Dear Men...

Maybe it’s the countless conversations I’ve had with girls, listening to them complain about their boyfriends or brothers or fathers. Maybe it’s the magazine article I read, just yesterday, stating, “There are so many good women out there who are prepared and ready to be godly wives and mothers. So where are all the good men? I’m sorry to tell you, but not many exist anymore.” Maybe it was hearing the words “I think you married the last good man” issue forth from no other mouth but my own. Maybe it was all those things put together that made me realize something:

For some reason that escapes me, women have convinced themselves that there are no good men left.

No men worth waiting for. No men who will come into her life and treat her right and not be a jerk.

 And I have no idea why.

Honestly, I don’t. Sure, there are bad men. There are jerks. There are boys masquerading as men that wouldn’t know maturity if it slapped them in the face. There are those men. But there are those women too, though I don’t hear much about them. And I can’t take it anymore, this constant hating on men, by everyone.

So this is a letter, to you, men, not so much an explanation as an apology.

Because you are constantly being torn down everywhere I look. By women, by other men, by the church, and by our culture. The Facebook page of a church I follow recently posted “Men, girls want to have babies, not date them.” The popular TV shows and movies portray fathers and husbands mostly as bumbling idiots who are lucky to be married to a woman that knows what is going on in life. The messages you hear constantly only serve to tear you down, and for that, I am truly sorry. I’m sorry that we haven’t done more to build you up and encourage you in your manhood. I’m sorry we blame your entire sex for the faults of some. I’m sorry that when you’re chivalrous, it’s expected and sometimes we don’t thank you, but if you’re not, you’re a jerk and we make sure you and the entire room knows it. I’m sorry we have told you time and time again that there are no good men left, because chances are we were talking to one when we said it. I’m sorry that we have impossibly high standards, and somehow expect you to be the type of men that only exist in Nicholas Sparks' novels. I'm sorry that we've reduced you in our minds to people who only think about sex and sports instead of realizing that you have passions and hobbies and dreams like anyone else.

And I guess I wanted to say thank you, too, because I know so many good men that don’t get half the thanks they deserve. Thank you for when you look out for us. Thank you for when you let us wear your jackets when it’s cold and we didn’t bring one. Thank you for complimenting us when you want nothing in return. Thank you for putting up with all the lies about manhood that are consistently and forcefully shoved down your throat. Thank you for helping us understand how you think. When you are told none exist, thank you for being good men anyway. To my friends, brothers, and father, to all the men that I am proud to call a part of my life, coming from a girl who once foolishly bought into the lie that there are hoards of good women with no good men to be found...

Thank you for proving me wrong.

 

I want to add here that this is in no way an attack against women, either. I realize not all women constantly attack or belittle men. I just know that I have been guilty of this, and it was a perspective that desperately needed to change in my own life. Perhaps this is just a reminder that words have power, and ideas have power, and please won't you believe there are good men as readily as you admit there are good women? And in the end remember that, as humans, we're all bad. There is no good in me or you except by the redeeming work done in and through us by Christ. And He works in both genders. I leave you with this, which really is the point of this whole post:

"And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works...encouraging one another." -Hebrews 10:24-25

Ready or Not?

7 am, morning traffic. Buses don’t fare well in traffic like that, so back alleys it is. I’ve never gone the secret way to the airport before. After three trips to Haiti, there is still so much I’ve never seen. The half hour ride isn’t long enough to say goodbye to all the things I love about this country. And remind me, one more time, why we took the back alley roads? All the sudden, sitting in traffic for two hours doesn’t sound like such a bad proposal anymore. But there it is, coming into view. This is my least favorite part of coming to Haiti...you know, the part where I have to leave again.

I look back at the faces of fifteen smiling teammates. They’re amazing, all of them. Some are excited to get home, some are REALLY excited to get home, and some are not yet ready to leave. And so the question comes, as I know it will, from the girl sitting beside me. My friend, one of my best friends, who is getting to live my dream by living in Haiti. But I have to leave, and so she asks:

“Are you ready?”

