Too Easy Not To Bleed

I donated blood for the first time yesterday. I was nervous when the tech inserted the needle into my vein, but as I realized the process was painless, I began to smile. This is easy, I thought. Why are people so afraid of giving blood? It does so much good at such little cost. The tech handed me a gift card and a blood drop pin as he patched up my arm and reiterated that mantra so common that it’s nearly lost its impact: “Thank you for donating! You’re a lifesaver.”

That’s when I threw up.

I nearly passed out three times and had to be sent home early from work. When I almost passed out the first time, the tech told me, “Your body just lost a pint of blood very quickly. It thinks you’re bleeding out.”

Why did I willingly let people remove so much blood from my body that my body thought I was dying? The same reason every other person donates blood: I wanted to be a “lifesaver.” I wanted to “do the right thing” and “be a good person.” I thought I would only sacrifice one second of pain as the needle entered my vein. I had no idea I would have to sacrifice my well-being for the rest of the day.

Another reason I wanted to donate, lurking in the back of my mind, was because of the Orlando shooting. I wanted to do something more than retweet think piece after think piece. Now, in the light of the senseless murders of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, I find myself once again reaching for some sort of action. How can I help? How can I give a part of myself? How can I sacrifice so much that it hurts?

As a white person, I have the privilege of choosing when to engage with police brutality, racism, and most other systems of oppression. I get to choose when to have my heart broken for my brothers and sisters of color. I get to read the tweets and the posts and educate myself, but at the end of the day, I get to close my laptop. I get to live a life free of those horrors. I get to breathe easy the next time I get pulled over.

What I can do almost without any effort is speak out, and yet I’ve been shamefully quiet lately. I know I am not alone. I see my white friends and family happily engaging with politics when it’s convenient—when they can get gift cards and pins and a handful of likes and be called a “lifesaver” or a “good person”—but then they go quiet on the issues that matter most. I’ve heard many political sermons, but I doubt I’ll hear Alton or Philando mentioned on Sunday.

It’s not enough to be an activist only when it’s convenient. It’s not enough to bleed when we can be praised for it. We have to listen to those who are suffering the most and lift their voices. We have to take a stand. At the end of the day, the most I’ll sacrifice is someone’s opinion of me. The most I’ll risk is someone’s anger. These consequences are the quick prick of a needle compared to the pain of bleeding out that the black community experiences every time they have to reiterate that their lives matter because yet another precious life has been reduced to a hashtag.

Give blood. Speak out. Support those who are really suffering. Lift their voices before interjecting with your own opinions. Promise to put actions behind your prayers. Above all, engage with the world even when your privilege doesn't require you to. Sacrifice freely and generously to support those whose suffering has too often been ongoing and all-consuming.

"If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor."—Desmond Tutu

On Turning Twenty

I place a lot of significance on beginnings. I can usually remember what I was wearing on the first day of school, on a first date, and even on the first day of the year. I usually remember the first time I met someone who later became important in my life. Firsts are important.

Right now, it’s about half an hour until, according to Great Britain, it will be March 1, and I’ll be twenty years old. Now, I know this is technically meaningless. I was born around 1:18 p.m. on Wednesday, March 1, 1995 in La Porte, Indiana. In Britain, that would be 7:18 p.m. – and that’s if we accept timekeeping as it is. The Earth doesn’t go around the sun in exactly 365 days – and if anyone is getting screwed over by Leap Year every four years, it’s people with March 1 birthdays. So I know that in about half an hour, it won’t be exactly twenty years since I was born into the world. Time is a meaningless construct, we’re all going to die, yada yada yada – I know. But I’m working with what I have, so the beginning of my third decade on this earth starts in approximately thirty-two minutes, for all intents and purposes.

Yes, I am beginning my third decade. That’s weird, but it’s true. We normally think of birthdays as the commencement of the year we’re turning, but in reality, it’s the end of that year. In half an hour, I will have completed twenty years of life, and I’ll be starting my twenty-first. I will have two decades under my belt, and I’ll be beginning a third.

I know how I am with firsts, and I was kind of fighting with myself earlier tonight, trying not to make the first moments of my birthday into a big deal, but I knew that was a losing battle. I spent the day shopping and walking and riding trains, and I came home exhausted, desperate for sleep, but not desperate enough to sleep through the first hours of my new age. I’ve kept myself busy for the past few hours, but I don’t want to distract myself into a new year either. Nothing would make me more ashamed than admitting I entered into my twenties while I was taking a quiz on Buzzfeed.

Buzzfeed is what made me open the Word document in the first place to spit this out. If I’m on Buzzfeed, that’s a bad sign. That means I’ve cycled through Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, and YouTube enough times that nothing new is popping up anymore. The headline on Buzzfeed was “11 Things No One Tells You About Depression In Your Twenties.” Yikes. That’s not the frame of mind I want to be in as I enter my twenties.

I started thinking about what I was doing the last time I entered a new decade. On my tenth birthday, I got my ears pierced. I went to my favorite cheeseburger place. I had a party with my family and friends.

What did Deanna want to do with the decade ahead of her? Well, she wanted to have a great time in high school and college. She wanted to write a novel, and she wanted to be a published writer. She also probably wanted to be on American Idol. She definitely wanted to have a short haircut when she was older, and she wanted to work in an office and wear smart business clothes (yes, I was a weird child). She was obsessed with Harry Potter, and she wanted to go to England.

