The following accounts are true, and there is no fiction or hyperbole present. It may be hard to believe. It may be hard to understand. But, even though it’s been almost two years, I still remember everything as clear as if it were just yesterday.

Before I begin my story, let me provide some context. The Aghori are a very specific sub-sect of Hindu priests. They worship Shiva, the god who plays the role of “the destroyer” in Hindu mythology.

They look absolutely terrifying, smoke massive amounts of pot, live far away from cities, ritually consume human flesh, and bathe in human ashes. As a result, they are feared by the rest of society for their cannibalistic activity, and are considered extremely dangerous due to their constant state of being stoned.

Many people also believe them to be practitioners of black magic, which only adds to the terrifying air of mystery and unknown that shrouds the Aghori. Nobody dares try to interrupt their (sometimes very illegal) practices – neither the people they offend nor the police.

One blistering summer day, a friend, who happens to be an architecture student, called me with an interesting proposition.

He had heard about an interesting structure, a large, ancient gateway running along the top of a cliff almost 500 meters high. In ancient times, this used to be the gateway to the plateau we were situated on. My friend (who will now be referred to as V) loved to go explore abandoned monuments scattered all over the state, and I was more than ready to go photograph buildings in disrepair.

We left the city in central India early the next morning, since we only had a vague idea of where it was located. We figured we’d have to do some driving around to find it. Around three hours later, after driving for miles on tiny dirt paths along the cliff with absolutely no cell reception, we got to the gateway. We were sorely disappointed.

It had been ‘restored’ poorly. They had clearly cut corners and basically just slapped ugly, graffitied plaster and cement on top of the beautiful old stone that was originally the surface. Sadly enough, this kind of ‘restoration’ is getting more and more common with Indian monuments.

Our wanderlust far from satisfied, we decided to keep driving a little further. We were already pretty far out in the middle of nowhere. What did we have to lose?

We could see what looked like the ruins of a small, long-abandoned fort. We couldn’t figure out the actual route to drive up to the fort. Luckily, we saw a man walking along the street who probably lived around there.

V pulled down his window and asked the local for directions to the fort. Before he answered, the local hesitated for a minute, and then finally asked us why we would want to visit such a godforsaken place. We were very puzzled. We chalked it up to “superstitious rural bullshit,” laughed it off, and coerced him into pointing us to the right path.

We drove up closer, parked the car about half a mile from the fort where the dirt path ended, and walked over. The doorway to the fort was pretty imposing. It was a massive brass-lined behemoth with nasty looking spikes protruding from it. Since the door looked too heavy and tall for us to move it, we opted to climb over one of the corners that was now just a pile of rubble.

The inside of the fort was almost completely bare, save a few patches of shrubbery and one solitary, tiny free-standing room right in the center. The room had a closed door on it that looked recently installed, which prompted me and V to exchange a look of slight discomfort.

I think we were both rethinking the local’s warning about this place.

We wordlessly decided to steer clear of the room, and distracted ourselves by walking to the other end of the fort to give it a look. All of a sudden, we caught a whiff of a scent that is all too familiar to anyone who has spent the night in a college dorm – it absolutely reeked of weed.

We looked around, and stumbled upon a rather large crop of weed hidden between the shrubbery. This discovery along with the local’s earlier warning and the lack of cell reception had me and V understandably panicked. We decided to head back to the car and get as far away from this spooky fort as possible.

As we were heading back, we crossed the closed door again. To our surprise, it was now open. From the darkness of the room, a menacingly tall, lean man ambled out and looked towards us, confused.

That was our first sight of the Aghori. The cannibalistic priests.

At this point in time, we didn’t know that he was an Aghori, we just saw a man in a loincloth with matted hair and a huge beard glaring at us. He broke the tension by smiling, and told us not to be scared. He told us he was a “holy man,” and that we had no reason to worry. This did nothing to ease our fear. We managed to mumble a vague greeting. He responded by inviting us into his hovel for a cup of tea. We tried to refuse, but he was having none of it.

Culturally, hospitality is a big deal in India; it would be offensive to refuse someone’s hospitality. He got slightly angry, and asked us if we were really planning on refusing a holy man’s hospitality.

Since the car was at least half a mile away and we seemed to have run out of options, we had no choice but to follow him in. A strange sight greeted us inside. There was an altar with a trident sticking out of it. We were terrified, and we didn’t know what fate awaited us.

Once inside, he took his spot on a pile of rags on one side of the altar, and gestured towards another pile of rags on the other side for us to sit on. There was no further mention of tea. Instead, he procured a chillum (pipe) that looked like it was made from bone, and started filling it up with from two neat little piles. One looked like pot and the other is still a mystery to me.

As he lit a match, he said, “We Aghoris believe this is the way to achieve the closest state to our god in this human form.”

It was then that we finally understood that this man was an Aghori. Considering the horrible rumors prevalent about them in India, we were even more terrified. He took a deep draw from the chillum, and wordlessly handed it to V.

V looked uncertain, so the Aghori told us that it wasn’t an option to refuse an offering to his god. He looked at V with a stern glint in his eye, so V gulped and slowly took the chillum from him. He lit a match, took a small draw, and then started coughing violently. The Aghori seemed to find this funny, and laughed.

He gestured to V to hand the chillum to me. With shaking hands, I pretended to take a draw and faked a cough. He seemed to believe my ruse, and took the chillum from me. At this point, me and V were so far past petrified that we were instilled with a false sense of calm, and we decided to make the most of the situation.

