All But My Life / Gerta Wiessmann Klein

I have long been fascinated by World War II history. In particular I've been interested in the Holocaust; from my early teens, I read every history I could get my hands on, focusing on the facts, figures, and general psychology of the Nazi regime. Why did they pick on the Jews?* How could a nation stand by and do nothing, while their neighbors and friends and even relatives were shipped to work camps, trampled and shot in the streets, treated worse than the lowliest farm animals - their lives worth less than the dirt upon which the Germans trod. I can't answer these questions to my satisfaction. Neither can many historians, whose words in literature and documentary continue to debate motive and share tales, dates, and figures.

                                    

Lately, I have ventured into the realm of Holocaust autobiography and historical memoir. Compiling booklists has become a hobby, because I admit: my previous experience studying the Holocaust often left me feeling sick, angry, and depressed. Given my own personal dealings with post-traumatic stress disorder, I was frightened to pick up a book written by a survivor. Could I read without nightmares? Without nausea? Without feeling hollowed out, stripped of faith, and dwelling on the current horrors I know exist in the world?

Finally, I got the courage. I began my journey with Gerda Weissmann Klein's memoir, All But My Life. After 2 hours of nonstop, can't-put-it-down reading, I finished. And I'm unable to tell what this book has given me with any real clarity.

First published in 1957, her work begins with her experiences as a Jew in Poland on the day Germany invaded, in 1939. She introduces her parents, her well-loved brother, Arthur, and other family members, neighbors, and friends. Immediately she asks the question I have visited time and again: how could her Polish neighbors welcome the Germans into their small village, when they all knew what it meant for the Jews in their midst? Her story continues through the German victory years, with her brother being removed to work camps inside Poland; her father and mother forced into the dank, damp basement of their own home as their belongings are stolen before their eyes; their eventual removal to a ghetto; and their separation as her father is sent to a men's camp, and her mother is sorted into the trains for Auschwitz.

Klein makes it clear that they all knew what it meant to go to that dreaded place.

Because of her age, Klein escapes the death camps and is sent to one of the many German work camps. She is lucky in the first years, overseen by a strict commander, but dealt mercy in many instances. Klein and her 3 friends from home and the trains are together for almost their entire incarceration - though only she survives the long ordeal (all 3 died within 1 week of liberation by American troops, the first days before, the second on Liberation Day, and the third several days after due to amputation complications). In her final chapters, Klein asks once why she survived and her friends did not, sitting among the headstones outside the joint Allied Forces hospital where she recovers from her trauma. And chooses to move forward in honor of her friends, in honor of her promises to her family to be strong, rather than dwell on the horrors and grief.

Any memoir of this kind is heavy. There is death, there is sorrow, and there is the constant head-shaking at the utter lack of humanity experienced by Klein and her fellow Jews. As I read, I kept expecting tears. I kept expecting rage and shock to boil within me, to cause me to close the pages in despair. As each page unleashed new terrors and fear, I was surprised to find myself spellbound - not by the awfulness itself - but by Klein's bravery and commitment to her promise: "Be strong," said her brother. "Be strong," her mother's last words through the screams and cries of a crowded cattle car. "Promise me," from her father, "that you will go on." And she does - for herself, for her friends, for her family.

Klein humbles me. Her determination and sheer force of will are inspiring. I found myself staring at a spot on the page, simply wondering how she did it - how when filthy and hungry, she kept working and found ways to ingratiate herself and her friends with their guards.** In awe I read her account of carrying her best friend in their death march through the snow, Klein herself too weary to keep going, but never stopping. I couldn't do that. I don't think most of us now could do what she did, or any of these survivors managed. How did they hold out in the face of such insurmountable pain? Fear? Grief and sorrow?

