From Ansley:

This is going out as a deeply personal plea.

In March, I’m going to be participating in St. Baldrick’s Day. The St. Baldrick’s Foundation is a volunteer-driven charity committed to funding the most promising research to find cures for childhood cancers and give survivors long and healthy lives. Every year, they host an event where people sign up to get their heads shaved in solidarity with children living with cancer. In the process, the “shavees” also get sponsors who donate money to cancer research.

I’ve wanted to participate in this event for over a year now, after having 10 inches of my hair donated to Locks of Love last September. I didn’t feel ready last year but now I’m charging full speed ahead! Plus, I just finished reading The Fault in Our Stars in which, the main character has cancer so I guess I have cancer on the brain – along with how much it sucks and how much I’d love for us to find a way to get rid of it.

I’m asking for two things from you guys:

1. Prayers!

2. To sponsor me with a financial donation to the St. Baldrick’s foundation, which can be done through the link below.

http://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/ansleygrace

If you can’t afford to give, I’m serious about the prayers! Pray that I reach my fundraising goal and that all goes well with this fantastic event. And pray for the foundation!

Also, please please please reblog this and see if any of your followers would be willing to help me raise money for kiddies with cancer. Spread the word!

I was reminded of growing up going to Catholic Church. Our priest was Father Bob. He smoked. He was cool. But not because he smoked. As Jackie Chan said in Rush Hour, “smoking bad for you!” Father Bob was always kind to me.

In 8^th Grade we had to go on a weekend retreat at a camp site before we made Confirmation later that year. I remember having a really good time there. One night, Father Bob came to visit. We were told that tonight we would be doing Confession for the first time. I was extremely nervous about that.

Since we were at a camp site, we didn’t do Confession in a traditional Confession Box. Father Bob simply sat on a porch swing and we sat next to him. I remember seeing him in the distance and growing more and more nervous. When it was my turn, I was literally shaking (Insert CP joke here). I sat next to him and was overcome with emotion.

He said hello to me and asked me what I would like to confess. I felt a lump in my throat and didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that I didn’t have any sins to confess; I had plenty. But I think for the first time I felt the weight of those sins. I felt the burden. I felt the shame. How could I reveal those sins to another person, much less Father Bob?

I began to mumble something about having bad study habits (the thing I thought was the least of all my sins), but then Father Bob stopped me. “God loves you, Michael,” he whispered. “Oh, He loves you so much.”

I’m not sure, but that may have been the first time anyone said it that direct with me. And that was it. I didn’t say anything further, mostly because I was trying to hold back tears. Tears of shame, but also joy. Because as I walked away, I believed what Father Bob said.

God loves you.

It is said so much, but it’s so hard for us to believe. I’d like to say I hung onto that moment as a 13-year-old and really began to live as if that was true. But I didn’t. I struggled. Struggled with my own guilt and shame. Why is it so hard for us to believe God loves us?

Maybe it’s because we recognize how messed up we are, as I did that night. I even hear people joke about it. “I’m going to hell!” they say after saying something offensive. Or, (I love hearing this one), “Me go to church? If I went to church it would burn down!” Really??? God can literally kill you anytime He wants. Do you really think He’s that spiteful to do it when you are about to make an effort to come back home?

But I get it. We say these things because we realize, consciously or not, that there is a great chasm that separates us from God. I realized it that night. And still, somehow, He loved us enough to come down and bridge the chasm.

I am moving into Tara House right behind Baldwin Park. You could rename it Summit House because about 12 people from Summit live there, including my sister Darling, who I am planning on playing a lot of pranks on. Please don’t warn her. I already have one in mind that involves a tuba, a pound of cheese, and a Britney Spears CD. I’m just having trouble finding a place that sells her CDs.

Tara House is located in between a VA Hospital and a cemetery. In fact, my apartment is right in front of the cemetery. I can’t wait to go exploring in there.