V asked the Aghori for his story. What made him reject all of society and take the path of the Aghori?

What we heard was very surprising – one would assume that a person wouldn’t just choose to become an Aghori. It would be the result of being born into it, or having a very hard childhood and being left with no other options.

What the Aghori told us as he sipped on a glass of water was that he was born into a perfectly normal family. He was in school through middle school like a normal child, but in his teen years, he realized that this was his true calling in life.

He thought he had come into contact with a higher power, albeit through no real critical spiritual experience. He rejected his family and his old way of life to become an Aghori. He ran away from home, searched far and wide for an Aghori, and followed him around until the Aghori accepted him as his apprentice and trained him.

All this time I had quietly been taking pictures with the camera that was still around my neck.

As he was taking his next draw from the chillum, he heard my camera’s soft click. He took a purposefully long, slow draw, all the while glaring straight at me accusingly. Once he finished, he paused for a second, and vehemently asked me whether I had been secretly photographing him.

As I stuttered, he slowly started laughing, told me he was just joking, and it was perfectly alright. He even posed for me while twirling his mustache. A few minutes later, he seemed to have been overcome with whatever he was smoking, and he lay down seemingly in a trance. V and I took this chance to quietly slip out, and hurry back to our car.

Neither of us said a word to each other during the three hour drive back home.

I understand that this story might seem pointless. But this was my first real experience with such deep religious spirituality that it converted me from an atheist to agnostic. As a photographer, this is the story behind some of my favorite shots, a story that I have never before shared with anyone in its entirety.

I can wish for something different forever, but at the end of the day I am simply all that I am. I can strive to change different aspects of myself, but I’m still me. The hardest thing for people to accept is themselves. I still struggle daily to fight against comparison and loving myself, but it’s something I’m constantly striving for. It’s something I got much better at when God helped me.

Throughout high school I struggled with being okay with myself. It was always a constant battle of questioning why I did or didn’t have certain things, but always wishing to be comfortable in my own skin. That uphill battle is exhausting. Thankfully, I have the greatest praying parents in the world, and they constantly encouraged me.

More importantly, they taught me to find my encouragement from somewhere bigger than myself – from God. He has helped me fight against comparison.

Soon after getting out of high school and beginning college was when the transformation began. I started filling my days and thoughts with encouragement from the Bible and favorite speakers like Andy Stanley, Louie Giglio, and Christine Caine.

It’s amazing what can happen when you fill your mind with the right things! A peace came into my heart. A peace that helped me be okay with just being me.

This is still something I fight with. I constantly fall into holes of comparison, and sometimes it seems there is no way out. But I still stand strong in my faith, and I know that being made in the image of God means “all that I am” is exactly the way I’m supposed to be.

“Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in Him” Psalm 62:5.

Today I just want to encourage anyone who has similar feelings of self-doubt, inadequacy, or are just having a bad day. Don’t let all that God has for you be hidden by these grips of fear and doubt. Wash off the bad feelings, and choose to be joyful!

Christine Caine once said, “The biggest prison people live in is the fear of what other people think.” Today, let’s decide to get out of prison, run in the sunshine, and embrace all that you are.

“Let all that I am praise the Lord;
May I never forget the good things he does for me.” Psalm 103:2

Every day is beautiful if you choose to see it. Continue in fighting against comparison!

I’ve gotten myself into a lot of trouble with two unassuming words I use all the time: I’ll never. I never intended to do a lot of things. I never intended to go to UGA. I never intended to fall in love with Jesus. I never intended to even major in what I studied in school. In fact, I said no to all of these things that have ultimately shaped me into the person I am right now. But I’ve since learned to never say never.

I had a tendency to not only shut the door, but also to lock it and then attempt to lose the key.I grew up with a very set, rigid idea of what my life would look like. To stray from the course would risk disaster, and I decided at a very young age that I could not afford any upset. I would have bought insurance for my future if I could have.

My old plan actually makes me laugh out loud now because I have no idea where I conjured it up actually, probably from a “best college rankings” list and whatever was cool in the New York Times in 2006.

My parents gave me a lot of freedom growing up to explore who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do, so I threw myself into studying and saying “no” to all of the things that would lead me astray from a path of academia and sweater vest wearing.

I was stubborn and, although I wanted to be “open” to new ideas and culture, I was afraid of the filth in the world because I could see it.

I could see it in the way that poverty littered the outskirts of my county and I could see it even in the way my parents would fight, so I burrowed into a little hole of Tolstoy and Austen afraid of the grime all around me.

In that little den of literature and math homework, I gritted my teeth and hoped and wished for security. I strained and I strained, and although my GPA throughout high school was pretty stellar, I felt alone and isolated and as if the weight of the world sat on my shoulders.

I made plans to attend Emory University in the fall of 2011. My parents even bought “Emory Mom and Dad” bumper stickers for their cars. I had always said, “I’ll never go to UGA.”

Me on the far right after me high school graduation

But May of my senior year rolled around and I had a very weird change of heart that led me to consider a visit to UGA that then led me to sending in that college deposit to Athens rather than to Atlanta.

That same summer, I told my cousin I would go to the beach with her on a mission trip, an act that prompted my friend to ask me, “Lauren, don’t only religious people go on mission trips?”

People were very shaken up about my change in plans. I, of course, was oblivious to all of these openings of opportunities and closing of my “no’s.” I quickly learned to never say never.

I went on that mission trip during the week of the 4th of July. I helped paint a brick house and patched a roof. I ate too many Swedish Fish candies on the floor with my cousin and her friends and sang Katy Perry in the bunk rooms before we went to bed.

