Tomorrow feels big.
Tomorrow, I’ll step into my first exam room as a 3rd year PA student on clinical rotations. I’ll see my first patient who may be as nervous about their condition as I am about solving their puzzle. I’ll sit and listen, ask questions, examine their ears or eyes or hips or feet, and then smile and leave the room to get ready for the next step.
Tomorrow, all those powerpoints, lectures, practice exams, real exams, tears, late nights, early mornings, cups of coffee, prayers, and words of support come crashing together into a window of time where I’ll try to sort out all the pieces and find an answer.
Tomorrow, when I smile and leave the room, I’ll be frantically dashing to a book or computer to look for supporting information for what I’m thinking. I’ll put some notes on a piece of paper, and as calmly and collectedly as possible, I’ll present my findings to my preceptor hoping for a stamp of approval (while also wanting to learn and grow and see things from a new angle).
Tomorrow feels like the beginning. I’m so close to achieving this dream. (Oh praise God that I’ve not chased this dream alone.)
Tomorrow feels heady. We’re in the middle of a pandemic. I’m well aware of that.
Tomorrow feels exciting. I’m ready to interact with patients. I’m ready to start making a difference. I (think) I’m ready.
Thank you all for your prayers, love, and support. Guys, we’re so close.
Sunday, April 26, 2020
Monday, January 13, 2020
Anxiety? Let's talk about it.
What is mental health to you? My understanding has made a large shift in the past 18 months, and I'd like to take you on this journey with me.
Preparing to leave for PA school was one of the more stressful times of my life. I remember asking my bible study to pray for me over and over again because I couldn't seem to get myself into gear to make some big (and little) decisions. I needed an apartment, electric, internet, renter's insurance, and scrubs! Good grief, I couldn't bring myself to order scrubs! Just looking at them on Amazon made me want to cry (okay, actually cry). Here I was wanting to go to PA school but dragging my feet to make any concrete decisions. I knew something was off, but I really didn't know what.
During the first week of PA school, I went to the student health clinic for a physical. It was a routine part of our onboarding. I filled out the paperwork and completed the depression and anxiety questionnaire. It all felt standard. Routine.
When my PA walked in the room, she kindly asked if we could reschedule the physical and address my anxiety. What? My anxiety? I don't have anxiety.
-
Flashback to 2015. I went through a fairly rough breakup and decided to see a licensed professional counselor (LPC). I never realized how much stigma and shame I associated with seeing an LPC. For several months, I didn't tell a soul. I quietly went to my weekly sessions, hashed it out with my counselor, and left. In the beginning, I was terrified I was going to get diagnosed with some big, bad disease and felt like I needed to wait it out and see where I ended up.
I wasn't diagnosed with anything. Instead, I found that counseling helped me work through a lot of obstacles, dreads, and disappointments in my life. It brought life to my soul. And eventually I couldn't stop talking about it. Everyone needs to go to counseling!
-
Returning to 2018. How could I have anxiety? I didn't remember any excessive worrying. Isn't that what anxiety is? The PA began to explain that anxiety could manifest in a lot of ways, in addition to worrying. Difficulty sleeping. Fatigue. Heart palpitations. Difficulty making decisions. Avoiding responsibilities. Oh shoot. That's me. I started to cry in her office. I was both scared at what this new term meant for me but also relieved to put a name to all of these things that I'd been carrying for a while.
I walked away that day with a list of self-care ideas, a referral to a psychiatrist, and a prescription for a common anxiety med.
Just like those early days in counseling, it took a long time to sort through my thoughts and feelings surrounding this new development. I felt broken. I felt weak. I felt like I had lost control of something important and had no idea how to set it back in order.
But little by little, I made peace with this new version of me. I now see the psychiatrist 4 times a year, I take my meds, I go for walks, I take naps. And I talk to people about my anxiety.
After 3 adjustments to my medications and a lot of prayer, self-reflection, counseling, friends, and studying about anxiety, I recently told the doc I feel like my anxiety is at a 1 or 2 out of 10 most days. I rarely feel the heart palpitations any more. I can recognize the anxiety rising in my chest and neck and take a time out. I haven't cried after a test in months. I feel on solid ground again.
Why do we shrink away from talking about mental health? I think because it's not tangible. You can't see the figurative gash in my brain that paralyzes me. It seems easier to explain it away as weakness, a lack of faith, or laziness. If you know me, if you truly know my heart, you know I am none of these things. I am strong (both mentally and physically), I trust the Lord, and though I love tv, I'm not lazy.
So, where does that leave us? Brain chemistry. When I knew something was off, it really was off.
I'm not sure how long this anxiety plans to stick around. The rest of PA school? The rest of my life? I'm unsure. But I know I have the tools and people and support around me to tackle it. I know the Lord hasn't left me but is walking alongside me in this. I know that 1 out of 5 people are going to deal with a mental health problem during their lifetime, and I'm now ready and equipped to help them through it.