I love the idea of living close to Baldwin Park. I always said it would be a very ideal place for me to live. Don’t believe me? It would be a very ideal place for me to live. Reminds me of New York. Everything you need is right there. Restaurants, shops, a supermarket. Even the place I get my haircut is right there. Today I bought a brand spanking new scooter to aid me in my travels. This puppy can fly. Not really. But it can go 7 MPH, which doesn’t seem like much, but believe me, it is. I felt like I was on a roller coaster. It even has turn signals.

In honor of my new beginning, I pledge to keep a record of my misadventures right here on this blog. My mishaps will become your entertainment, and believe me, there will be many. Mistaken identities, daring chases, and slapstick mix-ups are sure to follow me wherever I go.

So get ready. The greatest adventure never told begins this Friday.

As a child, Simba witnesses the death of his father, and believes the lie that he was responsible for it. What does Scar say to him?  “You need to leave and never return. Look what you did. No one is ever going to want you around now.” Scar takes on the role of accuser and deceiver. Doesn’t Satan play this game with us?

“Look what you did, no one will ever love you now.”

“You’ll never be anything more than a screw-up.”

“God can’t possibly forgive you for that.”

So we buy into these lies and hide in shame, as Simba does. He runs away and makes some new well-meaning (and funny) friends, but settles for less. He “checks out” as we would say in reGROUP. Checking out is anything we do that keeps our mind off of reality. It could be as serious as becoming addicted to heavy drugs or as mundane as obsessive Facebook checking (my drug of choice!). Simba takes on the “whatever” attitude. But behind it all there is a nagging sense that there is more to life than what he has settled for. And there is.

When Simba sees the vision of Mufasa, Mufasa says something very profound: “You have forgotten who you are. Remember who you are. You are my son.”

Wow.

Imagine, for a moment, a crack addict strung out on drugs who has lost everything. He lies on the floor of his apartment hearing the words of the enemy. “You loser. You lost it all. There’s no hope for you.”

But then he hears the gentle but powerful voice of God. “Have you forgotten who you are? You are my beloved son. I created you for more than this. Remember who your Father is. Come on. Let’s roll out of here and get on with the plans I have for you.”

And so Simba returns to Pride Rock. But doing so means confronting his past. Confronting his wounds. Confronting his wounder (Scar), but also accepting responsibility for wounding others (those he abandoned).

We all have w0unds and, as a result, have wounded others. It is good to return to places that we’d rather forget about. Not to dwell on them, but to experience healing. To allow God to speak truth into the lies we have bought into. To hear God say, “Look, I loved you in this moment, a moment where you tried to hide because you felt unlovable. I loved you then, as I love you now.” Simba realizes the truth, and is then able to accept his role in the Story.

The Lion King. So good.

It sounds simple enough. But most of the time I want to spend my time looking at my past and trying to avoid making the same mistakes. Learning from past mistakes is a good thing. But when you drive a car, how much time do you spend looking in the rear view mirror? No, I’m actually really asking you. I don’t know the first thing about driving…

I’m told that most good drivers spend most of their time looking at the road in front of them, and only looking in the rear view when necessary. If you spend all your time looking in the rear view, an accident is bound to happen. On a related note, Cracked Rear View is an awesome album.

The same principle applies to life. If you constantly focus on who you don’t want to be, you’ll never be free to move towards the person you want to be. It is very hard to not be something.

For example, let’s say that in my past I have a pattern of being a jerk. I’m selfish, jealous, and constantly disappointing my friends. I know I need to change, but it’s very hard to not be selfish, jealous, and disappointing. So what do I do? Instead of focusing on my past failures, I look forward to the person I want to be. I want to be a person who loves others well. I want to be giving, encouraging, supportive, compassionate, etc. (Being etc is extremely hard, by the way…)

I am still going to mess up at times. I’m still going to fall short. I’m still going to act jerky (I just can’t help it, with my condition and all).  But now when I do fail, I can get up and keep pursuing that picture of who I want to be. Before I make any decision I ask myself, “Is this decision going to bring me closer or further away to who I want to be?” And every time I make a choice that moves me towards that person, it becomes easier to make the right choice again next time.

