Someone better.

I try to come across as confident and positive, and I usually succeed by remembering that Christ loves me, even with all my emotional baggage. I've gotten a lot better at putting that thought at the forefront of my mind and letting it rule my decisions and reactions. Yet under the surface, buried so deep that only my subconscious really understands it, is a scared, anxious young woman with a lot of self-hatred. The star of my nightmares.

But the morning after, when I'm shaken and filled with doubt, one passage always helps me remember that, while unworthy, I am loved by my Creator. Offensive as I am, His arms are always open.

Psalm 139

You have searched me, Lord,
    and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
    you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
    you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
    you, Lord, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before,
    and you lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
    too lofty for me to attain.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
    Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens,you are there;
    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
    and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
    the night will shine like the day,
    for darkness is as light to you.

For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
    when I was made in the secret place,
    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
    all the days ordained for me were written in your book
    before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
    How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
    they would outnumber the grains of sand—
    when I awake, I am still with you.

If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
    Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
They speak of you with evil intent;
    your adversaries misuse your name.
Do I not hate those who hate you, Lord,
    and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
I have nothing but hatred for them;
    I count them my enemies.
Search me, God, and know my heart;
    test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
    and lead me in the way everlasting.

Blessed and Refreshed

I was privileged this past weekend to spend four days with my family in Grand Haven, Michigan. Grand Haven is a beautiful place, with great access to the expected amenities without sacrificing on location. We stayed in my parents' fifth-wheel camper trailer in the state park, located right on the beach and adjacent to the boardwalk/pier. This pier boasts a traditional red lighthouse, and if you follow it back to where it meets the boardwalk, it will take you into the downtown heart of the city. Main Street is lined with fashion boutiques, craft and hobby stores, and mom-and-pop restaurants - and most places are even dog-friendly. It's the perfect location for walks on the pristine white-sand beach, bike rides, sun, surf, meditation, shopping; whatever your vacationing heart desires, it has.

It was a great opportunity to recover from a nasty head cold, to relax after months of balancing three part-time jobs, and to appreciate my family anew. My parents are some of the most supportive, giving people I have ever met. They understand the lack of money that my husband and I face, and they readily offered to take on the financial burden of bringing me with them. My husband was unable to go, sadly, but in a way, it turned out to be a good thing. He had free roam of the apartment for the weekend to have friends over and watch movies I hate, and I was blessed with four days away from the disaster zone that we live in (yeah, I need to clean).

It's not the first time that I've vacationed with my parents and siblings and left my husband behind. Since before we got married I have been the worrywart of our little family, and I stress out easily. My husband is not the same, praise Jesus. When money gets tight, he trusts that it will all come together; when things break, he fixes them or calls someone who knows how. He rarely feels the pressing need to escape and relax, while it hits me pretty strongly at least once a year. So, when opportunity rears its head, he kisses me and calmly waves goodbye as I head out to clear my head and reconnect with the Lord.

I always come back refreshed and ready to tackle life again, and my husband (bless his heart) is always more than ready for me to return. It's true what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder. Doing without his presence for just a few days makes me appreciate him and realign my priorities. *sigh* God has been so good to me in so many ways. I hope I never take for granted the generous spirits of my parents or the loving grace of my husband.

Sick, Dude

Okay, reader, I'll warn you right now – this blog post is going to sound a bit rant-y. I'm not going to hit the caps lock button or use too many exclamation points or swear words, but the tone is going to be critical. With that in mind, here we go.

I've been sick for about four days now. I get sick maybe 3-5 times a year - less now than I used to when I was eating crap and gaining weight, but still. It started out on Monday morning with a sore throat, stuffy nose, drainage, sneezing, and coughing. As the week progressed, the congestion has moved lower and is now settling in my chest, and I have also lost my voice. Allergy medication hasn't helped, so I can only assume it's either a cold, sinus infection, or a light case of walking pneumonia (I've had all three at some point in the past, and they feel relatively similar).

