No Such Thing As A Mistake

While we are on the topic of perfection, there is another topic I feel compelled to talk about. It's something that almost no one even knows about me, because I was... ashamed?... to speak about it.

For about the past 15 years, give or take a few, I have had body issues. This stemmed from being mildly chunky in my adolescence. I wasn't very athletic, so I didn't stay very trim and toned like a lot of the other guys in my class. Even though I was never obese, I was slightly overweight - and when you're in 6th grade and everyone is trying to be cool, they tend to pick on someone who is a bit heavy.

When everyone else is getting taller and thinner while you're staying about the same height, but getting a little wider, you easily become the butt of a lot of jokes. That's what happened to me all through middle school, and part of high school.

Eventually, it got to the point where I would skip breakfast (though, I was never a big breakfast eater anyway), refuse to eat lunch at school, opting to eat a snack when I got home, then eat dinner. I'd skip two meals, trying to see if it would help.

Let me tell you - it didn't. If anything, it slowed down my metabolism and made me gain even more weight.

Finally, I got a little taller and my weight stretched with me. I got slimmer. I was doing better with my self-image, not all that concerned with it - but only because I had slimmed down, and was now mostly proportionate for my weight.

And then came college.

Every freshman is scared of the freshman 15, but I was only mildly worried about it. True, I didn't want to gain the freshman 15 and relive middle- and high-school, but I also didn't want to miss out on anything. If there were snow-cones at school, I got two. If the ice cream truck came by, you can bet I had at least one. On chicken nugget Monday, I was definitely in that line.

And, because of this, I did gain a little weight - not a ton, but some. And my obsession with my body image came back. I began comparing myself to athletic guys at school. I started trying to go to the gym more often, even though I didn't know how half of the equipment worked - I mostly just did the treadmill. I cut back on my ice cream and snow-cone intake.

I was doing whatever I could in order to have the perfect body. But, nothing seemed to work. So, I gave up. I resigned myself to being a bit chunky - even though, if we're being perfectly honest, I wasn't really all that chunky. I had a little stomach flab, but who doesn't? Unless you have 0% body fat, which is NOT healthy, you are going to have a little flab somewhere.

If only I could tell that to my adolescent, teenage, and college self.

Well, then I got in a long-term relationship. Even though she never complained about how I looked, I began worrying that she was going to leave me for some 'hotter' guy. Because, as far as I knew, that's all that mattered to her - looks.

I began going to the gym again, learning the different machines, figuring out what worked and what didn't. I would try to find healthy recipes so that I could eat what I love, but learn to make a healthy alternative.

As I was doing this, she was not doing anything, and was slowly gaining weight. She tried to come to the gym with me multiple times, but always made some excuse as to why she couldn't. Her shoulder hurt this week. Her knee the next. She was too tired. She had too much to do.

That's fine - I was happy to go to the gym by myself. I'd been doing so for about 6 months already.

But then came the comments:
"You're looking a little pudgy."
"Have you even worked your arms in the past month?"
"You clearly skipped leg day."
"You shouldn't eat that."
"What's the point of going to the gym? It's not working. You're just wasting money."

As sad as it is, these were coming from my (now ex) wife. And because I valued (see the past tense?) her opinion, I took her comments to heart.

And I was back in middle school.

I've struggled to get my mind right to where I don't worry about how I look for a very long time. It's not the easiest thing to do, especially when tabloids are showing the 'hottest' new actors or singers or whatever, and they're showing off their six-packs or their bulging biceps. Or when people you know fawn over said celebrities, because of how they look.

Or when you're at the gym, and you see other guys about your size who are ripped, and you wonder: "how did they do that? Are they using steroids? Am I missing something?"

So, I began putting in 2 hours of work at the gym a day, eating as much salad as I could, making apples and oranges and grapes my snack of choice. And it seemed to work for a little bit, but I still wasn't happy. I was still comparing myself to all these other people, whom I didn't even know.

How sad is that?

I'm tired of comparing myself to other guys. I'm me. God made me who I am, and as my girlfriend reminded me when I mentioned this to her, He doesn't make mistakes.

