Confessions of a Sleep Deprived College Student

I've realized that, lately, when people ask me how I am, I typically respond with a shrug and say, "I'm tired." I figure, I'm in college, that's a reasonable and expected answer, right?

But how often is that actually true? Well, I can tell you, as I lie in bed at 3:00 in the morning, that it happens more often than I would like. And for someone who likes to go to bed at a reasonable hour and get plenty of sleep, it's not a fun feeling.

Sometimes, though, it's not because of lack of sleep. Sometimes, I'm just tired from life.

There are days when stress levels are high, my mood is low, and everything loses its excitement. I just trudge through the day, waiting for the moment when I can just go back to bed, sleep everything away, and wake up cheerful and hopeful again.

There are days when I'm tired of being single. When I'm tired of feeling unwanted even though I do occasionally get asked out on dates. When I'm tired of having feelings for the same person for too many years. There are days when I feel trapped by all the happy couples, and I just feel lonely.

There are days when I question God. There are days where I just lie in bed, crying, asking God for a sign that He's there by my side because I feel lost; asking Him about His plans because I just don't understand.

A lot of us have those days, I'm sure.

But you want to know the wonderful thing about all this?

Those kinds of days don't happen very often. Those kinds of days are rare in comparison to the other days.

The days where I wake up when the sun lights up my room, not to the intruding sounds of an alarm. The days where I smile at those who I pass throughout my day, occasionally throwing out a cheerful "Hi!" The days where I laugh until I can't breathe and tears are pouring out of my eyes. The days where I'm surrounded by people who love me for who I am, no strings attached. The days when I'm almost disappointed that the day is over and I have to sleep, but sigh blissfully once I finally get under the covers.

Because I love my life. I am truly content with where my life is going. I have a family who has never failed to show me how much they love and support me. I have friends who I know I will have for a lifetime. I'm learning about a profession that I continually fall in love with. I have a great job, a boss who I can truly call a friend, and co-workers who make long days fun.

You see, bad days are inevitable. They're going to happen no matter how hard you try to avoid them. But what you can control is how you come out of them. You can choose to dwell in all the bad, or you can find the silver linings in life.

These blessings are God's way of saying, "Hey, I hear you. I know you're hurting. I know you're confused and lost. I know you're wondering what I'm doing. But I'm here. I'm right here. Trust me."

From 1 Kings 19:11-13: "Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. "

Winds can tear us apart, earthquakes can shake us, fires can burn us. But if we only focus on those moments, we can't hear the gentle whisper of God's voice. Maybe God is trying to talk to you, to tell you that everything is going to be okay.

Are you listening?

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"The cacophony of our lives can turn any scene into a seeming chaos - sights and sounds begging for our attention and demanding our energy. The difference is that when God is ready to speak, few people 'let down their wings' and stand in silent stillness, waiting for the voice that matters... Sense the sacred moments that call for stillness."

Pull Over and Ask For Directions

Most people have heard the stereotypical story about the couple that is traveling, and they get lost. The wife tells the husband to pull over and ask for directions, but he's too stubborn and tries to figure out the right way on his own.

A couple of months ago, I got into my car and realized that I really needed gas. My gas meter was on the last line before "empty", and it likes to fluctuate occasionally so I wasn't really sure how much gas I actually had left. So I made my way to the nearest gas station, which happened to be at a Wal-Mart. I get there and notice all the pumps are being used. I admit that it probably wasn't the smartest idea to go to a Wal-Mart at noon on a Saturday, but I was desperate...

So instead of waiting for someone to get done, I drove to another gas station, which was in the direction that I had come from but further down the road. One pump was open. I roll into the spot, hit "Debit"... and nothing.

Frustrated, I decide to try the station even further down the street. At this station, I tried three different machines, and none would accept my card. Practically in tears at this point, I get back in my car and start it, driving back out and making my way back toward the first gas station to see if it was emptier now. That's when I notice that my gas meter chose that moment to drop down to just above "empty". My car started beeping, saying "low fuel". Panicking, I pull over into a parking lot and turn off my car. I then proceeded to just sit there and feel bad about myself for about five minutes, trying to decide what to do. At that point, I decided to call it quits before I actually had a break down. Long story short, I made it back home with just enough gas to make it to Wal-Mart the next morning.

Later that week, I went to pick up my parents from the airport after they had been gone for the week. I tell them my sad tale, and when I finish, my dad turns to me and says, "Next time that happens, go talk to an attendant and ask for help."