So, if you find yourself dwelling on the past, take some time to ask yourself, “Who is the person I want to be?” Then start taking slow steps towards that.

Waiting for you in the bitterness would seem so surreal
Not knowing if this feeling I feel was only partly for real
But you played the part, never seeming to mind
Knowing in 4 short months I’d be all out of time
But to me it was fine

So we’d walk
And I’d talk
And you’d listen
Wasn’t much
Wish we would’ve kept in touch
After that season

The 3 years that separated us felt like an ocean
And as the days ticked by I tried to control all emotion
When the weather got warmer you soon faded away
While I just kept pretending things were okay

I wonder if you remember the warmth of cold days
How March fades to April, and April brings on May
But you played the part, never seeming to mind
Knowing in 4 short months I’d be all out of time
Maybe I was out of my mind

So we’d walk
And I’d talk
And you’d listen
Wasn’t much
Wish we would’ve kept in touch
After that season

I don’t need a little bit of Jesus. I need all of Him.

I don’t need a little bit of grace. I need an ocean full.

I don’t commit “little sins” because there are none. They are all acts of defiance against God.

I don’t need a little help to get over the hump. I need Someone to carry me.

I don’t need to be repaired. I need to be recreated.

I’m not “a pretty good person”. I’m in desperate need of grace.

Some would read the above and say, “You’re being way too hard on yourself.” But it’s not that at all. It’s recognizing reality.

Jesus didn’t come to offer a little bit of grace for a little bit of sins. He wouldn’t have gone through all He did just for that. Lucky for me, He came for it all.

I have been back in the States for a week now. I still can’t believe that I have spent 12 days in Africa. I thought I would share a little bit about my experience to you all as a way for me to process things more and as a way to say thank you for supporting me and for your prayers during the entire trip and during the process of getting ready for the trip.

As many of you already know, this trip was geared towards kids who have special needs in all of the COTN villages in Malawi. We got to take them out of their villages and on a retreat to Lake Malawi for 3 days. The whole purpose of taking them on a retreat was to give them a break from their everyday lives and to give them a chance to relax and just have time to play. It was a vacation for them.

I went with an awesome team of 27 people from my church. They were awesome people and everyone was so supportive of everyone. I am so happy that I was able to experience Malawi with them all. They were super fun people and I thank God for putting all of us on the same team together so all of us can experience something really special.

Words still can’t really describe what the trip was like. It was filled with many mixed emotions. The people in Malawi have so much joy and are so nice despite having so much poverty and lack things (that we take for granted in the US every day). There were so many funny and great moments on the trip but there were also of course really bittersweet moments.

I was on the buddy team on the trip. I got paired with two kids and got to hang out with them for the 3 days. Their names were Dyson and Funess. They were both super cool and really fun to play with.  I was honored to get to spend time with them during those three days.

There are so many things about the trip that I could go on and on talking about it. There are so many things about this trip that have touched me in so many ways. I wanted to pick one thing to share with all of you of something that happened in Malawi that will forever be in my heart.

So I really wanted to sponsor a child, but I was having a hard time figuring out which child I should sponsor. There was one kid in one of the villages who every time we went in the village he would come looking for me and kept on asking my sister “Where’s Faith?” “Where’s Faith?”. He was super cute. And every time he saw me he would make a shaped heart with his hands (my sister and I are huge Taylor Swift fans, so we taught some of the kids that, ha-ha).  So I wanted to sponsor him, but he was already fully sponsored, which I was completely okay with and was really happy that he was being taken care of.

