It's Been Three Years Since I Handed God the Pen

Where did you take your first steps?


Was it in your living room? Or maybe your backyard? I definitely don't remember mine, but luckily, I have many pictures and my parents’ confessions to prove that I did indeed take my first steps in Jordan Hare Stadium, home of the beloved Auburn Tiger football team. You may be thinking, "How ridiculous," to which I would like to say, "Agreed....... I didn't have much say in the matter considering I was around the age of two." But after I was born, my parents toted me down, game after game, and when I was three, my sister, Abbie Caroline was born. And then, just like before, but now together, we were carried down to games, pictures with Aubie, and to days full of Toomer's Famous Lemonade in our sippy cups.


As Abbie matured, my parents realized that Abbie had some traits that were different. When I was twelve and Abbie was nine, Abbie was diagnosed with Asperger's, a form of autism. If you don't know, autistic brains have an miraculous ability to memorize large amounts of information. Most autistic kids latch on to one subject or one event in history that they are interested in and learn all they can about it. Abbie's first subject for which she cultivated a love was the Royal English family tree. So instead of hearing bedtime stories of fairies and Goldilocks, we heard bedtime stories of Bloody Mary's brutal Catholic Revolution and Elizabeth I's navy captain who was actually a pirate whom she pulled out of prison.


As she grew, Abbie amazed us. Once she had learned about all there is to know about the Royal English family tree, she next became enthralled with Auburn football. She memorized excessive amounts of stats, players, coaches, and seasons. And we watched in amazement as Gene Chizik fell in love with her, and alumni players and coaches asked her difficult questions to which she knew all of the answers. You could literally give her a random number of a football player and she could tell you his name, hometown, position, stats, and GPA. And like we never thought possible, our family fell even more in love with Auburn.


When my senior year rolled around, it was to no one's surprise that I enrolled at Auburn, was accepted, turned in my rush packet, found amazing roommates, and was on my way. One fall evening of senior year, my dad called me into his office and suggested that I go to Auburn and stay with a friend, see a game, and attend all the events that a student there would go to, just to make sure that it was the right fit. I found this extremely amusing. "What would I not like about Auburn?" I remember thinking to myself. But what high schooler is going to pass up a weekend at an SEC football school? So I packed my bags and headed down. I remember so clearly, during the long drive, saying a half-hearted prayer in my head because it hit me that, while everything about my college future was falling perfectly into place, (which I figured was God's okay on everything), I had never asked the Lord for His preference, nor for His guidance. It was a simple, straight-forward prayer, but I thought absolutely nothing would come from it.


     "God, if this is not where You want me, show me."


As I turned off that familiar highway onto an even more familiar road to Auburn, I felt a pit form in my stomach. Maybe I was just really hungry, or maybe I was getting sick. It didn't even cross my mind that this pit I felt might be an answer to prayer. All weekend I tried to get rid of it. I laughed, I ate, I felt fine other than that horrible feeling in my gut. And then, in the midst of football, tailgates, dorms, and concerts --I heard Him. Not like an audible voice but just a thought in my head out of nowhere. Has that ever happened to you? You weren't even on a train of thought when an idea or thought just pops up in your head? Then it keeps rushing through and won't stop? That's how God talks to me. And this is what He said,


    "Claire, You and I both know that I can't grow you here."


Now, side note, please understand that Auburn is not like a hell hole. I'm not saying that if you want to or attend Auburn, you have refused to listen to the Lord or done something immoral. But God and I both knew that where I was as a person during my high school years would not be a glorious fit at a state school, even my beloved Auburn. So I decided I would listen.


On the long drive back, I questioned everything. I was confused, scared. I asked, "But where now?" I hadn't even applied to any other colleges because I was so set on Auburn. I was so excited about their interior design program because it is so well recognized. Where will I go with a great, credible program? Then, He spoke again: ”Samford." "Samford." "Samford."


