Cinco de Mayo

This day has brought about a change in me, about eight seconds ago. Upon perusing other creative and well pondered blogs for a time, I want to start taking mine in a new direction. 

The current is too…snappy, too ..unfocused. It looks a lot like my life, actually.

But today I’m going to start over. Cinco de Mayo. My own little new year’s.

For anyone who takes time to stop by, I am a girl, regardless of the now obviously misleading username. Call me Becc. I am a junior in cyber school. I live in Pennsylvania. I spend most of my time working at a retirement home, watching tv with my family, working on my classes, or running around with my very troubled yet best friend Katy.

The most fun and intriguing section of my life at this point is the youth ministry where Katy and I spend lots of time. But before I can tell that story, I feel I should tell this one:

I once lived with my parents and  brothers together in a country town. We all went to a good baptist church. My parents got divorced, my mom moved into a trailer a few hours away, and my Dad has not had a stable living arrangement since.

Every year I go to a church camp with that church that I started with. I started when I was four, and here I am 12 years later, looking forward to this summer’s camp as much as ever. That camp was one of my only connections that I had with people who listened to God for eight years.

My dad and mom raised me well. My mom, a potential psychologist who took up a mail route to support four kids alone, has consistently taught me how to think for myself and see the value of self discipline. My father was a rule enforcer, which made for a less than fun childhood sometimes, but eventually I realized that I wouldn’t know what I know or believe what I believe if not for all of the lectures I’ve heard time and time again.

I went to a few dozen churches over the course of eight years. I watched quite a few tv preachers. Usually it was just too much for my mom to take us to church every Sunday when she worked almost every day all day. Understandable.

But throughout all of this, I know I have scars I don’t even see myself from divorce, custody fights, arguments, moving, whatnot. But I always wanted to know more about God. Of all the kids that slip through the cracks, that little sunday school lessons don’t have much of a lasting effect on them, that childhood gets passed over for what they feel is expected of them, somehow I didn’t. God preserved me.

And then I met Katy. When I was a easily punked, worried little chiclet in middle school. I also me Ali. Ali hated Katy. Ali was SUPER COOL. So I hated Katy. Only God loved Katy, so I just had to be nice to her until the time came for me to choose cool over right, and I did.

Eventually, Katy and I became friends. Ali is long gone. And Katy led me to a ministry for kids around town. A hang out. I fell in love with the first congregation I had ever seen express any without reservation. And I’ve been there since.

God pulled me back into His world. And I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I met many focused, devoted people who have an eight year or so head start on me in the walk with God, not that it is necessarily a race.

And so here I am. You probably stumbled upon this blog from someone else’s. You are my audience alone. This isn’t something I do and share with my friends. It is a blog to reflect on my thoughts and hopefully get some answers from the hoard of intellectuals surfing the web at three a.m. I shouldn’t even assume that more than one person will ever read this.

Except me. I’m neurotic enough to check what I wrote to see if I’ve matured.

I’m tired of writing. This was way too long a post.