Let's "Face" It...

Before we go any further in this “blog-lationship” (like relationship, but only pertaining to blogs), there is something I need to share with you. Are you ready? Here it is:

I really like washing my face.

Yeah, I know it’s weird. Weird that I would like washing my face, and equally if not even weirder that I would take the time to notice the emotion I feel towards it. But despite its apparent and undeniable weirdness, the truth doesn’t change: I really enjoy washing my face.

This affinity toward facial cleansing is odd, I admit, but it’s not without reason. In fact, I have some very good reasons for feeling this way. For instance, washing my face is incredibly refreshing; after washing it, my day can get off to a good start. And it’s also the perfect end to my day, since it lets me rinse away all the grunge and dirt and stress that accumulates without fail. I love how the water temperature affects how I feel: if I want to relax, I use warm water; if I need to wake up, cool water does the trick. Like Orbit gum gives your mouth that “good clean feeling,” an old-fashioned face washing does the same for my skin. And, boy, does it feel lovely!

In addition to these benefits of facial cleansing, there is an even more important aspect for which we should account: pimples. Ever since middle school, this red-dotted, white-headed nuisances have taken up residence on my face, and—despite regular eviction notices and constant threats—refuse to leave. No, on the contrary, these “squatters” regularly rise up as if to stage a coup and take over my entire face. The nerve! But luckily, though, I have my trusty arsenal, my facial cleanser hit squad, that unleashes a counter attack two times a day. And, thus, by washing my face, these arch nemeses of every teenager’s life are kept at bay. (Nevermind that I am no longer a teenager. My skin seems to have missed the memo that I’m not 13 anymore. Grrr.)

Okay, I know I am being goofy, and I admit that I get carried away sometimes. But I really do enjoy washing my face. And really do wish I didn’t have acne…

But the point of this blog isn’t just for me to ramble on and on about how my facewash completes my life. I’m supposed to tie it into a deep thought or lesson about life. I know what you’re thinking right now: “How could she possibly have a deep life lesson about facewash?” (Or alternatively, you are thinking about how badly you need to go to the bathroom. If this is the case, you have my permission to leave. Just come right back. And don’t forget to wash your hands.) Oh, trust me, I do. Just you wait.

The other day, I didn’t have time to wash my face before heading to my first class. I had gone to the gym and was running late, and I really need to make it to my class on time. Something had to give, and it was washing my face. All during the class, I couldn’t help thinking about how gross I felt and how I couldn’t wait to get back to finish my facial cleansing ritual. The minute that the lecture was finished, I skedaddled back home to do just that. As I splashed the cool water over my skin and lathered the face wash all over it and rinsed it off, I felt a wave a sweet relief. It was as if by washing my face, my whole body felt cleaner and my day suddenly became brighter. (This sounds cheesy, I know, but it was a very moving moment). And then also in that moment, I realized something else. Something far more important than the “Hallelujah Chorus” being sung on my face.

You see, I would never skip washing my face in the morning or evening. And when I was forced to postpone it, I jumped at the chance to fix it. My twice-daily facial cleansing ritual is important to me. I do whatever I can to make it happen. It’s one of my top priorities, and without it, my day is incomplete and wholly thrown off.

Is the same true for my daily time spent with Jesus?

No, as much as I hate to admit it, it’s not. When I get in a rush, time with Him is the first thing to be cut and the last to be made up for later—if at all. Day after day, I come to the end before I realize that I forgot about Him. I washed my face twice. But I didn’t talk to or listen to my Savior once. Huh. There is something fundamentally wrong with that. Very, very wrong. And yet, day after day, I make the same mistake again. And night after night, I lay down to sleep before I remember that I should have read my Bible or prayed.

It’s not like I don’t have reminders to change this. “Spiritual acne” pops up, and it’s impossible to miss: When I don’t spend time with Jesus, my mind is full of selfish desires and pride, my mouth becomes contaminated with unkind and thoughtless words, and my heart is weighed down by sorrow and guilt. I know I’m not supposed to feel or act this way, and I understand that my daily “soul cleansing” ritual, so to speak, can help me overcome and avoid this. I realize that Jesus is my Refresher and my Comforter, leading my soul beside quiet waters and making me lie down in His green pastures. He calls Himself the “Living Water”; this is no coincidence. And yet, day in and day out, I live in perpetual dehydration, with grime and grease and dead skin cells covering the pores of my heart.