I began to wonder if I should or should not sponsor a child. Then I  heard that one of my buddies needed a second sponsor, Funess.  I got super excited when I heard that because I thought it would be wonderful to have a sponsor kid that I had spent time with for three days and I built a relationship with her so I decided to sponsor her.  Funess is Albino. She knows a little bit of English, though I think she can understand it more than she can speak it. I could tell that she was having the time of her life during the camp. She loved jumping on the trampoline and was laughing so hard. She also loved Lake Malawi and dancing in the sand. She was laughing and smiling so much during the trip; it was such a great thing to witness so much joy in her. We sang a lot of random songs together which was awesome.

She got so happy when I told her I was going to be her second sponsor. She was so excited and thrilled. On our last day in Malawi we got to have a sponsorship luncheon with our sponsor child. She looked so happy to be able to come and have lunch with me. We had a great day together. At the end of the luncheon I gave her a gift that was a bag filled with stuff that I brought with me to Malawi – sunscreen, shirts, shoes, skirts, hats, silly bands. The look in her eyes when she saw the bag was a look of amazement. When she took out the pink skirt and the pink shirt that was in the bag she got so EXCITED. She was like “ooohhh” and then she said something in Chichewa which one of the translators translated to “you dress good”.  I couldn’t believe she said than, after she said that in the cutest voice ever “Zikomo” which means “Thank you”.  My heart melted a little inside. She was just so cute. I could tell that she really appreciated me giving her a bag filled with my old clothes. Funess accepted me for the way I am just like God does. I will be forever grateful for my experience with her.  I am so proud to be her sponsor.

Well, that was the one story from Africa (from like a thousand) lol.  I hope you enjoyed reading it and I hope I did it okay explaining that little part from the trip. Thanks again to all of you who have supported me and prayed for me. I appreciate it and I am so blessed that I was able to go to Africa.

Zikomo!!!

Faith

Whenever people come back from Africa I’ve noticed that they have a hard time explaining their experience in words, and for good reason. This is unfortunate for me, as it’s my job to explain things with words… I’ll be writing a Summit Magazine article about this trip, and there will be several more blog posts to come, both on this one and the Summit blog. There are lots of stories and experiences I can choose to write about, but for now I just want to say one thing…

God took such good care of me on this trip.

I am not a good traveler. I usually get sick on planes and vomit upon landing. I sometimes get very cranky away from home. I’m a picky eater. When I get sick, I complain.  I don’t like being confined to small spaces for long periods of times. I have the tendency to accidentally lock myself in public bathrooms and panic. Knowing all these things going in to the trip made me very nervous.

But you know what? God took such good care of me. He was so tender and loving with me and there is just no other way to explain it. I can’t think of a single moment where I felt anxious, nervous, or scared.

There was one part of the trip where we had to break into pairs and help cook a meal for a Malawian family. This involved cutting the head off a chicken (awesome, I know) and making something called ensema (sp?), which is a traditional Malawian dish that looks like mashed potatoes but is nothing like mashed potatoes. It contains flour, salt, and some greens. I think. My partner, Katie,  did most of the work while I sat on the ground and watched. I felt bad she got stuck with me during this process, but she was great.

After the meal was cooked, we had to taste it. Now, most of you know how picky of an eater I am. I mean, really picky. I won’t eat half the stuff in America. So at this point I am praying to God profusely to get me through this in one piece without embarrassing the United States, Katie, or myself. You had to eat it with your hands, which was an event in itself. I actually tried to take a pretend bite but they weren’t falling for it. They got a spoon and helped me take a bite. I gagged a bit and almost lost my cookies, but got through it in one piece.

And really, the whole trip was like this. God held my hand in everything. On the way home, we had a 36 hour journey including a mind-numbing 17-hour plane ride. But it was okay. It was more than okay (by the way, I watched Arthur on the way back. It wasn’t that bad…), it was as good as a 17-hour plane ride could be.

