Warning: this post deals with adult content and is not suitable for all audiences. Lizzy, I wouldn't read this one.

Dreams are fascinating things.

Multiple dreams just won't let me go; they invade my sleep over and over again.  Some are just strange- the smoking dreams in which I'm chain-smoking cartons of cigarettes and LOVING every. single. inhale. feeling smoke burn and fill my lungs then thickly slide out the side of my mouth.  I've never smoked a single cigarette in my life, and because of these dreams, I'm terrified just one puff would make me addicted forever.  But I digress.

There are more, the tiny spaces dreams, the waking-up-in-an-ugly-wedding-dress-and-marrying-a-man-I-didn't-love dreams, the rabbit hole/Jabba the Hut dreams, the pulling-people-out-of-a-crocodile's-jaws dreams....

While unpleasant, those dreams are rather petty.

There are the nightmares, however. 

I've had them rather consistently for as long as I can remember.  For many years, I didn't tell anyone and tried to push the nightmares into the furthest corners of my memory.  I'd wake up, shudder, and force myself to forget.  But they persisted, and last year I finally started talking about them with people I love and trust.

One of the reasons I'm passionate about fighting sex trafficking is that I've been dream raped and exploited several times in my sleep.  NO, I cannot relate to people who have been raped and abused.  I am NOT saying I can fully emphasize with people whose vulnerability is exploited.  But I've glimpsed their fear and pain, and that simple exposure alone overwhelms me.  I know the nightmares are not real, but in the heat of them, I don't know what's real or not.

Sometimes I'm in a brothel with many women I don't know.

Sometimes I'm hanging out with friends and we're jumped in a parking lot.

Sometimes I'm home alone.

Sometimes I discover a room full of little girls locked up by a teacher.

Once, I had a 4yr old girl taken from me during a Sunday School class.

One of these nightmares came upon me in Ukraine last summer.  I dreamed I was in a room with a bunch of young girls and some men I knew.  Suddenly, I realized all the men but one had a dark intent in bringing us girls together.  I tried not to panic or let the men know I realized their plan while also trying to get the one honest man's attention.  But he fell asleep.  Then the other men attacked.  One had a knife and lunged to slit the sleeping man's throat, but I jumped in the way, grabbing for the knife while trying to wake the sleeping man.  He wouldn't wake up, but I was able to wiggle out of the knife man's grasp and bolt out the door and through a field.  I felt safe but sick with the knowledge of what was happening to the other girls.

I woke up.

I got out of bed and went to the sink to wash my face and hopefully my mind.  With water dripping down my face, I asked God something I'd never asked Him before,

"Why?  Why the nightmares, Lord?"

I don't usually heard God respond in a clear voice, but a thought shot through my mind,

"I don't want you to leave them behind anymore."

I realized a central theme in many of my nightmares.  I often got away, but the others didn't.

Was there a purpose in all this?  Maybe.  I'll never forget a friend telling me, 

"you've seen the need.  Now do something about it."

So I started doing what I could.  It isn't much, and there's so much more I'd like to do, but God hasn't released me to do it yet.  So I'll do what I can in the waiting/preparing period.

 

Why do I write all this?  Well, there's another theme in most of my nightmares.  Two nights ago, I dreamed a pimp and his boss were following me through an abandoned farm they had turned into a breaking ground for trafficked girls.  This time, I realized I was dreaming, so I cried out to God to wake me up.  Please Lord, just wake me up and all this will end.  Save me!

He didn't.  I felt hopeless and utterly abandoned.  Now I assume God wanted me to experience the whole dream for a reason.  I know He didn't simply ignore my pleas.

But it's been worse.

In one nightmare, I was chased and cornered in a two story building by an old, feeble man and a middle-aged, Hulk-sized man.  In my dream, I screamed,

"Jesus!  Save me!  Oh God, please rescue me!"

As the huge man approached me, unbuckling his belt, he laughed,

"Oh, God will save you, but only after we're done with you."

Could that be Satan lying to me and trying to scare me?  Sure.  Maybe.  But you know what?  In a way, he's right.  If I get heavily involved in fighting sexual exploitation, I'm not guaranteed safety.  Hell, I'm not guaranteed safety while typing this on my couch here at home!  Nefarious things happen to Christians every day and God does not always rescue them.

Tonight, Dad and I were the only ones at home, and that means war movie night!  This time we watched Act of Valor.  A good movie, but I don't want to go off topic.  At the beginning of the film, a female CIA agent is captured by Jihad members and she's gruesomely tortured for not talking. 

Would I do that?  Would I suffer like that if asked to deny Christ or in attempt to save exploited people? 

Ah, honestly?  I don't think so.

I know God will never leave me or forsake me.  I know He holds my right hand, hems me in, hides me in the shadow of His wing, but that doesn't mean He won't let me suffer.

Am I truly willing to take that risk?  To go out into the darkness even in the face of suffering and death?

I don't know.  I'm really wrestling.  It bothers me so much.

