Quote Two: Where is God?

Quote number two reflection under way. Here is my second quote I have found reading A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis:

When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be--or so it feels--welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence.

Only on page nine, when I first read this all I could say was a big, fat, gigantic WOW.

JUST WOW.

Not simply because I could relate to what Lewis was saying, but because he writes in such a way that I have not found in any author grief-counsel authors. He is abruptly honest, doesn't sugar-coat the situation and doesn't make grief something it's not. Grief sucks.

Lewis just doesn't take into consideration when he wrote the book, but also the question: "Where is God through all of this?" And I totally agree. God shouldn't be taken off the hook by the weak argument that He gave us free will. According to Christian theology He is still God, still all-loving and all-powerful. He still has a chance to stop our suffering, but chooses not to.

Before all of this happened, when I found out the news that Jake had physically left my life here on earth, I had been extremely spiritual and in-tune with God. I prayed everyday, sometimes more and wrote in my journal specifically telling God about my day and trying to get closer to him. My intentions were good, pure and holy.

At that time I felt welcomed by God, and was absolutely sure He loved me, wanted to best for me and appreciated our unique friendship. God was one of my best friends, someone I could confide in and tell anything to. Boy did that change.

It's not that I don't think God exists-- I most certainly do. If I admit that there is evil and unjust acts in the world than I am claiming that evil in turn exists. But if God was nothing, how would I know right from wrong? How would I even know what evil was?

So, no. I do believe in God and in no way am I an atheist. My issue lies in God's credibility of being all-just and all-loving.

God allows bad things to happen to us, and allows terrible and horrific things to happen in this world. But why? Why does he let children starve on the streets, or mothers get raped and beaten in front of their child's eyes? Why does he allow people to starve to death and natural disasters to wipe out entire cities? My biggest example would be the Holocaust of the 1930s/1940s. How could God allow that to happen, so many innocent people killed and tortured for no reason?

I don't care what God's plan is and how he goes about it with free will. Torturing a child is wrong. Watching it and allowing it to happen is wrong. Ask anyone. If you saw a seven-year-old girl being brutally attacked on the street and did nothing about it, you would be just as bad as the person who was beating her. Because you did not stand up, and make known that what was happening is unjust. That is exactly what God does, he sits around and lets it happen. And I honestly cannot make sense of it.

Here lies my issue-- if a God who claims he loves us so much he knows the exact number of hairs on our head, yet he lets these same beings that he loves go through so much, I don't want to have anything to do with Him. If God is really like that, I don't want anything to do with Him. I don't care if I'm going to hell, I don't care if I am not being obedient. I think in this area he is wrong. And although I am blinded by earthly dimensions, there is no possible way anything could be worth just watching a child getting beaten to death.

I never doubted the existence of God, I just doubt his credibility and relevance to my life.

Quote One: "No one told me grief felt so much like fear."

As I stated in my last post, I will be blogging about my first time reading "A Grief Observed" by C.S. Lewis. So far, the book has been compelling and down-right honest. I will be a taking a quote per blog post to reflect and try to make sense of Lewis's words. Well, here we go. First quote:

"No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing." (Lewis pg. 1)

This was the first line in the book; the first couple sentences. And yet, while I was reading this for the first time, not even flipping the first page yet, I already felt a connection with Lewis. Because although I'd hate to admit it, I have felt the exact same way. Lewis and I share something; we share the inevitable reality of grief.

This quote immediately took me back to my initial stages, the week I found out that Jake died. I couldn't eat, could not sleep, and yes, the sensations felt exactly like fear. I had an adrenaline rush that I didn't know what to do with and thought I was going mad.

I was constantly searching, and looking over my shoulder for something, even though at the time I hadn't the slightest idea what. Fear consumed my life: from not wanting to talk to old friends to spending the entire rest of the summer locked in my room.

Fear only has power of we let it. And boy, does it clamp its latches on me. Truth is, I am afraid. Even to this day, over three years after my beloved Jake left, I'm still scared shitless.

I am scared for putting myself out there, learning to depend on other people and learning to let other people in. Before Jake, I had always been more on the introverted side regarding my feelings. But after he left, it kicked everything into high gear. For me, it is so incredibly hard to trust people.

It's scary.

It's terrifying.

And I know exactly why.

