Phase 1: Motivation Still Active

Finally, I'm here.  Finally, I've made it to the jumping-off point from which I will do and accomplish more than I expected.  For those of you who don't know, I checked into The Basic School (TBS) in Quantico, Virginia on 29 April (Delta Company, 5th Plt). The first week has been a whole lot of in-processing/medical/admin work, but we're getting into the swing of things.  

Last week, we all completed our swim qualification (Beginner and Intermediate), to include a 250 meter swim (in cammies and boots), treading/floating in water for ten minutes (we used our blouses and trousers as flotation devices), a 50m walk/swim with kevlar (helmet), flak jacket, assault pack, and rifle (all the gear was fixed together), and a gear-dump in deep water. Y'all know I'm very much a land-dweller, but the swim qual was awesome. It tested me in an area in which I am unaccustomed, so I love that. Next time, I'll loosen the double knot in my boots before I try to take them off under water...

Initial PFT was yesterday (scored a 295...one dad-gum pull-up short) so it's good to have that under our belts. We're finishing up administrative work for the rest of the week, so y'all can count on more enthralling stories about how I tactically maneuvered my way through the Naval hospital in order to complete all dental screens (Objective A) and attain five pairs of portholes (Objective B).

God has so cleverly prepared me for and placed me in this situation. Of course, if I was a perfect officer, I wouldn't need TBS, so I'm hungry for learning and growth. We have phenomenal staff and enlisted advisers who are invested in us and our contribution to the Marine Corps as effective, competent servant leaders.

These six months have already been guarded and blessed. Not just for me, but for the entire company. I am encouraged and motivated by my peers and know we are going to accomplish and learn not only from the staff and instructors, but from each other. It's finally time to do work, y'all, and I couldn't ask for a greater opportunity. Here's to six months of miserable days, long nights, and whole heck of a lot work. This is what we asked for. This is what will separate the good from the best: the boot Lieutenants from the Marine Officers. Let's get it.

"Then you will walk on your way securely, and your foot will not stumble. If you lie down, do not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet. Do not be afraid of sudden terror of the ruin of the wicked, when it comes, for the Lord will be your confidence and will keep your foot from being caught. Do not withold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it."
 --Proverbs 3:23-27

Here's my address in case you're interested:

2ndLt Jennie L Pearson
Delta Co, 5 Plt
The Basic School
24164 Belleau Ave
Quantico, VA 22134

(No pictures yet, but be expecting some as the POI progresses)

Trek

Warning: The material you are about to read is inherently mushy and emotional.  Read with caution. And a box of Kleenex…or a barf bag, whichever suits you.

I want to tell you I had yet another "God meets me where I am" moment, but it's more like a "God meets you where I am" life. I can no longer chalk up my blessings to singular moments or brief periods of time when I experienced God tangibly working.

I've been climbing this mountain, hoping to get to the top where some better version of myself awaits, looking at the breathtaking view, loving life. Throughout my climb, I've called out to that girl standing at the peak: "Hey, why don't you quit slacking up there and help me," "Why can't I see you," "What's the easiest way up?"

She wouldn't answer. As I climbed, I imagined what Future Jennie looked like, what kinds of things she would say, who her friends were, what color backpack she'd used to get to the top. None of her attributes or possessions looked like what I had. Her abs were definitely tighter. She was eloquent…or maybe she just put together coherent sentences without stumbling over herself. She had genuine friends who loved and cared for her dearly, not temporarily. Her backpack was pink and grey and mine was clearly black and blue. The more she ignored my cries for help and revelation, the louder I shouted,  "Throw me a shoe," "This dude I know I'm supposed to marry just texted me, 'Hi', what do I reply," "Shout out some core exercises for me!"

The louder my shouts to Future Jennie became, the more I stumbled as I climbed. At first, those rocks were small, then bigger ones caused me to roll my ankles (a lot). I walked face-first into boulders, fell flat on my face after tripping over massive tree stumps, and stepped on one-too-many snakes as angry shouts grew louder. As I continued to drag my feet, my voice tired and eventually petered out. I decided she was never going to answer so I diverted my attention to my climb. I realized I was on the backside of the mountain and I'd missed who knows how many days of spectacular view. I had to stop.
  