Yeah, that probably would have been the smart thing to do. But in my state of panic, I ignored that little voice in my head and just tried anything else I thought would work.

And lately, I got to thinking. How often do I do that? Avoid asking for help because I want to fix it myself? Because I don't want to seem like I don't know what I'm doing?

The answer is a lot.

I'm one of those people that tries everything herself before admitting defeat and asking for help. For some reason, I feel like people will look down on me. It makes me feel incompetent, not in control.

But honestly, what's wrong with that? What's wrong with imperfection? We're human. Those two words are practically synonymous. It's actually a good thing when you can admit that you need help. It's a sign of humility and courage.

A better question is: how often do I do that with God? How often in my life do I try to fix my problems on my own and forget that I have an all-powerful heavenly father who is just waiting for me to turn to Him for help? He's always there, always willing to help or just listen. But I just forget.

I am now going to borrow one of my dad's points from one of his sermons (again) because he always has good points.

There's a scene in the movie The Lion King where Rafiki comes to Simba and tries to convince him to return back to his homeland and take the throne. Simba, full of shame and guilt, refuses, saying he's no king. Rafiki then shows Simba a vision of his father Mufasa. In the vision, Mufasa tells Simba, "You've forgotten me." Simba, shocked, denies the accusation. Mufasa then reiterates: "You've forgotten who you are."

Mufasa wanted Simba to remember whose son he was, who he belonged to.

Just like God wants us to remember who we belong to. We are God's children. Children shouldn't be afraid to ask their parents for help.

Life is hard. I'm sure we've all figured that out one way or another. It's even harder when you try to go through it alone. To quote a lyric from a musical (still a theater girl at heart), "Someone is on your side. No one is alone."

Don't make the mistake of avoiding help. Sometimes just admitting that you need it can make a world of difference.

And when you're feeling lost, pull over and ask for directions. God knows the right way; He's just waiting for you to ask.

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"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

Jesus Loves the Little Children (And Dogs)

My family has two dogs: Princess and Hershey. We used to have three, but our oldest one, Jasmine, passed away a couple of years ago. The funny thing is, Jasmine is the only dog we actually bought.

A few years after we got Jasmine, we started to notice that another dog kept showing up in our backyard. Every time, we would lead her back out of the fence, and every time, she would find her way back in. Eventually, we decided to just let her stay. She didn't have a collar, and she seemed a little malnourished, so we assumed that she may have been mistreated. She was ecstatic when she realized we were letting her stay, and that happiness showed every time we went outside. She would jump all over us and try to lick our faces.

What we hadn't considered was that Princess, as she had now been named, was pregnant. She was so skinny that we never noticed. One day we came home and there were three puppies lying with her under the dog house. The next morning, two more showed up. One of them was so cute that we had to keep her. And that's how we got Hershey.

To this day, Princess never fails to show her appreciation and trust in us. She barely sees us through a window and she perks up, ready to run to the door the second we move toward it. She always wants to be as close to us as possible whenever she can.

That's the thing about dogs. For most of them, you show them one act of kindness and suddenly they love you with everything they have. Their lives revolve around you, and they want to show you how much they appreciate you at every opportunity.

Children are like that, too. Not exactly in the same way, but they also have this trust in people that can come from only a few encounters, sometimes even less. They're nonjudgmental, seeing all people the same (which is why we have to teach them the "stranger danger" rule occasionally). But sometimes, they surprise us.

My boss' daughter once overheard her mom talking to someone who was helping remodel our library. She heard him talking about how he was struggling to find another job after he got done with this one. That night, it was her turn to pray at the dinner table, and she prayed for him. The next day, my boss told the man what her daughter had prayed for. He seemed a little skeptical but appreciated the gesture. However, he found her the next day and told her about how he had gotten a call about a new job opportunity that would be really good for him. He looked at my boss and said, "Tell your daughter: prayers work."

It sometimes baffles me how just one small act from a child can change someone's life. It's incredible. It also makes me wonder: if a little girl is willing to pray for a complete stranger, why can't I bring myself to pray for even the people closest to me?

We all know that stereotypical phrase that's been drilled into us born-and-raised Christians since we can remember: "I'll be praying for you." But often times I find myself using that as a habitual response. Just a "yeah, I hear what you have to say, and I'm sorry you're going through that", not an actual genuine promise.