I trusted Jake with everything. From sharing my hopes, dreams and aspirations to letting him know how I felt about him. He earned my trust-- and deserved it. When he died, all of the mutual foundations of trust and confidentiality were shattered. I no longer had him to confide in and respond to my cry of help, and the reality of grief became as real as ever.

What scares me is not that something like this will happen again. I know the odds of having another loved one die so young is very slim. What I am afraid of, though, is that I might by chance put my heart into someone's hands again it be carelessly shattered. I honestly don't know if I could go through that again.

I see what grief is/was doing to me. It paralyzes the victim in a timeless trans that one cannot escape. It paralyzes the victim with fear.

When a loved one passes away, the feeling is a horrific one like no other. When you receive the news, and it brings it to your knees, that's when you know what true love means.

I hate it when people say, "Stop being selfish for wanting (a loved one) back, they are happier now and are in a better place."

SO WHAT?

Jake died at fifteen years old, and I'm not being selfish. I feel agony and pain for not only me, but for him as well. He never got to graduate from high school, get his driver's license or go to college. He never got to go to prom or receive his acceptance letters for the universities he applied for. He will never get married, have a family of his own or get his first real job.

Jake is stuck in time, just like me. And that scares me.

Nineteenth Birthday

Like an artist or a musician, writers cannot control when their creative juices flow. It could be in the middle of the night, early in the morning or in the middle of a class.

Usually, for me, I find myself waking up during a calming dream, or have to stop my homework to try to relive the memories, faces and smells of Jake through my writing. The descriptions of the words, how I place them in a sentence and the minute details are vital for me to remember. And I have to.

Today marks my nineteenth birthday. Woop-de-do. As the years keep rolling on by, the birthdays matter less and less to me. Not because it's not fun knowing I'm getting older, and not because I'm scared either. It's because after Jake died, I put my life into perspective. Does it really matter if I count every single birthday? I need to count the minutes, hours and seconds I have here, because Jake only had fifteen birthdays. And I've had nineteen.

It very much saddens me how my best friend cannot be here to celebrate with me. I often wish he could come back just for a second, just so I can see his face, hear his laugh, to know that I am not completely crazy. That I am not merely making fantasies up in my head. That this actually happened. This was real.

I picked up a book from the library a couple of days ago, titled A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. A guy who used to run a retreat program at my grade school contacted me shortly after Jake passed and recommended that I check it out.

Then, I was at a point where I didn't want to talk to anyone, was a recluse in my room and shut everyone out. I was not at the point to read a book, much less breath. Now I think I have come to better terms with the passing of my best friend, and am able to go to school, think and breathe.

There isn't one particular reason I went to the library to search for the book, I just think something inside egged me on to listen what this retreat-guy had to say.

The book is about C.S. Lewis, writer and poet, who of which wrote the Narnia series. His wife (called in the book, H.) died of cancer unexpectedly, leaving his two sons and him alone. The book is C.S. Lewis's own diary, sharing his questions, frustration and cry for help when no one could save him.

While I was reading, I began to think this is so much like my own writing. Blunt, honest, straight-to-the-point and heartfelt. He isn't afraid to be mad at God; he isn't there to please others by saying "everything happens for a reason," because that's not what he believes. He's confused, devastated and lonely and has no problem showing it.

Argument after argument, point after point, there is not one thing I haven't felt that C.S. Lewis was feeling. Last night, while reading in my room, I almost felt a little embarrassed as if he was reading my own journal aloud.

There are a couple of particular points that hit close to home. It'd like to share a quote per post and really delve into what C.S. Lewis's words mean to me in the context of my own grief with Jake. I am hoping this exercise will allow me to explore why Lewis and I have so much in common, as well as help me to learn some new things about me and Jake's relationship.

Inspiration from unlikely places

Two days ago I covered a Marquette University event featuring the singer and musician, John Ondrasik, from Five for Fighting.

Coming into the piece, I knew the story would be heart filled and entertaining, growing up listening to his music like, "A Hundred Years" and "Superman". But what I didn't expect is to be completely inspired-- about my career and about his.

Ondrasik grew up surrounded by music. His mom was a piano teacher and he began lessons at age three. His dad, on the other hand, was an aerospace engineer and did numerous projects with NASA.

When he went to college, Ondrasik thought about what he wanted to do with his life, and had the same questions as me. What is going to get me a job? Is this what I really love? Should I think realistically about my future or fantacize about it?