At night, we worshiped on the beach, and I became fearful of looking like I didn’t know the songs (because truthfully I didn’t). I committed to learning the melodies because I was shocked that a group of kids my age could really care for Jesus in the way that they did.

I don’t know what my moral code really was. I did know that I had done some terrible things in life, and so the concept of grace that this “guy Jesus” offered (I was still a little skeptical) was attractive to me. So, when I got home from the trip in July, I started reading the new study bible my cousin had given me before the trip.

I would go into my room and lock the door, afraid that someone would find me googling King David or something. I started journaling which was mainly a bunch of “I love you, Jesus. I love you, Jesus. I love you, Jesus.” and “How Lord? How Lord? How Father, could you love someone like me?”

It was what the other kids were doing, and I didn’t know why really, but I needed desperately to know what they knew. I wanted what they had, that peace and light that I hadn’t known existed before.

I accepted Jesus into my heart and became a new creation. I was full of gratitude and a peace that I knew were not my own doing.

I showed up to UGA in August with big plans. I thought I’d meet 30,000 new friends. I thought I’d end up as the president of the sorority. I thought I’d study abroad for a semester in Australia. If all of my plans would have been fulfilled, I probably would be planning my wedding right now.

What actually happened that August day I arrived with my twin, extra-large sheet set was the opposite: my roommate did not like me at all. Rush was long and hot and I lost my voice by the third day. I was a smiling mime. My hair got stuck in my best friend’s portable fan, which left me with fresh, new “side bangs.” I would get on the bus and cry to my mom because I thought I would never make it around campus in 15 minutes.

I hated it. I had never felt more alone or broken in my entire life. My life up until last August had been shaped by my own control. Here, I felt like I had that control snatched right from my hand.

Me, in the middle

What did I do when my roommate put a curtain up under her bed and refused to talk to me? I turned to Jesus and, though my roommate still didn’t want to talk to me, I discovered a still, small voice that encouraged me, stayed with me, and offered me peace and a new perspective.

I learned to pray, and so I prayed hard, desperate prayers. “God, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I need you. I need something. I need something to change and I want you. I’d give it all for you.”

He gave me a little peace and a heaping portion of faith that felt something like, “you don’t know what I’m doing, but I love you and I am here for you. I have a plan.”

I believed Him and, sure enough, my cards seemed to get shuffled and I got dealt a much more pleasant hand.

I started going to Freshley, the freshman student ministry of the UGA Wesley Foundation, and started walking with the Lord. Seriously. I would walk to class and talk to Him, and in a small group we would talk and pray together. Standing there, crammed into Wesley’s main chapel like a little sardine, I listened to the same songs I had learned on the beach the summer before,

I felt a new beginning and the “I’ll never” that I used to cling to was exchanged for a big “yes” to the unknown, knowing full well that I was following a plan much larger than my own.

I found life at UGA. I found family. I found hope and I found deep, satisfying love that makes the unknown and the filth all beautiful and exciting. Instead of saying “I’ll never,” I’m now saying a big “yes” to whatever door Jesus wants to walk me through. From what I’ve found over the last four years, they are doors that lead to the best, most exciting and fulfilling places.

What keeps you going?

In life, we all have something that keeps us going; a passion, a goal, fear of failure, love or hate, or maybe just a dear friend or sibling. The most important to me, through experience, is love for those around me, especially my family and friends.

What do I mean by love? It seems this word can be used in a thousand different ways. To answer this, think about your life. Who do you think is more important to you, a brother or a friend? These days, no one seems to pick up the journal to read of the beauty of the sun. Most newspapers are full articles on killings, theft, terrorism, rape, and porn.

A lot of these happenings occur within our own home, the family.

Boundaries are crossed, anger builds and the family is torn apart. To see the beauty of the sun, to look beyond the newspaper, and feel the love of life, we must have a united family.

It seems the family is becoming an ever less important aspect in the eyes of the world. The world seems to focus on individuals and how one can grow up independently, without the care of parents.

One of the organizations where we can still find the teachings of a family, is within a church.

Most members of church organizations refer to one another as brother and sister. They do this in believing God is our universal Father, thus we become brother and sister at birth.

I find this to be a little ironic. Most churchgoers believe in God, but also in the devil, who like you, is a child of God, making him our brother as well. Knowing he is our brother, would you refer to him as your friend?

One great teaching from Jesus Christ is of the power of a true friendship. In John 15: 12-13 he says, “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

The true love that keeps me going is that of my friends. We need to establish our strongest friendships within our family. Love is felt and lived when friendships are formed within the family and then with others.

Life keeps going by love, be a friend. It keeps going.

In Portuguese:

O amor no lar Na vida passamos por dificuldades e as maiores geralmente acontecem no lar. Os relacionamentos dentro de casa são essenciais para nosso bem e trazem amor. Na vida temos irmãos e amigos, mas qual deles é o mais importante para ter em sua vida ou em sua casa? Já se perguntou isso, qual é o mais ideal? Porque dentro de casa ás vezes há briga, conflito, violência e discussão.

No jornal sempre saía artigos muito tristes sobre traições, roubos e assasinatos, mas o fato mais assustador são que essas tragédias estão acontecendo dentro da família. O amor nem sempre existe na família, ás vezes irmãos brigam entre si. Esses acontecimentos tiram a felicidade e o amor do meio familiar. Deus quer que a alegria e a felicidade habitem no lar porque Ele é nosso amoroso pai dos céus. Ele nos concedeu uma família aqui na terra, mas por sermos gerados por Deus nós nos tornamos igualmente sendo todos irmãos e irmãs com Deus sendo nosso pai.

