an exciting update!

I have some exciting news!

I was just admitted to grad school, and though I won’t be starting until January 2014, I am so eager to pursue my MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults at Vermont College of Fine Arts.  It is a low-residency program, which means that I will still live in Minnesota, stay working at Northwestern, and do much of my program online and through correspondence, but once each semester I will travel out to Montpelier for an intense 10-day residency full of lectures, workshops, and meeting with an advisor.

You might remember that, at the start of the year, I was saying how my life is different than I’d imagined it would be at 31, and that I’d always expected to have an advanced degree by now.  The thought wouldn’t leave me, so I started to investigate graduate programs around the country.  I was drawn to VCFA for its low-residency format and how it is project-based and because it is one of only a few schools that has an MFA specific to YA writing.  Also, this is the school where Jandy Nelson, author of the incredible The Sky is Everywhere, attended!  The idea kept taking root, and when my friend Hannah asked me, “Would you go if it was free?” and I answered, “Yes!” without a moment’s hesitation, my true desires were revealed to me.

So I applied right after I got home from the writing workshop in California, sending them the newly revised first 25 pages of my manuscript, along with a critical essay, and a personal essay, and I’ve been pretty quiet about it on my blog because I didn’t want to have to reveal to the world wide web that I’d been rejected if that’s what happened.

But it didn’t!

I’m so thrilled.  I chose to defer to the January semester because of my roommate Desiree’s wedding this summer and so that I would have until the end of the year to polish and finish the novel I am writing now (which you all see snippets of here and there and everywhere).  I wanted to start grad school with a blank slate so that I wouldn’t be pining away for an unfinished project the whole time.

So, there’s my news!  I’m doing cartwheels of joy!

cartwheel2

God’s Sovereignty, OCD, the Cross, and His Purposes

Just wanted to sort out some thoughts and spark conversation on my blog today.

A little while ago, I asked the question on my blog Did God give me OCD? and came to conclusion that yes, he did, to draw me to himself and so that I could use it to glorify him and help others.  A blog reader challenged me on that conclusion, and I thought her questions were valid.  She wrote:

Let me challenge this: Is God good or bad? Does God do bad things? I do not believe that God gives people sickness, disorders, etc. It is contrary to God’s character to do those things. I DO believe that God will use bad circumstances/disease/etc in order to bring Him glory and all the things you said. BUT the whole reason that Jesus died for us is to enter into relationship with the Father. There had to be a sacrifice to tear the veil and stand in the gap between the God of the Old Testament and the New Covenant. When we look at the OT, we have to look at it through the lens of the Cross…would the Cross change how a situation would look? Judgement in the New Testament is always correctional because final judgement doesn’t happen on this earth anymore (it did in the OT). When we look at sickness, we see that Jesus performed miracles to show God’s love. He never caused anyone sickness. I do not believe that God gave you OCD, but I 100% agree that God is good and uses your OCD to drive you to Him, so that you could glorify Him with it, and to help others who are suffering.

This comment has got me thinking deeply about this.  Right now, it’s still a pretty jarbled (that’s a mix of jumbled and garbled) blend of the doctrine of suffering (suffering in itself is not virtuous, but it does seem purposeful [Romans 8:28-29]), God’s sovereignty (is God in control of everything?  Even disease/disorder?  Sin and evil aren’t of his making, but if he gave humans the choice to opt for them, doesn’t that mean he is still master over it all?), and hindsight (now that OCD is not master of me, it’s easier to see the larger picture of OCD as a tool God used in my life).

I think that my position (for now) still stands with the belief that God did give me OCD for his glory and purposes.

cross4To answer the commenter’s questions, I respond with my own questions: from one perspective, the CROSS was a “bad thing.”  In the moment, who would have guessed it would come to be known as GOOD Friday?  And we know it was planned. Redemption through the cross was the plan for forever.  “Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him; he has put him to grief; when his soul makes an offering for guilt, he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days; the will of the LORD shall prosper in his hand” (Isaiah 53:10).  Think of this from a human perspective.  If we watched a father allow his son to be tortured, we would probably say that dad was doing a “bad thing.”

But, of course, we don’t see the cross from that angle anymore.  We know what happened on Sunday morning after Christ’s death.  And we now know that the cross is the most beautiful thing, the event that allows us freedom and life.  We look on the “bad thing” as a glorious thing.