I'm amazed by this memoir. I'm astounded by Klein's final pages - how there is such hope pulled from the darkness. I'm blown away by the epilogue, how Klein writes of her healing, of the dark days, and of things that trigger memories*** - and each time they threaten to swallow her up, she perseveres. She overcomes. She is herself in awe of what has come from her experience - that she is never hungry, or cold, or afraid; and that she has turned tragedy into opportunity to help those who do suffer through advocating and volunteer work. Klein writes that helping others has lifted her higher than any activity she could possibly do, has given her courage that she never thought possible. I am again humbled by her compassion and dedication to easing suffering.

I feel things I cannot express. I never "review" books - in fact, this isn't a review to me. This is trying to capture the sheer amazement I feel at this woman's strength. Part of reading for me is empathy - trying to feel and be one with the person or persons whom you read about in a story. And I am overwhelmed. Words are my gift, and words fail describing the sheer energy I feel in my soul.

Read All But My Life. Really read it. You will learn something more than heroism and courage. You will learn gratitude.

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* Note that the author repeatedly mentions others who were persecuted, criminalized, and beaten/tortured/killed due to disability, age, and race (such as non-Jewish Hungarians and Gypsies). No mentions are made of individuals of varying sexual orientations. I focus on Jews in my thoughts here because this is the group whom Klein most identifies with and shares common experiences.

** Klein made use of sudden, unknown confidence and blunt honesty to get Polish natives working for the Nazis to assist her and her friends. She demonstrates almost reckless courage to many captors, both male and female. Remarkably, she gets what she needs almost every time. She did not, however, use sexuality to earn favors or get out of trouble. In fact, she refuses this and almost loses her life for it, if not for a friend's quick thinking (which friend is the first of her quartet to perish).

*** There are several instances in the epilogue that hint at post-traumatic stress disorder. I found Klein's responses to these situations inspiring, and I believe that other individuals who live with this illness would find her experiences useful. It certainly has helped me after an initial reading, and a second, more thorough look at the passages and stories shared.

so far, so good...

4 days into the new year and it's been good...

...my bedroom is reorganized, with only a small-ish mountain of clothes to put back into the dresser...
...my last full semester of college is scheduled and my graduation application has been submitted (yikes)...
...I've seen Saving Mr. Banks and had Chik-fil-A (if heaven were a sandwich)...
...I've been to an amazing art exhibit and had an incredibly delicious dinner at a fancy restaurant for which I was not allowed to pay (which is a lot easier for me to allow than it used to be)...
...the mystery of Sherlock's two year disappearance is still frustratingly unsolved, as Steven Moffat will not ever give an inch when it comes to satisfying fans' curiosity...
..my articles are appearing online and I only have six left to finish by Monday...
...I've had good, long, honest late night talks with people I care about, and I've laughed and cried and felt alive...
...I've been hugged -- close and tight and long -- it's amazing what an honest hug will do.

A part of me still aches. That frustrates me. It frustrates me because despite all of the good things that I have, I feel desperately out of control. I feel frightened and alone and sad and helpless -- so full of feelings that I'm empty. I say that a lot, but it's the only way I can describe it.

I don't want to be like this. I don't want to feel so terrified and sad.

My wish for moments of happiness does come true, and frequently. All of the things that I've done and seen this week were happy moments; more than moments, some of them were hours. Hours of time where I could get out of the emptiness and really feel alive again, instead of being trapped in this seemingly endless state of feeling too much of nothing good.

Truly, I feel helpless. I feel so in need of help that I worry that I'm needy. I don't like needy people. I don't want to be a needy person. I want to be strong and independent and comfortable in my own skin. Right now (and for a long time) I've wanted out of my skin and into something...different. I've never been totally confident. Who is, right? But I've been better than I am now.

Hopefully, good things will keep happening. And they will -- they haven't stopped so far. What I really hope is that I'll be okay enough to see the good things, and not push them away because I'm too scared to do anything. I hope I don't do that.

it's a new dawn, it's a new day...

I usually write a "looking back" post for the new year. But for the 2013 to 2014 transition, I'm not going to.

I'm looking forward.

It's been a good first day of the year. I've been reminded again of the good friends that I have, of the present opportunities, and the importance of family (even though I still struggle getting along with them). I've gained a greater appreciation for my home, and for the relationships I can fall back on when I get into trouble, whether through my own decisions or just because of circumstances.