Com esse propósito nas igrejas os membros se referem um ao outro com o título de irmão ou irmã. Sendo assim até Satanás seria nosso irmão e na verdade ele é nosso irmão. Ele como você, é um filho gerado por Deus, todavia por causa de suas escolhas, habita no inferno, num lugar de infelicidade. Agora sabendo que ele é nosso irmão você o chamaria de seu amigo? Todos nós nascemos irmãos e não amigos. Nós precisamos merecer a amizade entre nossos irmãos. Jesus Cristo disse em João 15: “Ninguém tem maior amor do que este: de dar alguém a sua vida pelos seus amigos.” O amor pode ser alcançado quando nós nos tornarmos amigos de nossos irmãos e assim o amor estará presente no lar.

In 49 B.C., during a time of political unrest, the Roman senate ordered Julius Caesar to disband his army. Ignoring this order, he led his army across the Rubicon River in an act of treason. This was called, “The point of no return” because this tiny river represented a boundary that by law prevented generals from leading their troops into Rome. The march across the Rubicon preceded Caesar’s rise to power. The story I’m about to tell does not involve a rise to power, but I can identify with the point of no return.

I grew up in a home where my parents taught us Christian values, and we were always in church. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know about God. My point of no return came when God put me in a position where I had to decide if I believed with absolute certainty the truths that I had repeated for those early years of my life.

I want to take you back to a morning almost seven and a half years ago. I was a bitter sixteen-year-old that hid behind a quiet personality. It was a sunny, November afternoon as I slid into the back of my dad’s car.

My parents were taking my grumpy self to yet another doctor. This time they had to fight a little harder to make it happen. The pastor of our church had called me into the middle of my parents’ counseling session and asked me if I would be willing to see a spine doctor. My brother and sister were both away at college so I figured that my parents must be looking for a kid to distract them from their own problems.

My spine had had an abnormal “s” shaped curvature called scoliosis since I was eight years old. The curve had increased rapidly during my teen years. My rib cage had shifted out of place. Despite my best fashion efforts, my torso was noticeably asymmetrical. I figured this appointment would involve another doctor discussing my “deformity” and trying to convince me to wear a brace.

The whole thing seemed weird and unnecessary but not wanting to seem “unspiritual,” there we were on our way to the doctor again.

Fast forward, about two hours later. The normal x-rays are done. I’d been through this so many times I could almost tell the technician the steps. My parents and I are sitting in a cold, white room waiting. In walks the doctor wearing his white coat.

He perches on his spinning chair, slaps the x-rays up on the lighted board, and the fancy talk begins. He’s bringing the questions and I’m bringing the attitude. I am doing my best to let him know I hate him without saying the words that will get me in trouble. This involves avoiding eye contact, exasperated sighs, and the occasional glare.

The doctor asked, “Do you like water or swimming?”

I slowly raise my head, looked him in the eyes and say, “I hate water.”

The doctor did not hesitate, “Well great. Here’s a pamphlet for water therapy you should sign up for.”

So that clenched it, me and the doc wouldn’t be friends. He’s talking curve progression and I’m daydreaming about how to celebrate my birthday in two weeks. I had almost made up my guest list when I tuned back in.

The doctor spoke, “So yeah, we definitely need to operate.”

I was silently expecting my parents to cut in and let him know that wasn’t in our plans. Instead, questions started flying and they just started making crazy notes.

My dad asked, “What time frame are we looking at?”

The doctor responded, “Really, as soon as possible. Needs to be in the next year at least. Since this case is so advanced, I’m going to recommend you to a specialist surgeon.”

The situation seemed to be getting out of hand. Someone really needed to shut this down.

I responded with a quick, “I’m not having surgery.”

The doctor looked at me like I was an idiot, “If you don’t have surgery, your spine will crush your heart and lungs. Paralysis will set in and this will kill you.”

I wanted nothing more than for him to take those words back. Crying in front of my parents was rare for me. It never ever happened in front of strangers. There didn’t seem any point in holding back now though. I didn’t even avoid eye contact, just started crying a river. I couldn’t have stopped to speak even if I’d had words.

The doctor just looked at me with an incredible lack of emotion, “I can tell this is upsetting you.”

Inside my head, there was a voice screaming, “Way to go Einstein.”

Between my world spinning and wishing this day did not exist, I was searching for evil ideas on how to make this doctor feel the pain he’d just inflicted. My parents somehow got me home.

This was the beginning of where I began to question everything that I’d been told and began to deal with my bitterness.

Being home schooled allowed me to isolate from my friends and put on a cheery face for those times when I was forced to socialize. I felt like life was just flying by, but I was afraid to enjoy it freely because I imagined it would soon be ripped away. I would spend time praying and crying myself to sleep at all hours of the day. Those were some very dark months.

My parents were struggling in their marriage and the issue of my spine condition was a point of serious contention. My mom and I searched the internet for alternative medicine. Reality began to set in as I realized that even if these mildly sketchy options could work, we were out of time. My relationship with my dad was nonexistent. Though I was very wrong in this belief, I was convinced that this push for surgery was his attempt to legally remove me from his world.

By this point, I was seventeen years old. My priority was to either drag this issue out until I was eighteen and could get away from home or convince my mom to deny medical consent for my surgery.

