| Hold On to Your Hope |

Hope.

Since then it is by faith that we are justified, let us grasp the fact that we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through Him we have confidently entered into this new relationship of grace, and here we take our stand, in happy certainty of the glorious things He has for us in the future. This does not mean, of course, that we have only a hope of future joys—we can be full of joy here and now even in our trials and troubles. Taken in the right spirit these very things will give us patient endurance; this in turn will develop a mature character, and a character of this sort produces a steady hope, a hope that will never disappoint us. Already we have some experience of the love of God flooding through our hearts by the Holy Spirit given to us. 

~ Romans 5:1-5 ~

I sat with several families around me listening to one of our church elders speaking at our annual Sunday night run meet, attempting, and very valiantly might I add, to motivate all of us. "Life is not a sprint, it's marathon," he said. I laughed at myself. Sprinting was what I was good at. Long distances...not so much. Growing up I could never run the one or two mile races as well as I could the dashes. They were some of my favorites. I thrived on the short term flight of speed. When it came to long distances however, that took training and preparation. It took thought and self discipline to pace yourself. Sprints only took a burst of speed at a whistle's blow. Quick victory, little work. Just run fast. In life it's true though, it's not a sprint but a marathon. One that seems incredibly long and filled with times you feel like you are going in complete circles, over and over and over again. in the sun. without water. uphill. without your left leg. 

How often in difficulties do we spend our energy on the first sprint failing to endure the long distance and ending up wanting to give in? Ideally, what we want is for difficulties to be short, quick, and easy, or more preferably non existent. And if, in the coming, the stretch of road you are on is not easy, we desire to command it to be short, to control it to be brief. We want to command God that if it must be painful at least rip the bandage off quickly.

I have been the catalyst of many prayers. I have prayed and I have had an army of people banging on God's door as well. It never ceases to inspire awe. After so much time of prayer, of petitioning to God, it can get disappointing when still there seems to be no fruit. Or at least not the kind of fruit I desire to see. So many people asking of the Lord for so long, you begin to wonder if your words are falling void. If they are somehow disappearing into the darkness.

It was not until a Christian church conference I was at several weeks ago that the Lord changed my thoughts. I was sitting in the third session during worship writing in my notebook what the Lord was telling me, when someone stood up on stage to tell the congregation the word the Lord had given to him. "Hold on to your hope!" he said and continued, "Do not lose your hope. Hold on to it. It will be richly rewarded. The Lord will change heaven and earth through your faithful prayers." And that was it. It was an "Aha" moment, only I felt more like it was a "Duh" moment. It was as if the Lord had just given me coffee for the soul. I was immediately renewed while I sat there knowing that those words were for me. Something so simple, yet such a powerful, needed reminder. – The Lord will change heaven and earth through my faithful prayers. – I needed that. I needed to be reminded that they are making a difference. That beseeching the Lord was not in vain. Each and every prayer I am praying and others are praying for me are not barren. They are not disappearing into a black hole. The Lord is not opening my spoken letters and forgetting about them. They are not going into celestial recycling. They are being heard. More than that, they are being treasured. There is no "lost in the mail" in heaven. This is God. My prayers are being heard and cherished––all of them, word for word, always and forever. He knows them, and they matter. Hold on to your hope. Your prayers matter. They are making a difference, and God will change heaven and earth because of them. Keep running with endurance.

I am reminded of the farmer.
What farmer goes out and toils in his field, preparing and tearing at the soil with his plow again and again until he feels it is prepared for his precious seed to thrive, and after planting will he come out the very next day and harvest his field? 