And I don’t even have to think twice before I answer. Ready strikes me as an ironic word to throw around when you’re leaving a place that has become just as much home to you as your own bedroom. Ready implies that you want, need, and are excited about leaving...and I am not any of those things. Ready is when you’re okay leaving 63 happy, smiling kids that have become a part of your heart. And when you’re not only leaving your Haitian family, but one of your own as well? Who is ever ready for that?

Haiti has changed me. That’s putting it lightly, really. Haiti has ripped apart everything that I thought I knew and wanted in life and reconstructed it differently. I get a lot of crazy looks when I say I want to live there someday. “Why? With all the danger, and filth, and poverty, and disease, why would you ever want to live in Haiti?!” That’s what they say. And all I’m sitting there thinking is “Why, with all the joy and beauty of the people, would I NOT want to live in Haiti?”

It’s not for everyone I guess. I get that. God works in my heart consistently to keep me committed to this calling. I have mental and emotional breakdowns like everyone else, convinced that I could never make it in a third world country. But somehow, I always come out the other side steadier than when I went in, thanks to Jesus. So I’m all in, for this crazy idea of mine that wasn’t actually my idea. I want to go for this. I need to go for this. Ready? This is what I’m ready for.

All that flies through my head in the space of a second, because I don’t even hesitate with my answer.

“Are you ready?”

“Never.”

How We Took Label Reading Too Far

If you hang around me at all, it won’t take you very long ‘til you realize that I am somewhat health conscious. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m a health or fitness nut, but I try to at least maintain some level of healthy eating and exercising.

Oh yeah, and I read labels like it’s going out of style.

 I’m a huge fan of checking labels, seeing what foods are made of, if they’re good for me, etc. And I highly encourage it. Knowledge is power, and reading labels to make decisions is an incredibly useful tool.

There’s just one problem with this trend of label checking. Anyone ever notice that we do this with people too? We’ve taken label reading to a whole new level, and our culture is inundated with labeled people.

She’s the fat one.

He’s the jock.

That guy? Oh, he’s just the nerd.

She’s such a slut.

And I bet it wouldn’t take you to terribly long to come up with labels that you have been stuck with over the past years.

You’re the abused one.

You’re the goody two shoes.

You’re the ugly one.

You’re the partier.

You’re the poor one.

You’re the stuck up one.

You are...You are...You are.

And I am here to suggest for a moment that you are NOT. You are not a label. And neither is anyone else. 



Photo by Open Hands Photography.
 Design by Rachel Probasco

See, when we start labeling people, all it really is is an excuse to write them off. Because it’s hard to reach out and make relationships and maintain friendships. Keeping everyone at an arm’s length ensures that we never get hurt, so we label them. And it makes us feel better because we would never be friends with someone like that. We could never reach out to them...after all, we have our own reputations to keep up, our own images to maintain, our own labels to live up to.

And as much as I am a fan of label reading on food packaging, I am on a mission to destroy reading labels on people. I guess it’s because God never looked at me and saw a label. He didn’t see me as the ‘broken one’ or the ‘insecure one’.  He saw me as His creation. He saw me as beautiful and perfect simply because I was His, and that was enough. And because I have not been labeled by Christ, I am called not to label others. Because no one deserves to be written off because of their past. No one deserves to be ignored because of their mistakes. No one deserves to be told they’re not good enough because of x, y, and z, because they are just as valuable as you are. They are worth just as much. They are loved the same.  

So would you join me in starting to look at the people around you through the eyes of God, and not through the filter of their labels? Because, I promise you, you’re going to meet some pretty incredible people. I can’t tell you the number of relationships I’ve made recently because I stopped reading labels.

The gorgeous one...yeah, we’ve been friends as long as I can remember. And she’s not stuck up or mean or self-obsessed. She puts me to shame with her refusal to label people, and she will stick by her friends until the end.