Even though we were on a long waiting list, the months passed too fast. March brought a visit to the specialist surgeon. We met with him to discuss the details of the surgery that everyone except for me was planning. After taking his own x-rays and an MRI, Dr. Horton (the specialist surgeon) was confident of a few things. He was sure that the surgery needed to happen; it would have to be soon; he needed to be the one to operate.

My parents asked a lot more specific questions which he answered. My dad was happy because the other surgeons we had spoken to had refused to operate on me due to the severity of the curve.

The only thing I remember saying was, “I don’t want to have spine surgery. Can you operate without my consent?”

Dr. Horton gave me the answer I wanted but it didn’t give me the warm, fuzzy feeling in my soul that I expected. “No, we cannot make you go through with this. However, if you don’t have the surgery, things will not be good. If you’re still alive at forty, you’ll be in a wheel chair. Your lungs and heart will be crushed. You’ve probably lost lung function already. You have to decide what to do.”

I felt like a bowling ball of responsibility had been dropped in my arms.

My questions to Dr. Horton were always blunt and he responded in kind. He was open with the risks of spinal fusion which included paralysis, non-fusion, and infection.

Still, I did not trust anyone once I was unconscious. Dr. Horton said, “Our team won’t leave the operating room until every screw is in place.” I believed he meant it though I doubted if he could make that promise.

At the very root of it, I did not trust God.

I thought He had it in for me. Despite the best intentions of doctors, I knew God had more power. I was struggling to give anyone else control of my life. I saw God as this impersonal being who was creatively punishing me. In the midst of this, trust began to creep into my heart.

I held onto one particular promise/command. Joshua 1:9 “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”

Another obstacle worth mentioning was my fear of needles. Shots and blood tests made me faint, nauseous, anxious, my heart race, and hands clammy since I could remember. I had been through it many times and each time was worse.

I thought I would die. I thought I would pass out. I thought I would throw up. I focused on how much I could feel the needle in my arm. So even if I could trust the doctors on the day of surgery, it would have to be without any needles. Well, the good doctor assured me that there would be lots of needles. In fact, a needle would have to be in me for the duration of my hospital stay so they could do blood tests.

So my surgeon sent me to a psychologist for systematic desensitization. This is a process where you list the reasons for your fear, the possible outcomes when facing your fear, the likelihood of each outcome, and how you would handle each outcome.

Those weeks of meeting with the psychologist in the spring of 2009 changed how I saw the world. It did not become some warm, safe place. In the end, I realized, my eternal future is secure. Do I believe that my life on this earth will always be safe and pleasant? No, I have seen too much of pain and suffering in my own life and lives of those I have encountered to expect that I would be spared from all future pain.

What I believe is that God sent His son, Jesus, who lived, died, and rose to redeem me not simply from bad circumstances but from my own sin.

No one else could do that. In the words of the apostle Peter, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:68-69)

I wavered between moments of peace and moments of fear. One afternoon while my parents were gone, I decided to watch a video of another patient undergoing the same surgery on YouTube. Let me tell you, that was not a great idea. The video was just a little too graphic. I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling incredibly nauseous and weeping on the couch.

In those moments of peace, I knew that God was giving me strength because I knew I had none of my own left to carry me.

I remember meeting with a second psychologist who worked closely with my surgeon to ensure that patients were mentally and emotionally prepared to undergo this type of surgery. He gave me an hour long written psychological test. When we met to go over my results, he was actually concerned because my test results showed a lack of stress over the situation.

He was concerned that I might be in denial. In the end, while I was so very aware of the risks, the results of my surgery didn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that I began to trust God to direct my life.

I had spinal fusion surgery on June 2nd of 2009. Dr. Horton moved my spine from an eighty-five degree curve to a 20 degree curve and attached two stainless steel rods and about twenty-two screws to my spine.

The recovery was the roughest thing I have encountered in my twenty-four years of living. My scar is fading and the physical evidence that I ever had scoliosis is so very slight. I hope though that I will never forget the truths that I held so close to my heart in those times.

What has made the biggest difference in my life has been the knowledge that God loves me and He has a plan. I believe (as presented by my favorite author C.S. Lewis) that life is a series of peaks and troughs, and it is a ridiculous assumption for us to believe that it would be all peaks.

Though God certainly uses the peak times to help us grow, I believe that there’s something special He does in us in these trough times that give us character and develop us into who He wants us to be. My story is a testament to this.

When I was seven, my Dad’s job transferred. As a family of six we packed up and moved across the world to Istanbul, Turkey. At the time, reassured by the fact that there would still be Barbies wherever we moved, I wasn’t too concerned. However, growing up in a country away from your birthplace has its challenges.

I began school at an International school, but when I had not picked up the Turkish language by fifth grade, my parents gave me the option of transferring to a local school. Without giving it too much thought, I took them up on it.

The first week was incredibly rough for me. I spoke little Turkish, and I was placed in a classroom with 53 other students.

I couldn’t communicate and was out of my comfort zone. I came home crying after school every day the first week. However, through this God showed me that He was my refuge, and He would take care of me regardless of my circumstances. Through this tough time also came the ability to speak Turkish, in addition to some amazing friendships that have continued through college.

Another tough transition for me was moving back to the United States. After graduating from high school I decided to attend the University of Georgia, Go Dawgs! However, my friends from high school scattered across the country and world, so apart from my aunt and uncle. I knew no one in this new place. In addition, there was once again a cultural difference, despite no language barrier.

Growing up overseas meant that although I am shaped like an American on the outside, inwardly I am shaped quite differently.