Many of us are good at buying our seed, with vigor we push to plow under the hot sun, toiling long enough that we might plant our store, with endurance we push to lay our seed into the earth. Shortly after however we lose our drive. We want the rain to come, the light to dawn, and the crop to grow up in instant abundance. We fail to see the seed under the ground growing and changing day by day. We want our harvest and in our haste, impatience, hopelessness, in our foolishness, we become that farmer who heads out early to reap his field only to find small baby seedlings are the harvest in his hand.
For whatever reason each of has a field, one we are praying for God to send rain to, one we are praying to grow. Do not lose hope. Hope will not disappoint. You will reap what you have sown. Patience brings the harvest. You will be rewarded. Heaven and earth will change through your faithfulness. It will be bountiful – God's way, and in His timing.        

For a long while I struggled with worrying that my prayers were faltering because I did not believe enough. I did not believe hard enough, strong enough, great enough. I constantly analyzed myself for unbelief, for the smidgen of doubt that was not yielding. "You must be doubting somewhere! Maybe that is why nothing is changing. You must need to pray harder!" So I would pray, people would pray for me, and I tried to believe with everything I had in me. "Lord I have an army!" I would say. "I have an army at Your door, surely that is great enough to release me?" 
I remember the day I was sitting at my desk happily musing when out of nowhere the Lord said, "One stone." It took me only a moment, I knew immediately what He was telling me. One stone. Goliath fell to the ground with one stone. David only had to use one small stone from that little brook to bring down the giant. The Lord didn't need my army. Did my armies prayers matter? Yes. Immensely so. But He wanted my one stone. He wanted my attention to be in place despite the others. He wanted me, a mustard seed of faith. That's all He needed. A mustard seed that He would use to move mountains.
Keep praying.


  // But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently........What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all—how will He not also, along with Him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:

"For your sake we face death all day long;

we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered."

No, in all theses things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present, nor the future, nor any power neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all of creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. // Romans 8:24-39

Letting Go of Dreams ~~~

The continued story of my injury. You can read the first part here: Welcome to the Unknown :)

I was given the green flag to dance on my foot. It was only three weeks until the recital and ballet but I was back! I had been paying close attention and learning the dances while I watched from the side. I jumped back in, going a little slow at first, but both I and my teachers needed to know what I was capable of. Inside I knew I would do anything, pain or not, I was going to prove myself. It was time to step up to the plate. I would do it all, in it's fullness. The only problem was pointe.

I had injured myself so quickly dancing on pointe. My parents and I were concerned about it happening again the week before or during tech week and then a of couple days before the performance I would have to be pulled out. I knew what I wanted to do, but I had to think about more than just myself in this decision and I knew the wise thing to do. There was no question. I made a choice. In fact I did not have much of a choice really. It was time to put up my pointe shoes, but not only for this performance. I felt, along with my parents, that unless the Lord strongly changed otherwise, I was feeling His lead in choosing to hang up my pointe shoes...for good.

It was not worth it. The pain and injuries it was causing me, the likelihood that it would happen again was so high, I did not want to risk another year. I have already had to sacrifice two. Dancing on pointe was not a good enough reason to sacrifice another year.
This decision was made on Thursday, the day I was released to dance on it all I wanted to and to work through the pain. Monday came, and my little rowboat would be rocked. It was parents observation week. My mom was out of town, but my dad was making it to every class my sister and I had that he could. At the end of Monday night we met with my wonderful ballet teacher and one of the magnificent owners of the studio to talk about me. Oh my favorite topic.... not really. Haha anyway, they told us that the staff had come to the hard decision that they were taking me off of pointe for the ballet performance. It was hard to hear someone say that out loud but it was alright. We had already basically come to that conclusion at home. They had taken me off of pointe and felt like it was not going to be appropriate to dance the part flat. One of my dear friends was going to perform my part. My world seemed to fall. I would not be doing my part at all. This was a decision they had made for what they thought was best. They explained that they wanted me to be able to rest and heal it well on this side and then during my senior year I would be able to hit it strong once more. But there was just one problem, I was not planning on doing pointe next year. There would not be a next year. I would still be dancing, but not to the same extent. Dance would be different, I was not going to pursue it like I had been.
Those precious ballerina dreams every little girl has, mine came crashing down around me. I felt as though an injustice had been done to me. This was my dream. My dream. And I could see it. I could see the vision in front of me and I could not reach it. The Lord had built a stone wall in my path. I could not go through it, could not go over it, under it, or around it. This was the death. The death of a beautiful dream. And I could not let go.

