Coming to the End

This is a slightly sappy senior post, and I’m ok with that. I finally got around to reading my ballots last night. Part of me couldn’t quite decide if I even wanted to, but I’m glad I did, because it gave me a chance to just think for a while.

Yes, I got some of the feedback that can be a little frustrating for graduating seniors – advice for “next year” or “in the future,” when I know that I’ll probably never have the opportunity to speak for a panel of judges ever again. I was frustrated by some of my ballots, but I was also humbled and encouraged by the number of judges who said “thank you, this is what I needed to hear.”

I’m glad that I read my ballots, but unless I go back and re-read them at some point, I’m not going to remember what they said. There are a lot of details from this tournament and my entire time competing that I’m pretty sure I won’t remember, but there are a lot of things that I will remember.

I might remember where some of my friends placed, but I know that I’ll remember my friend sitting with her arm around me as I waited to hear extemp semi breaks. I know I’ll remember the people who found me (which is sometimes no small feat at tournaments) to ask me how my rounds went because they cared how I was doing. I will remember those who rejoiced with those who broke and were there for those who didn’t.

I might not remember what anyone’s speeches were, but I know that I’ll remember the meaningful conversations, the laughter, the tears, and the words of encouragement.

I might not remember any of my debate partner’s jokes (because not all of them were as funny as he thought :)), but I will remember him making me laugh.

I might not remember any of the details of any of the world events that I watched with the same enthusiasm and intensity that some people watch football, but I will remember laughing, crying, and praying with my extemp girls. I will remember waking up in the morning to a conversation between the night owls in the extemp chat, with the occasional comment “Patience should share her thoughts on this when she gets up in the morning.” I will remember the running joke about how we were never really allowed to sit next to each other in the prep room (because we probably would have spent half our prep time taking selfies and goofing off….)

I probably won’t remember the bulk of my Middle East research, but I will remember the friend who challenged me, encouraged me, and kept me accountable in prayer for the people behind the events in the Middle East that we were both researching.

I know that I won’t remember my draw time, but I will always remember the extemp lady’s smile, and the fact that she got me a banana out of judge hospitality that one time that I missed lunch.

I know that most of the judges will not remember my name, my topic, or even if I was a good speaker. I’m pretty sure most of them will remember the experience of coming and judging. I won’t remember every impromptu or apologetics speech that I gave, but I will remember that every competition room that I went into presented a unique opportunity to communicate with a panel of judges that were put there by God for a reason – perhaps to hear something that I had to say, perhaps to hear something that someone else had to say.

I have been deeply blessed by the friends I met in NCFCA, and I thank God for each of them. On Saturday evening, I said goodbye to an incredible group of people. Some of them for the last time ever. Some of them are still around and I know that I’ll still see them quite a bit. Some of them I know I’ll see once in a while. But I know that it’s never going to be the same. I know that my time as a competitor is over, and with that, I’m stepping into a new stage of life. I’m going to miss my time in NCFCA, but I know that “there are far greater things ahead than any we leave behind.”

Realizing How Much I Care

I've always said the trophies don't matter that much to me. I'm not in it for the medals or the trophies - I don't even know what to do with them. Where do you even put them? I'm uncomfortable having them on display, but it doesn't seem right to hide them in the back of a closet, either.

Until my little sister broke one of my trophies. And it wasn't just any trophy, it was my extemp trophy. That was a big deal to me. That trophy represented hundreds of hours. That trophy represented late nights, 2 gigabytes of stored articles, and eight months of research collaboration with my extemp club.  That trophy represented success in an event that I used to be too scared to try.

And she broke it. She didn't break it on purpose, but it had kind of been one of those days and when I saw what she had done, my frustration boiled over.

In that moment, I realized how much I cared. I cared if that trophy broke. I cared if that trophy was kept shiny and dust free. I cared if my little sisters couldn't keep their sticky fingers off of it.

It's just a trophy. Five, ten years from now, it'll probably be in a box at the back of a closet.

"I . . . Count them as rubbish in order that I may gain Christ."

 I count it as rubbish, or I freak out if it's broken?

I've said a lot of things about extemp in the time that I've competed in it. It's an addiction. It's an obsession. It's my favorite speech event.
I've also said a few things that reflected my pride in a way that I regret.

In January, Voice of the Martyrs was just as much a part of my regular reading as Foreign Policy, CNN, and the Economist were. Part of what I loved about extemp was the fact that I knew how to pray for the people of the world, because I knew specific needs.