Once again, I was really hurting, and I didn’t feel like I had anyone to cling to. Everything I had known and grown up with was 5,000+ miles away, including my family. Once again, God showed me His faithfulness. He showed me that when He brings me to something,  He’s also going to bring me through it. He showed me that He is with me no matter what. He showed me once again that He wants to have a relationship with me, and that all I have to do is come to Him.

Though this was a challenging time, I’m stronger because of it. Though it might have been easier for me not to move back to the US. for college, God brought me closer to Himself through this, and once again has given me some amazing relationships.

Today, God continues to show me His faithfulness and how He uses the tough times in my life to make me more like Himself. As an aspiring journalist, I interned with a news agency this summer. Confronted with the headlines of international news stories each day has been challenging. Through this too God has shown me more of who He is. When I see how truly broken the world around us is, I recognize the world’s need for a savior.

How fantastic it is to learn that God loved us enough to send His son to die for our sins and to give us hope. What an amazing realization that we have a God who understands suffering, and who promises us His presence through the peaks and the troughs.

I’m so thankful for a God that makes life delightful no matter where in the world we live, as He has promised his presence to us through it all and uses what seems like the toughest times for our good.

I’ve often had people tell me that as you lose more and more people to death, Heaven just starts to seem that much sweeter.

February 8 was the day that Allen Nasworthy died after losing a battle with depression. That Monday is engraved in my mind as a day I will never forget. I’ll never forget sitting in chapel that morning when I got a text saying, “Emergency, please call me!” followed by another message saying, “please call me ASAP.”

As I processed these words in my mind, I began to feel sick because I knew exactly what I was about to hear. I knew what I was about to hear, but I didn’t want it to be confirmed. I’ll never forget hearing those words, “he’s dead.”

At that point I felt like my world came to a screeching halt. Everyone’s world around me continued on as they hustled to class, but all I could do was sink to the ground on that sidewalk and cry like I’ve never cried before. All I wanted to do was jump in my car and drive from my school in South Carolina down to camp.

As those hard words sunk in, I felt like my heart was breaking.

I sat there on the back steps of the library as memories of Allen flew through my mind. I felt like I was in a nightmare and just couldn’t wake up. As I called my family and close friends I could barely get out “Allen is dead” simply because it didn’t seem like it was really happening. I’ve never lost anyone really close to me before, so this feeling was completely new to me.

After the initial grief subsided for the moment, I went into immediate denial. In my mind, there was no way that Allen was dead. He was simply out restocking on Red Bull, and at any moment, his headlights would crest that hill pulling into Fortson. Everyone would realize that they were wrong.

After denial, my next reaction was anger and bitterness, anger that Allen had done this to his family and to his friends. Didn’t he know how many people out there loved him and cared about him? How could he do this to them? Allen was the life of the party in whatever setting he was in, but he didn’t tell many people about his inner struggle with depression.

Allen fought very hard, but eventually the lies of depression won the battle.

I returned home from college that Wednesday and immediately drove down to camp. As I turned onto Fortson road, it finally hit me that this was really happening. As I walked around the center that night it was eerily quiet. The animals stood there quietly, the pond didn’t stir, and the trees didn’t blow. Fortson didn’t feel like Fortson. It felt like it knew that its keeper was gone and wasn’t coming back.

That Thursday was hard for so many people as we all traveled to the little church in South Georgia and said goodbye to our dear friend. The world and especially Fortson 4-H center would never be the same without him.

My connection with Allen Nasworthy isn’t like most others. I met him in March of 2015. I went to Camp Fortson with my teen group while I was in high school and fell in love with the place. When I first contacted UGA about working there over the summer, I met Allen who was the Center Director. Allen was so helpful with the whole process of getting hired and starting work there.

When I met Allen in person at the beginning of the summer, I never dreamed of the friendship that would begin. When I started my summer helping out around the center, he was just my boss, but by the middle of the summer, he was so much more than just my boss.

He was my friend, and I was so thankful for him.

He was my friend that I could laugh with, joke with, or have serious conversations about life with. Allen was awesome. As many know, it didn’t take long to get to know Allen. His smile was so contagious, and no one was a stranger to him.

As my summer working at camp drew to an end, I was disappointed to leave but enjoyed getting updates from Allen all the time on how things were going. I enjoyed getting crazy snapchats from him and reading his random hilarious texts.

Almost every break and weekend that I was home from school I always made it a point to stop by camp, walk around the pond, see the animals at the farm, and sit in the office and talk with Allen as he worked tirelessly. A week before Allen died, I was home from college for the weekend, and he told me to stop by and say hey.

Wow, what I would give to have known at that point that it would be the last time I would ever see him.

I would’ve stayed and told him how many people genuinely cared for him and loved him. I was worried about Allen as I knew he was struggling and knew that he was starting to distance himself from those around him, but I never dreamed it would lead to what it did.

Before I pulled out of Fortson that day, Allen shook my hand, looked me in the eyes, did that mischievous smile that only he could do, and said, “Hey, I’ll see ya later”. This stuck in my mind for some reason because he had never done it before.

Looking back now, I realize that this was Allen’s goodbye to me.

Every day Allen pops into my mind at some point, and when he does, I thank the Lord for the opportunity I had to know him. Even though I only knew him for a short time, he impacted my life greatly. He taught me so much, and I will always remember it. Thank you Allen for the impact you had on my life in those short summer months.