One of the things this trip has taught me is that when God tells you t0 do something, He’ll take care of you. That doesn’t mean everything will be comfortable or will go according to how you think it should go. God can use uncomfortable situations and challenges to grow us. But I believe that God knew my limits and put a barrier of protection around me so he could teach me things. When I go again, He may make that barrier smaller so I can face new challenges and He can grow me more. But if He does, I know that whatever I face I will be able to handle with Him.

Oh, and I only locked myself in the bathroom twice. The first time was on the long flight to Africa. I couldn’t unlock the door, and you know how small the bathrooms are on planes. But I couldn’t help but laugh as I wondered what they would do. Would they have to remove the hinges of the door like they had to do that day at Broadway Pizza? That could be problematic, as I don’t think this door had hinges. But after a quick prayer, I managed to get it unlocked.

The second time was in the hotel room the first night we were there. I just waited for Tim to come rescue me.

Michael and I were roommates during our last year of college. I’ve never met anyone quite like Michael. Literally. You see, Michael had Cerebral Palsy. Yet, against all odds, we became friends. We even did stand up comedy together.

The last time I saw him was the day of our graduation. It was a hot, sticky Florida day. He gave a speech to our whole class and, upon his insistence, I acted as his interpreter. I’m not totally sure why, because most people could understand him just fine. After the ceremony, I had Michael meet my parents.

“Matt is a special boy,” he said to them. “He has been a good friend to me. You should be very proud of him.” Then he looked me in the eyes. “We’ll keep in touch, won’t we, Matt? Won’t we?”

“Of course we will, Michael,” I said. Then we embraced.

As I stepped back, I saw tears in his eyes.

Fast forward 15 years later. I am now living in Chicago, working as a sports writer for the Chicago Tribune. I don’t love my job, but it’s good money. I have a beautiful girlfriend. Life is good. Then one day in early summer, it all came crashing down.

***********************************************************************

“Tremmel! Get in here now!” the Editor-in-Chief yelled from his office across the room.

I immediately felt the stares of all my co-workers. I laughed nervously, rising from my desk. “He probably wants to give me that raise I’ve been asking for.”

I walked swiftly to the office of my boss and poked my head inside. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Pueterschmidt?”

“Get in here!” he grunted. I slipped inside and shut the door behind me. I started to sit down, but got scolded. “Ah! You don’t sit until offered a seat, is that clear?!”

“Yes, Mr. Pueterschmidt, sir, your chiefness.”

About two minutes went by of absolute silence.

“Well, sit down!” said Mr. Pueterschmidt.

I sat. Mr. Pueterschmidt rose from his desk and glared out of his office window, which overlooked all of Chicago. “I love this city, Tremmel,” he said, placing his hands in his pocket. “Martha and I never had any children of our own, so I always thought of Chicago as my own child. You don’t think that’s weird, do you?”

“No sir, Mr. Pueterschmidt, not at all,” I lied. “I like to think of this city as  my, uh… My little brother. Guess that would make you my pops, huh?” I laughed nervously.

Mr. Puerterschmidt sat back at his desk and threw the latest copy of the newspaper in my face. “Then what is the meaning of this?”

“Well, it looks like a newspaper, sir,” I answered.

“I know that! I know what a newspaper is!” he snapped back. Then he picked up the nameplate on his desk. “See this?”

I nodded.

“What does it say?”

“It says ‘Mr. Pueterschmidt. Editor-in-Chief’.”

“And who is this nameplate referring to?”

“You, sir,” I said quietly.

“Darn tooting!” he said. Then he stood up and threw the nameplate at me. It whizzed by my head and crashed into a photo of the mayor.

I let out a girlish scream. “Whoa! You literally just almost killed me!”

“Nameplates don’t lie!” he screamed back. “They wouldn’t have given me a nameplate unless I was Editor-in-Chief. And I wouldn’t be Editor-In-Chief unless I knew what a newspaper is! Got it?!”

“Yes! But really, you literally just almost killed me!”