It makes no sense to live this way; I know that sure as anything. So why do I do it anyway?

I don’t have a good answer for that question, as much as I have wrestled with it. The only conclusion to which I have come is simple: I’m human. In fact, we all are. And as a result, we tend to doing things we know are wrong and shy away from things we know are right. Just as greasy skin is prone to breaking out with pimples, so our hearts are prone to wandering away from our Savior and doing what hurts Him.

But luckily, there is a solution. Spending time with God and getting into His Word is the best defense against “greasy spiritual skin.” Rather than defensive, though, think of it as a proactive approach (pun very much intended). Whenever we consciously make and/or take time to be with our Savior, He cleanses us anew from the dirt and grime of our sin. Just like a daily or twice-daily facial cleansing, He refreshes and renews us and makes us pure again.

So that’s my hope and prayer for you—and for me—today: That we would prioritize Jesus, the Living Water, and the One who makes us clean. And while I’m at it, I might pray for some clearer skin too. ;)

In Theory

(This is something I wrote a while back, but thought was worth sharing. Enjoy.) :)

In theory.

These two words make up a tiny little phrase, but it packs a pretty powerful punch.

When added to a sentence, these two words add an entirely different dimension and can completely change the meaning.

Don’t believe me? Well, then let’s try these examples on for size. And don’t worry; they’re preshrunk, so they won’t disappear when you stick them in the dryer.

Example #1: I like kids… in theory.

(This is true. Children are wonderful little critters… as long as you can return them to their parents when they start crying.)

Example #2: Your outfit is cute… in theory.

(This can be applied to a variety of different outfit choices; if you need more specific visuals, please reference my yearbook photos. Yuck.)

Example #3: I like celery… in theory.

(Yes, I realize that celery is good for me. Yes, I understand that celery has negative calories, meaning that the act of chewing celery burns more calories than the celery actually contains. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have never been able—and will never be able—to stomach celery. Not even as disguised as “ants on a log” with the peanut butter and raisins on top. Blech.)

Example #4: Riding full-speed downhill on a bike and making a sharp ninety-degree turn into your driveway is a great idea… in theory.

(It’s all fun and games until you become blood-brothers with the concrete. Don’t ask me how I know.)

Example #5: The Grand Canyon is an amazing vacation destination… in theory.

(I’m from Kansas. I hate heights. The Grand Canyon is very high. Let’s just say that when I looked over the edge, I wish I had invested in Depends. Enough said.)

Example #6: A Calculus 2 class at 7:30 a.m. Monday, Wednesday, Friday your first semester of college is the perfect addition to the history major’s schedule… in theory. Or not even in theory. That’s just a terrible idea all around. Who in their right mind would do something that absurd? … Ummm… No comment.

Anyway, you get the point. Lots of things sound fantastic as ideas, but the reality can be a different story.

That’s how I feel about Jesus sometimes. I want to obey Him and do His will for my life. I want to count the cost and take up my cross daily and follow Him. I want to surrender everything—my whole life, all my gifts and talents, and my very being—to Him alone…

In theory.

Reality complicates things, doesn’t it? It muddles everything up. It gets in the way. I want all these qualities, I desire this wholehearted devotion to Jesus, but sometimes—the vast majority of the time, really—it seems too overwhelming and too impossible. I’m good at loving Jesus when it’s comfortable, when there’s nothing at stake, no risk involved. But when the going gets tough, I’m too weak to get going. This fair-weather, “theoretical” Christianity is so tempting, and, at the same time, so disgusting. No wonder Jesus says He’ll spit the lukewarm out of His mouth. Yuck.

So, then, what can I do? How do I overcome this dichotomy, this barrier, this wall between living safely and cautiously—daintily dipping my toes into the water—and living adventurously, out of faith—doing a running leap into a cannon ball with a splash big enough to soak the lifeguard? I don’t know about you, but sitting on the edge of the pool can be pretty boring. Sure, you may improve your tan a tad (or completely fry), but the real fun happens in the pool. They call it a “swimming pool” and not a “get UV radiation pool” for a reason. I don’t want to sunburn; I want to dive in! But how?