The slut...yeah, I know her. She’s actually a daughter of the King, and she’s learning from her mistakes and moving on. And she's going to be a fantastic mamma, you just watch.

The nerd...yeah, I dated him. A more attentive and caring guy you’d be hard pressed to find. And even though it didn’t work out for us, he’s going to make a great husband for someone, someday. I know it.

The talented one...yeah, she’s my best friend. And I almost let the label of talented and pretty and popular keep me from becoming friends with this girl. Through the countless conversations, memories, and jokes that we share, this girl keeps me grounded. Can’t believe I almost missed out.

These are just a few of the people that have come in and out of my life, and each one has challenged and blessed me in some way. These are real people. You are a real person. We are all living in a real world where we were created to be beautifully, transparently, and vulnerably real.  And labels have no place in a world like that.

You're Only Brave if It Scares You

The other day, I went to the dentist. After getting roughly three thousand molds made of my mouth, which took over an hour, I was wanting to leave badly. My dad was there watching, and he made a remark that amused me. After the nurse had taken the last mold, he said, “You’re so brave!” To which I promptly responded, “Dad, I’m not six anymore. I’m not brave, because that didn’t scare me. Annoyed, yes. Brave, absolutely not.”

                But it got me thinking, how many times in life do we listen to the praise and admiration of others who think we’re so brave for doing something that they’re scared to do. It happens to me all the time when I come home from mission trips to third-world countries. People often remark, “Wow, you’re really brave. I could never do that.” But the thing is, I’m not brave for hopping on a plane and going to Haiti. I’m not brave for spending time working with poverty-stricken areas of Mexico. I love doing that. Those are the things I live for. They don’t scare me, they excite me.

Just because other people are scared of something doesn’t make me brave for doing it.

But I’ll tell you what does scare me. Saying goodbye, that scares me. Change? Terrifying. Letting other people down...quite possibly my biggest fear in life. And yet I don’t normally get a pat on the back when I say goodbye and manage to keep it together. I don’t usually hear anyone praise me for my bravery when I adapt to changes in my life. Because people can’t see that, or measure it, or grasp it. But to me, those are the times when I feel brave. When I look my fears in the face and win. And even more so when they knock me down and I get back up, that is when I'm being brave. Trusting God and letting other people in makes me brave. Letting go of something I thought was everything I wanted makes me brave. Finding His strength is perfect in my weakness, when I so hate being weak, that makes me brave, because that scares me. 





                So my question for you is this: What scares you? Because it is that exact same list that makes you brave. Not what you do that I think is scary. You might be in the military, and I would say that you are brave. But if it doesn’t scare you, then you aren’t brave. If you are a sports star, or an actor or musician, I would say you are brave. But if you love to perform or aren’t scared of the field or the stage, then you aren’t brave. You might be a parent, and I would tell you you're brave. But if you've been dreaming of it all your life and couldn't wait to have kids, then you're not really all that brave. 

And stop letting people tell you that you are, because you will start to believe them.



And you’ll forget what bravery really is. Because it is not facing other people’s fears, it’s facing your own.  You’ll become complacent in this image that other people have made for you, and you’ll think that you are living some great adventurous life. But you aren’t, unless your dreams or your aspirations or your job or your activities frighten you. So get out there and find something that scares you to death, and go do it. Because there is nothing quite like standing up, facing your fears, and being really, truly, honestly brave.



Slightly Mixed Up Inside: Musings and Challenges on Valentines Day

Valentines Day.

The day where dating/married people get happier, and single people get depressed. At least, that's the stereotype, and my facebook wall seems to support this quite strongly. I have seen more cynical posts about love in the past 24 hours than I would care to admit. However, the mushy, I'm-so-in-love posts are starting to get old too. But it did start me thinking, because there seems to be no middle ground in the love/hate relationship people have with this holiday.