I went to a pool party yesterday, and almost didn't remove my shirt because I was 'ashamed' of the small amount of flab on my stomach, and because I don't have pecs. But then two of my best guy friends removed their shirts, and they had flab on their stomachs and didn't have pecs either. And they didn't care. They were just having a good time at the pool.

That got me thinking, if they can do it, why can't I? So, I took a chance, and removed my shirt.

And you know what their reactions were? They didn't comment on my flab. They didn't make fun of me because I didn't have pecs.

They told me they were glad they brought sunglasses because I was blinding them with how pale I was.

Yeah. They didn't even mention my stomach or my chest. They didn't make fun or jab or criticize or tell me I needed to eat better or go to the gym more. They literally only joked about how pale I was, asking if I was Irish.

Then, last night as I was browsing the internet, one of my Facebook friends had shared a picture from Tumblr. I tried to find it, but no dice.

It read: "The next person you see, go tell them they're ugly. Point out their flaws. Tell them they need to fix their imperfections. Criticize them until they cry.... That's hard, isn't it? So, why do we do that to ourselves?"

And it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was doing exactly that. I was pointing out my flaws instead of focusing on anything else that's good about how I look.

Then, another friend shared this picture from a fitness model on Facebook:

Her caption says: "You girls requested for me to share this after posting on snap last week :) Picture on the left was taken one day before the wedding and the picture on the right was taken... 2 minutes after! Someone recently said to me that we all have our good angles and we all have our bad angles, so why do we let our bad angles carry so much more weight than our good angles? If you focus on how bad you look in the bad angles, at least focus on how good you look in the good ones too!!"

That is SO true. And it was another slap in the face to me, because I realized that I was only focused on my bad angles, and wasn't highlighting my good ones.

So, let me just say this: I have decided not to obsess over my body image anymore. It's going to be a struggle, but I know it's one that's worth it. Yes, I'll still try and eat healthy, but I'm not going to be super upset if there's not a salad or an apple or something. And yes, I'll still go to the gym, but instead of doing 2 hour work-outs and killing myself, I'm going to do shorter work-outs just to keep myself in a healthy state.

As Ephesians 2:10 (NLT) says: "For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago."

There are so many other great things that we are called to do than focus on our body image. We are called to so much more. We are called to do His will - and chances are good, we don't have to have the perfect body in order to do that.

God can work with us however with are.

Perfectly Imperfect

Something I've struggled with is the idea of having to be perfect. For the longest time, I was more concerned with how people perceived me, instead of whether or not their perception of me was accurate or even remotely close to how I should've been perceived.

And I could partially blame it on social media or celebrities or whatever. People see things they like or admire, and so it's easy to envy those things, thinking you don't measure up.

This happened with me. I wanted people to envy me, in a sense. I wanted to have the nicest hair, the coolest clothes, the fastest car, the perfect speech, the healthiest skin, the cleanest house, the calmest demeanor. I was more focused on how people saw my outward appearance, that I wasn't really focused on maintaining my inner appearance.

I would spend money on nice clothes or dermatology appointments to get clearer skin. I'd google the hottest hair style trends for guys, and go get mine cut to resemble it. If I flubbed over words when talking to someone, I felt like an embarrassing failure. If people came over and my house wasn't spotless, I thought they were judging my imperfection.

I wanted to be the epitome of perfection.

This desire is good to a sense; as Christians, we are to strive to be like Christ, who was perfect in every way. But, I wasn't focused on being like Christ in my perfection. I was concerned with being perfect in everyone else's eyes, hiding away anything I deemed 'imperfect'. I didn't want to show those imperfections for fear of being judged as less than perfect.

I was more focused on myself than letting Christ shine through me. And by Him shining through me, I could've had perfection, but in a different sense.

Thankfully, I've realized my mistake and have worked hard to correct it. Now, don't get me wrong - I still like to have nice clothes and clear skin, but I don't stress over them anymore. In fact, I barely go shopping anymore. I like for my hair and beard to look a certain way, but I try not to obsess over it. I like to have good speech, but when I flub over words, I laugh and just roll with it.

Finally, I have accepted that I'm human. And, as any other human, I am not perfect. I have imperfections, but they do not define who I am.

Instead, I've come to realize, through everything, that what truly defines who I am is what's on the inside.