Honestly, I face this new year with a lot of fear and anxiety. There is so much uncertainty in my heart, and my mind jumps at shadows that it is actually creating. I've learned that I can't just say "No more" or "I'm fine" and expect it all to go away; that I have to work through it and learn to manage it. And I'm starting to learn to say the words, "I need help." As sick and scared as it makes me feel before saying it, getting the words out provides relief. I've done it twice today and so far it's only strengthened friendships, instead of pushing people away.

For this year to be a good one, I have to make it be a good one. Again, I'm scared to sleeplessness (worse than the usual, mind you) about what the future may hold, and I can't figure out how to shake the past (yet). But it'll be okay.

Given how things have been for the past few weeks, I can say that right now, right here...

I'm feelin' good.

i don't get it...

Often when discussing personal problems, I get told, "Just be grateful for what you have and then life will be happier for you."

It's always seemed like great advice, and so I've taken it multiple times. Given the numerous stories and testimonies shared on the subject, it seems like it should work great.

Wrong.

Maybe it's that I'm naturally pessimistic (or as one professor called me, a true nihilist -- I still resent that), or maybe it's because my world seems incredibly dark right now. Or maybe I'm trying too hard?

For some reason, counting my blessings instead of sheep not only keeps me up at night, but it also triggers high levels of anxiety and ever more frequent feelings of emptiness. As counting sheep merely bores me, I've started preferring that to listing good things that happened during the day or ticking off the things I've been given -- boredom feels better than emptiness.

Saying that it's simply listing good things isn't the process, mind you. You've got to sincerely foster an appreciation for the things, people, and opportunities placed in your life. And I've tried that. I've tried looking around at my life and truly appreciating what I have -- sometimes I even find myself thinking, "Wow. Look at you -- you're one lucky girl." And I believe it.

Then, right after that, the pain starts again, the emptiness becomes a choking cord around my throat, and the dark closes in, heavy and cold.

Somehow, being grateful for good things brings horrible, devastating guilt. It's as though by attempting to feel happiness, the sadness deepens. Light and joy seem far above my head, and either the floor beneath my feet is dropping at a rapid pace, or my arms are shrinking: either way, I can't reach what I desire. Instead of feeling my chin lift hopefully, I feel a weight increase until I can barely stand, arms wrapped tight around me as I hold myself together on the floor.

Why? I don't understand it. I don't understand how searching for happiness -- maybe not even happiness, but just some relief -- and doing all of the good things I can do only makes things feel worse.

I don't get it.

so sad...

Today has been kind of a sad day. I woke up feeling like little pieces of glass had been wedged into my heart and were moving slowly through my veins -- kid you not, it's a real feeling. Your whole body hurts and shakes, and it's worst in your chest, like something has shattered -- and the little shattered bits are radiating out through your arms and legs and toes and fingers. Even your ears hurt.

Because it was such a sad morning, I was grateful for my friend Thomas. He took me to brunch at Denny's, because there was Hobbit food on the menu (and because he said he misses me, and that it's stupid that we're so busy with school). What better than Hobbit food to make you smile? It was such a laugh, the whole time -- I've know him for over a year, but there are so many things I've learned about him since we started spending time together this semester. He's probably one of the most talented, sincere people I've met in my life. I don't think he's afraid of anything. Visiting and laughing with him made some of the blues go away for a little while, for which I was happy. He took me to a dance concert at the college afterwards, and we had a good time watching all of the talented people perform.

Coming home, the sad aches began again. I tried doing homework, and couldn't focus. I tried writing for work, but no words made sense. I tried cleaning, organizing, even sleeping -- nothing.

Finally, I gave up. I went to Target and bought my favorite frozen pizza and some peanut butter cup ice cream. I bought season 7 of Psych through Amazon.com, threw on some sweats, let down my hair, got a plate of pizza, and pulled out my new shimmery, light pink nail polish. And I've been sitting at my computer since 7:45 this evening, watching ridiculous episodes and making my nails look pretty.