Letting go is hard. Especially when it's something so dear, so heartfelt. I wanted to know why, I wanted reassurance, but really what I wanted was for Him to let me fulfill this vision anyhow. My dad spent many nights that week talking to me, holding my hand, and letting me cry, while teaching me at the same time. He has had to walk through this situation before. He has watched his beautiful dreams die. And realizing that he had walked through the same thing opened my eyes. I was not alone, not the only one. As much as the raw pain hurt in this moment. It would be okay. I would make it though. It made me think a good deal. I am not the first nor will I be the last, in fact I'm sure everyone will go through the pain of letting go of cherished ambitions in their life. Especially one you have such a vision for, one you can see right in front of you, but are not able to grasp.
I think of David. David who loved the Lord so greatly, who desired so strongly to build the Lord's house, His temple. Yet that was not given to him. It would be built. He would never see it in his day, but it would be built, the Lord's way and in His perfect timing. Was David's desire wrong? No, not at all, but the Lord's desire was not David's. His was different, His was better. He had something else in store for David's life.
This was my dream. Though my heart was right and I used this gift for His glory, this was not His dream. He had a different one... a better one.

I remember sitting on the bed with my best friend in November and she asked me, "Rebekah, what if God wants you to stop dancing? What if He's telling you no?" I laughed at the absurdity of that question. Is she serious? She had to be, that was not an option. "I can't I told her. It's all I've known. It's the expression of my heart, my soul. It's my worship. I couldn't. I would be lost if I did." As ridiculous as the conversation sounded, the truth is that it stayed growing in my heart from November until the day I thought I was being robbed. What if? And now I see. God planted a seed in my naive heart months ago, and He grew it to help me when the time would come that He would pull my hands open. Open to let go.

Unless the Lord builds the house, the laborers labor in vain. Psalm 127:1

The Lord is still working, but I can look back already and see His mighty, loving, abundant grace He has so faithfully lavished upon me. He opened my heart to accepting the death of a wonderful dream, and He also gave new life. A new dream. An aspiration bigger than dance. I still hope to be doing dancing, outside of pointe, where He allows, but this time I walk with my hand open. I find it a whole lot less painful to carry something in an open hand, then have it pried out of a tightly enclosed one. I was not robbed. It was not mine to begin with. And you know what? One day in my Heavenly Daddy's beautiful, eternal, majestic, splendor I will dance. I will dance anew. In His courts for Him forever.

El Elyon, my God Most High, creator and possessor of heaven and earth. Every step I take is ordered by the Lord. Everything in my life - everything in this universe - is under His control. There are no accidents, no happenstance, no luck or fate. So I go on, asking the Lord to give me His dreams and send me forth where He desires. Asking Him to give me the desires of His heart. What He gives I will say, "Yes, thank You Lord," and what He withholds my answer shall remain the same. May His praise ever be found upon my lips. No matter the outcome, no matter the path or circumstance, even so He is good.

"I have learned to kiss the waves that slam me into the Rock of Ages."

Charles Spurgeon

Welcome to the Unknown - Injury Again

For those of you who know me, you know I have recently been back on crutches. I just cannot seem to keep myself off of them! ;P I was back on crutches for what appeared to be a repeated injury. Last year I injured a ligament called the Lis Franc. ("Liz Frank" I know it sounds like a hot dog. :P) I injured it while dancing, and although I had the injury during many of the posts I have written, I hesitated to write about it because I thought - "well lots of people break their arms or sprain their ankles, it just heals and you move on!" - so I never said much about it. However now that we are on what appears to be round two, I thought it's time I told the full story, in hopes that it may encourage someone else. You never know what people can relate to! And I have learned much to share.