Fortunately for me—and for you too—God isn’t theoretical. He doesn’t say, “I love you… in theory” and “I’m with you… in theory” or “I’ll help you… in theory.” On the contrary! God loves us, is with us, and helps us—in reality. He sent Jesus to show us the reality of His love and concern for us. And after Jesus ascended into heaven, He gave us His Holy Spirit to fulfill that role in each of our lives. He promises to help us through everything, whatever comes our way. And, if we let Him, He’ll even help us overcome our own lukewarm nature and become the Christ-followers that He created us to be.

And He might even help me like celery. You just never know… in theory. :)

A Story to Ponder

When I returned from Austria, many surprises awaited me. One such surprise was that I was suddenly my sorority’s chaplain. Normally, positions such as chaplain begin in the spring semester and continue through the fall semester; rarely do they switch people in the middle. Well, it just so happened that last semester’s chaplain got engaged and became “inactive,” and as a result could no longer be the chaplain. So, our house was in need of a new chaplain. Somehow or another, I was chosen to fill that role. Though very unexpected, this surprise was a happy one for me, for just before leaving Graz, I prayed that God would use me in Kappa Delta in new ways. Apparently, this chaplain position was His answer to my prayer. But little did I know how much He would use this Bible study to influence me.

Tonight was our second meeting. Last week, we just discussed what we wanted to talk about this semester; we decided on Ephesians, and our assignment was to read the first chapter. Tonight, we met to talk about what we had learned. And after listening to what my sorority sisters had to say, I was completely blown away.

In the first chapter of his letter to the Ephesians, Paul focuses a great deal on the blessings we have in Christ. Specifically, he talks about how we are holy and blameless in God’s sight and how God lavishes His grace upon us by adopting us as His children. It’s a couple paragraphs positively chock-full of beautiful language and hope-giving images about how much God loves us. In other words, it’s awesome.

But despite its obvious awesomeness, I somehow managed to overlook the main message of this chapter when I read it before. Tonight, though, I was reminded about how real God’s grace is—and what exactly that means for all of us.

After forty-five minutes of awesome discussion about this chapter, my younger sister Kirsten (also known as “Rascal”) shared a story with us. She’d heard it when she was eight or nine years old, but it has stuck in her mind over the years. And I am so grateful that she decided to bless us with it tonight. Here it is:

One day there was a terrible fire in a house. A family of three lived in the house: father, mother, and son. Both of the parents perished in the fire, but the little boy was rescued by a stranger who happened to be nearby when the fire broke out. Because the little boy had no other family members, a judge was asked to decide who should adopt him. A wealthy family came forward and explained that they could give the boy everything he could possibly want and more. A large family from out in the country said that he would have plenty of brothers and sisters to play with, running around outdoors in the sunshine.

Finally, a single man hobbled forward from the back of the room. Deformed, crippled, and badly scarred, the man looked like the last person the boy or the judge would possibly choose. Still, upon seeing the man, the little boy sprinted to him and hugged him with all of his might, crying with excitement and joy. This was the man who had saved him from the fire; his deformities and scars came from his sacrifice for the child’s life. How could the boy possibly choose the other families when this man loved him enough to risk his life for him? He couldn’t. There’s no way. Never in a million years would he reject his savior.

Then how could we? Jesus came down from heaven, became human, lived among us for 30+ years eating our stale food, smelling our foul odors, and watching our sinful ways. And then He did the unthinkable: He died for us so that we could live. He gave up everything He had to save us. He was the ultimate sacrifice.

So how could we possibly choose worldly wealth, selfish ambitions, or anything else? How could we pick any of these things over HIM?

I know this. I understand the gravity of this concept. I realize that I should choose Jesus. But then why do I reject my Savior again and again? Why do I leave Him hurting in the corner all alone, waiting for me? I don’t know why I do these things. I hate that I fail Him. Yet I keep doing it, over and over again.

But though my sin is deep, His grace is deeper.

His grace, freely given to us, is the most precious gift ever offered. He covers our sin with His holiness, washing away our stains and making us white as snow. Because of His grace, we can be clean. By His sacrifice, we are redeemed. Life doesn’t get any better than that.

So my prayer for you and for me today is that we will, by His grace, turn our backs to the temptations, distractions, and trappings of this world and RUN—run full-speed and with abandon to the One who saves. And know that He stands waiting for us, with His arms wide open.