Lately I've been thinking about the innocence of children. And dogs, I guess, even though that sounds kind of weird. They both are willing to put trust in someone based on how much love is shown to them, even if it's just giving them a toy or providing them with food and shelter.

If they can trust in someone with so little, why is it so hard for me to put my trust in a God who sent His own son to die for me? I mean, that's no small act, that's the act to beat all other acts. And yet, as I've grown older, it almost seems to get harder.

My dad mentioned that when he was a kid, he used to think that the reason we're taught to close our eyes during prayers is because Jesus would literally come into the room, and we weren't supposed to see him. He even remembers peeking through his fingers occasionally to see if he could spot Jesus.

Me? I find it hard to close my eyes and sit still for more than a minute. I eventually have to open my eyes once in a while, sway back and forth if I'm standing up, my fingers even start to twitch sometimes. And it's not because I think there's some heavenly force in the room. It's because I'm impatient. Half the time I'm pretty sure I'm not even paying attention to the prayer. I'm losing the true meaning behind the act of closing our eyes, folding our hands, and sitting still.

Jesus once scolded his disciples for not letting the little children approach him, saying "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." In my Bible, this is what the little devotional thought said about this particular passage:

"Adults are not as trusting as little children. To feel secure, all children need is a loving look and gentle touch from someone who cares. Complete intellectual understanding is not one of their requirements. They believe us if they trust us. Jesus said that people should believe in him with this kind of childlike faith. We should not have to understand all the mysteries of the universe; it should be enough to know that God loves us and provides forgiveness for our sins."

If Princess can still show so much devotion for the people who had pity on her and gave her some food and a home, why can't I show my devotion for a God who has given me that and so much more? If my boss' daughter can show kindness to a man she had only met once, why do I sometimes neglect to do that myself?

I feel like I can't stress this enough in my posts: God loves us. He has provided for us since we weren't even on this earth yet. He has given us more than any of us could have ever asked for. So why do I still find it hard to trust Him? I'm pretty sure if Princess can basically devote her life to a few humans who showed her kindness, I can do the same.

Children make it look so easy. Adults tend to overthink things. A lot. But maybe if we approach things in a childlike fashion, our relationship with God can be so much stronger. After all, Jesus loves the little children.

And dogs, too.

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"Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."

God Really Does Have a Plan For You

Isn't it funny how we always say "God has a plan for you", but we don't always believe it ourselves? Maybe it's just me. I know for a while that saying this phrase was more of an automatic response than anything else; just something to say when there was nothing else I could think of.

It's even funnier when you feel like you've figured out this plan. You're so sure you know exactly what God wants you to do that nothing can convince you otherwise.

That was me for about an entire year.

For a little while near the end of high school, I wanted to be an actress. I love acting, and I love every aspect of the theatre world. But then, senior year, something changed. I became inspired. I wanted to be a theatre teacher. It was all thanks to my theatre directors; they were some of the most influential people that I have had the pleasure to meet. I wanted it so bad that I even convinced myself that this is exactly what God wanted me to do with my life. This was my destiny, to be really dramatic.

So, I graduated feeling pretty confident in my decision. I was going to audition to be a theatre education major once auditions rolled around again (I had missed the first round). Unfortunately, this meant that I had to wait until the end of the first semester. But I didn't let that get me down. I was very determined. So, I waited, and I practiced my audition pieces, and I mentally prepared myself. I even went in as a theatre minor to try to immerse myself in that community as much as possible.

As the semester went along, I started to notice something. The theatre department was very, very close with one another. They were like one huge family. This made sense, of course. Considering how busy they are, they don't really get to hang out with anyone else. But for me, this was a problem. I couldn't see a place for me there. It's hard to just throw yourself in there without the proper welcome.

I started to question whether or not this was the right decision. The thing was, I was so convinced that this was God's plan for me that I had absolutely no back-up plan. I had no idea what I would do if this didn't work out. So the closer it got to my audition, the more I started to panic. The week of, I had multiple breakdowns where I would just curl up on my floor and cry and just ask God if I was doing the right thing.

The audition came and went. It actually went pretty well. I felt relieved to finally get that over with. But then it was time to wait. And wait. And wait. I eventually got told that I had been put on a shorter list, meaning that I had made it to the next round, so to speak, but there were still several people auditioning so I would have to wait longer. And I started to freak out. Again.