You hear the cliche that everyone is going through something. I hope this opens your eyes that behind my loud laugh and big smile is more than what you may have thought.
Much love.
Preparing to leave for PA school was one of the more stressful times of my life. I remember asking my bible study to pray for me over and over again because I couldn't seem to get myself into gear to make some big (and little) decisions. I needed an apartment, electric, internet, renter's insurance, and scrubs! Good grief, I couldn't bring myself to order scrubs! Just looking at them on Amazon made me want to cry (okay, actually cry). Here I was wanting to go to PA school but dragging my feet to make any concrete decisions. I knew something was off, but I really didn't know what.
During the first week of PA school, I went to the student health clinic for a physical. It was a routine part of our onboarding. I filled out the paperwork and completed the depression and anxiety questionnaire. It all felt standard. Routine.
When my PA walked in the room, she kindly asked if we could reschedule the physical and address my anxiety. What? My anxiety? I don't have anxiety.
-
Flashback to 2015. I went through a fairly rough breakup and decided to see a licensed professional counselor (LPC). I never realized how much stigma and shame I associated with seeing an LPC. For several months, I didn't tell a soul. I quietly went to my weekly sessions, hashed it out with my counselor, and left. In the beginning, I was terrified I was going to get diagnosed with some big, bad disease and felt like I needed to wait it out and see where I ended up.
I wasn't diagnosed with anything. Instead, I found that counseling helped me work through a lot of obstacles, dreads, and disappointments in my life. It brought life to my soul. And eventually I couldn't stop talking about it. Everyone needs to go to counseling!
-
Returning to 2018. How could I have anxiety? I didn't remember any excessive worrying. Isn't that what anxiety is? The PA began to explain that anxiety could manifest in a lot of ways, in addition to worrying. Difficulty sleeping. Fatigue. Heart palpitations. Difficulty making decisions. Avoiding responsibilities. Oh shoot. That's me. I started to cry in her office. I was both scared at what this new term meant for me but also relieved to put a name to all of these things that I'd been carrying for a while.
I walked away that day with a list of self-care ideas, a referral to a psychiatrist, and a prescription for a common anxiety med.
Just like those early days in counseling, it took a long time to sort through my thoughts and feelings surrounding this new development. I felt broken. I felt weak. I felt like I had lost control of something important and had no idea how to set it back in order.
But little by little, I made peace with this new version of me. I now see the psychiatrist 4 times a year, I take my meds, I go for walks, I take naps. And I talk to people about my anxiety.
After 3 adjustments to my medications and a lot of prayer, self-reflection, counseling, friends, and studying about anxiety, I recently told the doc I feel like my anxiety is at a 1 or 2 out of 10 most days. I rarely feel the heart palpitations any more. I can recognize the anxiety rising in my chest and neck and take a time out. I haven't cried after a test in months. I feel on solid ground again.
Why do we shrink away from talking about mental health? I think because it's not tangible. You can't see the figurative gash in my brain that paralyzes me. It seems easier to explain it away as weakness, a lack of faith, or laziness. If you know me, if you truly know my heart, you know I am none of these things. I am strong (both mentally and physically), I trust the Lord, and though I love tv, I'm not lazy.
So, where does that leave us? Brain chemistry. When I knew something was off, it really was off.
I'm not sure how long this anxiety plans to stick around. The rest of PA school? The rest of my life? I'm unsure. But I know I have the tools and people and support around me to tackle it. I know the Lord hasn't left me but is walking alongside me in this. I know that 1 out of 5 people are going to deal with a mental health problem during their lifetime, and I'm now ready and equipped to help them through it.
You hear the cliche that everyone is going through something. I hope this opens your eyes that behind my loud laugh and big smile is more than what you may have thought.
Much love.
Wednesday, September 18, 2019
Fast
This week I will turn 36. I now understand what people mean when they say, "where does the time go?"
Life is speeding up.
I am 14 months into a 34-month PA program. Some days, I feel like we started a month ago. Then, days like today happen, and I am shown how much I've actually learned.
We had a club meeting at lunch, and one of my favorite professors talked about her various jobs since graduating PA school. Toward the end, she presented 4 interesting cases. While she ran down the patient's chief complaint, medical history, medication history, and physical exam, I was struck that I understood everything she was saying. September-2018-Christen would have been so lost. "CMP, CBC, CT... What?" I followed her thought process and smiled inside. "Maybe I can do this."
PA school is like nothing else I've experienced in life...and I've experienced a lot of life. School was always fairly easy for me. I made my one and only B from K-12 in high school chemistry. I made 3 Bs in undergrad and managed straight-As in PA school prerequisites. I came into school expecting a challenge. I was not prepared for a full-life onslaught.
I am pushed to the breaking point at least once a month, if not weekly. I have cried in multiple faculty members' offices. I have made my first C, while fearing actual failure. I have composed imaginary apology emails to professors mid-exam because I "knew" I was failing.