While sick this time, I've worked at two different jobs, once substitute teaching at a local elementary school, and once at a restaurant. Here's where it gets a little rant-y. At both places, I informed the person above me that I was not feeling well but that I could still work if needed. And both places had me work the entire shift. Now, I am not the most hygienic person in the world (I do fine), but something seems wrong about that picture. If I were a parent and my child's substitute teacher were sick with an infectious illness, I would want a different sub called in. If I were ordering food from a restaurant, I wouldn't want someone who felt like death warmed over preparing my food for me. And yet, there I was.

I've been in school environments enough to know that many teachers get ill just as often as students, if not more so. In fact, when I student taught as an undergrad, I got sick twice in a six-week period. Both times, I took a day or two off from student teaching so I could rest and come back ready to give my best work. Plus, I didn't want to transmit whatever it was I had to any of the students. Unfortunately, both times, I was told off by one of my supervising professors for “not giving it my all” or “slacking off” instead of pushing through the pain and the ick.

I've also worked countless hours in food service since I was sixteen, and there have been many shifts where I couldn't find someone to come in for me, so I just worked while sick.

Personally, I feel there ought to be more concern in both places not just over the health of the worker, but also the likelihood of transmission to either a student or a customer. It's not safe, it's not hygienic, and it's really just plain gross. Can you imagine receiving a sundae prepared by someone who's been coughing up phlegm all night? Or having your child come home and regale you with stories about how the sub couldn't stop sneezing for half the day? Especially when both scenarios could have been prevented by a little extra work from the person in charge. The secretary at the school could have called around and found someone to replace me for at least half the day. The manager at the restaurant could have sent me home and done with one less person on staff for the night (we weren't all that busy).

Now, I've never been on the other side of the issue – I've never managed a restaurant, I've never been a school secretary. Maybe I'd think differently if I were the one who had to take 20 minutes to call around and find a replacement sub. Maybe I'd see things in a new light if it fell to me to manage a smaller staff and hope we didn't get a bus. Still, I'd like to think that I'd handle things differently and put the health of both the workers and the students/customers before the inconvenience of doing without.

On the Line

I'm not going to tell you that I'm a composer, because I'm nowhere near worthy of that kind of title yet. I've actually never shared any of the music I've written with anyone. Not even my husband. Most of what I write is inspired by my personal struggles and joys, and it's therefore quite close to my heart. And, being in my early twenties, I know I have a lot of growing and perfecting yet to do. But the last year or so I've gained a lot of self-confidence, so tonight I lay it on the line for you, reader. For the first time, one of my songs posted publicly. You don't really get the full effect without hearing the melody and the textural background stuff that I hear in my head with it, but I'm still trying to figure out the best solution for creating that part.

This is written for my husband about our dating and early engagement period, and is just a bit inspired by the e.e. cummings poem of the same title. I love you, sweetheart, and happy anniversary. Here goes nothing.

I Carry Your Heart With Me

Walk me home, it's just us two

Savoring a love so new

Our expectations hover in the air

Electrified from head to toe

You bow your head and pull me close

And slowly run your fingers through my hair

[CHORUS]

On a night like this, with a man like you

Just one more kiss, or maybe two

On this dark, cold street, here we stand complete -

I carry your heart with me

Beneath the light of the rising moon

You flash a smile that leaves no room

For doubt to feed the demons in my head

This madman's love like fire burns

Our hands are clasped, we slowly turn

And step together toward the road ahead

[CHORUS]

On a night like this, with a man like you

Just one more kiss, or maybe two

On this dark, cold street, here we stand complete -

I carry your heart with me

-Bridge-

Your arms and hands encircle me, embraces ever sweet

Take me down, set me aflame, and fill this aching need

[CHORUS]

On a night like this, with a man like you

Just one more kiss, or maybe two
Here with you, I am free, and I hope you see -

I carry your heart with me

I carry your heart with me

*phew* Now, just to hit that publish button. If you comment, be kind. :)

The Importance of Being Honest

This has been a long week.

I've always loved the Easter season – time with family, the glorious message of Christ's resurrection, and chocolate. Loads of chocolate. In many ways, the whole holiday is like the grand meal my family shares together: comforting, satisfying, and fulfilling for hours (or even days) afterward.