Blonde Moments and Cookie Cake

I have amazing friends.

I have known for awhile that I have amazing friends, but tonight I was reminded just how wonderful they all are and how blessed I am to have them in my life.

If you have been reading my blog at all, you know that I studied abroad in Austria and that I really, really, REALLY was not looking forward to coming home. Of course, I had many reasons for wanting to stay in Graz: all the incredible friends I made there, the Erasmus lifestyle I got to enjoy, the fantastically cheap price (and high quality) of Milka chocolate, etc, etc. But another reason I didn’t want to come home was that I was afraid. You see, in Austria, I was special, both to my friends there (Kansas is a novelty in Europe, believe it or not) and to my friends and family back home. When you aren’t around for six months, people start to miss you; they follow you on your blog, comment on your facebook status updates and look through your posted pictures. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” and people really do seem to care about you more when you aren’t nearby. Thus, naturally, though I was certainly excited to see all my friends at home, I figured that the joy of reunion would soon wear off and I’d just be the same old pre-Austria Steffi again. I realize that this probably sounds selfish (which it likely is), but from talking to my other exchange-student friends, I discovered that this was a common, widely held fear. We all were worried about what it would be like once we returned home.

For the most part, I’ve reintegrated okay over the last month in the U.S. At first, people were very excited and wanted to know about Austria. But soon, the “shininess” of my return wore off. That makes complete sense, and I don’t fault anyone for it; I completely understand, and I definitely didn’t expect everyone to be interested in every aspect of my life overseas. Plus, OSU’s study abroad office and its equivalent in Graz gave us a lecture about “reintegration” and how reconnecting with friends can be difficult. Obviously, they can’t understand what you’ve been through, and that can be challenging as a result.

Now couple this “normal” issue of reintegration with my own personal issues. Sometimes, honestly, I don’t feel like a very good friend. As a result, I have lower confidence in myself than I should, and I worry that people don’t love me or like me. I know it’s silly because people do, in fact, like me and care about me. But sometimes my mind does funny things, and I forget that truth. Tonight, though, I was reminded of it, and I am so, so grateful.

Today is (or now was) Tuesday. Tuesday at Oklahoma State University is an important day, or rather an important night. Every Tuesday at 9ish (yes, we really do mean ish, as in “approximately”) is a non-denominational worship service called Overflow. About 1000 or more students attend Overflow every week, and since my freshman year, Tuesday has been one of my favorite weekdays because of it. Since classes started yesterday, today was the first Tuesday and tonight, therefore, the first Overflow. I’d been looking forward to it all day, and I couldn’t wait.

Then yesterday, one of my friends/sorority sisters (who happens to be my G-Little, but that could be confusing to explain) brought up an idea for a pre-Overflow plan: We would drive out to visit our friend Lesley, so she could show us her new house and hang out a little before Overflow. I said, sure that sounded like a good idea, and I agreed. So tonight at around 7:35 we headed out to Lesley’s house. And of course, I didn’t suspect a thing. Even when we pulled up and I noticed the 7 cars squeezed into and around her driveway, I still was clueless. And then we walked inside.

Before I could even process what was happening, I was attack-hugged by my younger sisters, Weasel and Rascal. They were followed by a line of a dozen of my Kaydee sisters and friends with huge smiles on their faces. But even after hearing them say, “Welcome back!” and reading the “Welcome Home, Steffi!” banner, I was still confused. Finally, my blonde-haired brain kicked into gear and I realized what was going on: they had thrown a surprise welcome-home party just for me! Even after I understood what was happening, I still had a hard time believing it.

I’d never been given a surprise party before (although, as tonight would indicate, I am fairly easy to surprise). For my 18th birthday, four of my best friends woke me up early and took me to IHOP in my pajamas; that was too a wonderful surprise, for sure. But this was the first real “surprise party” I’d ever received. And my words can’t even hope to describe how special it made me feel.

So tonight I was able to not only enjoy some delicious, gooey cookie cake (which was TOTALLY worth eating, even though it wasn’t gluten-free), but He also reminded me of something very important about my friends and, ultimately, about Him.