I feel a little better. The sad aches are still there, but they're a bit numbed now. I've got good memories of breakfast with Thomas, new funny lines to quote from Shawn and Gus, and pretty fingers.

Part of my brain is yelling at me for wasting the weekend, doing no homework and getting no work assignments completed. Another part of my brain is smiling.

Hopefully my heart will start smiling more, too.

counter attack...

I keep finding a thought spinning around in my head.

"Wow. Look how much you've lost this year."

In some ways, it's kind of true. I have lost a lot. Often it seems that every time I turn around, some big, awful thing happens that leaves me feeling as though I've been decked across the face. 

I've lost important, meaningful things. I've lost a lot of my freedom that comes from living on my own and having a car at my disposal all of the time. I've lost opportunities, I've lost time, I've lost money. And worst of all, I've lost people I never dreamed I would lose -- or prayed and begged the Lord to let them stay.

But amidst all of that gone-ness, there are so many things I've gained. I've gained new friendships, new opportunities, new responsibilities, new dreams, new knowledge, and maybe even new wisdom. I've gained a better understanding of the Atonement, and I've gained a greater sense of the Holy Spirit's whisperings. I've gained patience and compassion, strength and resolve. Well -- maybe less in the patience department, but more than I had before.

I feel as though I'm closer to my family and to God than I've ever been in my whole life, and that's after all of the mistakes I made.

Admittedly, I'd like to give in to the anger that keeps working it's way into my heart. I'd like to curse and cry and scream and let the whole world know how much my heart is hurting -- but I won't. I don't need to.

There are bigger, more important things in this life. I'm holding out for them.

overwhelmed...

Wednesday was like almost any other Wednesday. Except for one thing: while I was attempting to butter some French bread, I found myself slumped against the counter with no recollection of the few seconds before I fell.

The pain has been bad this week.

Thursday was much like Wednesday, minus the French bread and the passing out. The physical and emotional pain peaked. I was scared, angry, tired, and alone -- alone in the sense that I was stuck in my body and mind, and trying to get out was too exhausting.

And then, I was asked out on a date. Not just any normal run-of-the-mill homework date, which has become the standard due to our heavy workloads, but a real one. Where he called me up and issued a formal invitation; I put on a skirt, blouse, and heels, and he wore slacks with a tie; he picked me up at 7:30; I wasn't allowed to open any doors at all (usually he opens the car door for me to get inside, and I let myself out because I'm silly that way); he took me to Mimi's Cafe; and we talked for hours. And not just all of that-- he came to my door in my favorite green shirt and the jacket I got him for his birthday, holding a white rose tinged with brilliant red, a box of all dark chocolates, and strawberries with chocolate syrup for later on (our new favorite treat because we can't afford real chocolate covered strawberries, nor do we have time to make them).

A day later, I still can't entirely comprehend it all. That someone would go so out of his way for me -- to get off work, to wear the clothes I like so much, to bring gifts that mean a lot to me, and to take me somewhere so nice -- even in the face of missing valuable homework time. Because he knew I was hurting, and that things had been hard. Because he wanted to make me smile.

What's even more amazing to me is that this isn't the first time this has happened.

It's overwhelming in the best way.

...

Lately when I think about writing, I feel sick. Then again, that's how I feel when I think about most things.

I'm often ready to bolt into the nearest restroom because my stomach turns and twists so much. I'm always (not an exaggeration) on the verge of tears. I can't sleep.

The worst thing is that my happiness for other people's joy is tinged with a deep pain. It isn't jealousy; I know how jealousy feels -- mean and angry and bitter. This is different. It's more like a quiet, aching sorrow, one that I don't want the happy person to know about because I don't want to detract from his/her joy.

And yet, I sometimes wish they knew, just so they could give me a hug and a job to do so I can help bring about their special days. It's better when I'm working, especially when I'm working for others.