PA school is 7-8 hours a day in a classroom, with 3-4 hours of studying in the evenings, and 10-12 hours of studying each Saturday and Sunday, only to make a 76 on a midterm. It's 4 quizzes a week and a test on your birthday while being required to complete side assignments and geriatric home visits.
It's beyond hard.
Daily, I question my own ability and intelligence and why on earth they ever let me in. I find myself doubting God—his ability to hold me, lead me, and see me through this season. How can this possibly work out?
.
But PA school is also incredible. It's worth it. I am learning things I've craved to know my whole life. Soon, I will be able to deliver babies, sew up cuts, read X-rays/MRIs/CTs, write prescriptions, and hopefully save some lives.
I have made "in the trenches" friends. Have you ever sat at a coffee shop and studied, cried, laughed, and hugged all the baristas in the span of an hour? I have. Have you been in a group text that makes you laugh so hard you leak actual tears? This happens to me almost daily. Do you take turns talking your friends off cliffs so they can talk you off one the next day? Yep. I do. I have a legit tribe.
Last night, over sushi, I had the opportunity to remember a moment of God's faithfulness. Four years ago this week, the week of my birthday 2015, I finally said out loud to my parents that I wanted to go to PA school. I knew what this dream would mean, the sacrifice it would require. About two weeks after that conversation, I got in touch with a realtor to look into selling my (dream) house. I was still on the fence about committing to this path, but I figured I would start the conversation.
The morning after the realtor walked through my house, he called to ask if he could show it to someone, even though he knew I was undecided.
Twenty-four hours later, I had a contract on my house. At my asking price.
"Okay, God. Okay."
And from that point, I haven't looked back.
I sold my house. I quit my job. I moved in with my parents while I worked on prerequisites. I survived prereqs and got into a PA school on the first try.
"Okay, God."
Yet somehow, I still doubt. How human of me.
I find myself turning to worship music quite often when I study. It brings me back to truth when all I feel is darkness. This is the song I have on repeat often (literally at this moment):
"When I fear my faith will fail
Christ will hold me fast
When the tempter would prevail
He will hold me fast
I could never keep my hold
Through life’s fearful path
For my love is often cold
He must hold me fast
He will hold me fast
He will hold me fast
For my Savior loves me so
He will hold me fast." -Sovereign Grace Music
It's true. He will hold me fast—through success or failure, whatever may come—my Savior loves me so and will hold me fast.
Much love,
Christen
Life is speeding up.
I am 14 months into a 34-month PA program. Some days, I feel like we started a month ago. Then, days like today happen, and I am shown how much I've actually learned.
We had a club meeting at lunch, and one of my favorite professors talked about her various jobs since graduating PA school. Toward the end, she presented 4 interesting cases. While she ran down the patient's chief complaint, medical history, medication history, and physical exam, I was struck that I understood everything she was saying. September-2018-Christen would have been so lost. "CMP, CBC, CT... What?" I followed her thought process and smiled inside. "Maybe I can do this."
PA school is like nothing else I've experienced in life...and I've experienced a lot of life. School was always fairly easy for me. I made my one and only B from K-12 in high school chemistry. I made 3 Bs in undergrad and managed straight-As in PA school prerequisites. I came into school expecting a challenge. I was not prepared for a full-life onslaught.
I am pushed to the breaking point at least once a month, if not weekly. I have cried in multiple faculty members' offices. I have made my first C, while fearing actual failure. I have composed imaginary apology emails to professors mid-exam because I "knew" I was failing.
PA school is 7-8 hours a day in a classroom, with 3-4 hours of studying in the evenings, and 10-12 hours of studying each Saturday and Sunday, only to make a 76 on a midterm. It's 4 quizzes a week and a test on your birthday while being required to complete side assignments and geriatric home visits.
It's beyond hard.
Daily, I question my own ability and intelligence and why on earth they ever let me in. I find myself doubting God—his ability to hold me, lead me, and see me through this season. How can this possibly work out?
.
But PA school is also incredible. It's worth it. I am learning things I've craved to know my whole life. Soon, I will be able to deliver babies, sew up cuts, read X-rays/MRIs/CTs, write prescriptions, and hopefully save some lives.
I have made "in the trenches" friends. Have you ever sat at a coffee shop and studied, cried, laughed, and hugged all the baristas in the span of an hour? I have. Have you been in a group text that makes you laugh so hard you leak actual tears? This happens to me almost daily. Do you take turns talking your friends off cliffs so they can talk you off one the next day? Yep. I do. I have a legit tribe.
Last night, over sushi, I had the opportunity to remember a moment of God's faithfulness. Four years ago this week, the week of my birthday 2015, I finally said out loud to my parents that I wanted to go to PA school. I knew what this dream would mean, the sacrifice it would require. About two weeks after that conversation, I got in touch with a realtor to look into selling my (dream) house. I was still on the fence about committing to this path, but I figured I would start the conversation.