There was a time when doing research left me on my knees and in tears as often as it left me jotting down notes on global leaders that I needed to brief myself on.

I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but I feel like that girl wouldn't have yelled at her little sisters for breaking a plastic trophy.

Today, my extemp research led to a few cynical remarks under my breath and frustration with my internet connection.
Something changed, and I don't like it. Suddenly, I care more about my success than the hurting world behind the extemp topics. I care more about a trophy than about the little girl who says "Please don't leave me!" when I go to tournaments.

Pressure has this way of revealing what's really going on inside someone's head and where their priorities lie. Today, push came to shove and I picked my trophy over my sister, and I realized that in a very short time, my priorities had shifted.

I want to go back. I want to get back to the point where I really did care more about character than about trophies. Where extemp was an active part of my prayer life. Where speech and debate was something that I did for the glory of God rather than the glory of self. Back to the point where I recognized that I accomplished nothing in or out of the competition room apart from the grace of God. I want to once again count it all as rubbish in order that I may gain Christ.

No One Can Argue: Apologetics Part 2

I was sorting through my Apologetics cards before I wrote this, and I was looking over my card about the evidence for the resurrection. One of my points is "The Testimony of the Apostles,"specifically focusing on Peter, James, and Paul. Under that point I talk about how the incredible change in these three men after Jesus rose again makes the message they preached impossible to ignore.

Peter adamently denied even knowing Jesus, much less being a follower of Him, when Jesus was on trial. After Jesus rose from the dead, Peter boldly preached that Jesus was the Messiah. Prison, angry mobs, threats from the authorities, and crucifixion would not keep Peter from declaring Christ. Why this change? Because Peter knew Jesus and put his hope in Him.
James, Jesus' half-brother, was not a follower of Jesus during His earthly ministry, and even tried to persuade Jesus to stop preaching. Fast forward about fifty years and James is leading the Church and was thrown off the pinnacle of the temple and beaten by a crowd of angry jews demanding that he deny Jesus. Why? Because he believed that Jesus was God, and seated at the right hand of the Father.
Then there's Paul. This man had everything going for him. He could trace his heritage to the line of Benjamin, he was raised in (probably a well-to-do) family of Pharisees, he had trained under one of the most respected teachers of his day, the High Priest trusted him with the task of breaking up the Church in Damascus. And then his life completely changed. He went from persecuting the followers of Jesus, to bringing the gospel to as much of the known world as he could. Why? Because he had a personal encounter with Christ and God gave him a new heart.

Apologetics has to be more than a box full of answers, it has to be more than a head full of answers, it has to be more than refutation to the arguments the world presents to us. Apologetics has to be a lifestyle. Apologetics has to be centered around the fact that in our hearts we have sanctified Christ as Lord. The apologist, in order to be effective, must live in such a way that there is an obvious hope within them that permeates every part of them. No matter how solid your answers are, your most convincing testimony will be your life. I was listening to a podcast of one of my favorite speakers about applying apologtics, and in closing he said something that really stuck with me. He pointed out that no matter how many answers you know, "No one can argue with a life well lived."

Ultimately, the most persuasive argument we can give isn't one that we can keep in our apologetics boxes. You can have answers supporting the deity of Christ, you can explain why that's significant, you can give the historic evidence for His death and resurrection, but if you can't show how Christ has changed you, if you don't live like He is Lord of your life, you cannot persuade people. Because you can't persuade someone else to live for something you aren't willing to totally live for.

1 Peter 3:15 is sort of the battle cry of apologetics, "always being ready to make a defense to anyone who asks you to give an answer for the hope that is within you, yet with gentleness and reverence." There's another part of that verse that all too often gets left out. 1 Peter 3:15a says, "But sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts" and then continues with the part we all know so well, "always being ready to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is within you, yet with gentleness and reverence." I know that verse, I learned it many years ago. I have many answers for why I believe what I believe. But sometimes I'm missing the most important part. "Sanctify Christ as Lord."

Sometimes I feel like I'm making no progress in my spiritual life and I just keep ending up in the same pitfalls, making the same mistakes and learning (or almost learning) the same lessons. And as I thought about it, I realized that every time I had turned from a sin, or decided to change myself, I had had a "for now" mentality. I knew I was going to fail at some point, so I only partially committed. But to sanctify Christ as Lord in my heart means that I'm not giving Him partial control over my life, until I get busy and distracted and make mistakes. No, sanctifying Christ as Lord in my heart means that I am giving Him priority and honor. It means I won't settle with failure and accept sin in my life. It means surrendering every part of my life completely to His control. It means that even when I do sin - because I do, and I know I will - I will turn from it and continue to pursue Christ. That's the kind of life that the hope of Christ shines through. That's the kind of life that is better than any Apologetics speech I could ever give. That's the kind of life that is a testimony. And it's the kind of life that I want to live.