What he ended up majoring in was Applied Math, a skill he says, "he rarely uses today." But besides that, Ondrasik says he put in over 100,000 hours of work, performed in hundreds of small venues and wrote thousands of songs before he ever got paid for it.

He told the audience to do what you love, but if that doesn't work, find something you are interested in so you can fall back on that too.

I am a person of many interests and hobbies. I enjoy writing, science, dance and occasionally an algebra problem or two. My family has always told me that if I really want something, I can achieve it with hard work and practice.

This idea has helped me through some frustrating times in my life as well as encouraged me to teach myself new skills. I have taught myself how to play guitar, walk on stilts and do the splitz.

So if I'm really interested in both, why can't I do Science and Journalism? Why does it have to be one or the other? Why do I have to limit myself to one skill, when life is always changing and teaching me new things about my identity as a person?

I know Jake would've wanted me to follow my heart, and follow my dreams, but I wasn't sure what that entailed. When I met Jake, I was an aspiring environmentalist who craved to save the world by spreading the word about pollution and how we could reduce our carbon footprint. That was something Jake always loved about me-- I had high goals and aspirations and had it set in my mind that I could achieve them if I put in the long hours and work. At the time I wore organic clothing, rode my bike and was a vegetarian for a little while.

After seeing Al Gore's documentary, An Inconvient Truth, it scared me. Actually...it terrified me. But I don't think that was the film's goal, or even its purpose. Yes, it was supposed to wake us up, help us realize that although it may be "inconvient" to make environmental change we HAVE to do something to about it. It was meant to inspire and encourage viewers to act now while we still have the chance. And that is what that film did. It inspired me.

I am still on the quest for finding out what I want out of life, and what my calling is as a student and a person. Going and covering the Five for Fighting event really sparked something in me, and ignited a thought that I haven't considered in a while.

What kind of world do I want? Think anything...

What if Money Didn't Matter

Have you ever asked yourself, "what if money didn't matter?"

What would our world be like, and how would our lives change? Would we be more happy as a whole or have nothing to with our time?

The average American spends half of their adult life at their job, but if money didn't matter, would it be this way? How would our society and perceptions of the work place differ if money really didn't matter?

I came across this video today and was very interested in the subject. It showed me the importance of doing what I love, and hopefully getting a well-payed job because of it. I cannot stress how important it is to live every second as it counts, every moment as if it matters. Because it really does.

http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=8nif01WZ9aI

Now that Jake isn't here to expierience this life, I feel as if it's my duty and obligation to live my life to the fullest not only for him, but also for myself.

Try something you've never thought about doing, laugh until you cry, work hard but also take a deep breath now and then too.

John Lennon once said:

“When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”

This was the senior quote I choose for my 1/4 page in the year book, as well as a saying I try to live by. Whenever I am having a bad day, or am not sure about where my life is headed, I take out a piece of paper I have in my wallet and read this quote.

It's just a looseleaf sheet I hand wrote, but it's a reminder to put every happening in life into perspective.

I encourage you to try it out. Write down your favorite quote, or better yet, google and find an inspirational saying that means something to you. Put it in a place you have a lot of access to-- like your bookbag, wallet or a pocket.

Whenever you have doubts, or seem like you are not doing what you love, ask yourself: "What if money didn't matter?"

A look through the years

As I was reading my past entries from 2010 until now, I have noticed a profound improvement in my writing and how I have evolved to come to terms with Jake's death.

I am so glad I have been able to use this site as an online journal to document this love story, and to look back on how the relationship started. I have only been in love once, and loved that person with every ounce of my being. Sometimes I forget that, getting so caught up in the hustle and bustle of life I don't stop in gratitude of the love that I shared. Not many can say they had their first love in grade school, much less having that person pass away when you were the age of fifteen.

I think this blog has helped me tremendously to be able to share what happened. I tend to shut others out when we get too close, and try to forget about the accident and pretend everything is okay.

But it's not okay.

The accident did happen and there are some days when I feel lost, and others when I feel completly alone. But the truth of the matter is, I've had more good days than bad and more love than I could ever ask for. I am so lucky to have even met an amazing guy like Jake, considering all of the judgements and hatred in our world today. He was a one-of-a-kind. What we had I wouldn't trade for all of the heartache and all of the tears I have shed because of him.