The morning after the realtor walked through my house, he called to ask if he could show it to someone, even though he knew I was undecided.
Twenty-four hours later, I had a contract on my house. At my asking price.
"Okay, God. Okay."
And from that point, I haven't looked back.
I sold my house. I quit my job. I moved in with my parents while I worked on prerequisites. I survived prereqs and got into a PA school on the first try.
"Okay, God."
Yet somehow, I still doubt. How human of me.
I find myself turning to worship music quite often when I study. It brings me back to truth when all I feel is darkness. This is the song I have on repeat often (literally at this moment):
"When I fear my faith will fail
Christ will hold me fast
When the tempter would prevail
He will hold me fast
I could never keep my hold
Through life’s fearful path
For my love is often cold
He must hold me fast
He will hold me fast
He will hold me fast
For my Savior loves me so
He will hold me fast." -Sovereign Grace Music
It's true. He will hold me fast—through success or failure, whatever may come—my Savior loves me so and will hold me fast.
Much love,
Christen
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Very good.
We’re getting close to a year without my precious Nannie. It seems nearly impossible. To know Nannie was to know love. And I knew her love for 34 1/2 wonderful years.
Now that I’m in PA school, I sit at my desk and study. A lot. I also sit there and daydream and waste time and generally do anything but study. I recently hung this picture near my desk. It means I get to look at it quite a bit. I think I was 24 in that picture. If it’s from the Christmas I’m thinking of, I missed Christmas that year because of my job. I was a flight attendant with a crazy schedule who just wanted to be at home with her family. I worked a two-day trip on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to Tampa. The pilots took us all out to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner on Christmas Eve. Even though we were stuffed with dinner, they insisted we get cheesecake to go, and they paid for the whole crew. It was a bright spot in a miserable trip. I woke up Christmas morning, ate cheesecake for breakfast in my hotel bed, and cried. I couldn’t believe I was spending Christmas alone.
Christmas. Nannie’s favorite holiday. Wait, that’s not right. Her favorite day. Ever. She lived to make Christmas magical. She had 13 grandchildren, yet each of us felt like her favorite. She knew how much I loved her Christmas decorations, so she made sure to have the tree up before Thanksgiving Day. Every year she would say, “I went ahead and got the tree up because I know Christen likes it up before Thanksgiving.” She said it like this was the first year she decided to do it. But it was every year. The recognition and feeling so known in such a seemingly odd way sticks with me.
It wasn’t just the presents either. It was being 5 years old and sleeping 4 deep on hideabeds with my cousins while bells and hoofs rattled the roof. It was the whispers about Santa. The joy of waking up Nannie and Granddaddy before sunrise because we just knew Santa had come. It was being made to wait in the hallway for what felt like hours while the parents huddled in the living room to catch us on video in all of our bedhead glory. It was sitting on the back porch and swinging with her as she asked if we got everything we asked for. It was the big lunch or dinner and then cramming 20+ people in the living room to open presents. Sure, the presents were great, but the joy of watching Nannie beam over each grandchild’s happy face was so much better. She wasn’t effusive. When you said “thank you,” she would just sweetly dip her head as if to say “you’re welcome.” Magic. The day was magic.
That Christmas of the cheesecake and tears in Tampa, I knew I only had the 26th off. I got back to Houston really late on the 25th and drove 4 1/2 hours to my grandparents’. And you know what? Christmas at Nannie and Granddaddy’s House was magically on the 26th that year. They waited for me. She insisted they wait on me.
My sweet, precious Nannie’s mind was stolen away by dementia. One of the last things I had a chance to tell her when she was still making memories was that I was going back to school. I told her about quitting my landman job and going to UT Tyler to finish some prerequisites. She and my Granddaddy were so supportive. Over the next couple of years, unfortunately she didn’t remember what I was doing. Despite the illness taking her memories, she retained so much of who she was. When I would visit, I always told her about school, and I got to share the exciting news that I was accepted to PA school. Even when I knew she didn’t remember what I was up to, she would dip her sweet little head and say, “very good.”
It’s the words that I hear in my head.
She was quiet and steady and a women fully devoted to God and her family. I hope to be her one day, and I think I know what she would say.
“Very good.”
Now that I’m in PA school, I sit at my desk and study. A lot. I also sit there and daydream and waste time and generally do anything but study. I recently hung this picture near my desk. It means I get to look at it quite a bit. I think I was 24 in that picture. If it’s from the Christmas I’m thinking of, I missed Christmas that year because of my job. I was a flight attendant with a crazy schedule who just wanted to be at home with her family. I worked a two-day trip on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to Tampa. The pilots took us all out to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner on Christmas Eve. Even though we were stuffed with dinner, they insisted we get cheesecake to go, and they paid for the whole crew. It was a bright spot in a miserable trip. I woke up Christmas morning, ate cheesecake for breakfast in my hotel bed, and cried. I couldn’t believe I was spending Christmas alone.