My eyes wanted to look in every direction, all at once. I looked below me and saw the places where I'd fallen, but I could also see the footprints leading away from those spills.  I looked around and ahead of me and saw the hand-holds that would pull me up to the next flat as well as the rocks I would need to avoid on the way up.  However, when I looked up, there was still no Future Jennie at the top. She'd abandoned me.  How dare her.

I started to call for her but I heard my echo: my own voice, bouncing off the other cliffs just to return to me.  I suddenly felt like a fool.  For the entirety of the climb, I'd been shouting to no one but myself.  Little did I care to know or recognize, my shouts were heard by the One who stood at the top of the mountain, who carried me over the obstacles, and who walked with me even when my shouts were nothing but noise.  And those little stumbles? They made me a little bit tougher. The big falls? They weren't anything that couldn't or wouldn't heal.

"Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is." -1 John 3:2

"Beloved, I pray that all may go well with you and that you may be in good health, as it goes well with your soul." -3 John 1:2

So now I'm at the beautiful ledge, trying to soak in the view I've missed for so long, hanging out with my Trail Guide who calls me "Beloved." I can clearly see all the mess below me, but I know it's okay because I won't fall down there. There is no Future Jennie. She's a make-believe person who could never do what I already accomplish so well.  With this body, with this mind, and with this heart I will continue to climb. What once were shouts of anger will become songs of joy, because I am climbing toward beauty, grace, and glory beyond comprehension.                  

All Day, Err-day

    Ever had one of those moments when you know God's right there with you?  You're absolutely overwhelmed by his presence and may be driven to raise your hands, sing, or, dare I say, cry?  You realize the things you've been worried about are already taken care of?  For me, this moment tends to creep up on me during worship at church. When I lived in Dallas, that moment hit me every Sunday at The Village.  I walked into church knowing the Holy Spirit was going to move in me and I left every week wiping the tears from my cheeks.

Lately, though, I've been shaking my fists at God, asking Him why in the heck he's not making me cry during worship.  Why Lord? Why aren't you making me feel like I should fall to my knees and cry my eyes out?  Why am I not crying my makeup off and walking out of church looking like a complete nutcase?  Week after week, I've walked away from worship frustrated God wasn't moving like I thought He should be.

Then, Friday night happened.  I started reading Steven Furtick's Greater and let's just say things the Lord has been trying to show me for a long time came to fruition in a tangible, fall-to-your-knees-and-cry-your-makeup-off kind of way.

How much time had I wasted worrying about why my time in worship wasn't "doing it" for me?  Over the past few months, as I prayed about my struggles, I thought about advice pointing me toward verses like James 1:2 (Count it in all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds). Therefore I thought, "The answer is worship.  I just need to turn on my feel-good music and listen or sing along.  That'll fix everything."  If we're being completely honest, most feel-good Christian music is pretty bad and it doesn't do much for me because, well, it's Pop radio with a greater message.     

 How selfish of it was me to think that worship was for me?  What about all those people who've never felt the Holy Spirit move like that?  Would it have been too much for me to pray for someone else to receive that blessing? I've been so self-centered to use worship as a tool for myself. Gimme, gimme, gimme, Lord!    

As I sat in the floor of my living room, I understood what it means for God to meet us where we are.  I had trapped myself in the tunnel vision of church worship.  I was convinced church was the place where I was closest to the Lord.  However, God has been trying to get it through my thick head that if I'm open-minded enough to realize His work in every aspect of my life, that closeness happens a whole lot more often than once a week for fifteen minutes.  What's even cooler is realizing I can worship Him without music at all.  Worship is setting aside time to dive into the Word.  Worship can be a conversation.  Worship can be a success at work.  Worship can be a moment of vulnerability, face down in your living room floor.