But, by this time, I had found a good group of friends. When I told them how I was feeling, they immediately assured me that everything would be fine, that God had a plan, that they were praying for me.

Then, one day, the letter came. I was at work, and my mom called me to tell me a letter addressed to me had come in the mailbox. I told her to bring it up to school since I was about to get off. By the time I walked out of work, I was literally shaking. My friends were anxiously waiting for me to tell them what the letter said. My mom and I went outside, and after taking a deep breath, I opened the letter.

I don't really remember exactly what the letter said. One word stood out to me. "Unfortunately..."

I stood there staring at the letter, feeling numb. My mom took a little longer, and then she just looked at me. I remember just looking up and saying, "I didn't make it." She didn't say anything; she didn't have to. I started fanning my face with the letter in a sad attempt to stop the breakdown I could feel coming on, but it was no use. I just broke.

My mom was fantastic. She just pulled me in her arms and held me. We were still in public, so she took me to the car. After a few minutes of just crying, she decided to take me home for a little while so I could cry in peace. We drove home in silence, with me crying off and on. By the time I got home, I was sort of calm. But as soon as I walked in my house, I let out one of those heart wrenching sobs that just shakes your whole body with the force of it. And I remember my dad just wrapping me in a hug, and I started to full out sob. I just couldn't stop. For about an hour after that, I just cried in my mom's arms on the couch, my dad sitting across from us; both of them just being the comforting presence that I needed.

I remember all the feelings I had. Sadness. Disappointment. Anger. And then just a sense of being completely lost. What was I supposed to do now?

I had texted all my friends so they would know what was going on. They all told me they were sincerely sorry and that they were there for me.

After a while, I had calmed down enough to head back to the dorm. My mom drove me back, and I slowly walked up the stairs. As I approached my room, though, I saw that there was something on my door. A lot of somethings, actually.

Sticky notes with encouraging words and song lyrics.

My friends had done this in the hour and a half that I was at home so it would be waiting for me when I got back. They also got me a milkshake and sprayed me with silly string. My roommate brought me cookies from work. They all sat down to watch a Disney movie with me. My cousin even came over and brought me ice cream.

They all set everything else aside and put me first for just a few hours. Just because they knew that's exactly what I needed.

It was at that moment, where I felt pure joy and unconditional love from everyone around me, that I realized something. This was part of God's plan. I missed the first round of auditions and didn't get into the theatre department because God knew that's not what I needed. If I had made it in at the beginning, I may not have met the people who I now can't imagine living without. The people who, as soon as I told them that my dream had pretty much been shattered, dropped everything to make sure I was okay. The people who supported me through it all. That's what I needed.

God is pretty incredible, isn't he? He's sneaky, too. He occasionally let's you try out what you think is right, only to prove you wrong and say, "See? I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

This time, I'm putting my trust in God. If this isn't right either, then he'll let me know. He always does.

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"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord's holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know  this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God."

There Are No Small Roles

In theatre, we have this saying: There are no small roles, only small actors. However, once you get into the world of theatre, you start to realize that this is a big lie. At least the way it's worded. Of course there are small roles (and small actors, but that's another point). That's just the way it goes; there are lead roles, supporting roles, and then usually chorus people, who usually have no lines.

I think the problem is that people look at it too literally. Yes, there are small roles. But what I think it should say is that there are no insignificant roles. Even if you have one line in a show, that one line could have a big impact on the plot. I mean, just think: if the part was unimportant, why would the author take the time to put it in their play?

Last week we had a unity service at my church. We usually have an all-English service and then a bilingual service going on at the same time, but we decided to combine the two. We even had some other languages mixed in there as well.

The message last week, which was very well done by my church's youth minister, was an encouraging one about how the church is meant to be one body. He even used the sweaters Dr. Cliff Huxtable (played by the always hilarious Bill Cosby) wore on the Cosby show. If you haven't seen that show, at least go look at some of the sweaters Dr. Huxtable wore; they're pretty great. But the sweaters were made with all different kinds of fabric woven together into one piece; some didn't even look like they should ever belong there.

And that's the point, isn't it?

This morning, my dad used the literal example from the Bible. In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul describes the church as one body, and that every part has its own role to play and that not a single one can take over for another part; they are all unique and made for their purpose. An eye can't be a leg, and vice versa. That's just not what they were meant to do. Our eyes have their own purpose, our hands have theirs, our legs have theirs, and so on. Everything has a job to do, and yet they are all connected in one unified purpose. Someone from our congregation said, "The church is not an organization, it's an organism."