Mr. Pueterschmidt picked up the newspaper and turned to an article I had written. “I was referring to this! Look at this title. ‘Chicago Cubs Look More Like Chicago Flubs’. Did you or did you not write this?”

“I did. The title is like a pun. People like puns. And you told me to write about baseball, remember?”

“I remember! They don’t let people with bad memories be the Editor-in-Chief of a newspaper, and I am the Editor-in-Chief. It says so on –”

“Yes, yes, on the nameplate. I know,” I interrupted. “So, what, did you not like the article?”

“Well, here, let me read some of it to you,” he said as he cleared his throat. “‘The Chicago Cubs lost again yesterday 7-0 in a real yawner of a game. Fans gathered to blah blah blah’. You literally wrote the words ‘blah blah blah’ in a newspaper article for the Chicago Tribune.”

“To be fair, I actually typed them,” I said.

“Enough!” boomed Mr. Puerterschmidt. “Do you realize what your little prank has cost this paper?! Do you know how many people read the Chicago Tribune?”

I tried to quickly calculate this in my head. “156?”

“No, wise guy! A lot, that’s how many! Do you have anything to say for yourself before I fire you?”

I thought for a moment. I realized that my answer would have serious implications on my future. So I decided to be honest.

“Look, no one really likes baseball,” I said. “Especially in this town. How many years have we gone without a championship? I mean, we gave it the ol’ college try but we gotta know when enough’s enough. I mean, even Cher knew when it was time to throw in the towel.”

Mr. Pueterschmidt’s face got beat red. “Out! Get out! Collect your things, you’re fired!”

“Oh, come on,” I pleaded. “Give me another chance. Let me cover a real sport like basketball or football or horseshoes. Heck, I’ll even cover hockey! But come on, Mr. Pueterschmidt, can you actually say that you like baseball? Especially when we’re talking about the Cubs!”

Mr. Pueterschmidt’s broke out in a sweat. He loosened his tie, looking as though he were on the verge of a heart attack. “My father-in-law owns the Chicago Cubs!” he screamed.

“Ahhh,” I replied. “An unfortunate fact for me. I suppose I should clear out my desk then?”

“Immediately!” said Mr. Pueterschmidt. “And for your information, I happen to like Cher and was sad when she retired! I was inconsolable for weeks! Out!”

A few moments later, I was putting my personal belongings in a box. Murphy, a writer for the Entertainment section of the paper, approached me. Murphy and I hadn’t gotten along since the first day I started here. I won $10 from him in a bridge game at lunch, and he’s held a grudge ever since. He loved to make fun of my dream of writing the next great American novel. I already had a title for it: The Summer Autumn Began. It will be a coming of age story.

Murphy put on a fake frown. “I heard the news, Tremmel,” he gloated. “So sad. But look on the bright side. Oh wait, there is no bright side! You’re fired!”

“Is that seriously the best you’ve got?” I asked.

“No,” he replied. “I also have this one. I heard the news, Tremmel. So sad. But look on the bright side. Now you’ll have plenty of time to write that novel of yours. Now you just need to get some talent!”

“Can it, Murphy,” I said. “Shouldn’t you be sorting through Brittney Spears’ garbage right now?”

Murphy looked at his watch. “Oh shoot! You’re right!” Then he ran off.

As I left the building, I passed by George, the janitor. He was really the only person I liked at the Tribune. “Well, George, they fired me. I guess this is goodbye, my friend.”

“And good riddance!” came the reply. “You were a real slob. Making me clean up your Chinese food and pizza every night.”

“Nice knowing you too, George,” I said, pushing the door open to leave. As I walked down the street to my apartment, it began to rain. It started out as a drizzle, then a crack of lightning flashed, thunder roared, and a downpour opened on me.

It certainly seemed like a bad day. But I smiled. Nothing could ruin tonight. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a small box. I opened it and a diamond ring glimmered before my eyes. Yes, nothing could ruin tonight!