You see, my friends didn’t have to do that. Not at all! I did absolutely nothing to deserve a surprise party. I’ve been home for a month now; I’m not new and exciting anymore. And let’s face it, I have been rather emotional lately and not always the most positive person to be around. But still, they loved me anyway. They really demonstrate Proverbs 17:17, “A friend loves at all times.”

At the same time, too, they showed a very clear picture of God’s love for us. We don’t do anything to deserve His love, but He gives it to us anyway. Even when we are covered with sin or feeling down in the dumps, God lifts us up and showers His grace down on us. And, just like my friends tonight, His love often surprises us, coming when we least expect it. We just have to open our often “blonde” eyes to recognize it.

One of my favorite quotes comes from a line in a song by Relient K: “But the beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair.” Thank you, my friends, for showing me grace tonight. I hope that I can someday be as great of a friend to you—and to others—as you have been to me.

God bless.

Green Hills and Cattle Pens

Some people refer to it as the heart of America. Others call it the “Sunflower State.” Most people probably call it nothing at all because, honestly, it never even crosses their mind. But I? What do I call it? Well, I call Kansas “home” because that’s what it is for me. (For the record, though, I sometimes still call it “the middle of nowhere” because, well, that’s also what it is— literally.)

Now, when people stop and think about Kansas (which, let’s be honest, the vast majority of people rarely, if ever, do), some things typically come to their mind. They are as follows: Nothing, cows, fields, nothing, wheat, more cows, more nothing… well, you get the point.

In addition to the agricultural realm, some people perceive Kansas more through the lens of popular culture, specifically The Wizard of Oz. But before you get tempted to ask me, NO, I have not met Dorothy, we don’t actually get tornadoes all that often (Oklahoma—the state where I attend university—is actually more famous for that), and only 0.0015% of the dogs in Kansas are named Toto at any given time. Concerning pop culture, The Wizard of Oz is extent of Kansas’ influence…

Wait, did you say something about Clark Kent? He’s a really cool guy; in fact, he grew up just down the street from me. What about him? … WHOA! Hold up. Stop! He’s Superman?! As in, the real deal? No way! You have got to be kidding me! I always wondered why there seemed to be an oddly-shaped bird or plane flying frequently over our neighborhood, but I never thought to put two and two together. Wow. Now I feel dumb…. Haha.

Just kidding. I really don’t know Clark Kent. But Tom Wellings on the other hand…. ;)

Anyway, the point of this introductory ramble is to get you thinking a little bit about Kansas. The aforementioned things often are stereotypes of my home state; they are what many people imagine when they think of the heart of the heartland.

What most people don’t picture is large green hills rolling out into the distance as far as the eye can see. In fact, “green” and “hills” and “Kansas” are three words that should never ever ever belong in the same sentence. That is, almost never.

As I already mentioned, I grew up in Kansas and still consider it my home; however, I attend Oklahoma State University which, incidentally, is in Oklahoma. If you’re not so great at geography, let me just say that it’s one state south of Kansas, wedged comfortably between Kansas and Texas. My university is a simple 5-hour drive from my house in Kansas, so simple in fact that I can manage it most of the time without a GPS. For me, that’s saying something. I can get lost going in a straight line. No lie. Speaking of straight lines, the drive to Oklahoma State is almost a straight line; it’s just interrupted by two left turns. In other words, it’s Steffi-proof, which is a step above “fool-proof” on the dumb-o-meter, in case you were wondering.

While the drive to Stillwater (the town where my university is located) is for the most part boring and flat and full of fields and cows and nothing—all very Kansas-y things—there is one part that I absolutely LOVE and I look forward to it during each one of my five-hour drives: The Flint Hills.

Named after the stone “flint” which is used to rubbed together to spark a fire, the Flint Hills are gorgeous, but in a simple sort of way. Unlike the rest of Kansas, which is sometimes so flat that tumbleweed could roll eternally across it—if it didn’t get stuck in a barbed wire fence along the way or trampled by one of the numerous cows—the Flint Hills are, well, hilly. And because of an abnormal amount of rainfall this summer, the hills are also green—very, very green. So this time when I made the five-hour trek—er, drive—to OSU, I was able to enjoy an incredible, non-Kansas-y view. And boy, did it take my breath away.