"But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires." - Romans 13:14.

Do I still struggle with this at times? Definitely. Am I working on correcting this? Always. As I've said multiple times already, I'm not perfect. I'm going to stumble and fall. I'm going to make mistakes. I'm not going to be perfect, because that's an impossibility for me alone.

But Christ lived a perfect life, and has given me the credit for it. He's given you the credit for it. We can never be perfect, so Christ stepped in and took our place, then let us shine as if we had achieved perfection, when really it was all Him.

I've realized that in order to be outwardly clean and pure and perfect, I need to be inwardly clean and pure and perfect. This isn't an easy task, as I'll never be completely perfect inwardly either. And though appearing perfectly clean on the outside is much easier than being perfectly clean on the inside, it doesn't change the fact that the inward appearance is more important.

"You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and the plate, that the outside also may be clean. Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people's bones and all uncleanness. So you also outwardly appear righteous to others, but within you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness." - Matthew 23:26-28.

Through modeling my inward life after Christ, my outward life becomes clean and pure and perfect. By allowing Christ to shine through me, dust out the cobwebs of my soul, and let light in, it shines outward, erasing any imperfections from me. It's not because of anything I did, but because of who Christ is and what He has done for me.

My perceptions of what makes someone 'perfect' have been altered, making me realize that I'm definitely not perfect. I'm just human. And I don't have to strive to be anything but. Christ has done that for me, and I just have to trust in Him. I just have to let Him work in me, dig out the imperfections and help me correct them.

Every day, it's a new battle as He sifts through my life and pulls out nuggets of imperfection, and does what is necessary to remove them so I'm more like Him. Will He ever be done removing imperfections from me? Not until I join Him in glory.

But until that day comes, I'm happy allowing Him to dig into my life and weed out the bad stuff, leaving me as a perfectly imperfect human who desperately needs a Savior.

Unknown Impact

There are days where I question if I'm supposed to be volunteering in kids ministry. Then there are days where I'm thrilled to be a part of it in the many ways I am. And then there are days where I wish I could work in kids ministry as a full-time job.

As I've mentioned before in a few blog posts, this time a year ago I was attempting to mentally prepare myself to have children - even though there's no true preparation for that step - when my plans to have children was put on hold indefinitely.

I was devastated. But, through God's grace, He pulled me into kids ministry at my church.

Let me just say - this was a turning point for me. Growing up, I always preferred to talk to people older than me rather than deal with people my own age or younger. I didn't want anything to do with kids; to me, they were annoying and obnoxious.

But again, God had different plans. He completely changed my outlook to the point where now I'd prefer to hang out with kids than to hang out with people my own age or older - usually.

In His own way, He gave me 15 - 30 kids, all boys. Though they're not truly mine, they might as well be: I'd fight for those boys, defend them when necessary, and pour a ton of effort into their lives to make sure they understand that they are loved.

I don't  know the home lives of any of these boys, but I know not every one of their home lives can be great. Some of them have demons they wrestle with, some of them may have bad or abusive parents, some may have absent parents. Some may have parents who never really wanted them, so they send them to church to have a few hours of peace. Honestly, I don't know. For all I know, I could be wrong about all of the above.

What I do know is that regardless of their home lives, I can still impact them. I can still show them they have importance, they're loved - not only by me, but more importantly, by God, their futures are bright.

Some of these boys have commented that I'm the older brother they never had. I love it because I am the youngest of my family, so I never had younger siblings. I like the fact that, though I'm twice their age, they look up to me, respect me, and consider me a friend, even though I'm first and foremost their teacher.

We have fun. We laugh. We make jokes. We act stupid. We get in arguments. We've annoyed one another. I've seen a few of them cry. I've helped others through difficulties. I've defended them.

In a weird way, in the past year we have become a family of sorts.

And this past week, I have never been more proud of these boys. I felt more like a proud parent than a proud teacher.

Last Wednesday (May 11), we had baptism and communion night at Mission 56, where any kid who wanted to be baptized could. Then we would follow it by doing communion for any of the kids who had decided to follow Christ, whether before that night or on that night.