That's just how we are, too. We were all created with gifts and talents that are unique and different. Everyone has a purpose in life, something they can do that will have some impact on the world, whether invisible or life changing.

In a previous post, I described a mission trip I participated in. We went to Cuba, and the main reason we were there was for a youth conference they have every summer. And there was one thing people kept telling us four young people in the group, before and during and after: "You guys are the main characters here." I see where they got that idea. I have never been on a mission trip where I have felt so important. I was asked to teach a theatre class. Not just help someone else teach, they wanted me to do the teaching. I've never done anything like that before, and especially not because someone asked me to. But I did. And it was an incredible experience. Not only that; the other three young people either taught a class or helped another teacher. And since it was a youth conference, the people there loved seeing young people from a different country that shared their beliefs.

At the same time, though, the adults were a huge part of that trip. They made all the plans, they taught several sermons and adult bible classes, one directed a choir, one taught a two-part class on marriage, the ladies even had to teach the children's class two Sundays in a row, and they had no idea they were going to do that. Some may believe that the young people were the main characters. That's fine. But I still believe that every single person on that trip was meant to be there for a reason. No one had an insignificant role.

This applies to our lives. God gave everyone a gift, something they are good at that can have an effect on someone or something else. It may be something that seems small and unimportant, but I promise that God had a reason for giving us our talents. We just have to learn how we can do those things in a way that honors our Father.

To finish off this post, I'll share a quick story. Two of my friends got rather small parts for a play that we were taking to a competition. They were bummed out because they hardly ever get the big roles that they really want. I was trying to encourage them, but they wouldn't really listen because I was getting lead roles and they felt that it wasn't fair for me to say those things. But when we performed our show for the judges, they got medals for portraying their roles so well. Hardly anyone in our cast got an award, but they did.

So even if you feel like you have a gift or talent that is insignificant, if you use those gifts to your best abilities, something great will come out of it. God wouldn't give you that talent unless he had a plan for you.

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"From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work."

The Seemingly Never-Ending Game of Tug Of War

Recently during class at church, we were asked to sketch a picture that represents our spirituality. At first, I thought it would be difficult; I can barely describe my spirituality, let alone draw it. Everyone got creative, though. There were drawings ranging from bumpy roads to mountains and valleys.

Mine may sound kind of cliché, but it really does fit. I drew a game of tug of war. Two people pulling a rope, trying to pull hard enough to cause the other to fall in the patch of mud that's in the middle.

I consider myself the little flag that usually hangs in the middle of the rope. I'm being pulled in either direction, whichever one happens to be stronger at the moment. I think you can guess who is on either side, right? Well, yes, it's God on one side and Satan on the other. And of course, God is usually the one winning. But the question is: why hasn't God won already?

See, most of the time I think I find myself right in the middle. Standing in the mud, so to speak. Stuck, not really knowing which way to go, being pulled in different directions. I desperately want God to win, to get that one good yank that will pull me out and right into His arms. There have been so many moments where I feel like I've gotten so close; moments where I can practically see and feel Him. But then, Satan happens to get a particularly strong pull and I find myself right back in the mud.

The same Sunday, my dad taught a sermon on the metaphor used to describe the birth of Jesus found in Revelations 12. Satan is portrayed as a great dragon that tries to kill baby Jesus as soon as he is born, but he fails, so he decides to “wage war” on “those who keep God's commands and hold fast to their testimony about Jesus”.

So my depiction of my spirituality as a game of tug of war seems pretty accurate. It isn't as gruesome as a full out war, but either way God and Satan are fighting over us.

These two lessons hit home. I recently had an experience that had me questioning God, wondering why He let this happen. These thoughts allowed Satan to pull me closer for just a second. And it's like I can just feel God begging me to trust Him, to have faith in Him. But it's hard, isn't it? It's easy to tell someone else to have faith when they're going through something hard. When it happens to us? Faith can sometimes go out the window entirely.