I don't know exactly what these dreams mean, whether they're attacks from Satan or messages from God, or simply terrors in my psyche.  But they've caused me to wrestle with some hard things.  I know God will bring good from it, and I know He's worth everything, and I know I can't live in fear of what may never come to pass, but this is all weighing heavy on my soul and I just needed to get it out somehow.

Stuck, Hobo Hunting, Faithfulness, and the Adventures of 23

"Sir, I'm serious.  I'm stuck."

"Oh! To my floor?"

"No, Sir."

"Then how?"

"Like as a person...  Remember when I was a little girl and I could play Rahmaninov's Second Piano Concerto and everyone was talking about my potential?"

"Mhm."

"Well, I am 23 now, and everyone is still talking about my potential, but if you ask me to play the song I know best... I'll still play Rahmaninov's Second."

- Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium

Stuck.  I'll admit, looking at my status in life at this current moment, it's tempting to believe I am so very stuck in the same place and as the same person I was last year.

I'm not faithful in many things, but I have faithfully kept a prayer journal this past year, and what a strange year it was!  Last year I spent my birthday in Lviv, Ukraine.  This year I spent it in a minivan, in the rain, searching for homeless people and ending up eating Mexican casserole with my family and a young man we met at Albertson's named Joshua.  

Who would've thought? 

Going through my journal, I'm easily discouraged by the person I hoped I would become by now.  I set such high and noble goals- live each day with intention, walk humbly, share the Gospel boldly, live in faith... and some lesser goals- move out, get a job with IJM, publish poetry, move to Ukraine, become an advocate against human trafficking, stop watching TV and wasting time on the internet, read a million books. 

Whelp.  So much for all that. 

But something much bigger than my failed attempts at epicness pushed through those journal pages.  I'm sure if I created a word cloud for last year, the largest part of the cloud would read, "GOD IS FAITHFUL."  Over, and over, and over, and over again, stories of God's faithfulness fill the spaces between my ambitious attempts at personal holiness.  Who cares that I am a failure? GOD IS FAITHFUL!  It's okay that I am not perfect, that I

waste time

get tired

that my faith wavers

I'm a fool

I'm not the smartest

I'm not the most talented

I don't know

I struggle

over and over and over again

that I hurt

I'm weak

I need people

I need

I'm shy

I sin

I'm not beautiful

I'm selfish

God has conquered all this!  NONE of this binds me or keeps me from Him!  And though I am not the person I hoped I would be, I am molding into the person God has created me to be.  And I trust His craftsmanship utterly and completely, more than I ever have before.  As Comrade wrote to me back in August, "No matter where He takes you or who you are ministering to, your ultimate purpose is always going to be displaying HIS love and HIS power to all you come in contact with.  Your circumstances, struggles, temptations may change, but His faithfulness will not.  Your purpose may look different, the methodology may change, but the ultimate goal will always be the same- glorifying Him by loving Him, by loving others, and by making Jesus beautiful!"  So I will holdfast to the anchor of my soul, rejoicing that I can walk in a manner worthy of the call, because the One who calls me is faithful, and He will surely do it!  My weaknesses prove His strength!  My ugliness proves His beauty!  Bring on 23!!!

The kindness of our God

So you know this joyless girl who's been whining about her problems over the past few blog posts?  Well, God took her on an impromptu trip to the shoreline for sunrise yesterday...

And then He told me this...

He will make me a joy... He hears my prayers.  He cares. and He is so generous with messed up me.

Rigid

Rigid.
That's the word someone used to describe me years ago.
He hoped it wouldn't offend me.  I took it as a compliment. at the time.

In case you haven't already figured this out (maybe I'm the only one who hadn't),
I am a wretched human being- selfish, arrogant, and unloving.  If I've ever served or loved anyone it was either a front to improve my image or a merciful gift from God.  I'm not saying this out of obligation.  I'm not compelled out of humility.  I'm relating a brutally honest self-realization.

Abigail means "the joy of her father."  I lost joy a long, long time ago, gradually.  As pride grew, joy withered.  You know that C.S. Lewis analogy of a heart locked in a box?  Yup.  I want to be perfect and  the farthest thing from vulnerable.  Nothing gets in the way of the person I present myself to be.
Whelp.  That doesn't fly with God.  And frankly, it's never caused me to fly either.  It's trapped me.

I want my heart to break for what breaks the heart of God.
I want His freedom.
I want to be His joy.



I am a great sinner, but He is a great Savior.
Hallelujah.

"So much of my life reminds me of something I read in a book once, when really, shouldn't it be the other way around?"

I admit.  Since graduation, I have undergone a dramatic and rather unsettling identity crisis.  While in the Keys last week, I thought being on and in and under and (fill in all remaining applicable prepositions) the ocean cured me of said crisis.  Wrong.