Since the scientific nerd community has yet to invent a means of teleporting, and because the days of transcontinental trains are long-since gone, driving is the best and most efficient way to tackle short distances within the United States. In my opinion, though, driving is more than just a means to an end. Especially regarding this particular five-hour drive, it’s one of my life’s favorite simple pleasures.

The joy of life is in the journey. I’ve heard that cheesy saying a million and a half times (about the number of times some well-meaning person has asked me about The Wizard of Oz), and as much as I hate being cliché, this saying is completely true. So often, we get caught up in where we are going and all we need to do once we get there, that we forget to enjoy where we actually are. Goals are great and destinations are important; without them, we would be stuck wandering around aimlessly (or, in my case, in circles—with a GPS). But goals aren’t the do-all, end-all. Rather, they’re just another part of the journey that just so happens to come at the end. So, yes, in that sense destinations are special. But at the same time, the vast majority of life or time isn’t spent at the destination, is it? No, not at all. The best parts of roadtrips actually happen on the road, when everyone is singing off-key (and very loudly) to the same super-sappy Rascal Flatts song. Or during my drive to Oklahoma, the highlight comes with the Flint Hills, or on very special occasions when I pull over at the cattle pens to soak in the view.

I certainly haven’t mastered this skill yet of enjoying the journey. Even now, before the semester has started, my life is already run by a post-it note, and I have half a dozen deadlines and dates already marked in my planner. I’m busy and rushed, heading full-speed to where I want to be. In times like these and in a world like this, it can be easy to forget where we are, and even easier to forget how to enjoy it. So today, I challenge you—and myself—to pull over and enjoy your Flint Hills, whatever they may be. Call an old friend, start that book you’ve been dying to read, sit outside and watch the entire sunset. I have a feeling that you’ll be very glad you did. And if you don’t enjoy it, I’ll send the Wicked Witch of the West to hunt you down. ;)

Thanks for reading. God bless.

Light and Dark

(Note: This post was written about a week before it was published)

Well, I’m back.

“Back” in two senses of the word: Back to writing a blog, and back in the United States of America. The former seems natural; the latter, well, doesn’t.

To give you a brief recap, I left Graz early on the morning of July 5th (fortunately, I was stuck on a train with a massively large group of Austrian tween-agers going on a school trip; they were all too busy flirting with each other and comparing their cool new handys or cell phones to notice my bawling.) That afternoon, I caught a flight to Paris, France, where I would spend an AMAZING week hanging out with my favorite Parisian of all time, Anne-Sophie, and her parents. After taking in as many sites as possible, musing over Mona Lisa’s thoughts, marveling at Versailles (and checking out my reflection in the Hall of Mirrors), feeling quiet sorrow and pride at the cemetery at Normandy, and getting proposed to one night on the Eiffel Tower, the time came. I bid a painful good-bye to Anne-So, hopped on a plane to Vienna, spent the next day weighing and repacking my things (and mailing some of them home), and hanging out in one of Vienna’s lush, beautiful parks. That evening, my dear friend Jennifer, with whom I was staying, took me to her favorite restaurant where I enjoyed my first—and last—Viennese Wienerschnitzel (to everyone who doesn’t know: “Wienerschnitzel” really means “Schnitzel from Vienna;” Wien is German for Vienna. Hence, real wienerschnitzel can be found only in Vienna). The next morning, I got up early, gathered my things and headed to the airport. There, I boarded Austrian Airlines flight OS 093 and at exactly 11:30 a.m. Central European Time waved goodbye to the country I came to know and to love, the country that will always hold a piece of my heart.

Approximately 9 hours and 36 minutes later, I landed in Washington D.C. After going through customs, picking up and rechecking my bags, missing my originally-scheduled flight, calling my mom to let her know that, yes, I was indeed still alive, I boarded a second airplane—the airplane that would take me to Kansas, home.

Since landing, life has been a whirlwind (or in Kansas, maybe “tornado” would be a more appropriate word). It’s been so wonderful to see and spend time with my family, including my grandparents, to eat food that I didn’t have to cook or pay for, to catch up with best friends, to sit inside with air conditioning (this is a recent development; our house’s AC broke on the day before I got back and just recently got fixed), and to take a moment to relax and recuperate. In all those respects, being home has been very nice.

At the same time, though, it’s been… weird. Just. Plain. Weird.