Samford??!? Doesn't it cost like a million dollars to go there? No, that's so close to home! Do they even have an interior design program, because I definitely was only thinking of The Cheesecake Factory on the one Samford tour I even went on.


Again, He spoke: ”Stop asking why. Say yes."


So I did. For the first time in my life, I stopped asking why. I stopped asking why, like when I asked God why Abbie was diagnosed with Autism over and over again, or when my dad wouldn't come home from work and traveling and I asked God why I wasn't loved. The truth is, ”Why?" is selfish. "Why?" is about me. "Why" does not trust the Father. It questions His sovereignty and His provision. So for the first time in my life, I said yes.


I handed God the pen instead of trying desperately to write my own life and make it perfect. And here's what happened:


I was awarded the Presidential Scholarship to attend Samford, so it did indeed not cost a million dollars to attend. I found roommates and friends who boost me and my spirit. I found an Interior Design program that finds my gifts and is rewarding my future already. I've lived 200% in three new countries instead of the one I was planning to hopefully study in at Auburn. I find myself in a place where I know God is holding my pen. I found a place that God wrote, not me.


As I was walking through New York City today, underneath all of the twinkly lights that make a person feel as though you can do anything and go anywhere, God whispered something small to me-- "Claire, remember where you were three years ago? Look at all I've done since then. Look at where you are." And I realize that He was right. It’s been three years since, for the first time, instead of asking why, I said yes, and it has changed every aspect of my life. If you're at a crossroads and you're scared, and your pen is out of ink because of how many revisions and changes you've made to the plan that is your life because it has yet to please you, hand it over to the One who wrote how the stars burn and how the moon shines. He's been waiting.


Infinite X's and O's,

Claire

Take a Minute: Love This Place

I left for India from a nation with its flag at half mast....There's a fire station in Madison that I always drive by where you can't help but notice the flag pole out front. The flags on it stand out so vibrantly against the dark building so it's always easy to notice if our country is in mourning that particular day. On the morning I left for my trip, I glanced over as I always do, and for what seemed to be the one hundredth day in a row, the flags lifelessly hung halfway down the pole. I remember being somewhat glad I was leaving the country. With all of the chaos that had been going on, I felt that the rest of the world was possibly safer than here. "This place is falling apart," I disgustingly thought to myself.

We flew from Atlanta to Amsterdam and spent some time touring the city because of our long lay-over. It would be an understatement to say that I fell madly in love with Netherlands. The air there is so cool and clean to breathe, it's like you can't get enough of it. It feels so good filling up your lungs. The people are so friendly, and the shopping is incredible. And you know those few foods on earth that, even if you're being healthy, you just don't give two flips of guilt about eating because they're so good. Let me tell you that I ate a chocolate croissant the size of my face in a bakery there that made it okay for me to go ahead and die after I finished it. It was that good. I was actually upset that it melted so quickly in my mouth. On another high note, my history-loving heart was immediately stolen by the Anne Frank house, and all at once I found myself happily one hundred percent infected with the travel bug. However, Amsterdam in all of its European glory still didn't feel like home. And as I found myself traveling and loving every inch of the world I had never laid eyes on before then, I found even more love in knowing that when it was all over I got to go back to my house, to my home.

Despite my jet lag, I was then ecstatic to hop on the plane in Amsterdam and jump off in Dehli, India, our destination.

FEMINISM

One of the first things I noticed when I arrived in Dehli was a taxi with these words written on the back: "This Taxi Respects Women." (Most things are written in English in India because of their being under English rule for so long. No grandma, I did not learn Bengali while I was there.) I remember thinking, "Well that's good, I guess that just means that the driver is nice to women when they get in the car." However, I quickly found out that this phrase on the back of the taxi referred to the taxi actually stopping if there was a female in the road. How crazy, right? Who wouldn't stop for a human being in the road just because of their gender? But a week prior to our arrival, a ten year old girl had been hit by a bus and actually died from the accident, solely because the driver of the bus would not stop for her because she was female.