There have been a few moments when I thought my miserable life was so depressing there was no real reason to worship at all.  Luckily, worship isn't about praising God for the hell life can be, but praising Him for already getting us through those times and saving a spot for us in His Kingdom:

'Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably, with reverence and awe, for our "God is a consuming fire."
      -Hebrews 12:28-29

Not only is there so much better in store for us, but God's love consumes every aspect of our lives.  He's desires to control every aspect of our lives to shape us for good, not only for others, but for ourselves. If you ask me, that's a reason to worship...even outside the church walls.  

Leg Up

We'd spent 5 months together, we'd grown close, we'd fought, and we'd learned what the future might hold for each of us. The interns at Athletes Performance had grown to know each others desires in life as well as the things that sent us into a rage.  Then, one afternoon, Roy asked us the question, "Who is one person you believe to be successful," and I think each of the interns knew there was something wrong with my answer.

I was first up, and I regretted it as soon as it came out of my mouth, "Bill Gates."

In my mind, I was thinking, "Bill Gates.  He's made a fortune, but not necessarily for himself.  He gives, and he had to struggle to get to where he is. So yeah, that's why most people say Bill Gates is successful, right?"

However true that may be, it's a terrible reason to justify giving an answer that's not my own, but society's.  When I think about what success looks like to me, it certainly isn't Bill Gates.  However, because that was my answer, I was forced to step back and reassess where my heart and my intentions are in relation to the things I do and the ways in which I strive toward what I think is success.  Am I aiming for recognition? Money? Friends?  Or, am I striving toward serving others so they may know a life filled with hope?  What has stricken me in working with and meeting people in my long 23 years of life is that so many have given up on hope for their life, their families, or their careers.  Success, to me, means helping others understand that hope can be restored, no matter how far south we think our lives have gone.

Roy asked us that question in May and it took losing someone incredibly dear to me last week to finally form that picture of success in my own mind.  Louis "Louie" Canelakes became somewhat of a dad to me while I was in Dallas. I stumbled upon a hostessing position for his bar on the weekends and kept the job for three years.  Louie's was the place that oftentimes reminded me Dallas wasn't so bad and I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself.  Everyone there welcomed me as one of their own.  I celebrated birthdays, went on dates, and watched a multitude of Ranger games with my family at Louie's.  Every week, no matter how busy he was, Louie made sure to stop, ask how I was, and give me a brief lesson in Greek history.  He dropped what he was doing when someone sketchy was trying to hit on me, but we always had a lighthearted laugh about it after the fact.  He cared for his dive bar and his family there with a genuine heart, week after week.  Even though Louie's is popular, Louie refused to allow his bar to become a money-hungry, run-of-the-mill, cookie cutter establishment.  He was true to himself, true to his family, and never wavered from his convictions.

Louie took the time to get to know people and believed in their causes, even if it countered his own.  Louie embodied what so many of us lack: faith.  Not only did Louie have faith in those around him, he had faith in himself and what he knew he was put on earth to do.  When everyone told him he needed to grow or bring in more money, Louie kept his foot down.  That's not who he was and that's not how he would be successful.  It would have been easy for Louie to search and hire big-name business managers, chefs, and staff who would have promoted his name.  However, he had faith in the people and family he brought into Louie's, because he knew as well as anyone they had faith in him. He welcomed big-name customers as well as families living from paycheck to paycheck.  When he heard criticism and was told what he was doing was sub-par, his faith in his cause overrode that negativity. 

Louie's cause wasn't for money, it wasn't for recognition, it wasn't to gain a hold in the Dallas social scene. Louie wanted to make a place where everyone from every corner of Dallas could meet on an even playing field.  He couldn't care less how much money you had or didn't have, he was going to serve you and if you found a place at the bar and wanted to talk, he wanted to listen.  Louie lived outside himself, which is apparent in the memories he established within those who knew him. 

Don't get me wrong, success manifests itself in various ways, because we all have different purposes.  There's nothing wrong with making a lot of money.  It's okay for people to know your name.  It's even alright if your success puts you in a position of authority.  However, when we have those things, those titles, and that recognition for our own gain without regard to others, that is failure.  Success doesn't mean being able to do whatever you want, but rather giving up some pleasures or niceties in order to have the opportunity to uplift and better others.  Yeah, success is sacrifice, but its done in faith, which reaps a blessing, not only for the successful one, but for those he serves.