During my study abroad orientation classes last August and in Austria, the directors warned us about a nasty little thing called “reverse culture shock.” But no amount of warning, cautioning, or mental preparation can really make you ready for it. To anyone who has never studied abroad or had the chance to experience this odd phenomenon, let me explain. Reverse culture shock happens when someone leaves his or her home culture to live in a new culture or place for an extended period of time. This person gets accustomed to the new culture, adapts to it and learns to live in it at least for the time being; in a sense, it becomes like home. Then when that person returns to his or her home culture (either willingly or by force, or in my case, by an expiring student visa), he or she must suddenly readjust to the home culture, which has now—strange as it may seem—become foreign.

Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Well, in a way it is. Crazy… but so true.

“Reverse culture shock” involves more than remembering to say “excuse me” instead of “entschuldingung” (or in Alex McAulay’s case “please” instead of “bitte”). It goes beyond the basics like converting dollars to euros and vice versa and refreshing oneself on how to drive. Rather, it’s learning to fit a new, different, likely improved version of oneself into the situation where the old, pre-study abroad version used to live. And that, let me tell you, is far easier said than done.
Living in Graz and traveling in most of the countries of central Europe changed me. Meeting people from all around the world, hanging out with them, and becoming friends with them changed me. Listening and dancing ridiculously to all sorts of crazy-beat techno music… changed me. Every experience, every adventure, every seemingly miniscule thing that happened to me changed me and made me into who I am right now, here, today. I’m a different girl than the one who left on January 31st, and, to be entirely honest, I like the new version of me much better. But I’m back again to my former situation. How do I keep from reverting to how things were, to who I use to be? How do I keep being the new me?

A lot of things didn’t change a bit. My bedroom walls are still lime green; my sisters still give insanely tight hugs; my cell phone still has my homemade Tenth Avenue North ringtone; and I am still terrible at parking my car (Every time, without fail, I have to pull back out and readjust. Always.) Dollar bills still have George Washington’s face, this world keeps on turning, and Kansas thunderstorms and sunsets still take my breath away.

And I still have the same blonde hair, same brown eyes, same size 10.5 feet. If I look the same on the outside, why do I feel so different on the inside? And what, if anything, can I do about it?

As you might have noticed, I really like quotes. Unfortunately, most of the time, I can’t remember them very well. Sometimes, though, a good quote will pop into my brain at exactly the right moment, precisely when I need it, like a sunbeam straight from heaven. Other times, one will come exactly when I need it but really don’t want it. This week, I have been feeling very sad about Graz and have been missing my life there terribly. At a particularly low moment when I was silently wallowing in my own misery, this quote flashed into my mind. I tried my best to ignore it because, honestly, I would much rather have continued being sad and feeling sorry for myself. But the quote persisted stubbornly. And I guess I am glad it did. Here it is:

“Don’t forget in the darkness what you learned in the light.” ~Joseph Bayly

Although the quote is probably fairly self-explanatory, let me break it down since I could use a refresher. Basically, when God teaches us something in the good times—when the sun is brightly shining, the birds are chirping, and all is well with the world—He wants us to remember it, and not just when life is good. On the contrary, when the going gets tough, He tells us to think of His lessons from the light—and keep going.

I don’t want to sound selfish. I realize that my struggles over missing Graz are small and trivial compared to what so many other people experience. I am not in the business of comparing heartache or hardship, but I do believe this: pain is pain—regardless of how big or small it may seem to others. What matters less is the type of darkness; far more important is how we respond to it.

And so now I must ask myself the question that we all should ponder: how do I respond to pain and the darkness that comes with it? Am I going to crawl into a corner and cover my head and cry to myself? Or will I look to my God and remember the lessons He taught me in the light?

If you followed my Graz blog even a little bit, you would have noticed that God showed me a lot this semester. He grew me and changed me and transformed me in ways I would have never thought possible. On top of that, He showed me so much about His love and provision and WHO He is. He taught me to trust Him and to have faith in His promises, knowing that He would never let me go.

Here in this post-Erasmus “darkness,” so to speak, I have to remember His lessons from the light. I also know that this phase will pass, and the sun will eventually shine again as brightly as it did before. I know that it will. Why? Because that’s what He taught me, back in the light.

Whether you are in a dark patch right now or catching some rays in the sunshine, remember that He’s with you. Always.

God bless.