Listen, I get it. America has feminist issues. If I was in the same job as a man and did not get paid the same amount, I would be really upset and confused, but while we are pushing ahead to solve more issues like this one, may we also be really proud of our progress. We have a woman running for president for crying out loud! Not so sure she's the best girl we could come up with, but that is about as big an act of feminism as it gets. The reason I want to bring this to attention is to say this: Next time a man holds the door for you, or pulls out your chair, or a waiter asks your drink order before the males out of respect, please notice and appreciate it. It's hard to understand how good we as American women have it until you're in a country where a car won't stop to avoid hitting you just because of your gender.

POLICE

When I got back to Amsterdam, my heart broke as I heard about all that had happened in America while we were away, the largest incident being the Dallas Shooting. I don't know what happened in the incident to spark it because, to be completely honest, I wasn't there (and neither were you). All I know is that I have been taught my whole life to respect authority and be honest with them. However, I also know that in every profession in this world there are twisted employees, and there always will be. That doesn't mean we need to eliminate the entire human race. That doesn't mean that anyone has to right to take out any innocent group of people.

The reason that this incident especially touched my heart is that I realized such a love and honor for the American police while in India. Some Indian girls, caught and forced into the Red Light District, have pretty much only one hope, which is to somehow notify the police. (The Sex Trade of India is "illegal" there believe it or not). Nonetheless, most of their police are so caught up in the trade themselves, they never do anything about it, even if they do get a report or phone call. Sometimes, they pretend to not see the girl when they arrive to search the building, or they just ignore the situation completely. Can you imagine? Picture you get taken in America, and you get to a phone and call the police. You have a long conversation with them, and then they never show up to rescue you. Or they show up and pretend not to see you and leave, and suddenly your last glimpse of hope is obliterated.....I have full faith in our police officers that if I were ever in trouble and could stay on the phone and explain where I was and what was happening, I would be rescued, no question. And so would you. Don't ever take that for granted or disrespect that protection while the rest of the world has to try to survive without it.

_________________________________________________________________________

I'm not writing you all of this to persuade you that America is not as bad as it seems in the news. I do believe we're at war, and I do believe we have large issues we must handle to move forward as a civilization, but I am writing this to tell you that I've been to a place where the police are truly not on the civilians' side--and it is not what you want. It is frightening and unnerving and makes it hard to fall asleep at night. I've also been to a place where women are truly treated like dirt, and it is nothing like our culture.

So, next time you hear of an incident and want to take to Facebook, dogging the country you live in, don't. This culture has told you, screamed at you, that you deserve to be heard. You have to share your two cents on every problem that falls across your path, but God whispers something different. In the book of James, God makes it really clear that he isn't about all the complaining and empty chatter. It's actually where the phrase: Don't just talk the talk, walk the walk, comes from. James talks about how someone as a Christian should go from hearing about an issue, to doing something good in return. Never does he mention, "and in between, share with all of your friends your complaints and how stupid you think the world has become." God knows this one truth about the planet we've been put on: there will always be: an ISIS, lying, cheating, gossip, hard Presidential Elections that divide groups of people, sickness, death, SIN. But hasn't life has always been about the test of what you will do with what has been dealt? Whether it's a country-wide issue or a personal one...did you add to the world's dark chaos and empty chatter, or were you different and making others different, too? Let's appreciate what we've got. Let's appreciate this place.

Let my actions outrun my words. Let my life outrun my song.

Infinite X's and O's,
Claire

Choices

Dear Reader,

This is a long post, for which I apologize. I vowed to myself when I started this blog a couple of years ago that I would keep my posts short and sweet. However, the more separate stories I wrote while in India, the more I noticed that they all echoed the same message about choices. So I tried my best to listen to the words and stories God wanted me to tell you and to compile them here. Enjoy.