I am so excited to be going back to Fortson this summer. It is going to be hard passing his house and office everyday, but I think Allen would want it. We, the camp staff and counselors, are going to work together to put on a summer program that would make Allen look down and smile.

The last thing Allen ever said to me was, “You a great friend bud.”

This phrase is short, but it is something that I will cherish forever. On April 24, 2016, I will be joining many of Allen’s family and friends as we walk in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s Out of Darkness Walk in Memory of Allen Nasworthy (you can check out my fundraising page here).

Casting Crowns once sang in one of their songs, “So when you’re on your knees and answers seem so far away, you’re not alone, stop holding on and just be held. Your world’s not falling apart, it’s falling into place. I’m on the throne, stop holding on and just be held.”

This text has been so helpful to me. Even if we feel like our world is falling apart, we know that God is holding us and that He’s going to get us through. If you’re fighting depression, DON’T GIVE UP! Talk to someone and get help, because you are loved whether you believe it or not.

Psalm 34:17-19 “When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.”

Trust in the timing of your life. It’s a phrase that has become my anthem.

A mere few months ago I flipped my tassel from my safe haven of college to the terrifying unknown of the working world. With that single transfer on my graduation cap, I ended one journey and braced myself to begin another.

It all reminded me of the last time I flipped a tassel: my high school graduation. Coming from a tiny private school I had no idea what to expect from college. I knew what I thought I wanted: small, liberal arts school with an emphasis on creativity. Instead, I was handed a huge state university with an emphasis on football, day drinking, and more buses than I’d ever seen in my life. To say the least, I was terrified.

Today, I love UGA with all my heart. But I must confess that I cried the day I signed my commitment, and they were not tears of joy. It was my second-to-last back-up school but free tuition (shoutout to my man Mr. Zell Miller) was too good to resist. Visions of drunk rednecks ran through my brain, hooting and hollering as they waved red and black flags. I couldn’t imagine how I, a conservative goody-two-shoes, would fit into such a place.

But on my first day of orientation, I made a promise to myself: I vowed to be happy here, no matter what. And that’s exactly what I did. That choice made all the difference, changing my attitude and allowing me to see what UGA really was.

Much to my surprise, I quickly realized the stereotypes were just that: stereotypes.

And thus began four of the best years of my life, meeting my best friends, becoming involved in incredible organizations, and growing exponentially in my identity and sense of self. (Spoiler alert: I’m no longer conservative or quite as much of a goody-two-shoes). I learned to love cheering for the Dawgs, sweat dripping down my sundress, dehydrated lungs bursting with the chants of the Redcoat band. The cries in that stadium were, for me, an anthem to my love for Athens and for the people who made it home.

And so, as I embark upon this next journey, I am equally hesitant. My tears are not tears of joy. I’m told to “pursue my dream,” even though I have no idea what that may be. The real world looms overhead, bringing with it loads of dollar signs and decisions.

It’s times like these that question us, push us forward, and challenge us to find what we truly stand for. Who are we really? What do we want? How will we change the world? Those are some of the simplest yet hardest questions of humankind. The kind we dedicate a lifetime to searching for the answers.

The universe, or God, or whatever you believe in, placed me where I needed to be four years ago, transcending even my best attempts. That same force will place me where I belong for the next four years. In the midst of this terrifying unknown, that is one thing I know for certain.

Trust in the timing of your life. You are where you are meant to be. Be at peace with that. And don’t forget to enjoy the ride!

There are successful companies and then there’s successful companies that make people emotional. When a critic writes a nasty comment, they don’t have to defend themselves.

These evangelists step up and rip that person a new one for them. These companies create NDAs because their attorneys require it — not because they’re worried about their past or current employees badmouthing them. They are not worried about censoring people because they never misbehave.

I’ve had companies let me go, and then say shit like “You remember you’re under an NDA, right?”

I’ve had bosses tell me I was entitled because I didn’t want to settle for being someone’s No. 2 after taking nothing and turning it in something with a solid foundation. I was entitled because I’m 25 and even though I built and managed this foundation, I couldn’t possibly be trusted to run it long term.

Even though I spent more than 50–60 hours a week building their company and lost a boyfriend I loved because of it, I was entitled and seen as “running over my co workers.”

Yesterday, I had an epiphany — an aha moment.
This whole time it was never me. It was them.

It was these companies with poor leaders — leaders who were threatened by its people growing — fearful they would outgrow them — fearful of relinquishing control of anything and everything — fearful of people pushing back.

These companies and therefore its people couldn’t handle negative feedback.

They saw negative feedback as, well, negative and not for what it really is. Negative feedback means that someone cares enough to invest in making your baby better — in helping you reach and exceed your wildest dreams. These bosses, who should’ve never been managers in the first place, made me feel like shit.

And these co-workers — some meaner than others — made me feel like a complete outsider, as it turns out, just because I worked harder than them. If my old co-workers are reading this, all I want to ask you is: How is that boyfriend who loves you and supports you while you work a $45k per year job?

How is your dad who supports your career goals? How is that house your parents loaned you the money for? How’s your wife? How’s your fiancé?

I’ll tell you how my life is… lonely. I feel like the loneliest person in the whole entire world actually.

I have no boyfriend who loves me. No one is there for me if I can’t pay my rent on the first of the month. And my phone only rings between the hours of 9 to 5 — sometimes til 9 because of timezone differences.

You know what I do have though — I have an innate amount of passion for what I do; I’m incredibly resilient; and I’m genuinely a good person. And when treated properly, I’m your biggest supporter and evangelist.