It'll get better. Honestly, it only can get better from this.

I'm lucky, really. Lucky that this is happening: I'll be more aware of others' feelings. I'm learning to be more forgiving. I'm learning to take care of myself for me, not to please someone else. I'm understanding that what I want is just as important as what someone else wants (although I still often do not have opinions, which some of my friends mistake for not sticking up for what I want -- sometimes, I just don't care what we're doing because I'm with people, which means I'm not alone). I'm getting better at telling people the truth regardless of the consequences. I'm practicing asking for help.

I'm growing.

Funny, how I forget that growing physically comes with pain, too -- joints enlarging, muscles stretching, bones lengthening -- keeping me awake when I was little as my body changed into the 5' 2" person I am now. Why should mental, emotional, and spiritual growth be any different?

Perhaps because the pain, for me, is enhanced by other things in my life, such as the long-time struggle with depression, and the more recent appearance of quite severe anxiety. And part of it is my personality: two of my friends were talking to me last night, and they reminded me quite firmly that my loyalty to others has often placed me as less important -- that it's time to stop taking the backseat. And they're right -- while being loyal isn't a bad thing, strengths can easily be weaknesses if used the wrong way.

I'm lucky in friendship. Lucky that I have people in my life who care about me, and who stick with me no matter what's going on in my life. I'm lucky that I have people who celebrate my successes, and who lift me up when I've hit the ground.

Georgie's just lucky, I guess.

the best people...

...are the people who love you no matter how good or how bad you look, feel, talk, or act. And for them I am grateful.

"that girl," who has stuck with me the longest and who has never, ever given up on me. Ever. And we have no pictures together, and she probably wouldn't want me to post one of her anyway. But just so she knows.

My room mate, my friend I didn't know I had until a year after we met, my "mom" away from home.

My role model, my "big sister" I never knew I wanted, my confidante who knows me better than I know myself.

My advice giver, my three o'clock in the morning go-to guy, my "big brother" I always wanted and never had. 

Who I also have no pictures with. And who is ENGAGED! So happy for him!

My partner in crime, my photographer buddy, my friend who loves getting lost.

Honestly? I can't NOT put him here -- even though we broke each others' hearts and it still sucks, and he confuses me like crazy -- 

I'm so glad he's still a part of my life.

peace in the storm...

I hate you.

That's been running through my mind a lot today. Vicious and cruel, broken and empty -- there have been various tones of the sentiment.

All day, though, I've seen evidences of how much I am loved. I saw it a lot last night as well. Today I really felt it.

Though I've had my world turned upside down again and my heart wrenched from my chest, I'm okay. Life goes on. Not only does it go on, but it goes on happily, joyfully, with people who love and are in their turn lovable.

I've made serious mistakes. I've lost a lot, including the one person who meant the most to me in the entire world. But I have not lost my faith. Nor have I lost my Heavenly Father. If anything, I feel closer to him than I've felt in a long time. All day I've been comforted and sheltered from the turmoil raging inside my heart. There have been tears, yes. Tears, however, can often be as healing as a good laugh. At least they are for me.

I'm still angry. I'm still heart broken. I'm still confused and sad and scared.

But I'm not alone.

falling apart...

So the doctor appointment fell through.

                        A pay raise also fell through.

                                            Going on vacation this summer fell through.

                                                                             Housing for summer fell through.

                                                                                                 And the engagement fell through.

But no worries. I have a great life.

I wrote a fairly decent 15 page paper in 8 hours.

I got 100% on my group presentation for Sociology.

I got assigned to review the entire Jimmy Stewart collection at work (talk about a summer project).

I was put in charge of the Cecil B. DeMille collection (over 1,000 boxes of material that need to be processed or catalogued and numbered, which I will be supervising -- talk about a summer AND fall project).

I have parents and sisters who call, text, and email me on a frequent basis to check on me and say hello.

I have an awesome room mate.

I have three wonderful dogs.

And I (still) have a great boyfriend.

Life's good.

death looks good on me...