Infinite Xs and Os,
Claire

CHOICES 

I love my house. I always have. It's a khaki-colored Craftsman, nestled on a back road in downtown Madison, overlooking Mrs. LouAnn's pond. Over the years, my parents have added their special touches, giving it even more beautiful character. My mom has worked hard planning and planting enchanting gardens that anchor good ole 153 Maple (which our newest dog, Scout, thinks is pretty enchantingly fun to destroy). My dad picked out long, black hurricane shutters that add a sense of beachy security and stability to the place. The large, chunky, front-porch lanterns send a welcoming glow of hello, and the wide front porch swing says, "Come on over here and stay awhile." And no matter where I roam from home, I have a small, metal reminder that jingles on my key chain, whispering that no matter what happens, or how far away I go, I always have a choice to return to this safe, beautiful place.

That place where I sleep in until 10:00 on Saturdays, wake up, throw off my fluffy, warm comforter, and shiver as my feet hit the cold, wood floor. Then I take off, doing the same jump-hop down the stairs I've practiced since I was 6, and swing open the front door to find Tom McKee on his fourth-ish cup of coffee, sitting in a front porch rocker, reading the "paper" on his iPad. He looks up with, "Hey, girl!" and pats the rocker beside him, inviting me to tell him about the highs and lows of everything recent.

That place where I head out for a run, come back, grab a water and crash into one of the leather chairs in my parents' room, underneath the ceiling fan, which I have deemed, after extensive research, the coolest possible place in the house. And every time, my mother walks in, asking me questions I don't have the lung air to respond to quite yet, almost like a dental hygienist asking what your future plans are while she holds a metal toothbrush in your mouth.

That place where I'm just about to catch some shut eye when I see my door crack open with all sorts of light rays coming in, only to see Abbie's grinning face appear in the door crack, waiting on me to say, "Come on in." However, she has never given me the chance, and runs and jumps into my bed to tell me all that's happened in her day.

That place where I promised at age nine I would be the next top baker of the world, as I continued to wreck the kitchen that was my paradise, always doing something like leaving the flour out of the brownies.

So I love that place, that house, as I'm guessing you love yours. Houses hold our memories, dreams, and lessons captive, reminding us that they are the buildings on the Earth that have done the most for us. I don't feel that I have ever taken the shelter my parents give me for granted. I never say anything I don't like about my house, and I remind my parents often of how much I love it; I try to say thank you for everything I've been given. I knew India would probably make me more appreciative for what I have, but I didn't think I'd really be shocked by anything. I've seen poverty throughout my life. My parents have been involved in areas of town people don't dare to go; I'm so glad they drug me along, too, because it kept my head and heart humble. Because of my going to these places, I don't live in a middle class, first world country fairy tale where I ignorantly believe my life is all there is to know. But I do think God laughed at me when I thought I knew the worst poverty could show off.

INDIA 

I sat on a school bus in a pool of my own sweat to go pick kids up from the Kolkata trash dump. I actually thought I heard the man incorrectly when he told us "the dump" is where we were picking up the children, but sure enough, we rounded a corner of typical housing and businesses to see a massive trash dump. The bus pulled over, and I watched in utter disbelief as a small boy jumped on the bus exclaiming, "Good Morning!" (in English, mind you) and opened up about half a sandwich bag of dry coffee creamer--his breakfast. I looked at my friend Alyssa's face, which I'm guessing looked the same as mine. We talked about the incident later, and 'Lyss brought up the fact to me that often during the week when we're at school in Birmingham, we go to Target with our other roommate, Abby, and stare at the fridge full of over 15 different choices of coffee creamers. We always joke about getting some ridiculous flavor like Birthday Cake Ice Cream Dreamsickle, but Hazelnut is usually the lucky winner we throw in the cart. You see, I choose everything.