We can't take our money, our friends, or our possessions with us when we leave, but we can take our souls.  If those souls are filled with kindness, service, faith, and selflessness, Heaven will be filled with a whole lot of love, and that sounds like a great place to be.  Lou, thanks for having faith in yourself, and thanks for having faith in me.  I thought and still think you're crazy every time you said I was going to be a governor, but I know without a doubt you had faith in my future and that means the world to me.  And Roy, I have a different answer now, and it's not Bill Gates.        

                

Did I Do That?

You've had the conversation.  You know, someone asks you what your regrets in life are.  Chances are this question either dive bombs straight into a heart-to-heart or you quickly say, "I don't have any," and you sit in awkward silence until someone can think of a new topic.

The latter has always been true for me.  I'm always the one to say, "I don't have any regrets. It happened, it's over, I moved on." What about you?  Do you dwell on actions you either deliberately or unintentionally made that didn't turn out so hot?  Do you, like me, scoff at the idea of having regrets because that clearly means you actually screwed up?  Obviously, I'm perfect, so I'm gonna cling to that "No Regrets" reply until my fingers go numb.

On two separate occasions this morning, I was shown that while my answer to the question isn't necessarily wrong, it's grounded in an incorrect and selfish ideology.  Take note:

"I have no regrets because everything I did made me who I am today. I made those choices, I'm alive, I'm a pretty good person now."

Then, there's the other camp that's equally wrong:

"I have plenty of regrets because I feel badly about the things I've done and I wish I never would have made those choices.  It hurts me to think I did those things and sometimes those regrets impact my life today."

Lots of personal pronouns in there.  We tend to think of our past and our actions in light of how they impacted us.  Certainly, there are times when our actions hurt others, but whether we regret or stand by those actions, that stance in grounded in how that makes us feel in the long run.  Whether you choose to believe it or not, that shame, that guilt, is sin rearing its head to get at us.  But sin, y'all, isn't just something that happens, it's something that actively separates us from the only One who can redeem.  When we selfishly view that sin, we lose sight of how it has impacted our relationship with Christ, and we end up with the two viewpoints.

On one hand, the sin/action happened, but it ultimately contributed to the "better" person today.  This validates sin in a way that is really scary.  Here, it is because of sin that we are better or stronger people. We must refuse to give sin that power. Its Christ redemption interrupting that sin that saved us from being consumed by it.  By giving sin the power to "make us better," Christ becomes nothing more than an excuse for people to use to call themselves Christians.  You've met this person. You may be this person.

On the other hand, sin dwells and actively eats away at the conscience, to prevent a person from forgiving himself and others.  With this mindset, sin plays its well-known role, in that it prevents us from healing and turning to Christ's love, which opens the doors to freedom.  Here, we totally miss the concept of redemption.  We allow a sin, a (sometimes single) action, to convince us we are not worth a full measure of love and forgiveness and again, we are separated from Christ.

So now school circle, around me.  We have two viewings of our actions (sins), one of which tells us sin actually makes us better, stronger people in the long run, and one of which suggests we must always remember those sins because they were terrible and we shouldn't ever do them again.  So now, enter Christ and enter redemption.

When we feel bad about the things we do, that's called conviction and it's God's way of exposing our shortcomings to us.  What we fail to realize is when we claim responsibility for conquering sins, we don't really heal.  We end up hardened and proud, rather than humbled by our faults.  Christ, y'all, is the reason we can recognize those sins and grow, not out of those sins, but out of Christ's love.  When we hold onto our sins because we feel guilty about letting them go, we miss redemption. Our Creator so longs for us to experience freedom from all that junk, he paid a huge price for it.

And please, for the love of all that is good, realize no amount of action, either good or bad, can get you into or out of Eternity.  Actions of this world remain in this world.  That change of heart, that conviction and mercy, is what gets us where we want to go.  For those who have been judged by Christians for your lifestyle, your actions, or even rumors about your actions, I am so incredibly sorry.  What's cool about Christ is the moment we truly recognize those sins before Him, he asks, "What sin," and moves forward.