The story that went along with the drawings was about Paul. Persecutor of the Jews turned passionate missionary for Christ. Can you imagine what his drawing would look like? Considering how quickly and drastically his life changed, I'd say it would be kind of hard to describe. But the fact is that he did change. In one instance, Paul describes how God put a thorn in his flesh to torment him, and at first he begged God take it away. But God responded, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” You know how Paul reacted? 2 Corinthians 12:9-10, “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

I pride myself in being a Christian, but I doubt I would have been that understanding. But that's just how we have to be. We go through hardships so that we realize that we aren't strong enough, that we need God because He's the strong one. There's a song that I learned at a summer church camp, and I love the words in the chorus:

You are stronger

You are stronger

Sin is broken

You have saved me

It is written

Christ is risen

Jesus, you are Lord of all

That's what we need to remember. God is stronger. Sin is broken, God has saved us.

Yes, Satan is occasionally going to get a good, strong pull now and again. That's life. But we just have to know that, in the end, God is going to win. And in the meantime, we should be helping Him; trying our best to get to Him, pulling against Satan and toward God. Who wants to be just a stick in the mud, right?

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“If God is for us, who can be against us?”

Losing My Religion.... Almost

In my youth group, we do this thing every summer where we watch a movie and then tie in a lesson to it. I've learned to watch for spiritual messages in movies, and it's incredible what you can find. Tonight, my two youth interns showed us a movie called Big Fish.

I'll give you a brief overview. Big Fish is basically about a father-son relationship that is very strained. The father, Edward Bloom, has told his son these amazing stories about his young life; stories that seem impossible, and yet they're fascinating to hear. Giants, Siamese twins, growth spurts that confined Edward to his bed for three years. But the problem is, his son, Will, doesn't believe his father's tales. He knows they're not really true. And he spends his life despising his dad for always telling his stories; even at Will's wedding, when it was supposed to be about him and his new wife. So, when he finds out his father is dying, he confronts Edward and asks him to tell him the truth. His father says he has been telling him the truth this whole time. Will, however, doesn't really understand until the end of the movie (which I won't spoil for those of you who haven't seen it; go watch it!).

I was sitting there after the movie was over, and my youth interns asked us what we got out of the movie before they went on to share their own thoughts. And even though I saw their points, I couldn't help but notice a completely different lesson; a more personal one.

Will Bloom had trouble believing his father's stories because they sounded impossible. I mean, come on... giants? A witch with a glass eye that shows people how they die? I probably wouldn't have believed them either. Will just couldn't see the true point of the stories; he was too focused on wanting the facts. One thing he says is, "In telling the story of my father's life, it's impossible to separate fact from fiction, the man from the myth."

And I realized... that was me. I grew up hearing these incredible stories from the Bible and being told they were true. Like Will, I believed in them when I was young. But the reason I believed in them was because that's all they were to me. Stories.

I have friends that don't believe in God. Their reasoning is that none of it makes sense. Some divine being just magically created everything in six days? People coming back from the dead? They questioned me, and we would get in arguments. Science vs. Religion. Facts vs. Faith. But the worst part of it was, I found myself questioning myself. Is there really someone up there controlling our lives? All those stories from my childhood... they sounded so... impossible. 

I saw myself in Will. He had trouble knowing who his father really was because he didn't understand his stories. I have trouble understanding my heavenly father because I don't always believe his stories. I looked for realistic facts to try and make them more relatable, more believable. When I realized this as I started getting older, I got scared. What if I lost my faith? What if everything I've ever been told just suddenly vanished, and I was left with nothing?

Okay, yes, this sounds depressing. Am I telling you that I don't believe in God anymore?

No.

In the movie, Will had people around him that helped him along his journey to understand his father. They never pushed him. They just gave him gentle prods in the right direction. His mother gave him clues as to his father's life. His wife advised him to give his father a chance. The doctor basically told him that, even though the stories weren't always true, they were sure a lot better than the real version.

And thankfully, I had that, too. I found people in my life that showed me that I don't have to apply logic to God. It's not going to work. I just have to hear the stories and learn from them. I have to share with other people what I learn.

At the end of the movie, Will finally understands why his father talked about his life the way he did. I love the last lines of the movie:

"A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal."

We should tell our Father's stories so many times that we start to become them. And so, even after we're gone, there is someone there to keep the legacy going.

For a while, I thought I was losing my faith. But, through the help of my spiritual and literal family, I was reminded of my purpose. I am a child of God. He passed on his stories, and now it's my turn. Our turn.

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"It occurred to me then that perhaps the reason for my growth was that I was intended for larger things. After all, a giant man can't have an ordinary-sized life."