For me, Valentines Day mostly means I feel slightly mixed up inside, because I feel the inner romantic playing tug of war with my inner cynic, and my heart is not sure yet which one wins.

This day makes me happy. Because I am privileged to get to watch some pretty incredible relationships start and grow and work. I mean, really work. I get to see love in action every day-old love, new love, love that's been through much, and love is still young-and that's pretty amazing. I get to see my parents, still obviously in love with each other after nearly 30 years, and it inspires me. I get to watch my best friend date one of the most amazing, solid guys I've ever met, and it makes me laugh at those who say you cannot know love when you are young. And even though I don't have a boyfriend, I have a whole group of amazing guy friends that make me feel loved, protected, and cared about They're awesome...and ll this makes me happy.

This day also makes me sad. Because I would be lying if I told you that I am always 100% thrilled being single. There are days, and plenty of them, where I wish I had that special someone who completed me. Where I wish to be madly, truly, deeply in love with someone amazing. And it's hard, because I have loved like that. And sometimes, you have to let go, or something doesn't work out, and you get hurt. I know that, I've been there, and today brings the memories rushing back...and all this makes me sad.

I think that's the great paradox of this day. Learning how to be happy that others have something that you wish you had yourself. But you can learn and grow in every difficult situation, so here are my challenges for you this Valentines Day:

Learn how to be happy for those who are happy.
Seriously, go tell your "taken" friends that you are so glad that they have someone who is special to them. Tell them you hope they have a great Valentines date with their significant other. Tell them your proud of them. Tell them you love them and are supporting them in this. And actually mean it.

Go rock being single.
Honestly, this one should not be that hard. Being single is so very underrated, and it can actually be a blast. Don't sit around and mope. Don't be depressed. Don't dump on all your happy friends, and don't get together and commiserate with your unhappy friends. Go out and live your life and love every second of every stage of life you're in, because time is a gift. Be happy and be full of life now, because if you're waiting for someone else to complete you, you will never be complete.

Go rock being not-single.
Ok, I already know you guys are on cloud nine today, because, as I mentioned before, I've had just about as many "my-significant-other-is-amazing" facebook status updates as I can handle for one day. But I'll give you a pass today. Go have a blast being not single. I'm so happy for you.

Remember that you are already loved more than you could ever imagine.
God is madly in love with you. Just try and fathom that thought for a moment. The Creator of the whole universe, of stars and angels and all things good, looked at you and loved you enough to die for you. And the One who made your heart knows what makes you happy and hurt and passionate and tired and excited. So let Him fill the deepest loneliness and longings as only He can, because He is love, and He can make you whole.

That's all I've got for you tonight, but hopefully it got you thinking.

 Happy Valentines Day.

Somewhere, I Stopped Beleiving...

Junior year of high school was rough. In fact, that’s putting it nicely. Junior year chewed me up and spit me out. I semi-recovered over the summer, and I had high hopes that senior year would get easier.

It didn’t.

 Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to complain. I live a crazy wonderful, blessed, albeit difficult and sometimes messed up life. I don’t expect it to be easy. And this past year, it hasn’t been. It’s been more hard than I know what to do with sometimes, but looking back, I think I realize why.

Somewhere between losing two of the most loved, trusted people in my life, I stopped believing that God was in control.

Somewhere between losing my best friend in the whole world, I stopped believing that God was enough for me.

Somewhere at 35,000 feet in the air, locked in an airplane bathroom and crying my eyes out, I stopped believing that God would accomplish the things he started in my heart and life.

Somewhere in the middle of losing my youth pastor and his wife, I stopped believing that God knew what He was doing.

Somewhere between losing the boy I was madly in love with, and still not being sure I wouldn’t give anything to hear him say he loved me again, I stopped believing that God had a plan for my life.

Somewhere between the dark, sleepless nights and the long days spent fighting off wave after wave of emotions, I stopped believing that God cared.

Somewhere in the middle of my weakness, I stopped believing that God was my strength.