I choose not to eat dry coffee creamer for breakfast. I choose what college I attend. I choose where I will live at college. I choose what I will study there. I choose whether I will throw on a t-shirt and Chacos or dress up for class. I choose what I eat for lunch. I choose my friends. I choose my boyfriend. I choose if I will grab Starbucks or Juice Bar for a pick-me-up; I choose my job; I choose EVERYTHING. But the snake that is poverty has a funny way of wrapping around and around as it gets worse and worse until it is so restrictive and choking to a person that they can't move. They can't choose anything. They get what poverty allows them to barely grasp and they take it.

Another thing I knew about India was that I would be meeting women who had recently left the sex trade, and I would be experiencing an organization that then provided them with good jobs. I didn't know how I would be with this; I just prayed for strength and love.

I didn't have a mere thought of what was coming.

FREESET

We arrived at what looked like every other city street in India, and went into a four-story building to meet the man and woman who started the organization Freeset. We sat down with coffees and teas in big comfy chairs in a cool room, and as I began to get about the most comfortable I had been in India, my heart began to grow more and more uncomfortable as I listened to the words the founders began to say. Less than a mile from where we sat was one of the largest red light districts in the world. My selfish, worst-case-scenario thought was that maybe I should send Tom McKee a dropped pin just in case an incident from the movie Taken began to play out. I felt unsafe and I couldn't believe we were so close to "The Line," what the Indian people call the district. However, the founders explained to us that in order to reach the most women possible, they needed to put their organization in the dead center of it all. They needed to be these women's neighbors and friends, and hopefully, one day, their work managers. The hairs stood up on my arms as they told us that the building where we were sitting had been used by the Sonagachi (the people who keep the red light district going) for all sorts of evil. When Freeset began remodeling the space, they even found an illegal abortion clinic behind a wall. I got that horrible, raw, stinging feeling in the back of my throat and in my nose as I tried to hold back tears. Tears came anyway. And just when I thought my heart had been pricked and prodded and stabbed enough with upsetting emotion I could not control--Nina walked in.

Nina looked like a sweet, southern grandma who used too much butter in her recipes, except she was Indian. She had this certain toughness about her. Maybe it was her tone or the way she held herself. I couldn't understand a word she said because she only spoke Bengali, so one of the founders translated her story for us. I think this made it worse, too, because I watched Nina struggle through a few Benglai words, trying to fight the tears, and I desperately wondered what she had just said, trying to come up with maybe what it was in my head before the man translated it. And every single time, what the man translated for us was so much worse than what I had guessed. I want to share Nina's story with you, and I only pray that I do her the justice she has deserved for a very long time.

Nina was born in Pakistan which went through a civil war when she was a child and split. The area she is from is Bangladesh today. She and her family were placed in a refugee camp during the war. While in the camp, a woman befriended Nina and offered her a job as a maid in India. With her family already in poverty, they decided this was the best decision for her future. Nina told us that she has forgotten most of the trip from the refugee camp to India. However, she recalls that when she arrived in Kolkata, she was given a Coca Cola. Nina, being a small-village girl, had never had a Coke before, and therefore did not notice that it probably tasted funny because it was heavily drugged. The next morning she woke up in a room with two men she had never seen. She quickly realized that within 24 hours, she had gone from a refugee camp survivor to the newest addition to one of the largest red light districts in the world. For the next many years Nina would live on The Line and would eventually become an alcoholic to try to numb the pain that was her life.

When Freeset was introduced to Nina, she took the chance and got a job there. She was one of the first 20 women who chose to work for Freeset and come off The Line. Now she is one of their managers and is involved in the planning of new locations for the organization. She returned to Bangladesh to try and find her family once she was safe in Freeset, but found that by the time she returned, they had all passed away. Not only did Satan take most everything from her, but he also took her time with her family. For women like Nina, poverty doesn't give them a choice. Poverty tells them that to provide for themselves, for their families, they can't move from where they are. But God speaks freedom in choice.