This year, though, the Easter message took on a new color. My friend's death hung over my head like the proverbial raincloud, casting shadows on the season's usual sunshiny joy. The Maundy Thursday service I attended and took part in brought tears to my eyes as I realized all over again the extent of Christ's sacrifice. Death itself had become more real, more painful. As we sang on Sunday morning, “O Death, where is your sting?”, I knew exactly where it was. The pain of losing Josh had been sporadically poking and prodding at me for days, and for the first time, I truly felt death's sting. Knowing that I had missed an opportunity to fully befriend this young man, that there was nothing I could do – it was heartbreaking to feel so powerless.

But then it hit me. This is exactly why Christ came to earth and made the ultimate sacrifice. Because I was already powerless; a sinner, deserving of an eternity of torment. Even if there had been something I could do to save Josh from his early passing, there is nothing I could do for his soul. Josh had placed his life and his future in the hands of the one Person who could direct his path and give him eternity with the Father. Because of this, I will one day have that opportunity to sit with Josh and laugh and worship with him. All because of Christ's gift and the Easter story.

I take comfort in that, and I praise Jesus for this beautiful truth. Though, this whole thing has inspired a certain need to express my appreciation for my loved ones. Our days are numbered, and no one knows when their final one will come. I need to make sure that you all know just how much you mean to me. I won't name names, but if I write to you here, I think you'll be able to find yourself in the list below.

#1 – You , beloved, are definitely my earthly number one. The love we share has changed me in innumerable ways, almost entirely for the better. ;) Your wit, your smile, your overflowing love for me are sometimes the only things that carry me through a long day. I can't imagine living out life on this earth with anyone else by my side. I love you, sweetheart.

#2 – You just might know me better than even my husband. Since we were kids, you've been the one who sticks up for me, and you taught me to stick up for myself. You pulled me out of my shy little shell and stood with me through every jerk that broke my heart. Thanks for being you; for knowing who you are and refusing to apologize for it. You are, have been, and always will be my best friend. :)

#3 – What can I say? You raised me, you loved me unconditionally, and you played a huge part in forming the woman I am today. You inspire me to constantly press on to find a better version of myself. You make me want to be healthier, both physically and spiritually. If I become half of the woman of God I see in you, I'll consider my time on this earth a success. Thank you for never giving up on me.

#4 – I definitely get my wry sense of humor and my temper from you. I know you like to say that I'm my mother's child, but in many ways I reflect you, too (or at least I hope so). Your fierce loyalty to your spouse, your work ethic, your naturally jovial nature – all things I aspire to. I hope you know how much I look up to you and admire you. Thanks for being there for all my important moments.

#5 – Sure, we didn't get along as kids, but look at us now. It's so strange to see you prepare for marriage, but I think you've found the person God meant for you. You are ever in my thoughts and prayers, and I know that you'll find who you're supposed to be and where you're supposed to go. Keep turning to Christ in both good times and bad, and know that we're always here for you. Love you, bro.

#6 – I know you don't always think it, but you are beautiful. I don't say it often enough, but you have been blessed with a lovely voice and it makes me happy to see you use it for Christ. We don't always get along, but I always have and will always love you, sis. I hope you know that you can always come to me for advice or a shoulder to cry on.

#7 – It amazes me sometimes how quickly a new person in your life can become indispensable. I spend all week looking forward to our hang-out nights, and I know I can come to you both in times of celebration and sadness. You truly are my sister in Christ, almost like family, and I have the utmost respect for you. Thanks for being an example for me to aspire to and a girlfriend to swap married stories with. :)

#8 – Much like your wife, you've been a wonderful friend and inspiration. It seems there's a new facet to your personality around every corner, and I don't think I'll ever tire of picking your brain. You are a great mentor and teacher, and in many ways, almost like a big brother. If you ever want to follow through on that ancient Pictonary bet, I'm totally up for those cooking lessons. :)

#9 & #10 – The two of you have become a permanent staple in me and my husband's lives, and I certainly don't mind. #9, sharing the Masterworks experience with you and getting to know you better has been a lot of fun, and I hope it continues. #10, you're good at making me laugh, and #1 and I are both glad to have you back in the area. If you two wanna hang out, you know where to find us.

