Rebuilding Faith

I’ve written and rewritten this blog post so many times over the last year or so. I’ve never been able to find the right words to describe my faith, but now I’m realizing that maybe I never truly had the words until now.

I’ve always been a Christian. I was baptized as a baby, went through Sunday school, vacation Bible school, Confirmation, and senior high youth group. But I never truly made the decision to pursue a relationship with God until around August of 2018.

My boyfriend Dalton took me to this thing at Concordia University in Seward called Praise. It’s basically a mini church service led by students. We sing some songs, hear a message from a student, and have designated prayer time. I was a bit hesitant to go, but I kept an open mind, and I am so glad I did. One of the first songs we sang was my solo song from church, “What a Beautiful Name.” In that moment, I felt God’s presence for the first time in many years. I knew that I was in the right place with the right people, doing exactly what I was destined to do.

I will admit, I’ve fallen off the wagon a few times since them. It’s easy to forget about God when your life is so busy. It’s easy to convince yourself that you don’t need Him, that you can do it without Him. But that’s so not true. On the days when I feel like nothing can cheer me up, when it feels like my life is not even worth it, that’s when He shows Himself to me the most. I want to be angry with Him for making me feel that way, for bringing such heartache into my life, but in those moments, God says, “I am here. Talk to me. Let me in.” And even thought it hurts like hell, even though I want nothing more than to push Him away and continue to dwell on my pain, I pray. I open up to Him. It’s in those moments that I can feel Him with me. It’s in those moments that I weep, and God weeps with me.

A couple of months ago, I learned about a little group called The Devoted Co. (TDC) through a friend’s Instagram. I heard that they are a group of women gathering every other week to worship Jesus and support each other. When I went for the first time, I was a giant ball of anxiety. I knew no one there, and I was terrified to meet new people. But God met me in that place and gave me the courage to open up to those ladies. I haven’t been the same since.

Most people don’t understand why people have faith. They wonder how we can believe in something we can’t even see. But what they might not understand is that we can see God. We see Him in the sun peeking over the horizon in the mornings. We see Him in the love of a parent or friend or significant other. We see Him in the perfect song coming on the radio when you need it most. God shows Himself to us all the time, in numerous ways; we just have to be open to seeing those things as God’s blessings.

But to have faith, you can’t just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don’t, as well. In times of grief or struggle, it can be hard to see God’s presence. We are blinded by our heartache and cannot see that it is all part of God’s plan. Everything happens because God makes it so. From the second we are born, He knows every sin we will commit, every lie we will tell, every heartbreak we will suffer. But if we stay strong in our faith, He will reward us with the greatest blessing of all: a ticket up to heaven to meet with Him and be with our loved ones again.

Rebuilding my faith has not been an easy journey, and I don’t think it ever will be, but so far it has been 100% worth it. My relationship with Dalton is built on faith, and I think that is one of the big reasons why we have such a strong connection. I am far from where I want to be, but in the last year or so, God has shown me how loved I am and how important it is to spread that love to others. I am excited to continue to grow in my faith and share my transformation story with others.

Misplaced Passion

I recently re-watched the movie A Cinderella Story with Hilary Duff. It was one of my favorites growing up; I couldn’t even tell you how many times I’ve watched it. Anyway, there is a mantra that comes up throughout the movie, originally spoken by Babe Ruth: “Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.” This resonated with me as a kid, and it does even more so today.

I’ve always been more of a head-in-the-clouds kind of person. I’m very practical and rational and grounded, but when it comes to my future, I’ve always been a big dreamer. I had many things I aspired to be growing up including singer, dancer, teacher, mother, and most notably, writer. When I was younger I used to just write little stories for fun. I didn’t care if anyone liked them. I didn’t even care if anyone wanted to read them. I just wrote for me. It was fun. Then in high school, I took my first creative writing class, and while it was a bit more structured than my personal writing time, it allowed me to get actual feedback on my writing and learn how to make it better to read and more fun to write.