Christmas. Nannie’s favorite holiday. Wait, that’s not right. Her favorite day. Ever. She lived to make Christmas magical. She had 13 grandchildren, yet each of us felt like her favorite. She knew how much I loved her Christmas decorations, so she made sure to have the tree up before Thanksgiving Day. Every year she would say, “I went ahead and got the tree up because I know Christen likes it up before Thanksgiving.” She said it like this was the first year she decided to do it. But it was every year. The recognition and feeling so known in such a seemingly odd way sticks with me.
It wasn’t just the presents either. It was being 5 years old and sleeping 4 deep on hideabeds with my cousins while bells and hoofs rattled the roof. It was the whispers about Santa. The joy of waking up Nannie and Granddaddy before sunrise because we just knew Santa had come. It was being made to wait in the hallway for what felt like hours while the parents huddled in the living room to catch us on video in all of our bedhead glory. It was sitting on the back porch and swinging with her as she asked if we got everything we asked for. It was the big lunch or dinner and then cramming 20+ people in the living room to open presents. Sure, the presents were great, but the joy of watching Nannie beam over each grandchild’s happy face was so much better. She wasn’t effusive. When you said “thank you,” she would just sweetly dip her head as if to say “you’re welcome.” Magic. The day was magic.
That Christmas of the cheesecake and tears in Tampa, I knew I only had the 26th off. I got back to Houston really late on the 25th and drove 4 1/2 hours to my grandparents’. And you know what? Christmas at Nannie and Granddaddy’s House was magically on the 26th that year. They waited for me. She insisted they wait on me.
My sweet, precious Nannie’s mind was stolen away by dementia. One of the last things I had a chance to tell her when she was still making memories was that I was going back to school. I told her about quitting my landman job and going to UT Tyler to finish some prerequisites. She and my Granddaddy were so supportive. Over the next couple of years, unfortunately she didn’t remember what I was doing. Despite the illness taking her memories, she retained so much of who she was. When I would visit, I always told her about school, and I got to share the exciting news that I was accepted to PA school. Even when I knew she didn’t remember what I was up to, she would dip her sweet little head and say, “very good.”
It’s the words that I hear in my head.
She was quiet and steady and a women fully devoted to God and her family. I hope to be her one day, and I think I know what she would say.
“Very good.”
Monday, December 17, 2012
Heavy Heart
When life seems unfair, I turn introspective. I struggle with questions like every normal person.
Why is there so much evil?
Why can't we make it stop?
What could have been done differently to protect those precious children?
Why won't the Lord just come back and rescue us from all this destruction?
I get overwhelmed with the injustice in our world. Twenty innocent lives were lost on Friday at the hands of a young man who was more than likely mentally ill and fighting his own demons. We point fingers at guns or politics or communities who surely saw the violent potential in this boy, yet we refuse to analyze our own lives, shortcomings, and mistakes and see where our words and actions kill, even if not literally. Thank God I have been blessed with a mind that thinks clearly and impulses I can control. But do I ever look twice at the people around me who may be struggling with illness? Do I lend a hand or volunteer my time? No. I rely on the "system" that is in place to deal with these people. I didn't go to medical school to learn about the depths of mental illness, nor do I have the understanding to genuinely help, which makes me feel helpless. Instead, I do nothing. And this is where the cycle of feeling overwhelmed loops back to the beginning, and I feel crushed with anguish and frustration. But so often I forget I have a powerful tool in my arsenal; I have prayer. As much evil as there is in this world, we have someone who is already victorious and who listens to the cries of his people. “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) Prayer. I have prayer.
Sadly, while people in all walks of life are up in arms about this very public, media-attracting tragedy, little boys and girls in your town, where you sit reading this, are being kidnapped, drugged, and sold into sex slavery, and yet you never hear about it. Ever. We turn a blind eye to prostitution because we want to imagine that it's dirty men looking for their sexual "fix" and filthy girls who are willingly subjecting themselves to it for money and drugs. Yet, that is the minority! The majority of these girls, some not even old enough to attend your local kindergarten, are being taken and forced into sex with much older men. Not always the men you'd expect either; a lot of times it's husbands, lawyers, doctors, pastors, the "good" men in our communities. And though these children might be the "throw aways" of society: the orphans, runaways, "bad" kids, they are still someone's little, sweet, innocent girl, and she is being sold, like livestock, to men who beat her and make her do unimaginable things. They grow up in this environment of fear, with no resources, and no way out, so they continue the only thing they know, selling their bodies.