Love keeps no record of wrongs.  Your actions, both good and bad, hold no weight in your redemption. It's Christ's love, his heart, his sacrifice that justifies your salvation. So let's restructure our regret sentence with a little help.

"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" Romans 3:23

"He sent redemption to his people.  He has commanded his covenant forever. Holy and awesome is His name!" Psalm 111:9

"He saved us, not because of works done by us in righteous, but according to his own mercy by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior." Titus 3:5-6    

We all sin.  God loves us and has promised redemption and he's good on his word.  Nothing we can do can get us to Heaven or condemn us to Hell, because Jesus, quite literally, paid it all. Therefore, I know I have sinned, but God's love and forgiveness has helped me recognize it and through him, I have grown and learned to love. For you pessimists, this sounds like a too-good-to-be-true, give me a break, fantasy idea. That's the magnitude of it all. We (understandably) don't comprehend and can't conceptualize that kind of love and forgiveness. Take heart in the fact that we are not condemned to a life of regret, but we are welcomed to redemption and freedom in a full, joyous life God has for us.                      

When I Get to Glory I'm Gonna...

Music.  Luckily it's played a unique and significant role in my life for as long as I can remember.  I remember sitting at the foot of Mom and Dad's bed while Dad played his guitar and sang (sometimes hilariously inappropriate) songs for Maggie and I.  On the road to dance class, I heard everything from Classical to Country, Musicals and Big Band.  I learned I wasn't worth my weight in gold unless I could pick out the whine of a fiddle and follow a lead whether it was a half- or two-step or a waltz.

I was reminded on Wednesday just how much music moves me.  Wednesday's my day to tutor at Junction Christian Academy in Hobbs.  I spend three hours with kiddos from K-4th grade and I only enjoy it so much because we're on the same level.  So nice to finally find someone who shares my passion for "We Sing Silly Songs" and writing the alphabet...in print and cursive.

This week, I wrapped up the day with Mrs. June's 3rd grade class.  After picking up rocks from the playground and using them to practice spelling words, we headed inside to sing a few songs.  Mrs. June told me I could leave, but I told her I would be happy to hang out with the kids until they left for the day.  The kids all looked up at the projector screen, waiting for Mrs. June to pick the song she wanted.  A grainy YouTube video popped up, and I noticed the title: "Thank You Soldiers-Veteran's Day/Memorial Day Song."  I thought, "Well, that's neat," as I smirked a little and waited for the music to play.

I would love to stop there and be able to say, "They sang, it was cute, we went home.  Yay music," but as the song played and the kids started singing, the tears skipped the lump in my throat and went straight to my eyes.   

 "When I lay my head down at night, and go to sleep in peace, I can stay there knowing all is well knowing you're standing on your feet." 

That's how the song starts and it's all downhill from there.  Yes, it's corny.  Yes, it's simple.  Yes, some of the kids were picking their noses with the eraser end of a pencil.  However, what was so cool was neither Mrs. June nor those kids know I am a Marine.  I stood at the back of the room, my arms crossed, realizing those kids were saying, "Thank you," to all of my brothers and sisters.  I found myself singing with them, thanking the ones who went before me and the ones who are with me now.

A lot of vets will tell you the only thing they want is some resemblance of gratitude.  They don't necessarily need to be called out and thanked in public or recognized for a valiant achievement.  Just show a little bit of grace and try to understand just how much so many of those men and women have given.  My hope, and what moved me so much, was that song and how it might affect those kids.  That song and those lyrics help them understand this country and the individuals who serve it are remarkable.  Mrs. June probably won't ever read this, but I hope she knows how much I appreciate her for giving vets that honor, even it seems like a minimal gesture.               

