Voiceless

My voice is gone.

I've been singing a lot lately, but what else is new? I've also lead a few dance rehearsals, and I've always been a talker; thus, I am confused and frustrated at the loss of my voice.

It's humbling for an outgoing, social person like myself to be unable to communicate. Sure, I can text and email, and even use the broken bits of sign language that I know. But I cannot express myself in the way I do best: song.

I feel like Ariel.

Only without the red hair.

Or the man.

Still, I do my best, like her, to seem put together, appealing, and ready for the adventure of life. I am fortunate to have the assurance that within a few days, God willing, my voice will be back and my life will continue in its sing-song style, per usual.

Fortunate.

I cannot help but think, in this time when I have only a temporary loss of voice, that there are millions of people who have no voice. Who have never had a voice. Who may never have a voice.

It's not that their minds are empty, or that they don't have anything to communicate; on the contrary. These people have everything in the world to say, their minds teeming with ideas, opinions, and stories. By "people", I don't only mean people of impoverished countries or the stereotypically "oppressed", I am talking about anyone who knows truth yet cannot express it, cannot touch it. Sometimes, we see what is right or wise or just, yet we cannot communicate it because of our life circumstances.

I think about the hundreds of children I have met in the 1,200 miles between Haiti and Guatemala. I have NO doubt that each and every one of them KNOWS that something is not right. They see all the white missionaries come to them, usually only for a week at a time, and they see their happiness, their brilliance, their "foreignness". They see these people are different: cleaner, quicker to speak, unfamiliar with eating off the ground. These children see the looks of disapproval exchanged when we hear that only half of them will complete a middle school level education. They KNOW. They see it. But they say nothing because, well, who might listen? Who would continue to tell them "no"?

When I think of "voiceless people", I also think of some of the young women on my floor here at Baylor. Girls who, like me, spent the majority of their lives in upper, middle class homes with all the privileges that kind of life comes with. We have the same opportunities, and fortunately live in a country that allows us to use our voices. Yet still, we feel a sort of oppression sometimes, something that tells us,"you can't say that," or, "no one thinks that; you'll be too different." So we remain silent, passive to the truth, apathetic to what we know is just, for fear of striking out.

I want to be a voice for the voiceless. I want to be the hands and feet of my God and proclaim, "Speak! You are heard by the Almighty!" Being physically voiceless has been tiresome and exhausting. And only for a few days have I experiences this frustration! Many spend their whole life with the burden of their unheard, unspoken voice on their mind. I beg to the Lord, "Father, why have you sent me here? Why have you given me life? Why did you give me the gift of communication, the passion engage with the oppressed?" I don't know the answers to all these questions. But I know that my God has given me a voice, a piece of His voice.

Though I have not a physical voice today, I have eternal voice in the Kingdom, extending the Good News of Jesus.

And so do you.

You need only to speak.

Say it with me.

"Here I am, Lord. Send me."

Megan Elyse

My name is Megan Elyse Becker

I've asked my parents "why this name?" They always say something vague, along of the lines of, "we just liked it," or "it was just 'different'". My mom mentioned once that around the time she was pregnant with me, she really loved watching "Sleepless in Seattle" with Meg Ryan, and that lent to my namesake.

What began as a semi-meaningless grouping of syllables has now become a major source of identification.

My name means many things to many people. For some, my name is simply a name on a roster sheet in a Political Science class. To others, my name is central to their fondest memories. My name is the first piece of an introduction. It has become synonymous with my personality.

Our names reflect our experiences, our titles, and our dreams.

It is an earthly description of what we stand for.

I see my name on paper, and I don't give it a second thought. It is merely an identifier, the one thing separating my work from the person next to me. It is almost irrelevant and easily overlooked in this context. In that nursery room, when I was a few minutes old, my name was the only thing that distinguished me from the babe to my right. The name is merely means of who belongs to whom.

But, oh, what a name! My name overflows with life, already recorded and yet to occur. It is filled with the promise that if the Lord blesses me with a tomorrow, I will use this name for His glory, not for its own. My name (and yours too), holds the infinite and eternal power that promises us that while we are identified differently in this world, we will all have the same title when we return Home. And that, that is the true identifier.

I am Megan Elyse Becker,

daughter,
sister,
student,
dancer,
CL,
musician,
mentor,
friend,
and most importantly,

disciple of Christ.

                       

"This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. 

The old life is gone; a new life has begun!" 

- 2 Corinthians 5:17

Picky Love

"Vincent, why do you love me?"

"Because... I love you!"

"Yes, but why?"

"I just love you... I can't explain it! It's just... love!"

(After saying this, he licked my elbow. The tender moment was over before it had time to blossom ;))

My six-year-old brother is teaching me more about love than I've ever really known. Sometimes it's inexplicable, like in V's experience. Usually unexpected, like a lick on the elbow. Love's hardly ever something we deserve.