While people are screaming about gun control, can someone please scream about sex trafficking? Can we get some help prosecuting pimps (those forcing them into sex) and johns (those paying for the sex), rather than blaming the girls (the victims)? Until we kill the root of the sex trade operation, it will continue. According to the FBI's webpage on Human Sex Trafficking, "It is the fastest-growing business of organized crime and the third-largest criminal enterprise in the world." It generates billions of dollars world-wide each year. It is a much bigger problem that you ever thought to imagine. If you have 2 hours, please watch the documentary "Nefarious: Merchant of Souls." I think it's on Netflix now. It will make you cry and hold your children a little tighter.
I am happy to say that there are some ministries out there to help these precious children get out. In East Texas, "Refuge of Light" is raising funds to build a facility where sex trafficking victims can come to safely get out, be educated, and grow into adults with options. Please look at their website: http://refugeoflight.org/ When I was in college, I went on a mission trip to the Dream Center of Los Angeles. It was my first exposure to sex trafficking, and it was terrifying. They offer a safe place to recover and also be educated. Here is their website: http://www.dreamcenter.org/resource-project/human-trafficking/ These are the ones I personally know and have worked with and can say are worthy of your money and time. These girls, these children, are worthy of our money and time.
Please educate yourself on human sex trafficking. I know it's not the only evil out there, but it's one that I feel I can impact with prayer, time, and money.
Why is there so much evil?
Why can't we make it stop?
What could have been done differently to protect those precious children?
Why won't the Lord just come back and rescue us from all this destruction?
I get overwhelmed with the injustice in our world. Twenty innocent lives were lost on Friday at the hands of a young man who was more than likely mentally ill and fighting his own demons. We point fingers at guns or politics or communities who surely saw the violent potential in this boy, yet we refuse to analyze our own lives, shortcomings, and mistakes and see where our words and actions kill, even if not literally. Thank God I have been blessed with a mind that thinks clearly and impulses I can control. But do I ever look twice at the people around me who may be struggling with illness? Do I lend a hand or volunteer my time? No. I rely on the "system" that is in place to deal with these people. I didn't go to medical school to learn about the depths of mental illness, nor do I have the understanding to genuinely help, which makes me feel helpless. Instead, I do nothing. And this is where the cycle of feeling overwhelmed loops back to the beginning, and I feel crushed with anguish and frustration. But so often I forget I have a powerful tool in my arsenal; I have prayer. As much evil as there is in this world, we have someone who is already victorious and who listens to the cries of his people. “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) Prayer. I have prayer.
Sadly, while people in all walks of life are up in arms about this very public, media-attracting tragedy, little boys and girls in your town, where you sit reading this, are being kidnapped, drugged, and sold into sex slavery, and yet you never hear about it. Ever. We turn a blind eye to prostitution because we want to imagine that it's dirty men looking for their sexual "fix" and filthy girls who are willingly subjecting themselves to it for money and drugs. Yet, that is the minority! The majority of these girls, some not even old enough to attend your local kindergarten, are being taken and forced into sex with much older men. Not always the men you'd expect either; a lot of times it's husbands, lawyers, doctors, pastors, the "good" men in our communities. And though these children might be the "throw aways" of society: the orphans, runaways, "bad" kids, they are still someone's little, sweet, innocent girl, and she is being sold, like livestock, to men who beat her and make her do unimaginable things. They grow up in this environment of fear, with no resources, and no way out, so they continue the only thing they know, selling their bodies.
While people are screaming about gun control, can someone please scream about sex trafficking? Can we get some help prosecuting pimps (those forcing them into sex) and johns (those paying for the sex), rather than blaming the girls (the victims)? Until we kill the root of the sex trade operation, it will continue. According to the FBI's webpage on Human Sex Trafficking, "It is the fastest-growing business of organized crime and the third-largest criminal enterprise in the world." It generates billions of dollars world-wide each year. It is a much bigger problem that you ever thought to imagine. If you have 2 hours, please watch the documentary "Nefarious: Merchant of Souls." I think it's on Netflix now. It will make you cry and hold your children a little tighter.
I am happy to say that there are some ministries out there to help these precious children get out. In East Texas, "Refuge of Light" is raising funds to build a facility where sex trafficking victims can come to safely get out, be educated, and grow into adults with options. Please look at their website: http://refugeoflight.org/ When I was in college, I went on a mission trip to the Dream Center of Los Angeles. It was my first exposure to sex trafficking, and it was terrifying. They offer a safe place to recover and also be educated. Here is their website: http://www.dreamcenter.org/resource-project/human-trafficking/ These are the ones I personally know and have worked with and can say are worthy of your money and time. These girls, these children, are worthy of our money and time.
Please educate yourself on human sex trafficking. I know it's not the only evil out there, but it's one that I feel I can impact with prayer, time, and money.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Life, as I know it
It's been a while since I've posted anything. Probably because I'm not changing jobs, or moving, or any of the other big adventures you're used to me doing.
I'm just living life as it comes.