Then, last night when I went to pick up Dad, I found him at Uncle Tommy's house, strumming away at some classic favorites and some that are...only known in the Pearson circle.  Uncle Tommy immediately made me a drink and I sat back, soaking up the words and the rhythms that have comforted me, made me laugh, and brought tears to my eyes for twenty-two years.  We didn't care what time it was or how loud we were.  We knew we were going to lose sleep, but I curled up in Uncle Tommy's denim jacket and refused to move. In that moment, we knew nothing could beat what the four of us had, because the songs held us together and we would have been foolish to let go too soon.   

         

Hear Ye Hear Ye

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            Every time I walk past my Ghee’s old straw hat, I wonder if he’d be proud of who I am.  That old hat sits on a horseshoe hook in our utility room.  It’s now “mine” but in nine years, I’ve yet to wear it and Mom knows better than to try to get rid of it.  I don’t hang onto much, but that hat ain’t goin’ nowhere. 

            Then there’s Pappaw’s handful of coins that sit in a small box, tucked away in my desk.  When I open that box, I remember him telling me stories about the places he’d been, even though I was too young to appreciate any of it.  That money’s still good somewhere, but the thought that those coins meant something to Pappaw makes me shut that lid and tuck the box away every time. 

              Gheegee, well, she kept a lot of…crap.  However, she was right in thinking some of the treasures she kept would mean something to some of us.  We dug up a letter Dad wrote to the Easter Bunny one of the first years Uncle Tommy was able to hunt eggs:

            Dear Easter Bunny,

            Please hide Tommy’s eggs on the east side of the house.  Hide mine on the west side.

Love,

Clabe

            That letter, at one point in time, was trivial to everyone but Gheegee.  She knew someday Dad would pick up that letter and shake his head. 

            I think about the things left to us by those who are no longer with us and it epitomizes one of my favorite sayings: "The best things in life aren't things."  I am so often frustrated with how many expensive, flashy things I think I must have because they add some aesthetic pleasure to my life.  In those moments, I fail to recognize the things in my life that add value.  How much have I missed?  What did I miss out on learning? 

            Last week, my precious Mammaw stayed with us and I got to drive her home one evening.  As we drove, she reflected upon things she’d done and experiences she’d had in the past.  She told me how, when she was in high school in Wink, Texas, if the black kids wanted to go any further than junior high, they had to go to school in Hobbs, NM (a 70 mile commute).  I asked her if, when she saw that happening, she knew it was wrong or if she just accepted it as how life was. 

            “Oh no. I knew it was wrong.  I knew they didn’t deserve to be treated like that,” her voice suddenly went soft, “You know, Jen,” her voice now shook and tears started falling, “When Dr. King and all those people marched in Washington, it just broke my heart that I couldn’t be there with him.”

            I forgot my pride as she and I cried together, relishing in the raw compassion we shared in that moment.  The conversation continued (as well as the tears) and that night, my life and my experience gained value.  I could have easily turned on the radio and driven home to the music or NPR program I wanted to hear.  We would have enjoyed each others' presence and life would be fine, but what would I have gained?  The latest on Syria?  Uncle Tupelo's latest single?  That moment was like God saying, "Hey you.  Selfish.  Stop tuning out the important people and listen.  You're gonna want to hear this."  

          Y'all these conversations and these moments of value don't have to come from your grandparents.  They come from peers, parents, neighbors, children, and strangers.  People.  We've become so enamored with temporary fixes that we've forgotten what value the human experience has when it is shared in a deep, conversational, thoughtful manner.  This is not one of those delete-all-social-media-and-move-to-Zimbabwe posts.  Use Twitter.  Use Facebook.  Use Instagram.  But y'all, give a damn.  Liking, favoriting, and sharing something does not translate into genuine compassion and concern.  If someone's on your mind, text them.  Call them.  Learn how to have a conversation again.  

           There are things that cost money and there are things with value.  The moment I told my mom we needed to put down our phones and play Scrabble together; that was valuable.  The conversation with Mammaw: valuable.  The memories in Ghee's hat, Pappaw's coins, and Gheegee's letters: those are my treasures.  Those memories are lessons.  They're fears, temptations, and wrongdoings.  They're victories, laughter, and love.  Listen to 'em.  They're worth hearing.