I was reading this beautifully crafted and well told memoir titled, The Hungry Ocean.  Linda, the only known female swordfishing captain, doubts whether or not she really lived the life she wanted.  She battles regret.  That last word, my friends, is one I am TERRIFIED of associating (even syntactically) with my life.  Years ago, I wrote a pathetic poem metaphorically describing life as a burden I was terrified of wasting.  The poem's long gone, but the fear isn't.  I couldn't bear looking back on my life and regretting how I spent it.  I've actually become overwhelmingly depressed at the thought of growing older, just because being older meant decisions would be behind me, not in front of me, and what if I regretted those decisions?  I want to die exhausted, every breath of my life intentionally and purposely spent.  Yes, life from this perspective IS a heavy, heavy burden.

So I finished the book and nearly went mad.

I'll spare you the gory details; let's just say total panic plus post-ocean depression ain't purdy.  I finally gave up in a sobbing, snotty mess on my way back to work.
God. help.
You have prospering plans for me, but I can't see them.
You are good, and you keep your promises; but I don't believe you.
In Your presence there is perfect peace, but what the heck is peace?!

What He told me was really so simple- it doesn't matter what I do with my life.  It only matters who I give my life to.  My life is the Lord's.  It's not my own.  I laid it down.  And it WILL be my ~overwhelming joy~ to say, "Your will.  Your way.  Always."

I could be a missionary in a foreign land and never get married- and NEVER regret my life.
I could be a stay-at-home mom with 7 kids and never leave the country again- and NEVER regret my life.
I could be a teacher- and NEVER regret my life.
I could work at Publix for the rest of my life- and NEVER regret it.
I could die tomorrow morning- and NEVER regret my life.

My life belongs to the Lord.  He will use it for His glory, and a life that glorifies Him can not possibly be wasted.

"Nobody could be that clever." "You could."

I'm not really a TV show person, but good gravy, Sherlock is just about the best thing I have ever witnessed via TV screen!  And season three doesn't come out until December... *sigh.*
What I love most about the series is the camaraderie between Sherlock and John.  I think comradeship, or brotherhood, is the purest, most valuable kind of relationship.  Maybe I have a skewed understanding of other relationships, or maybe I've seen Band of Brothers and read Henry V too many times, but it seems to me that comradeship is the highest form of relationship because it is selfless at it's core.  A comrade doesn't need anything from his friend, isn't looking to satisfy himself in his friend, doesn't want to take anything from his friend.  Comrades fight back-to-back for the sake of a cause that is more important than them.  They know each other so well because they are not trying to impress the other.  They are vulnerable to each other (standing back-to-back, their weakest points against each other) because it produces a greater chance of victory for the cause.  They've lived life together and know how the other reacts in many different circumstances.
Anyway, I digress.
I won't give away the whole plot, but at the end of the last episode, Sherlock is set up and everyone starts believing a lie about him, everyone except John.  Sherlock asks John if he is starting to doubt like everyone else.  John replies, "Not me.  I know you."

Why do I bring all this up?  I want my relationship with Jesus to be like that.  When all my circumstances make Jesus look like a liar, when I don't understand His Word, when my mind can't understand how Jesus could really be who He says He is, I want to look past all the confusion, lock eyes with Him, and say, "Not me.  I know You."

I want to know Him beyond my own understanding.  If fact, if I want to truly know Him at all, it has to be beyond my own understanding; there's no way my tiny mind can understand my infinite Lord.

Reminds me of "The Supreme Climb" in Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest-
The great lesson to be learned from Abraham’s faith in God is that he was prepared to do anything for God. He was there to obey God, no matter what contrary belief of his might be violated by his obedience. Abraham was not devoted to his own convictions or else he would have slain Isaac and said that the voice of the angel was actually the voice of the devil. That is the attitude of a fanatic. If you will remain true to God, God will lead you directly through every barrier and right into the inner chamber of the knowledge of Himself. But you must always be willing to come to the point of giving up your own convictions and traditional beliefs.

I want to be devoted to Christ, not to my own convictions.

"People are always saying that change is a good thing..."

"It should be so exciting, to be out in the world, to be free!  My heart should be wildly rejoicing... Oh what's the matter with me?"
Today I graduated from Rollins with a BA degree.  I should be thrilled.  I am thrilled.  But, I'm also (pathetic and nerdish as it may be) heartbroken.  I hate change.  I've always hated it.  I know God has many beautiful things ahead, but right now, I only want to focus on the loss.  I've spent 5 difficult, glorious years at Rollins, especially this past semester.  I'm a learner at heart and love overcoming challenges and working through deep concepts.  I've identified myself as a student my whole life... now what?  God knows, and I do completely trust Him in that.  But it's still hard for me to face change.  I feel like I did when we moved from our old house.  We were moving to a bigger, more beautiful house and I wouldn't have to share a room anymore, but the actual move tore me up.  Grabbing hold of one thing means letting go of another.  It's the same problem I had with growing up.  Sure I could drive a car, but I couldn't enjoy carousels.  That bothered me so much.  I don't know why.  I'm just silly like that.