I am still enjoying being a landman. Every day is a new challenge, but I feel successful and so very thankful. Next week will be one year with my broker, but I still have so much to learn! Oil and gas is a very detailed, complicated business, and I've just scratched the surface.
I'm also thankful to be living in Tyler and getting to see my nephews as often as I want. We had a sleepover last week, complete with kids' meals, crowns, the Avengers, and paint. It's amazing to watch them grow and learn and develop these precious little personalities. Eli is so inquisitive and keeps me on my toes. He is in 1st grade and needs to know everything...how electricity conducts, how Hawkeye (Avengers) doesn't run out of arrows, or what would happen to the tides if the moon shrunk. I can't make this stuff up. And little Joe is not so little anymore. He is 3 and almost as tall as Eli. He loves to run, jump, punch, and climb. He is so sweet when he wants to be. And he does a killer robot impression. He has dubbed himself the Happy Robot. It's adorable. He's also obsessed with lizards, frogs, insects, or anything else he can catch, put in a jar, and feed crickets.
This past weekend, I walked/jogged by first 5K. I decided when I turned 29, that I wanted to challenge myself to do a marathon in a year. Well, I've quickly scaled back that challenge from a marathon to a half marathon. I think 13.1 miles is enough of a challenge for one out of shape 29-year-old. My parents, little brother, and I participated in the Tyler Rose 5K. We all finished! And surprisingly, I loved it! It was an adrenelin rush. And though I'm still a little sore, I feel so accomplished. The next one is lined up for December 1 in Nacogdoches. I'd like to improve my time by 5-10 minutes and jog more, walk less. Hopefully in 4-5 months, I can advance to a 10K.
Other than that, not too much is going on. My cat, Meowers, is as crazy as ever. Our apartment is pretty great. And Christmas is really soon! Decorations in a month (or so)!
Christen
I'm just living life as it comes.
I am still enjoying being a landman. Every day is a new challenge, but I feel successful and so very thankful. Next week will be one year with my broker, but I still have so much to learn! Oil and gas is a very detailed, complicated business, and I've just scratched the surface.
I'm also thankful to be living in Tyler and getting to see my nephews as often as I want. We had a sleepover last week, complete with kids' meals, crowns, the Avengers, and paint. It's amazing to watch them grow and learn and develop these precious little personalities. Eli is so inquisitive and keeps me on my toes. He is in 1st grade and needs to know everything...how electricity conducts, how Hawkeye (Avengers) doesn't run out of arrows, or what would happen to the tides if the moon shrunk. I can't make this stuff up. And little Joe is not so little anymore. He is 3 and almost as tall as Eli. He loves to run, jump, punch, and climb. He is so sweet when he wants to be. And he does a killer robot impression. He has dubbed himself the Happy Robot. It's adorable. He's also obsessed with lizards, frogs, insects, or anything else he can catch, put in a jar, and feed crickets.
This past weekend, I walked/jogged by first 5K. I decided when I turned 29, that I wanted to challenge myself to do a marathon in a year. Well, I've quickly scaled back that challenge from a marathon to a half marathon. I think 13.1 miles is enough of a challenge for one out of shape 29-year-old. My parents, little brother, and I participated in the Tyler Rose 5K. We all finished! And surprisingly, I loved it! It was an adrenelin rush. And though I'm still a little sore, I feel so accomplished. The next one is lined up for December 1 in Nacogdoches. I'd like to improve my time by 5-10 minutes and jog more, walk less. Hopefully in 4-5 months, I can advance to a 10K.
Other than that, not too much is going on. My cat, Meowers, is as crazy as ever. Our apartment is pretty great. And Christmas is really soon! Decorations in a month (or so)!
Christen
Monday, February 13, 2012
Thoughts on a Rainy Day
I hate rain. To be completely honest, I hate water. I don’t like swimming, washing dishes, or getting flicked with water. I really don’t even like drinking the stuff. But I reluctantly do, usually as tea, though.
Nevertheless, today, outside, the rain is falling. After a very dry summer and hundreds of scary wildfires, I can’t begrudge the ground its water.
It makes me introspective though. It’s also Valentine’s week, which further makes me introspective. I’m like an unproductive, thinking, rain-hating sap this morning.
I think for a long time I've thought love was elusive to me. I’m too tall. Too short. Too girly. Too unfunny. Too demonstrative. Too. Too. Too.
But over the last 3 years, the Lord has been showing me, gently, that His ways are bigger than my ways.
I have had dynamic adventures.
I have stood on the beaches of the Atlantic and Pacific, both north and south of the equator. I have wandered the streets of NYC, Chicago, Boston, Philly, San Francisco, LA, Portland, Dallas, Atlanta, Tampa, and dozens more in between. I’ve traveled to multiple countries by plane. I’ve crossed the US by train. I’ve driven to California, Oregon, Canada, Illinois, Indiana, Florida, Mexico…I could go on. I have worked with some of the sweetest children on this planet, putting bandaids on cuts and ice packs on bruises. I have learned the skills required to save a life and am always ready to jump in and do so. I have learned that though I have the mental capacity and skills necessary to manage people, it brings me no pleasure. It makes me borderline crazy. And I’m beyond thankful that someone believed in me enough to give me that opportunity.