Then college happened. I decided to major in creative writing because I wasn’t really good at anything else. I had short stories due every week, and while most of the feedback I received from my classmates and professors was productive, some of it was hard to hear. I was offended when people didn’t like my characters or my voice. For so long, my writing had always been for my eyes only. I didn’t have to care about what other people thought. As long as I liked it, that was all that had mattered. But college hit me with the reality that if I really wanted to be a writer like I had always dreamed as a kid, I had to relinquish some of my control over my writing. It was really hard. My stories were my children, and I wasn’t ready to let them out into the world. But by the time my four years had come to a close, I was grateful for all the things I had learned, and I knew that I was a better writer because of the constructive criticism I had endured.

I graduated a little over a year ago, and not a day has gone by since that I haven’t thought about what I want to do with my life. I haven’t written any solid fiction since college; I just haven’t felt the drive to write. I feel like no matter what I write, it won’t be good enough to publish, so what’s the point? But today I realized that I’ve lost myself a bit. I’ve lost the love I had for writing for myself, for not caring what other people would think. I’ve been so focused on writing something for publication that I’ve lost my love for the art and beauty of it all. I’m letting the fear of striking out keep me from playing the game, and that’s not what a young Hope Schreiner would do.

I would absolutely love to find a full-time job doing something related to my degree, but I haven’t found anything that piques my interest yet. And you know what? I think that’s okay. I am young, I am passionate, and I am determined, so I have no doubt that I will do whatever it takes to find a career path that makes me happy. And until then, I will write.

Sparky

I had to say goodbye to my best friend today. Words cannot express how heavy my heart feels, but I know this is for the best. He is not in pain anymore, and he is up in doggie heaven chasing rabbits and eating lots and lots of grass.

Sparky went by many names around our house. Spark. Sparkles. Spooky. Pookie. Dog. I had many names for him as well. Lil’ Bean. Lil’ Nugget. Baby. Old Man. Cow (he ate a lot of grass). Kitty (he licked his paws like a cat grooming itself). Turd (he ate his own poop…). Lil’ Potato. Sweet Boy. Peanut. I always called him my best friend. Because he was. But it didn’t start out that way.

We got Sparky when he was really little, probably a few months old. I was about seven years old. He was a little firecracker, hence where the name Sparky came from. Being the anxious child that I was, I hated him. He had too much energy for my liking, so I avoided him at all costs. We kept him penned up in the kitchen, and if I wanted to play in the backyard, he had to be chained up to the fence. I was absolutely terrified of that little dog. While this fear gradually decreased over time, it wasn’t until maybe middle school that I started to feel comfortable around him.

As I entered into my angsty teenage years, I found comfort in going on walks to quiet my sad or nervous thoughts; so naturally, I would take Sparky with me. All the way through high school, we went on a walk nearly every day after school. Sometimes we would just go the park and sit on the merry-go-round (he was not too fond of this, but he put up with it as long as we didn’t spin too much). Sometimes one of my friends would join us. I worked on training him to not bark so wildly at other dogs, and he taught me that sometimes a good walk can do wonders for the mind.

He was a great listener. Even though it often seemed like he barely tolerated my constant physical affection, I always felt better after cuddling with him on the kitchen floor for a while. If I was ever home alone, I would let him out of the kitchen and bring him into my room to hang out for a bit, feeling rebellious. I spent more time with that dog than any human. He was there through every boy who broke my heart, every family death, every time I felt insecure or unsure of what to do in a situation. We became inseparable.

I know people will say, “He’s just a dog. It’s not like you’re losing a family member.” But I strongly disagree. Sparky was as much a part of my family as anyone. He was with us for almost seventeen years. Seventeen years of long walks, tearing up Dad’s yard by eating grass, countless caught rabbits, struggling to take baths, barely tolerating hugs and kisses from me, and so much love. I bought him treats on his birthday and kissed his little head every night before I went to sleep. I could sit here for hours, telling you all kinds of stories about him.

Even though I knew it was coming for a while now, saying goodbye to Sparky is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I will miss my pupper more than anything. Nothing can replace the bond we shared. He taught me how to love someone with your whole heart and soul, and I will always be grateful for that. He taught me that I can overcome even my biggest fears. Thank you for everything, Sparky.

Love

Yes, this is a blog post about Valentine’s Day. But before you roll your eyes and scroll past this, hear me out. I want to talk about love, but not just romantic love. In fact, I want to talk about anything but romantic love.