Two of my 5th grade boys decided to follow Christ, and to acknowledge it through baptism that night. I was unaware that they had made this decision - they had spoken to the Kids Ministry pastor about it, unbeknownst to me.

When Pastor Brandon announced who was going to get baptized that night, I was sitting behind my kids, wondering who it would be. Brandon had told me there were two kids being baptized, but he didn't elaborate as to who those would be.

Then he called their names, and I realized. It was two of my boys. I was, and am, so proud! I couldn't stop smiling at their decision, feeling like a proud parent (or older brother) watching them get into the water, listen to Pastor Brandon, then go under the water and rise as a new creation.

I took pictures and video of it - again, like a proud parent. I was beaming the entire time. I was so thrilled for them!

A few days later, Sunday May 15, another wonder happened. Brandon came up to me and informed me that a kid whom I had had in my class only about 4 times (he is a 2nd grader, whereas I teach 4th and 5th, unless the 2nd grade teacher is out) was going to be baptized at the end of one of the services. And, rather than have his normal teacher be there for it, he had requested that I be next to the baptistery when it happened.

Another boy, whom I hadn't truly 'adopted' as my own yet because he wasn't in my class, had adopted me. Instead of wanting his 2nd grade teacher, whom he'd had for the past year, to be there for the baptism, he had asked me. Me. Who had only had him in my class maybe 4 times. Me? Me.

When I heard this, I teared up. Without realizing it, I had reached this boy in just 3 or 4 meetings. I had made an impact on him to the point he wanted me to be there to help him celebrate his decision to follow Christ.

I am so proud of these boys, and have such love for them! I'm so thrilled to see where God leads them in their walk with Him. I'm so excited to see how He uses them and their abilities. I can't wait for them to do something amazing for Christ and come to tell me all about it.

Like I said before, there are times when I want to quit. But then, there are times like the ones mentioned above which remind me of how much of an impact I'm having on these kids, even when I don't see it. I didn't know I was going to reach a 2nd grader, but somehow, I made an impact on him in just a short amount of time.

If I can reach him in 4 days, what could I do in a year? Two? Six? How many people could I influence in that amount of time? How many kids can I lead to, or closer to, Christ?

That's the greatest thing I can think of ever doing - leading someone to Christ, whether I'm just the one planting the seed or the one watching it sprout. I'm so thrilled for them, and I look forward to hearing more stories of my kids making that decision in the years to come.

Opinions: Everyone's Got One

Growing up, my future desires changed, just like any other child's would. What I was going to be when I grew up would shift from writer to actor to policeman to singer to graphic designer to history teacher to publisher to scientist to fireman, and on and on. But it has always come back to 'writer'.

I have always wanted to be a fiction writer. I have always loved words, how they can stimulate whatever response the writer wanted. One singular sentence can make the reader feel a ton of emotions ranging from sadness to anger to confusion. One page can make a reader invest in a character so deeply that they feel as if they're living vicariously through that character. One book can change a person's outlook on life.

And it all stems from the writers' imagination.

But what happens when you have a desire to do something, and the person you thought would be the most supportive in those aspirations was the one who essentially told you your dreams were hopeless?

I struggled with whether or not I wanted to bring this up, because I've been trying to forget about all that happened and move forward. But sometimes, in order to move forward, you have to acknowledge what happened in the past so you can let it go. And that's part of my motivation behind this post.

I began a manuscript for a book when I was a sophomore in high school. Honestly, at the time, I wanted to be published ASAP, because I was slightly jealous of Christopher Paolini (the author of Eragon), because he had been published before he turned 19. I wanted to beat that. That's probably not the best motivation for being published, but there it is.

Now, looking back, I realize that putting that much pressure on myself to be published before I turned 19 was completely destroying the story. I was writing just to get something written, in the hopes that it'd turn out good. I wasn't concerned with fine-tuning my craft.

So, I began that manuscript. And I finished it, edited it, finished that, edited it some more, finished that. And 19 came and went. And I wasn't published. My story wasn't even polished enough for an editor to look at. I had some work to do.

Then I met my ex, and I told her my aspirations. She was all for it, very supportive and encouraging. Until I asked her to read the story.