Actually, that's false. Death does not look good on me, and so I cannot wait for the day (hopefully tomorrow) that my skin is not pasty white, my eyes are not glazed and dilated, my lips are not a greyish blue color, and the circles of black beneath my lashes disappear.

Seriously. I don't think I've been this violently sick since I was a kid. Whatever this particular strain of stomach bug is, it's a doozy. Last night was the worst -- in the past when I've had a norovirus, I'll only empty my stomach three or four times over 24 hours. Not so with this bout -- 9 times in 8 hours. OUCH.

I am so done with this. Beyond looking like death, I've felt like dying, rather than going through this anymore. It's much, MUCH better at this point, but last night...wow. WOW. SO. FREAKING. SICK.

Poor Adam has it, too. And his sisters. And two of his brothers. And six of his cousins (so far). And his dad. And my roommate.

It's like the plague!

But really. I'm about ready to be done. Because, death does not look good on me (nor does it feel good) -- yet, I'm too exhausted to put on make-up to cover it up. Probably wouldn't make much of a difference, anyway.

Adam, however, disagrees with the "look like death" thing. Honestly, I never thought I'd find a man who would tell me I was beautiful when I, in my opinion, clearly look awful; who'd cuddle me up close to help me feel better; who'd kiss me despite my dry, dehydrated lips; who'd spend an entire afternoon watching Lord of the Rings on a cushion bed in the living room with me; who'd be so sweet and kind no matter how I look or feel.

I am the luckiest sick girl in the world.

Best sick day ever.

i have green toes...

Once upon a time, a green-eyed young man showed up at my house with a small bottle of green nail polish, two heating packs, a bag of Darkside Skittles, and a hello kiss on his lips. Why was this such a grand surprise?

1) the nail polish was a color I pointed out at the store more than three weeks ago -- I noticed the pretty color and commented that it would be perfect for spring time, especially if paired with little pink flowers. And who remembered and brought it to me on a rough day? Adam did.
2) the heating packs are absolutely marvelous for the aches
3) never heard of Darkside Skittles, but the Forbidden Fruit flavor is now up there on the candy list
4) who wouldn't want a hello kiss from her sweetheart?

And so now I have green toe nails because I can't paint my fingernails until tomorrow afternoon -- Henry 5 is still running, and my characters can't have green fingernails.

Isn't he the sweetest thing?

you know it's love when...

...you eat Disney princess Sphagettio's and drink Martinelli's for dinner together, and he talks about how much he enjoyed it for three days after

...he tells you that you're beautiful when your hair is a mess, you have no make-up on, and you're wearing sweats -- and you believe him

...a single text message can brighten your entire day

...you get butterflies from a simple kiss on the forehead or the back of your hand

...his advice for your biographical sketch on your scholarship application includes "write 'I'm the smartest, coolest, most beautiful girl at the school and you should give me money because someday, when my face is on a magazine, BYU will be famous, too. But not as famous as me because I'm just that awesome."

...you do dishes together and it's no longer a chore

...he tells your dog that he loves her and that she's a beautiful sweetheart

...you're encouraged to do your best and be your best, even when you personally don't want to

...he falls asleep on the floor next to the couch as you type up your paper, and when you ask him why he didn't just go home he replies and says, "Because I know that you've been hurting a lot lately, and it's easier for you to deal with when you're not alone -- just my being here helps you feel better. I love you."

...you can't help but smile at the mere memory of the look on his face when he says that he loves you

...you never open a door and you never carry something heavier than 10 pounds

...little notes and small treats mean more to you than the most expensive dinner or most elaborate evening out

...a single rose becomes a treasured possession

...you wish you could express the way you feel, but it's so incredible and beautiful that no words, no pictures, no music -- nothing -- can do justice to the joy and wonder that you feel inside

mia...

I realized tonight how long it's been since I've written anything. I'll update you on the happenings around the House, but right now, I need to spew.

I feel so...not good enough. In my classes, among my cast members, at home, on the job, in my relationships...in all parts of my life, I don't feel good enough.