Well, in the past ten years, I’ve graduated high school and I’ve had a wonderful time so far at Taylor University. I finished the first draft of a novel at age fifteen, and I became a published writer at age seventeen. I never went on American Idol, but I sang in four musicals in high school, helped lead worship at my church for a year, and made multiple music videos for my YouTube channel. I cut my hair short my senior year of high school and felt just as mature and chic as ten-year-old Deanna had hoped. I worked in a public relations office at my county library this summer, and yes, I finally got to wear some business clothes.

Today, I bought a Harry Potter t-shirt at a mall in England. Most of what ten-year-old Deanna wanted has come true, but other things have happened that she could not have expected. She lost loved ones, got her heart broken, let go of once treasured friendships, and struggled with self-worth over the past ten years. I also don’t wear earrings much anymore.

I’ve been looking at my twenties as this big, monolithic decade of little growth, when in reality I know I’ll be a very different person when it’s fifteen minutes until my thirtieth birthday. Most people would refer to my past decade as my teen years, but everyone can agree that there’s a big difference between thirteen and nineteen, and there will be an even bigger difference between twenty-three and twenty-nine. The dreams I have for my twenties are just dreams, and what will actually transpire will be greater and more difficult and more wonderful than what I can possibly imagine right now.

I wanted to spend the last few minutes of my teenage years writing. I’ve wanted to be an author since I was six years old, and I want creative passion to follow me into my twenties. I wanted to share what I’m feeling with people because ten-year-old Deanna wasn’t great at communication or socializing, but now they’re treasured skills I’ve cultivated over the past ten years.

And I wanted to go into my twenties with my family and with God. I’m off to read my Bible and listen to some of my favorite Christian music until I can FaceTime with my wonderful family, whom I love with all my heart.

Here’s to turning twenty.

Go Get Your Heart Broken: A Christian Girl's Guide to Dating

Yes, I wrote the List. 

You know the one. It's the list most Christian girls write when they're in middle school, and they think their One True Love is right around the corner. They write the List of traits their future husband will have and hide it in their junk drawer, hoping that in a few years they'll unearth it and smile before sending up a quick prayer of thanks that God fulfilled their wish. 

Smart. Funny. Passionate. Trustworthy. Caring. Honest. Humble. Tall. Christian.

Basically, we wanted to marry a meme.

Maybe you didn't have the List. Maybe you had "Letters to My Future Husband." Maybe you mentioned your Inevitable Soulmate in your diary. Maybe you were too embarrassed to write something down, but you prayed for your future spouse every now and then. However you did it, you thought of your future married life because you wanted to make sure that when you met the right guy, you would just . . . know.

I've dated a few guys so far in my life. I'm no expert - I'm only nineteen, and I'm currently single - but I've learned a few things. And here's the biggest lesson:

God's plan probably involves you getting your heart broken.

Yeah, I know. Not exactly what you want to hear. Stay with me, though.

There's this sense of shame when you're a Christian girl who wants to date guys. If you're already in a serious relationship, you're elevated to this fairytale status in which you've found the One. But if you haven't found the one yet and are still in pursuit, you're overeager. You're either the Desperate Wannabe Housewife who needs a ring by spring, or you're a Semi-Skank who is still technically a good girl but should probably reign it in and wait for God to put Mr. Perfect in your life.

So basically, no matter what we do, we're judged. Awesome.

I'm not saying you shouldn't listen to God when dealing with your love life. However, many Christian girls want to date, but are too scared to. They believe dating is only God's plan if it ends in marriage, and they don't want to risk not following God, so they try their hardest not to date at all.

I don't think that's right.

What Christian girls are missing is the emotional maturity that comes with having your heart broken. Not all dating relationships that don't end with marriage are mistakes.

And that's 100% okay.

Here are all of the lessons I've learned from dating the "wrong" guys:

• It's okay to be vulnerable.
• Don't date a guy who worships you.
• You can get everything you thought you wanted and still be unhappy.
• There's a reason God doesn't want you to be unequally yoked.
• Have the courage to voice your opinion instead of burying it.
• You're beautiful with or without makeup.
• Your ability to show grace instead of anger is not a weakness.
• You deserve someone who does the little things to show he loves you.
• You deserve to be loved.
• No matter what, you will always be loved by the Lord.

I've had relationships where I fly in the face of God's plan, and I end up heartbroken.

Basically.

But then I've also had relationships where I pray for God's guidance every day and see Him leading me to this relationship, and I've still ended up heartbroken.

Sometimes, God's plan involves getting your heart broken so that God can put it back together and make it stronger than before. He has to break down our misconceptions about true love before we're ready for it, and sometimes, He uses stupid boys to do it.

This will be you someday. Promise.

It's still important to guard your heart. I'm not saying you should purposely make mistakes in your love life so God can fix them. What I am saying is that everyone makes mistakes in their love lives, including Christian girls. When that happens, don't beat yourself up for it. Don't wallow in shame.

The goal isn't to find the One. The goal is to become the One who won't squander true love when God gives it to her, and sometimes, the journey to becoming that person involves dating the wrong people.

So when you find yourself crushing on that cute guy in class, don't bury those feelings. Pray to God about it. Take a chance. And if you end up heartbroken, congratulations. You have an opportunity to grow closer to God. Seize it.

Either way, you're inviting love into your life. That's not something you should regret.