What I am trying to say is, while looking at the posts through the years, I am so proud of how much I have opened up and exposed, even though this is an online blog.

Writing is such a precious tool, a gift and a blessing that allows me express myself in a way that verbal words can't. I hope everyone has enjoyed reading over the years and I plan to keep writing for years to come.

This is my life. Am I who I want to be?

I have been trying to find the answer to this question for months now. But unlike my Biology or Communications class, the answers cannot be found in a book. They are inside me, a place where I haven't come to know myself.

Since the fifth grade I have always aspired to be a writer-- it just came naturally to me. My reading was always at an accelerated level and I was speaking in full sentences before I was two years old. Language has always been an important aspect of my life, and journalism and writing are no different. My beginnings started with my dad reading the St. Louis Post Dispatch every morning when he came home from work. He worked long night hours at UPS, so when he came home my mother, brother, sister and I made sure he had his paper and glass of milk. He always told us how reading, especially the newspaper, was so important to do.

My dad grew up with a moderate case of dyslexia which affects the brain's ability to process numbers and words in correct order. As a child, my father had trouble reading, and the newspaper and comics section helped him. "If not for the Post-Dispatch," my father would say, "I would not be able to read this day."

News and the media, if showed honorably and accurately, are a vital tool for society. The papers, as I have seen especially growing up, are a cost-efficient way to bring the news to all people, not only the ones who can afford it.

When I was in first grade, a terrible accident happened in my family. I was spending the night over my grandparents and while I was away, a house fire burned all of my family's possessions.

Although my parents and siblings got out okay, it still left a mark on my perception of material items and a sense home in general. When our house burned down, I did not have the toys or clothes I once had, nor did my mother have her wedding dress nor my dad his photographs. Everything in the house besides a few bricks, a board game and my diary were ruined.

As an eight-year-old, with two younger siblings, our entire sense of home was shattered. Society today places an emphasis on exterior houses, with new siding and doors. But what companies fail to realize is the significance of what is inside the building. When my family lost so much, we had to focus on what we did have—each other.

I remember a time when my brother and I were upset about a week after the accident. We were over my grandparents' house (who lived next door to us) and were crying saying how we didn't have a home anymore. I will never forget what my dad told us after sternly ordered us to stop.

"I don't ever want to hear that again. Our house was ruined, not our home. Our family is home, we are home."

And every time after, whenever I felt sad about moving around a lot, or having no toys to play with, I was thankful that my family was still alive.

When moving in and out of extended family's houses, apartments and hotels there were two things that were constant-- us as a family staying together and my dad reading his newspaper.

Even though we were scraping for cash, my parents still put a priority to be informed as to what was happening in the world.

As many can tell, writing and news has always been an important part of my life.
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But now I am at a crossroads. So much has changed since I was an eight-year-old girl, or even a sophomore in high school, when I lost my best friend Jake Ritz in a plane crash.

I am in college now, and instead of fantasizing about my career, I actually have to face reality and decide. And I'm not sure how.

Let me explain further:
After Jake passed, something inside of me shut down. Once before I had high aspirations to change the world-- environmentally and socially. I was constantly outside walking my two dogs at a local park. Being around nature has always brought great solace and comfort to me and exercising made it even better.

At the time, I wanted to travel around the world on a hot-air balloon and live every single second to the fullest. After Jake was gone, it seemed that all of my high dreams died with him. I no longer even went outside, spending the rest of that summer alone in my room crying.

But something changed. Something brought me back to life and allowed me to feel again. It was dance. It was moving my body while having fun. It was showing the world my feelings of hate, disgust and anguish without saying one word.

I tried to write again, I really did. I wrote in my journal a few times but just couldn't find the words to say what I was feeling. And when I did, the words came out like a rushing tidal wave, just like the tears that streamed down my face. I was unable to hold it back, putting my journal down and crying for days.

Dance allowed me to forget about what happened, even if it was just for a mere sixty seconds. It enabled me to see past my loss and focus on me getting better and being happy. Exercise and dance rescued me in my time of need, writing didn't.
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So currently I have a problem, which to choose for a career? Journalism or Exercise Physiology? Both I love, both I am passionate about. But I am not sure which I love more, because I love them for different reasons. Either of the two career paths I could see myself being thoroughly happy in, each bringing a different part of me to the table.

What do you think? If you were in my position what would you choose?

This is my life. And I'm not sure who I want to be.