Let me pause here. If a writer, especially an unpublished writer, asks someone to read their manuscript, they're not asking for you to praise it as glorious or for you to critique it into the grave. They're asking for an honest opinion, because they trust your opinion.

Now, my ex was an avid reader. She could read 500 page books in a matter of days. My first clue that something was wrong was when it took her two weeks to read a chapter of my manuscript. Obviously, it was me and my writing. Right? It had to be.

Let's fast forward. Turns out, she thought it was absolute garbage. She had no desire to read it. It 'wasn't the genre she liked to read', so she 'couldn't get into it'. When I asked her to try it again, and just give me an opinion, she finally just said, "Babe... you're just not that great with words."

I. Was. Devastated.

Then she continued, "I mean, even in person you can't tell a story very well. You're not that great of a communicator."

Dreams. Crushed.

What was the point in trying to be a writer when it was evident that I had no talent for it? If my ex, whom I had been with for about 3 years at this time, thought I wasn't skilled enough to be a writer, then she must be right. I had asked for her honest opinion, and that's what she had given me.

For the next 3 years of our relationship, I barely picked up a pen and paper. I barely touched my manuscript. When I did, I'd get upset and develop writer's-block. I'd clam up, close my computer and pout. I'd rip up my previous attempts at writing, convincing myself that nothing I wrote was even close to being good.

When I would start a joke or begin to tell a story, I would say something along the lines of, "Babe, you're better at this than me. Why don't you tell it?"

One singular opinion had completed destroyed my dreams. In the year since she left, I have had to dig myself out of many holes that she had dug and thrown me in. Some of them, I had simply crawled into because I believed what she told me about myself. Instead of listening to myself and what I knew about myself, I let her opinions drag me down and wash away the truth.

But then I reconnected with my amazing, beautiful, loving best friend who turned into my wonderful, committed, Godly girlfriend. She has helped me pull myself out of those pits, fill them in, and leave them behind.

She's so encouraging when it comes to my writing, to the point where I started writing again. She was the motivation behind me starting this entire blog. I don't know how she knew, but I truly believe she knew I couldn't just dive back into writing stories - I had to begin small, by writing a blog post. I had to remind myself about the joy of writing.

After a couple months, I picked up my old manuscript that was 'absolute garbage', and have fine-tuned it. Without me even having to ask, she has requested to read it when I'm finished with it. She believed in my dreams even when I didn't, and is constantly helping me push myself towards fulfilling them.

Then just yesterday, I met with the pastor of my church in order to help organize an event. I was there with two girls from my small group to pass around ideas and figure something out. When we left, one of the girls texted me and said: "You did amazing! Thank you so much for leading this charge. God has blessed you with the gift of communicating!"

I almost started crying in my car. Those were words that I never thought I'd hear (or read, as the case was). This particular friend didn't know my struggles with my ex concerning my aspirations. She didn't know that my ex had told me that I was bad at communicating, and that for 4 years I had believed it.

She didn't know that that singular comment would bring me close to tears. Unknowingly, she helped me fill another hole that I didn't even know was still waiting for me to backslide into.

Through all of this, I hope you have gotten one thing out of it: don't let anybody - I don't care who they are or how you know them - don't let them tell you something negative about yourself. And above all, don't believe it.

My mom always taught me that the reason people say negative things towards others is because they're jealous of that particular trait.And I believe that wholeheartedly. Did I forget that for a season? Yes. Have I remembered that? Yes. Will I continue to remind myself of that when someone tells me something negative about myself? Most definitely.

I had to learn a hard lesson, which almost completely derailed my dreams. Don't let that happen. Don't follow in my footsteps in that - just learn from my mistake.

Find people who speak encouragement into you. Find people who believe in your dreams. Find people who, whether they know it or not, help you be a better you.

But above all, love and know yourself enough that when negative comments come your way, you know they're just someone's opinion. An opinion doesn't mean it's true.

Being a Johnathan

This past Sunday, I had the pleasure of being a Johnathan to somebody else. What I mean by this is, I was able to discuss with and give advice to someone who had gone through a rough break-up recently, using some of the same advice that Johnathan had given me when I first went through my divorce (see blog post Matters of the Heart).