Background story: 

The week before Easter 2015, which also happens to be one of the busiest seasons in the dance year, I was landing a fouette turn in Jazz class. I had a little bobble landing it, tried to recover the minor loss of balance, and managed to injure my foot in the process. I didn't fall, I didn't even take a step. My left foot literally moved from left to right and BOOM. Little did I know... I finished the class and still had another one to go to so I grabbed an ice pack, and finished out the night.

I walked in from dance later that night, ate supper, and casually told my parents further on in the evening that my foot was hurting some. Of course they asked what happened and I nonchalantly told them. (Note: This is not a good example of communication. Do not follow in my lead. :D) By this time my foot was kinda red and a bit swollen...so we iced it some more, elevated it, and Mom made an appointment for the next day. When we saw the doctor we were told to rest it until a performance that weekend, rest it a little more after the performance, and then I should be fine to take it from there!
Fast forward nearly two months, two casts, three doctors, multiple dance days on it dancing, and three diagnosis' later: we finally found out what was truly going on. As it turns out I had injured the Lis Franc ligament, which holds the bones of your first and second toes together above the arch of your foot. This injury also happens to be the most misdiagnosed foot injury. Greaaaatttt. And because I had danced and done multiple other things on it following the original injury, it had developed into a pretty bad case. The Lord was gracious to allow it not to be bad enough to need surgery, but I had another cast put on it and I was going to have to be immobilized until at least the end of July. We were in April. Not to mention my brother's wedding was the first of August, and I wanted to walk. The pressure was on.
By now it was evident I was not going to be able to dance in any of the end of the year performances, and my theater production would have to be done on crutches. This was a blow. It was hard to accept. My desire was to be in at least, if only, one of the dances. All I wanted was to honor one of my teachers as I glorified the Lord. Just one dance. This time however I would only be able to dance in my heart.
At this point I had no idea the strain it would end up being, physically, emotionally, or spiritually. My faith stayed strong throughout, but really I wanted nothing more than to be in heaven with Jesus. It was just too hard. Still having this constant migraine on top of an injury where moving was all kinds of a struggle, would truly end up testing every ounce of perseverance I prayed to possess. This was going to be a very slow go.

On the other side I can say I have wonderful memories that God in His wonderful mercy wove through that time, and I am very blessed, but it was not fun. After 10 months of dealing with this injury, I FINALLY said goodbye to rehab therapy. Getting back into dance was difficult. It took a ton of work and effort. It challenged me continually when I wanted to give up. Long, long, hours of practicing, strengthening, pushing, relearning, it was rough. But joy could not even compare. I was ecstatic. Ecstatic to be able to practice, to work, to try once again. I could now put it in my past, learn from it, and move on never having to do it again.


Right.


Almost exactly to the day, one year later, I RE-INJURED MYSELF. Yes. This time I was on pointe. No one knows exactly what happened... One minute I was practicing my solo in front of my teacher, my class watching, it was even recorded. A few minutes later, at the end of the dance my foot just decided to start hurting. No particular move, no trip, no fall, just when the music stopped my foot felt weird. Now I had recently learned this particular dance. I was not yet confident and I was definitely fumbling and rushing to keep up with the music. Honestly that's all I could tell you, that is all I know. I don't know what happened that day and no body else does either. Be that as it may though if that is all God ever wants to reveal to me, that's alright.

I didn't say anything at first I didn't think anything happened. A couple of us girls went downstairs to practice some of the pieces more and walking down I knew something was not quite right. I took off my shoes and was thinking I had only pulled a muscle on the top of my foot. Dancers pull muscles all the time. No big deal. I got an ice pack, practiced, and went back upstairs to practice more. The more I danced, the more my fear grew. As I left the studio that night I could barely hold back the tears. I could feel the pain was brewing deeper and deeper than just the top muscle of my foot. It frighteningly felt very close to the place of my last injury. I walked to the car crying out, begging, beseeching God in prayer. Falling before His throne with everything I had. I was praying in anguish, petitioning again and again that what I feared would not be the case.