Sometimes I imagine leaving it all behind, all of it, and disappearing for a couple of days. Just getting into my car and heading off somewhere, with my cell phone silenced and Carrie Underwood on the radio. No note, no hints as to my going, no nothing -- go and come back before anyone notices. Just to clear my head, to take a break, to be me, without all of this, for a little while.

Inadequacy is a hard feeling. It's one I'm not fond of, although I am very familiar with it. Dealing with it never seems to get easier, though. If anything, it gets harder for me as I get older. More and more things enter my life, and more opportunities for the feeling arise. Honestly, it's pretty exhausting.

Life truly is good right now -- I'm a very blessed, very lucky lady. The hard things and difficult feelings make the good aspects even better. For that, I am grateful. You truly cannot have sweet without the bitter, for the bitter gives perspective that would otherwise be lost.

PS This is why I've been MIA of late:

Cute, isn't he?

my 2012...

I survived 2012.

No, that's not an apocalypse joke (though I won't lie and say I didn't worry about it a little bit). It's actually a true statement.

This year has been hard. Lots of heartbreaks, lots of challenges, lots of new things to overcome. I lost several close friendships, began dealing with the pain left behind from abuse, watched my dad begin a battle with stage 4 prostate cancer, saw my sisters get hurt by boys and shattered dreams, tried to help a friend who had some awful stuff happen to her, was diagnosed with some of my own health problems, faced seemingly insurmountable challenges in school, changed jobs multiple times, met people with opposing perspectives that shook my world, moved out on my own for the first time, saw life-long dreams put on hold indefinitely, and, as always, wrestled with the darkness that comes from depression and anxiety. I've felt myself being molded and shaped into something new; that shaping and molding hurts.

This year has also been incredibly wonderful. There have been countless miracles, small and big. I gained greater closeness with the people who are my real friends, took steps necessary to heal, received the news that dad's cancer is in remission after only three months of treatment, watched my sisters band together against the unkindness of classmates, learned that tough love is sometimes necessary, humbled myself enough to go through treatments that have improved my health exponentially, pulled a shocking 3.9 GPA despite all of the difficulties, did well in all of the jobs I had and made connections for future opportunities, made wonderful new friends and new insight about life and people, gained greater independence from living as I desire, and, as always, still wrestle with the darkness that works its way into my mind and heart. I have been molded and shaped into something new; that shaping and molding has been worth every bit of pain -- I'm happier than I ever have been in my entire life.

I've done things I never would have done before. I'm taking chances, making mistakes, getting messy in life -- I even let the dishes sit in the sink overnight now, rather than staying up late to clean the entire house because one little thing is out of place. I'm living my life -- I'm not letting memories and fear live it for me.

I'm still scared. I'm taking risks that a week ago I vowed I would never do. I'm considering new, big, exciting, terrifying things. And, I like it.

2012 has been full of ups and downs -- the downs were hard. Really hard. I'm not perfect, and I'm not complete yet. There's still a lot of shaping and molding needed. But I've learned this year that fear really is the opposite of faith. With faith, anything can happen. Literally anything. Dads who are given two to three years to live can suddenly be faced with fifteen to twenty years after only three months of cancer treatment. Finances can suddenly fall into place perfectly, with just enough left to hold over until the next paycheck comes through. People who are complete strangers can, in one conversation, say exactly what was needed to help heal a broken heart. Family and friends can stay close and get closer, no matter what happens. And girls who have been damaged, inside and outside, by guys can find themselves swept off their feet by good men in a matter of days.

Miracles happen. Fun happens. And mid all of the tears and sorrows, laughter happens. It happens a lot more than we'd think, if we let it.

56 minutes, 23 seconds...

dear Friend,

That's the longest we've talked in weeks -- maybe a whole month.

After we got off the phone, I realized something. I wasn't in pain anymore. For the first time in four days straight, I didn't hurt. No headache, no back pain, no muscle cramps or anything. I didn't notice until I was making dinner ten minutes after we hung up. All of the sudden, the lack of pain caught my attention.