When I met with Johnathan last summer, he told me that the reason he was able to give good advice and guidance was because he had been in a similar situation with his ex-wife. After we spoke, I had often thought: "maybe God let this happen to me, so that I could mentor somebody else through such a tough time".

But, honestly? I don't think I actually believed that.

Looking back, I can see sooo much good that came out of my divorce, including but not limited to growing closer to God, working with kids ministry, going to India in October, finding a loving, supportive girlfriend, reconnecting with friends, cementing a relationship with my niece and nephew, and growing my relationship with my parents.

But I don't think I had ever really thought that I would be able to use my story to give somebody else advice. When this friend of mine came up and asked if we could talk, I was a bit shocked. I knew she had recently gone through a break-up, and that it wasn't really pretty, but I thought she was actually doing good with it all.

Apparently, I was wrong.

They had only been dating for a few months before they broke up, but they had grown very close to one another during that time. She asked how I had moved on from a 6-year relationship so effectively when she was struggling with a 4-month relationship.

First off, I told her the same thing that Johnathan told me: you have to own your story. When people ask about your relationship, don't shy away from it. Be open and be honest, because digging out the bad parts are the only way you'll get true healing. It's similar to a physical wound: you have to be able to get all the dirt and mud and pus out of the wound to allow fresh air in so that it can properly heal. The same can be said for relationships; you have to get the negative out of the way before you can focus on the positive.

Secondly, I told her that something I did was recreate memories. She needed to replace the memories of doing something with her ex with memories of doing the same activity with somebody she trusts. That way the new, happy memory replaces the bad one.

A year later, I still have to do this occasionally. This weekend I'll be going to the Hot Air Balloon Festival -- it was the last thing my ex and I had done together, so every time I think about the festival, it reminds me of her. So, instead, I am going to it this year with my girlfriend and a handful of friends, and we are going to have a great time. That way I can have a happy memory to replace the bad one, so I don't think about my ex anymore when this festival comes up.

My friend told me that she had already begun doing that, and it seemed to be helping, but she wanted to know if there was anything else she could be doing.

Something I had to do, which may not really be relevant to her, was I had to learn to do holidays by myself again, to prove to myself that I could. I had done holidays with my ex for 6 years, and she had always been there to celebrate with me. Honestly, the thought of celebrating Christmas or Thanksgiving or even 4th of July without her was a bit strange. I didn't want to have to think about it, but I had to force myself to do it, to help myself realize that I didn't need to celebrate with anyone else. I could have fun celebrating a holiday by myself.

Was it easy? Not always, because when you show up to a family function without your used-to-be-significant-other, your family will question, and it just reopens the wound. But this gave me the opportunity to follow Johnathan's first word of advice: own my story.

The last thing he told me was that I had to forgiver her and let my anger go, because she didn't care. She had made her choice, and her choice didn't include me. She didn't care that I was angry with her. She didn't care that I didn't forgive her. She never asked my opinion on whether or not I was okay with the divorce.

She didn't care.

That was the most difficult for me to do. I had to realize that the person I had spent 6 years of my life on didn't give a single thought to me anymore. She didn't care that I was hurting. She didn't care that I was angry. She didn't care about how I was dealing with it all.

I didn't want to forgive her. I didn't want to let my anger go. But it was eating me away inside, and it wasn't doing me any good. And as I have said multiple times - she didn't care. My anger and frustration wasn't bothering her. Me not forgiving her wasn't a factor to her. She had made her choice, and it wasn't me.

When I finally had forgiven her and let my anger go, I felt overwhelming peace (again, read Matters of the Heart for more).

I told my friend that in order to move on, she needed to own her story, but she also needed to forgive him for hurting her, because it was clear that it was hindering her and that he didn't seem to care. He was waiting for her to reach out, thinking they were good. To him (which he has told me), everything between them was amicable. To her, everything was far from amicable. They were on opposite sides of the spectrum.

I like to think I helped her in some small way, and maybe I did. Who really knows? But I hope that if you're reading this and you've recently gone through a break-up, whether it's a romantic one or a platonic one, that these words of advice will be helpful to you.

I hope and pray that these tips will give you a new lease on life and they will help you to move on and be a happier person.

They worked for me, so maybe they'll work for you as well.