#11-1,473 – I don't think I actually have this many friends, but you all bless me in different ways. From the ladies at church who always have a kind word, to my college friends who shared laughs with me in the music building, to my coworkers at both Taylor and Ivanhoe's. I'm not one to choose to spend time with people who are better at tearing down than building up. Life is too short to allow destructive people to rule your life. Each person who reads this and knows me is a unique gift, and I hope you know how much I appreciate the community of family and friends that surround me.

...This was a really long post. For that, I apologize. But really, I love all of you, and I need to make sure you know that. Goodnight, friends.  

From Life to Death (and Vice-Versa)

Yesterday, an old college friend of mine passed away in his dorm room. No information has been released beyond his name and that the coroner believes it was an accidental death, not suicide. I found out via Facebook when I came home from work last night, and it felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. Like a really mean joke. Like a vicious lie.

I didn't know him very well, but we sat together for two years in a few different instrumental ensembles. He had a big, goofy smile and a heart for Jesus like I've seen in few people. He was filled with joy on a daily basis, and he played a mean trumpet through that long hippie-hair. In fact, he looked an awful lot like my brother back when his hair was long. I even called him “brother” a few times because of the resemblance.

When I became aware of the news, was I shocked? Yes. Was I upset? Yes. Was I confused and filled with sorrow? Goodness, yes. But I was not depressed, angry, or despairing, and I'll tell you why.

I've seen some of my non-Christian friends mourn the deaths of their non-Christian family members, and it's a sad scene. I've seen them rage at the world and an uncaring God for allowing the tragedy to happen. I've witnessed a total emotional breakdown that ended up in a depression that took medication to control. It's not a pretty sight, and it's difficult for a particularly empathetic person such as myself to watch.

The reaction to death is much different in the Christian community as a whole; the circumstances following my friend's death are witness to that. The men of his hall vacated to allow the medical teams to do their jobs, then met on the front lawn and prayed together. The Wind Ensemble concert across campus was canceled to allow students to meet together and grieve. A memorial and prayer service was held less than four hours later, where songs were sung and students lifted each other up. The university president even came to pray and encourage. There's a level of peace, even in those first few painful hours, that transcends our sorrow.

Those without faith have nothing beyond this life to look forward to; death is an ultimatum, a finality, an end from which there is no escape. For the Christian, death is a transition. The soul moves from life to death, so that it can then move into the only true life. Our goal, our reason for existence lies beyond death in the eternal worship of our Lord and Savior. Death in this world is a necessity for us to become whole, to realize our full potential as His creations.

So we mourn the loss of our friend, because life is going to be emptier for us. We are saddened by the thought of living without that joyful presence. We are shocked as the evil that surrounds us daily makes itself incredibly prominent by snuffing out a young life. It seems too soon; he was so creative, so talented, so happy, and he could have made a great impact on this world.

But we trust that God was present in that dorm room yesterday afternoon. We believe that He knew exactly what He was doing by allowing our dear friend to pass away. We question because we are human, but we accept that God's ultimate plan and purpose is served in everything, even in this. We will miss you, Josh, but heaven is a little richer for having you there. As one of your floormates put it, “go have an eternal adventure.” And in everything, to God be the glory.

Beating the Odds

Brace yourselves - I'm about to get a little personal. In January of 2011, I decided to make some changes that have forever altered my life in great ways. I now weigh 70 pounds less than I did at that point. But I love a good story, so let's start back at the beginning of it...

Growing up, both of my parents worked full-time, which was awesome in a lot of ways because it meant we had the money for different experiences. I've been to Disneyworld three times, we took a grand tour out to Yellowstone and Glacier Nat'l Parks when I was seventeen, etc. However, having both mom and dad working kinda sucked in some ways, too. I almost never got to come home from school and sit down with my mom with a snack and talk about life. My dad rarely had the time to offer homework help (which I didn't usually need, but still).

One of the ways that this situation impacted my life was in my eating habits. We ate out a lot, and when I was younger it was often the McDonald's/Burger King kind of fare. I watched my dad enjoy his burgers and fries, and quickly followed suit. My mom, though, has always been self-conscious about her weight and it's affected how she views herself. In the last couple years she has lost a significant amount of it, but when I was a child I watched her yo-yo diet and obsess over the number on the scale. I developed a taste for large amounts of unhealthy food, but I also learned to loathe myself with every caloric splurge.