Maybe it's because you make me laugh so much -- laughter is, as they say, the best medicine.

Maybe it's because I know that you still care.

The pain is back now, but it's a bit easier to bear. Probably because I have your words to remember. You said some things that were quite timely. It's nice to know that you think I'm awesome, and strong, too. And now I have something to look forward to this weekend -- can't wait for Friday!

Anyway. I just wanted to say thank you. You probably still don't know how much you mean to me. Just know that you mean quite a lot.

all my love,
GKB

there'll be joy...

Oh heavens.

                     Oh. Heavens.

                                              OH.

                                                          HEAVENS.

Now that I'm doing oh heavening, how about I tell you a little bit about that.

Last night (Tuesday) was the first time in longer than I can remember that I have experienced true tears of joy. As in being so overcome with happiness and gratitude that I could not contain the emotions. I was absolutely overwhelmed with something I can only describe as real, honest to goodness joy.

Perhaps this is what cloud nine is. People usually describe cloud nine as being in love -- this is so much better than that. This is the confirmation that I am loved and important to God, and that He is absolutely interested in my life. That He is putting things in place to make me the best person I can possibly be. That He recognizes me for what I am trying to do. That He knows me.

God is great.

in my language...

People have different ways of feeling loved and appreciated. My mom feels loved when someone listens to her. My dad feels loved when someone spends time with him. One of my friends responds well to physical affection. Another friend likes doing activities. While those are not the only ways that they feel loved, those are the primary things that help them know they are cared for. There are a lot of ways that I know people care, but the main thing for me is tokens of affection. Receiving a small gift or a note or a person doing something nice for me is the easiest way for me to recognize that someone cares. Tokens can be anything, really. They can be a note, or a call record that I can look at on a future day, or a leaf from a walk with a friend, or anything really.

Today has seen an outpouring of love in a language that I respond well to. It actually started last night. It's meant so much to me, and I'm so very grateful for the people who took the time to show me that they're aware of me.

1. A letter from Jordan
2. A voice message from Brianna that I saved on my phone
3. Chocolates and lotion from my landlord's little boy because he wanted to say thank you to me for taking care of his dog
4. A text message from Sierra that I was able to save and read again later
5. A CD of LDC music from Ann
6. Dad stopping by my house while I was at work and getting some cleaning done for me before my landlords arrived
7. A loaf of bread left on my porch with a pretty ribbon that had a special message for me -- I don't know who it's from, but I'm grateful to them
8. A note on my Facebook page from Alyssa

Even though it's been a hard day, I've felt loved. I have all of these little reminders that I can hold and look at and experience again. So to my friends and family, thank you.

because I checked the mail box...

I remembered to check the mail tonight for the first time in almost a week. I was expecting the usual, either an empty box or a bunch of items that would find a resting place in the bottom of the recycle bin.

Not so. Sitting on top of the expected pile of bills, magazines, and coupon books was a small envelope, a bit tattered and worn, with familiar handwriting scrawled across the front. Immediately, I recognized the script and had to restrain myself from ripping the envelope open to display the contents right then and there. I hope the neighbors weren't alarmed by the little victory dance and sudden outburst of tears that was displayed in front of the post boxes. There was nothing amiss. There was just a sudden rush of gratitude that I haven't been forgotten, a rush of gratitude and reassurance that was multiplied exponentially when I read the card tucked into the envelope.

"God definitely has a plan for each one of us, and sometimes things happen that we don't expect. But He loves us and everything He does is for our ultimate benefit."

All of the words meant so much, because each one was penned specifically for me (by a person who is very busy being a zone leader and teaching and being awesome). They were written in reference to my dad being diagnosed with cancer earlier this summer, but they apply to everything that has been going on lately: to my dad's illness, financial worries, friends' struggles, my sudden difficulty with health, school, work, relationships.

I'm so grateful for this reminder that things will be okay, and for the reminder that time and distance cannot separate true friendship.