It's funny to me that we desire the love of one person, sometimes so badly, that we cannot see past the love we are given by dozens of others. I am overwhelmed with love when I am with my family, friends, mentors, residents, worship band, and staff. I take a step back from my own clouded perspective: I see how richly God has blessed me with overflowing love, to give and to receive.

So why do I focus on the love I don't see? The love I don't receive? The small bits of rejection that shouldn't dictate how I feel on a given day? Why do I feel so insignificant when I find out that someone's "I love you" does not mean the same as mine?

I coach myself, saying, "just give it to God, just give it to God", but sometimes, I just don't. Mostly, I really don't know what that means. How do I "give" something to Him that I cannot even define, that I don't want to touch? I beat myself up for not moving on quick enough, for intentional bad choices. I dwell in what I've done wrong, in why I could be deemed "unloveable".

These little moments of coaching myself are mere cover-ups. They are mental fronts that prevent me from breaking down or appearing not put together. I hate looking like a mess to people. In fact, a huge reason I started this blog was to show people that we are all messy, even people like me who say things like "give it to God" all the time. Although I often give vague, spiritual-sounding advice like that, sometimes I don't know how to apply it in my own life. But who does; life is messy and He knows us better than we know ourselves. He has better things planned for us, better than what we might have cooked up for our own lives.

We've all heard that love is patient and kind. That it doesn't boast, that it endures all things. But I also think love is dynamic. I think it changes as we change. Sometimes love has to take on a different meaning as we enter into new stages of life. Our love for one another might not have a clear definition, but there is One Love has the most constant, ever-present meaning we will ever know.

"Your unfailing love is better than life itself; how I praise You! I will praise You as long as I live, lifting up hands to you in prayer" -Psalm 63:3-4

I've prayed this psalm plenty of times. Sometimes, I say it shouting for joy, overcome with happiness. Other times, I say it through a tear-soaked prayer, the words not really comprehensible. But today, as I say them again, I am reminded of Vincent's explanation of love. It is not something one can understand. But it's better than life! Life! Better than the gilded symbols of "love" that we see on a daily basis. And I will praise Him for His love. I'll praise Him when I don't understand life or why I can't seem to shake things off. I'll praise Him when there's nothing more to say. I believe that in this way, I am giving my heartache to the Lord. He fills me up with His goodness and reminds me that His love is strongest. He has not a picky love, like the kind we see and experience here in this life, but an all-consuming embrace. His love says to just love Him back. I am satisfied by that.

(Just a few people who fill me up with love)

(Austin and Cassie)



















(North Village Staff)

(Devon and Danielle)

(Daddy)

(Kristin)

(Mommy and Celeste)

(Vincent)

December Days

December favorite is my favorite month.

I love how this month is filled with a new kind of wonderment. The Christmas spirit is alive! People are excited to be giving gifts and time to the ones they love. December is different. It smells better, it tastes sweeter, and it calls for sweaters and mittens.

In high school, I promised myself that I would never let a day in December unnoticed. I wouldn't try to simply "get through the week" like I usually would during any other month, I would savor each and every hour of December because it is just so special. I wanted to give a gift everyday, to extend cheer and graciousness to people I never had before. December made me a love-struck, googly-eyed teenager, and I was in love with life.

There is almost a sacredness to life that I re-discover every December; a sacredness that I don't necessarily feel every other day of the year. Why is it that December was (and sometimes, still is) a more important time of the year than any other day? Why is my life worth more in these 31 days? Why can't this joy I feel in December, the joy of giving and serving, spill over into the other months? One of my life verses, Ephesians 5:15-17, talks directly to the issue of valuing time: "Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is."  Paul understood that time is fleeting and that no day should go un-lived. I reminded of this verse in the times where I am going through the motions just to get to the weekend, when I am defaulting to my routine rather than praising My God in the beautiful fact that I'm alive, that He chose to wake me up today. 

Today, I am alive. And so are you! God is not finished with us-- He has work for us that we have yet to complete. That staggering truth kicks me right out of the silly mindset that one month or one season is more special than any other. The richness and beauty of life does not live within the confines of a fuzzy feeling or a gift exchange, it is the mechanism that allows for these things to happen.

Yes, December still smells and tastes better; and I must remember this wonderful feeling during January, February, and the others. God is present and engaged in every moment. That, my friends, is timeless.

Joy, Uncompromising

I find myself in the midst of a rough transition. Me, standing in the middle of a place that I do not know. Doubt, confusion, and regret beg for my allegiance, telling me I'd be better off playing in their games. 

In times like this, I tend to pray. A lot. My prayers are repetitive and desperate and usually soaked in tears. I pray the moment I open my eyes in the morning, I pray as I get ready, throughout my day...