Please, don't take this as me blaming my parents for my unhealthy habits; once I became a teenager I was old enough to know better, but I chose not to change. In fact, food became a sort of rebellion for me during those years. When my mom would poke at my stomach and teasingly tell me I needed to watch my figure, I'd sneak downstairs at midnight for a Pop-Tart or a bowl of ice cream. When I got my driver's license, my best friend and I would often sneak out for “fourthmeal” at Taco Bell at one in the morning. Food became a refuge, a friend who could always make me feel better when I was down about something. I developed a really awful habit of eating emotionally instead of turning to my Father or my family when I needed to be uplifted.

Then I met my (now) husband. I was inspired by how he had lost over a hundred pounds with just diet and exercise, and I was flattered that he seemed interested in me despite my weight. After dating and spending time together, I got to know the wonderful man of God that he is, and I fell in love. In July of 2008 he proposed, and I could not have been happier. We settled on an April wedding, but I was still in college and that meant a lot of stressful planning during the school year. By our wedding date, I had gained another 40 pounds, and over the first year of marriage I added another 20. In December 2010, I was fat, unhealthy, and unhappy, and I weighed a whopping 280 pounds.

Then, as New Year's Eve approached, I decided I'd had enough. I had done a lot of reading about smart ways to lose weight and get healthy, and I felt prepared to tackle the challenge of changing my life. I started working out a few times a week, and I began to calorie cycle (a detailed explanation of that will come at a later time). In two months I lost nearly 20 pounds, and I found a strength and vigor that I didn't know I possessed. I fought a long, hard battle with emotional eating, but eventually beat it by finding replacements for the comfort of food (such as time in prayer, knitting, or taking a walk). Even more than the weight loss, that's my proudest accomplishment.

Anyway, fast forward to March of 2012, and I now weigh 210 pounds. I still have a long way to go to hit my goal of 150 (and a toned, ab-licious 150 at that!), but slowly and surely I'm getting there. I could have crash dieted and worked out like a fiend for 6 months, but the journey of learning to live healthy has been more beneficial than I can say. I now eat and work out like someone thin and fit; I just have to wait for my body to catch up, and that's okay.

I could not have made this journey with any sort of success without the love of my Savior. In those early days when I battled depression without my usual snack-cake comforts, there were dark moments. Moments I don't want to ever live through again. I nearly spiraled out of control on a few occasions, but the grace of God brought me back every time. I've also been able to rely on my dear husband, as well as fantastic friends and family who've been nothing but supportive.

On that note, here's my most recent before-and-during photo. God bless, friends.

  

Allow Me to Explain

I suppose it's only fitting that the first post on this blog of my life and loves is an explanation. I owe it to you, dear reader, for being kind enough to check out this little diary of mine before it's even off the ground. Why "Living Spotlight," you ask? For a true answer to that story, we'll need to travel back to a time before I even existed.


After their first ended suddenly in a miscarriage, my parents were thrilled to learn they were pregnant again. They looked through hundreds of names in various baby name books, searching for just the right moniker for their unborn baby girl. My mom had her heart set on giving me her mother's middle name, so the only task left was finding the perfect first name to match. They put a lot of stock in the meaning of names; whatever the first name ended up being, its meaning needed to fit with that of the middle name ("light"). They also wanted a name with Biblical roots. Eventually they settled on Rebecca, which can mean several things, one of which is "captivating." This combination not only honored my heritage, but reflected their hope for my future, that I would be a captivating light shining out the love of my Savior for the world to see.


So, this is my mission in life. I won't sugarcoat it; I fail often and hard. I'm stubborn, impatient, prideful, and I worry too much. But I am also compassionate, loyal, helpful, and filled with joy. And in everything, my hope is to live in a way that those around me can see Christ's love shining like a lighthouse beacon, drawing them in with its glory. "I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." Romans 12:1-2.


The focus of each post will shift dramatically, from my weight-loss journey to music I've written to amusing experiences. However, the goal will always be the same; to give you a peek into my life as I live it, giving glory to God all the way.