So, could it be that way with OCD?  (I don’t think I’m ready to call it a “glorious thing” yet!)  But if suffering is predetermined (“Therefore let those who suffer according to God’s will entrust their souls to a faithful Creator while doing good” [1 Peter 4:19]), who predetermined it?  It’s hard for me to separate God from control over all things (I’m still sorting through some of this, including the fall of man).

What do you think?  Let’s dialogue.

Helping Those With Recovery Avoidance

Love these thoughts from my blogging friend Janet!!

Janet (ocdtalk)'s avatarocdtalk

two people talkingAs I’ve said before, one of the most heartbreaking aspects of OCD is the frequent occurrence of recovery avoidance. Obsessive-compulsive disorder is a potentially devastating disorder, but it is treatable. Yet so many sufferers are so terrified of treatment, and perhaps of even getting better, that they cannot bring themselves to even attempt Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP) Therapy.

So what can we do when someone we love has OCD but is not “ready” for treatment? The above article gives suggestions which include expressing our concerns to our loved ones, not enabling them, and continuing to live our own lives in a positive manner. So many families of those with recovery avoidance follow these recommendations as best they can. Sometimes there are positive results, and other times, the OCD sufferer continues to deteriorate before their very eyes.

It’s hard, especially for parents who are used to making everything “all…

View original post 357 more words

My Love/Hate Relationship with Feedback

“If you show someone something you’ve written, you give them a sharpened stake, lie down in your coffin, and say, ‘When you’re ready.’”
David Mitchell, Black Swan Green

Yup.  That’s about it.

No, but seriously, I have such a love/hate relationship with feedback and writing criticism.

On the one hand, I hate it.  Showing people a chapter you’ve written is like saying, “Look, here’s my baby.  Tell me if you think it’s ugly.”  And they do.  You slave over your words, you climb up a mountain with them, and when you finally reach the top, someone pushes you over and you tumble back down.  It’s really, really hard to get writing feedback, especially when you truly care about a project.  When I was in my writing program in college, I couldn’t look at feedback on my poetry and stories immediately after our work was graded.  I would get my work back, and– while looking away from the top of the page where the grade was– would fold it in half and tuck it, unseen, into my backpack.  In my room, I would move it to a desk drawer where it would sit– still unseen– until it was time to work on the next draft; usually by that time, the sting would have gone out of it a little bit.

During my senior capstone, I had to learn how to handle criticism.  I met every single week with my advisor, who could cover the whole front and back sides of a sheet of paper in red ink full of suggestions, deletions, squiggle underlines (bad), straight underlines (good), and the word PUSH.  There would be more red ink from her than black ink from what I’d originally written.  In addition, every week, I sat down with a group of seven other writers, and we critiqued each other’s work aloud in a local Caribou.  At the beginning of that semester, I would pray before I had to meet with my advisor; I was so nervous for her critiques and so scared I might cry in front of her.

By the end of that semester, though, I had learned how to handle criticism– and better yet: I had learned how to take the criticism, revisit my writing, and make it better.  When I graduated, I had a senior portfolio I was proud of.

So on the other hand, I love criticism.  I love that my friends who love reading and writing, words and metaphors, can see the potential in my drafts and that they are willing to put the time and energy into reading them and making suggestions.  I love that they can pick out the obvious flaws that I somehow just cannot see.  They tell me when my characters aren’t being true to themselves; they find big-picture concepts that are a little off and help me correct them.  I have realized that the mere fact that someone is willing to offer feedback shows that they are investing in me and my writing, shows that they believe it has a future, one they want to buy into.

I’m so blessed.  I have the most incredible writing group.  Anna, Rachel L, Jaidyn, Rachel R, Carra, and Addie.  We meet once a month to share life, stories, poems, and commiserations.  They are all completely brilliant and care deeply for me and my novel, and I am so, so grateful for their help on this journey.  Along with my writing group, I also have wonderful beta-readers in Elyse, Stacey, and Mary.  My faithful blog readers Brienna and Melody too!  My mom and sister are rockstar readers as well.

In addition, I have been getting help from Ben Barnhart, this incredible editor in Minneapolis, and of course, I went to the Big Sur Writing Workshop too for an intense look at my first two chapters.  I have come a long, long way from those early days of feedback– now I seek it out.  It’s still not easy; make no mistake.  It’s hard.  But it’s good.  