I believe I would not have found my way to my current job without all the aforementioned experiences. And I love being a landman.
The search for love has become less of a search. No more blind dates set up by friends, or awkward emails on eHarmony, or any of the other embarrassing things I’ve subjected myself to. At some point, it occurred to me that I could be unhappy, waiting forever. Or I could buck up, quit waiting and hoping, and get on with things.
If you’re reading this north of the Mason Dixon line, you’re thinking, “Crap, Christen, you’re 28. Not dead.” However, if you’re south, you get it. There are thousands of things I could blame it on… But bottom line, God has a different plan.
I had an epiphany this last week that my best days are still ahead of me. Whether I will fall in love and have children and get the whole “white picket fence” dream, or I’ll discover a new dream, like medical school, or living in China, or doing exactly what I’m doing today- researching families for my job, only God knows. I don’t plan anything more than 6 months in advance because I honestly don’t know where I’ll be in that amount of time, and I’ve never wanted to limit God. He can do whatever he wants with me. Either way, changing my attitude from “poor me” to “lucky me” isn’t exactly easy, but I think it’s very necessary. Who am I to question God’s timing? In retrospect, I’ve always seen the perfection in God’s timing and not mine. I believe one day this will all make sense, too.
So, why do I tell you this today? To get it out of my head, I guess. To let you know that I won’t be lying on the floor depressed tomorrow. Or sending myself flowers. Or drowning my sorrows in chocolates. Or even spending more than maybe 5 minutes on the way to work feeling sorry for myself. (Though I will allow myself those 5 minutes.)
I’m very happy where life and the Lord have taken me. I look forward to what’s still around the corner.
Much love.
Nevertheless, today, outside, the rain is falling. After a very dry summer and hundreds of scary wildfires, I can’t begrudge the ground its water.
It makes me introspective though. It’s also Valentine’s week, which further makes me introspective. I’m like an unproductive, thinking, rain-hating sap this morning.
I think for a long time I've thought love was elusive to me. I’m too tall. Too short. Too girly. Too unfunny. Too demonstrative. Too. Too. Too.
But over the last 3 years, the Lord has been showing me, gently, that His ways are bigger than my ways.
I have had dynamic adventures.
I have stood on the beaches of the Atlantic and Pacific, both north and south of the equator. I have wandered the streets of NYC, Chicago, Boston, Philly, San Francisco, LA, Portland, Dallas, Atlanta, Tampa, and dozens more in between. I’ve traveled to multiple countries by plane. I’ve crossed the US by train. I’ve driven to California, Oregon, Canada, Illinois, Indiana, Florida, Mexico…I could go on. I have worked with some of the sweetest children on this planet, putting bandaids on cuts and ice packs on bruises. I have learned the skills required to save a life and am always ready to jump in and do so. I have learned that though I have the mental capacity and skills necessary to manage people, it brings me no pleasure. It makes me borderline crazy. And I’m beyond thankful that someone believed in me enough to give me that opportunity.
I believe I would not have found my way to my current job without all the aforementioned experiences. And I love being a landman.
The search for love has become less of a search. No more blind dates set up by friends, or awkward emails on eHarmony, or any of the other embarrassing things I’ve subjected myself to. At some point, it occurred to me that I could be unhappy, waiting forever. Or I could buck up, quit waiting and hoping, and get on with things.
If you’re reading this north of the Mason Dixon line, you’re thinking, “Crap, Christen, you’re 28. Not dead.” However, if you’re south, you get it. There are thousands of things I could blame it on… But bottom line, God has a different plan.
I had an epiphany this last week that my best days are still ahead of me. Whether I will fall in love and have children and get the whole “white picket fence” dream, or I’ll discover a new dream, like medical school, or living in China, or doing exactly what I’m doing today- researching families for my job, only God knows. I don’t plan anything more than 6 months in advance because I honestly don’t know where I’ll be in that amount of time, and I’ve never wanted to limit God. He can do whatever he wants with me. Either way, changing my attitude from “poor me” to “lucky me” isn’t exactly easy, but I think it’s very necessary. Who am I to question God’s timing? In retrospect, I’ve always seen the perfection in God’s timing and not mine. I believe one day this will all make sense, too.
So, why do I tell you this today? To get it out of my head, I guess. To let you know that I won’t be lying on the floor depressed tomorrow. Or sending myself flowers. Or drowning my sorrows in chocolates. Or even spending more than maybe 5 minutes on the way to work feeling sorry for myself. (Though I will allow myself those 5 minutes.)
I’m very happy where life and the Lord have taken me. I look forward to what’s still around the corner.
Much love.
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