"Lord I cannot do it again! Please don't make me! I can't, can't. I'm so scared! Please, let it not be injured. Please not the same thing. Not again. Do something. Lord please!" I called my best friend immediately to help me pray. I needed an army and I needed one fast. I was so scared, more than that, I was terrified.
I managed to still be holding my composer as I walked through the front door. Mama asked how dance went as she usually does while I passed the living room. "Alright," I sorta mumbled as I walked back to my room to drop my dance bag off. I don't know how, other than some sixth sense of being a mother, but her next question that followed was, "What's wrong?" She could tell. I took a deep breath and walked back. I barely had my foot into the doorway where Dad and Mom sat before I said, "What is the MRI that we did on my foot?" (Which is the only way to see the particular injury I had last time.) That was all I could get out before the tears started coming.
I cried for a little bit as they hugged me close and talked with me about what had happened. After a few tears, I was better. Mainly because even if it was the same thing, which we did not know for certain yet, we did not know how bad it was. It could not even be bad at all! It took a month of me walking and dancing on my foot last time to figure out what was the issue. Being able to walk in the door that night and say, "I need an MRI," is astounding. We just got right to work! Mama called the doctor, Dad was researching and locating where the pain was, and I went straight to elevating and icing. Smile on my face, fear gone, but I was still praying. I prayed and sang myself to sleep that night, but my level of concern had gone down. I had no idea what truly was the case, and either way I prayed for healing. I prayed for a miracle, because I knew God could it.

The next day was a completely different story. My quiet composer the day before, failed me. Drastically. Mood swings everywhere. I'm not one who usually ever gets mad, but today I was. I am so serious. You normally see me smiling, that's not a facade, I am genuinely happy. This day I was so on the wrong side of the bed. So. I'm talking: happy, sad, mad, smiling, laughing, crying, upset, playing, joking, mean, nice, good, bad, and everything in between. All over the spectrum. I am so sorry. I had to make a serious apology to my mother later. I handled the news fine last year. This time was proving to be entirely more emotional. This quickly went into top three of the worst ever days of my life. It was awful. It was not fun. I didn't want to be there.
I had an MRI done that night, a few x-rays, and a couple days later saw the doctor again. There was nothing he was too concerned about. He gave me the go ahead to start transitioning back into walking on my foot. (I had been using crutches.) We made no follow up appointment and life went back to being great. Well, at least for a day or two.
The more I walked on it the more it started to painfully ache. I didn't want to be hurting it more. Recital was close. Doctor's office here we come! Only we couldn't get in for two more weeks, back onto crutches I went! When the appointment came the doctor and two of his fellows looked at my foot, although it hurt they were not able to find a reason why. The doctor ordered a special CT scan to be done in a week and we would hear the results back a week after that. Two more weeks. Two more weeks that the end of the year recital and ballet would loom closer. More people were asking what was wrong, my teachers wanted to know how long, and I had no answer for anybody. Each day that went by I grew more anxious.
The scan was done, the results were back, and I was dying to know what was going on inside me. I needed to be dancing. I had missed several weeks now. We came back and they were as stunned as we were. There was nothing structurally wrong with my foot. The pain was valid, it was there they knew it was, but nothing was physically wrong that they could see. Where there was pain there was no problem, where there could have been a problem there was no pain. No one had a clue! But that was all I needed. Pain wasn't a problem, I didn't care. I can dance through it. I just needed to know that if I got back on it and danced I would not be injuring it further. I didn't want to damage it. The doctor was sure there was no damage I could do so they gave me the full go ahead. It was time to catch back up in dance. Three weeks until performance was not a lot of time!


To be continued... :D