For many years, I had always disliked Valentine’s Day. To me, it was a reminder of how miserably alone I was while everyone else was totally in love. It never failed to make me feel completely and utterly hopeless when it came to relationships. But now that I have found love, I can finally see Valentine’s Day for what I believe it is truly meant to be.

There are many different kinds of love besides romantic. First, there is family love. I have been blessed with an amazing, albeit unique and quirky, family. Sometimes I feel like I am nothing like them, but then I am reminded of how alike we all really are. They don’t even have to say it; I know they love me with all of their hearts. We are bonded together by blood, but it’s a bond that goes beyond obligation. We have each other’s backs, in good times and bad. That is love.

Then there is friend love. My friends. Where do I even begin? From new ones to old, I truly believe I have the best of the best. Friends are the family you get to choose, but I don’t think I could have picked them out if I tried. God brought these people into my life, and I can’t thank Him enough for that. I can lean on them in times of struggle and laugh with them in times of happiness. I would be nothing without these people. That is love.

Next up is God’s love. 2018 was the year I discovered my faith again. Since about August, I have been working on rebuilding my relationship with God. It’s been a bit rocky over the past few years, but if there’s one thing I learned in these last 6 months, it’s that even though I feel as if I have strayed from God, He has always been right there. He has seen me at my worst and still chooses to love me. That is love.

Last but certainly not least, there is self-love. This is the hardest one in my opinion, and definitely the one I’ve struggled with the most. It is easy to look in the mirror and point out our flaws, but I challenge you to wake up each day and think of what you like most about yourself, internally or externally. It is truly life changing. Surround yourself with people who build you up and make you a better person, a person you can be proud to be. You can’t love others until you love yourself. It’s cheesy but all too true. Once you learn to love and value yourself, you will see the beauty in yourself that others have always seen. That is love.

So before you go moping around this Valentine’s Day, think about all of the love in your life besides romantic love. You probably have a lot more to be grateful for than you think. Love is the strongest emotion and the most sought after. You are so loved, in more ways than you probably know. Hold onto that feeling, and spread it around for all to experience.

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - we find it with another.” –Thomas Merton

Distance

I never imagined I would be in a distance relationship. It just never occurred to me that I would meet someone outside of Omaha because I spend all my time in Omaha. Granted, an hour (70 miles to be exact) is not that far, but when you’re also trying to work around each other’s busy schedules, it feels like half a world away.

Sometimes we are lucky and get to see each other twice a week, but sometimes we have to go almost two weeks without seeing each other. Sometimes I feel fine without him because I am too busy to dwell on his absence, but sometimes I miss him two seconds after we depart. Sometimes it feels like we live in two different worlds. I am here, and he is there, and the distance between us feels infinitely farther with each passing day. Because we’re constantly traveling back and forth, our relationship feels nomadic, as if we don’t really have a home.

Distance is especially hard when you’re still so early in the relationship. In the beginning, it felt like right as we started to make good progress, we had to be apart for a while. Time has become our enemy. We never feel like we have enough of it, and it’s always running out. Sometimes we can’t be together for reasons completely out of our control, like bad weather (winter is the worst). I envy people who get to see their significant other every day, or even every other day.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, it sucks.

But through all the scheduling conflicts, late nights travelling back and forth, and bad weather, we have somehow managed to make it work. In a lot of ways, the distance has made us stronger. When we’re finally able to be together, we cherish that time even more because it is so brief. We’ve been able to get to know each other in less conventional ways. The internet has really helped with that. We Snapchat constantly and talk in Discord whenever we need to hear each other’s voices.

It’s really, really hard, and it’s not going to get any easier, at least not for the next couple of years. But you know what keeps me going? The promise that someday it will be easier. Someday I’ll get to see him every day. I’ll get to wake up to his smiling face in the mornings and eat dinner with him every night. We’ll get to travel the world together and go to concerts together and never have to worry about running out of time.

So if you’re in a distance relationship, whether it’s across the state, across the country, or around the world, know that your pain is valid, your struggle is valid, and if you truly love them, it will always be worth it. As Jamie Tworkowski often says, love truly is the most powerful force on the planet.