I pray that God would heal a broken situation, a broken heart. That He would make something beautiful out of something so messy. I pray He takes feelings off my heart that aren't meant to be, and that He may re-focus my attention onto His glory and His Kingdom. 

I pray He makes me better. That He would make me worth loving.

Through these moments of prayer, I encounter the living God. I see Him answering prayer, responding to my defeat by lacing His hands into mine and whispering, "your story is not over yet." In my heart, I hear the voice of my Savior, calling me to trust His goodness. 

It is not because if anything I am or have done that makes me worth loving, worth cherishing, but the light of the Lord within me. And honestly, I've only just recently realized this defining truth. I constantly reprimand myself, thinking, "what's wrong with me," "get ahold of yourself, Becker", and sometimes even worse: "you aren't worth it." I am quickly reminded of these falsehoods through the words and company of family and good friends. They see my crumbling confidence and speak truth into my life. I am eternally grateful for them.

I still don't feel great about where I am. There are days of great progress followed by days of sleeping and Hägen-Daas. And while my mind may understand that everything will be alright, my heart still attempts to make the same connection. Happiness comes in bursts, and through those sparks, I become hopeful. Still, despite the compromised "happiness", I still live in a constant state of joy: Joy that I know my God, joy that I am still alive and living in grace, Joy that He loves me. 

That joy is uncompromisable, ineffable. 

"Those who look to Him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces. In my desperation I prayed, and the Lord listened; He saved me from all my troubles." -Psalm 34:5-6 

Profound

I think the reason that I haven't written a blog post in several weeks is because I know I don't have the time to sit down and write something profound. I can't write something impactful and convicting in the 15 minutes of "me time" before going to bed. So I don't write.

What I've since discovered is this: my writing is not necessarily profound because of the content of my stories, it is profound at the grace of the fact that I write at all. The ability to express, the therapy of getting my thoughts on paper, the fellowship of hearing that someone else feels the way I do: how incredible are these things!

I haven't done anything "astounding" today. I just had Mexican food for lunch and I am about to work on a project for my education class. I haven't saved a life or made anyone think.

Yet there's hope in the mundane. I am not a masterpiece due to my own personality, but because God inhabits me.

The smallest actions of mine (and yours) are, in themselves, profound. We wait and wait for the "next big opportunity", the "big promotion" and "the one", but everything leading up to those moments are God-given, life-changing instances. I have become less and less sensitive to this beautiful truth since being in college, forcing myself to go from A to B, from beginning to finish. I have not savored the moments of passing, the casual conversations, the silence of my day's end.

The living, all-mighty God exists in all those moments. In my choosing of either Tamales or Enchiladas and in the baptisms of this Sunday morning. Because He loves us. He doesn't wait on the other side of our messy lives, coaxing us over to Him. He sticks by us, shoulder-to-shoulder, and whispers into our ear, "I'm here, let's get through this".

I sit at my desk, waiting another 6 minutes before I must dash off once again. And I anticipate the moment where I might be given something incredible to say. Yet there it is-- the willingness to wait, to be expendable for the Lord's Will: that is incredible. That is profound.

Our soul waits for the Lord; he is our help and our shield. 

For our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name. 

Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us, even as we hope in you.

 -Psalm 22:20-22 (ESV)

DIY Map Nameplates

DIY Map Nameplates

You will need:

-Template of your desired shape

-Map of desired state

-Paper cutter

-Adhesive scrap-booking dots

-Scissors

-Runner tape

-Black, thick poster board

1. Print out a template of whatever symbol you'd like (I used this shape for my all-girl hall).

2. To emphasize my travel/journey theme for my hall, I used map as the material for the doll. (Triple A members get maps for free, so we just went to our local store and asked for 5 maps!)

 3. I tried to choose maps with the most space/coolest designs (states with water, mountains, etc.)

4. Cut out your material by tracing your symbol directly onto the map (for these, the heads are separate little circles.)

 5. Use fairly thick black poster board as the backing so that the doll/shape isn't flimsy. I chose black so that the doll would stand out and not look washed out. (Use runner tape for the most accurate, most unnoticeable adhesion).

6. Cut a little thicker than her shape so she stands out.

 7. Repeat the process for the head.

 8. Find scrapbook paper that matches your theme. We found a set with great colors for maps (neutrals, grays, metalics, tans, etc.) Use a paper cutter so that your halves are exactly straight and beautiful!

 9. For a slightly 3D affect, use adhesive scrap-booking dots so that she looks a little raised. It really adds to the overall piece!

10. To continue with my travel/journey theme, I found these adorable ticket stubs just big enough to write my girls' names on them. So unique and so perfect for my theme!

Overall, I made 40 of these name plates and 

only spent about 30$ on all the supplies.

They are very unique, and I hope that my girls feel special with 

their own personalized nameplate!