Somewhere in my darkest hour, when I found myself completely and utterly alone-not from lack of people who cared, but for lack of people who could ever really understand-I stopped believing that God was with me and I was never meant to do this alone.

Somewhere between comparing myself to my gorgeous friends and being bombarded by a culture with an impossible standard of perfection, I stopped believing that I am beautiful, simply because God created me and I am His.

Somewhere in focusing on my pain, I stopped believing that this life is about One person...and it is not me.

Somewhere between seeing God as far away and as someone who was asking me to give up far too much, I stopped believing that He’s Daddy too.

Somewhere in the midst of this year, I stopped believing that God is God, and I am not.

It’s not that I made a conscious decision about those things, it’s just that I was fighting so many battles, I lost sight of the One who could actually help me win them.

But, starting right now, I am choosing to start believing the truth again. Not because I am strong, or great, or have much faith. But because God is gracious, and faithful, and goes to the ends of the earth to bring us back. Because He cares, and He is there, and He is so, so good. Because He is showing me more and more that His ways are higher than mine. Because He loves much, and forgives much, and keeps no list of my wrongs. Because He has been right there all along, waiting for me to open my eyes, ears, and heart, and realize it. And it doesn’t mean life gets easier or better or happy. But we can do hard. We were created for it. We are given everything we need to do this life-and do it well-because we have been given Jesus. I’ve tried life without Jesus, and trust me, it doesn’t work. So, I am done with not believing. I am done with feeling sorry for myself. I am done with getting caught up in the temporal things of this earth.

I am choosing Jesus.

I am choosing to do hard.

I am choosing to believe.

Dinner With a Perfect Gentleman

I ate dinner with a gentleman tonight.

I watched as he pulled out his lovely wife’s chair, took her jacket, and made sure she was comfortable. I watched him genuinely care about how everyone around him was doing. I watched him notice that I was freezing cold, and immediately offer me his suit coat. I confided in him that I had no idea what order to use the six pieces of silverware laid out for our three course meal. And as he quietly, kindly gave me an etiquette lesson, I was left wondering, “How does he know that? I didn’t know guys cared about these things!” When I was asked to pass the creamer, with its delicate pitcher and accompanying saucer, I remarked how I was nervous that I would break something at this much-too-fancy dinner table. He just smiled and said, “You’re doing a good job.” I watched him laugh, and make everyone relax despite our formal surroundings, and I realized that he had put me, too, completely at ease in an environment where it was not easy to do so. I was extremely disappointed, but impressed, when he excused himself early from dinner to go pick up his two young sons from their grandparent’s house, so his wife could enjoy the rest of the party knowing her kiddos were in bed.

Yes, I ate dinner with a gentleman. A perfect gentleman. I leaned over to his wife after dinner and said, “You’re husband is the best, but I think you took the last gentleman on earth. Because few of the guys I know treat people the way he does.” And she smiled, as if she knew some great secret that I did not, and replied, “Rachel, there’s a boy out there who is just waiting to treat you like that. I might take a while to find him, but he’s there.”

I must say that she has more confidence than I do, but she did make me think.

 Why do I sometimes search so hard for love and acceptance that I will settle for a guy who walks all over me, treats me like dirt, and in no way views me as something to be treasured? Why do I set myself up for heartache?  And I realized something there, at that dinner table: I settle far too easily because I get impatient, discouraged, or worried that if I don’t take whatever guy happens to show interest in me, I might never get one at all. 

It took eating dinner with a perfect gentleman to realize that I want a man like that. It took seeing the way he looked at his wife, the look where you can tell that he is just madly in love with her, to realize that I want someone who looks at me like that.  It took watching him live out character, humility, and kindness to realize that true men really do exist. Thank God that He opens our eyes to the mistakes we are making. Thank God that He gives us a second chance, and helps us do it right this time around. Thank God for new hope.



Thank God for perfect gentleman.