In fact, for me, it’s the only way I can take my writing to the next level.

How about you?  How do you feel about feedback and constructive criticism?

group reading

Blog for Mental Health 2013

blog for mental health

1.) Take the pledge by copying and pasting the following into a post featuring “Blog for Mental Health 2013.”

I pledge my commitment to the Blog For Mental Health 2013 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.

2.) Link back to the person who pledged you.

I would like to thank the author of It’s not me, it’s my OCD for pledging me and for letting me know about this initiative!

3.) Write a short biography of your mental health, and what this means to you.

It was an ordinary strep throat infection, but my body’s immune system turned traitor on me and my antibodies attacked my basal ganglia instead.  I was seven years old when OCD first reared its ugly head.  It wasn’t until I was in my 20s when it was finally diagnosed.  For years, my family and I had no name to put to my experience except that “Jackie thinks too much” or “Jackie  overthinks everything.”  I worried about spiritual issues mostly: did I love God, was God real, was I going to heaven, was this-or-that sinful?

It was a long and painful journey, but Exposure and Response Prevention broke me out of OCD’s prison.  Today, I am so grateful for my freedom that I am eager to share my stories with anyone who will listen.

4.) Pledge five others, and be sure to let them know!

I am pledging five of my favourite mental health bloggers:

Bringing Along OCD
ocdtalk
71 and Sunny
Lolly’s Hope
Poet’s Pilgrimage

5.) Join the Official Blog For Mental Health 2013 Blogroll.

The Simple Art of Waving

I grew up in a town of 700.  Kimball, Minnesota, baby, home of the Cubs.  In a town this small, there aren’t a lot of secrets.  Not only do we leave the car unlocked while we run into the store, we leave the keys in the ignition and the car running!  When the ambulance drives by, you follow it to make sure it’s not going to your friend’s house.  Then you call everyone you know to ask what’s going on at the Johnson’s.

We also wave a lot.  A lot of the farmers do the cool thing where they just lift one finger from the steering wheel, but others will honk their horns or show you their whole palm.  I love it.  If I’m in a small town for recruiting, even if it’s one I’m not familiar with, you can see me waving at the people I drive by.  People will wave back too.  It warms my heart.

At Northwestern, the incredible university where I work, people greet each other all the time.  Even if you don’t know the person’s name, you nod and smile.  I think part of it is being a Christian campus and part of it is just the good ol’ Midwest.

But even at my apartment building, my neighbors wave.  A lot.  Jim and Peg, whose patio is just to the left of my building’s front door, greet me every day with a friendly salute.  And the man who lives across the hall from me will honk his horn in his big blue SUV in the parking lot and then wave at me like a crazy person.  “Hello dah-leng!” he shouts in this incredible accent.  “How ah yoo too-day?”

I feel blessed to be surrounded by a community of greeters and wavers.  It’s like being known.  It’s like having a name.

wave

Jealous Palm

hairAfterward, Silas and I had Holy Communion with Laurel on the beach: grape Crush and Goldfish crackers and Silas’s reassurances that it was not irreverent.  We spread a bed sheet over the sand, which felt cold and tired here at summer’s end.  A cool breeze came over the waters from the southwest so that Laurel’s hair blew out behind her like bridal veil.  Silas read a poem he’d written in his Moleskine notebook:

 

Is she the only one to notice the way
the low orange moon walks the streets tonight,
this full satellite standing at the intersection beside men
out late, their shadows stretching behind them like secrets?

She loves the peculiar, the collision of common and celestial,
holiness networking with profanity.  Magnificent absurdity,
the whole of it: God putting on skin and walking with liars,
divinity stapled to a death machine. 

The phenomenon holds her like a jealous palm.

“Silas, that’s really good,” Laurel said as she leaned back on her elbows, looking out at the waves on the water.

Really good!” I gushed.

The praise bounced right off of him.  “It’s about you, Laur,” he said.  He handed me the bottle of Crush and Laurel the bag of Goldfish.  I felt the bubbles of carbonation burn my throat as I swallowed.

“I know,” Laurel said, then tasted a cracker, God’s body.  “I am held by a jealous palm.  I believe that.  Right now, I believe that.”  She closed her eyes, perhaps in prayer, and breathed in the scent of the breeze: algae and white clover that carried over the water onto this holy space.