NOW

So what can we do? Well, for starters, Freeset needs more business from the United States. Whether it is birthday or Christmas presents, or your company or sorority is ordering tshirts, log on to freesetusa.com to give more women the decision to choose true life. The more we buy, the more freedom can be given.

I pray that my words touched you in some way. If you can take some piece of what I took from India--take this. You and I, we get to choose. What will you do with your choices? Will you use them for good? We get to choose most everything. We weren't given that right for nothing. No, you and I were trusted with the freedom of choice so that we would make the right ones. Choose good. Choose freedom. Live a life you and God are gonna be really proud to look back on someday.

When God Gives You More Than You Can Handle (and He will)

In the middle of a busy week the last thing I thought was coming was a phone call that my dad was in the hospital from a bicycle accident. I looked up, angrily crying at God and asked, "Why?" And while this hasn't been the worst time of my life, its hasn't been easy. But it did get me thinking about my worst time.

 What was the worst time of your life? What was the day, the experience, the year, or the person that made you look up, angrily shaking your fist at God and ask, "What are you doing? Why me?" Maybe it was a time from your childhood, maybe it was a person that was a horrible influence on you, or maybe you're going through an awful experience right now. Despite when this time was or will be for you, there is one steady truth about the worst time in our lives--we all have one.

I don't like to think about mine, and when I do remember it, when it sneaks up on my train of thought during the day, I immediately think two things: 1. I think about how awful it was/how much it hurt me. 2. I ask myself: How in the world did I get through that? And looking back, I know the answer, which is that God of course helped me through it and was holding me up the whole time. However, the worst time of my life is pretty far removed from me now, and I recently fell into a trap of thinking nothing bad would ever knock at my door again. It didn't help that I found a quote that I became quickly obsessed with that fed me a lie about bad times in life.


I'm embarrassed to tell you that the quote I am about to share is ironically one that I pinned on one of my Pinterest boards a few short months ago. I found such comfort in it. I loved it. I remembered it easily and would go back to it all the time like a Bible verse. It made me feel like this type of armor was around me, as if I were completely untouchable. I felt strong and happy, but the promise made through this quote is unfortunately a very empty one. So, here it is:

"God will never give you anything you can't handle." 

Isn't it great? It's empowering, beautiful, and promises such a bright and wonderful future. Here's the kicker: I went to a women's conference earlier this year and the speaker basically called BS on this quote, and I am too.

Throughout the history of the Bible, the history of the world, and even of history of my own life this quote is far from the truth. 

Do you think that Abraham, ready to sacrifice Isaac, looked up to the heavens, knife in hand, and said, "Hey Lord, thanks for not pushing me too far on this one." ???  I'm going to guess probably not.

Do you think that Job, covered in bloody blisters, alone, homeless, "abandoned by God," being tortured by Satan, asked God for just a couple more sores because he knew he hadn't had enough??? I'm going to say no again.

When I was in my darkest, most empty place, I can tell you with utmost honesty and confidence that I did not look up and say, "Thank you God for giving me just enough that I can handle."

Now, this moment is where a lot of Christians give up. It's where I did. At nine years old, during the worst time of my life, I could not fathom a God who "loved me" yet still let me feel so much loneliness and pain. People often ask these same questions about other awful things such as: "Why does God let horrible things happen?" "What kind of God allows things like ISIS and 9/11, poverty and slavery?" These questions that so many of us ask and mourn are the same ones that make the quote above so, so terribly incorrect. God WILL allow you to get way more than you can handle, He always has and he always will. However, the moments when you've been given too much, and you hit your knees, are the same moments God is waiting for you to come to him with all your baggage and problems. God had to let evil into this world so that you would lean on him, genuinely. He created a God-shaped hole within you, so that when nothing else in this world filled it, He could.

"God will never give you anything you can't handle, without HIM."

When you're about to give up, know there is a God who never will. When you can't deal with what's ahead, know there is a God that is completely able to tackle anything you've got. Go tackle life, with God.


infinite X's and O's.
Claire