Some people choose to have a work-life balance, and some people choose to work. Whichever path you choose, don’t crucify the person who didn’t choose the same. And leaders, stop calling Millennials entitled because they expect to have more in a shorter amount of time after working their asses off to get it.

Never lose faith. All companies and bosses don’t suck. Sometimes God puts the wrong people — to date and/or work for — in our lives because he wants us to appreciate ”the one” when we finally find them.

Just, whatever you do, don’t give up.

If it doesn’t feel right then push back. Because the companies and leaders you want to work for will celebrate you because of it.

I know how painful it is to not fit in anywhere — in work, in life, at home, anywhere — but trust me, one day you’ll find someone who sees you for who you’re really are, and when you do you’ll be so happy you never succumbed to the status quo.

My first post on Wish Dish — Savannah’s Challenge — was a short summary of some of the things she’s been dealing with for the last 10 years. Part II is a specific story about what happened over the four days that followed that posting when her cough turned into an emergency.

This is Savannah’s story, but it’s more than that … it is an opportunity to shift our perspective. It’s interesting that Jesus said to enter the Kingdom of God one must have the faith of the child. Faith, in a sense, is perspective. And Savannah’s perspective is heavenward.

Savannah ended up spending four days in the hospital after we took her to the ER. It was amazing through all of it that the doctors never had to put her on an IV and they were never able to identify any sickness. For some reason (twisted spine, lordosis, super weak muscles, gunk getting stuck or something else), she just couldn’t get in the oxygen she needed. Her new normal (for now) is sleeping with these two machines, a BiPAP + supplemental oxygen connected. During the day she uses a vest that shakes her body to dislodge any gunk and then a cough assist that shoots air into her and then sucks air back out. Of course, she still has her 24-hour brace that she is supposed to wear around her torso because of her spine’s curve. The problem is that the doctors think that while it might slow down the progression of the scoliosis, it might also be making the lordosis worse and that could be pushing into her lungs.

Our biggest challenge right now is not knowing what this is and where it is headed.

Something has happened in her body to make her significantly weaker. And what has been a big part of our challenge with this undiagnosed genetic condition is that every year or so a new symptom of the syndrome pops up … or a symptom of a symptom. I have started emailing leading pediatric research centers around the world about Savannah and will follow up with phone calls to try to find someone who has seen a combination of Savannah’s symptoms and markers before. There is very possibly someone out there who has seen this and can help her in a way no one else can. In the meantime, we will continue to try to get some meat on her bones, do daily scoliosis and lordosis therapy, and daily strengthening and breathing exercises.

Most importantly, we will continue to tell her she’s a missionary. We watched “Miracles from Heaven” (for the third time) last night. Savannah said: “She’s a missionary just like me.” When I took Savannah to the doctor Tuesday I had to carry her in. The nurse who hooked up the machine to measure her oxygen, heart rate, and blood pressure kept turning it on and off and then unplugging it and plugging it back in. He said that there must be something wrong with the machine because “those numbers can’t be right.” The doctor came in and confirmed those numbers were right.

They sounded so concerned that after they left the room, Savannah, lying on the table barely able to move, asked me: “Daddy, am I going to die before my time?”

I’d never heard her say anything like that before. I’ve seen a scene like that in movies and I know other families have children with situations much worse than ours that deal with that question often, but Savannah saying that was the first time in these 10 years that the thought of losing her entered my head and my heart. I told her that she can’t die before her time because God is in control and that was all she needed to hear. She immediately smiled, reassured. The faith of a child lying on a doctor’s table just needing to know it was all going to be OK.

And she will be OK. She’s so grateful that her life is inspiring and encouraging others. She carries a hope inside her that gives her spirit light even when her body seems to have very little life at times. She is always positive, she never complains. Isn’t that incredible? She knows that God has purpose for her life. She knows that Heaven is for eternity and this life is for a short moment. One day about a year ago I caught her reading the Bible and I asked her which book she was reading. She was reading Revelations. I thought that would be a difficult book for a nine-year-old, but she said it is her favorite because it talks about Heaven. She asks me questions about Heaven all the time. Savannah’s hope is in something greater than anything on this earth can offer her.

And we can all live with the same hope.

The Bible says that God is perfect and we are not, and the imperfect cannot mix with the perfect. The consequence of imperfection is that it cannot be with perfection. That is the price of imperfection. Just like a speeding ticket is the price of speeding. But God didn’t want to be separated from us. So He sent His perfect Son to pay the price of our “speeding ticket” because we could not afford to do so. The Perfect was separated from the Perfect so that the imperfect did not have to be. The speeding ticket only needs to be paid once, and Jesus has paid it for you, me, Savannah, and everyone. There is nothing you can do to get to Heaven; you can’t afford the price. But you can go because Jesus could afford the price and He paid it for you.

There is no greater love than that. That is the love that fills us as we walk this journey with Savannah. That is the love that gives her peace and hope even in the midst of the storm. That is the love pursuing you today. If you will pause for just a moment and turn around, that love will be right there. That love will wrap itself around you in the most incredible hug you’ve ever imagined and that love will fill you in a way that satisfies every question, confusion, hurt, fear, anger, bitterness, anxiousness, and longing you’ve ever had. For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son that whoever believes in Him — in Him paying the price for you — will not be separated from God but instead will live with God in Heaven forever.

Please message me if you have any questions about Heaven, faith, or your eternity. Thank you for all of your prayers and encouragement.

And here is part 1 of Savannah’s Challenge:

Savannah’s Challenge