While Angels Weep: Apologetics Part 1

1 Peter 3:15 says, "Sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts, always being ready to make a defense to everyone who asks you to give a reason for the hope that is in you, yet with gentleness and reverence." This verse is more or less the battle cry of Apologetics. I've heard it from sunday school teachers, youth pastors, parents, speech coaches, and speech competitors.

I have said, more than once, that of all the speech events I've competed in, Apologetics is the one I have spent the most time on, and the one I value the most. Why? Because the hundreds of hours I've spent on apologetics carry over into the rest of my life. I'm learning to make a defense for what I believe.

So why is this post called, "While Angels Weep"? Well, the answer is in the poem, by one of the greatest apologists of his time.

The Apologist's Evening Prayer

by C.S. Lewis

From all my lame defeats and oh! much more

From all the victories that I seemed to score;

From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf

At which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;

From all my proofs of Thy divinity,

Thou, who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.

Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust, instead

Of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.

From all my thoughts, even from my thoughts of Thee,

O thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.

Lord of the narrow gate and the needle's eye,

Take from me my trumpery lest I die.

I love C.S. Lewis. I love his writing style, his poetry, his fiction, his life story, the wonderful answers he offered for his faith. And this poem, I really love this poem, because, though I am not the great apologist of the century, I can relate. I've had days when I fall on my knees because I should have given an answer, and I didn't. Days when thoughts seem to get stuck somewhere between my brain and my tongue, and my words are as stale and flat as the rootbeer that was opened eight hours ago. When I've been challenged by someone who tells me "The Bible doesn't really say...." and I have no answer until after I get home and search it out. I fail, and I come crawling back to my Savior, because they are His words and His answers that I have failed to present clearly. I turn to Him, because I failed to give an answer to those who asked me.

It's easy to understand the need for God's grace in our failure to give an answer, but I've learned that we need His grace even more in the excellent answers we give. I think my biggest problem is the days when I don't fail verbally. When I know that I need God's grace and call out to Him to make up for my failings, I remember that it is "Not by might, nor by power, but by [His] Spirit" (Zechariah 4:6) that I act. But when I win, I pat myself on the back. Suddenly my mindset shifts, and I'm doing it through my my might, my power, and my spirit. No matter how solid the answers I give are, I fail as an apologist when I've put my confidence in myself. Thoughts are but coins, but it is so easy to trust them instead of the God who gave us the ability to have thoughts. We put our trust in ourselves, in the shiny coins of our thoughts, rather than the God whose image we bear.

I've never been one to give up an argument, I've had arguments (silly arguments) that lasted for months because I refused to back down. Never backing down is a good thing when it comes to truth. Unfortunately, I let my argument tendency sneak into my apologetics. I get so focused on winning arguments, that I forget why I'm arguing. I get a triumphant feeling when I out-talk someone and give answers that everyone listening is impressed with, or when I give an excellent apologetics speech. Then I realize that those answers were for my glory, not the furthering of God's kingdom. And while audiences laughed, (or sat back impressed, or commented on the quality of my speech, or how well I know my Bible), angels wept at my arrogance. God didn't call us to win arguments, He called us to win souls. And when winning souls, there are times when silence is the best answer. Not long ago I had a conversation with a friend of mine whom I disagree with, and at one point I found myself literally placing my hand over my mouth, because I knew that the words that really wanted to come out of my mouth were not God's words, but mine. To my shame, I've had many other conversations when I chose not to place my hand over my mouth, but instead, to give the reasons that I considered the other person to be wrong, and I built a wall instead of a bridge. I didn't follow the calling in 1 Peter to make a defense with gentleness and reverence.

I'm an "Apol-Girl." I have a neatly organized box, full of neatly made cards, which have neatly organized answers, that I take with me to tournaments. Why? Because I'm training myself, I'm teaching myself the answers to what I believe. I'm learning why I believe what I believe. I have a safe environment where I can go into a room and after four minutes, give an answer for what I believe to a panel of three judges. I've had some real life experiences to defend what I believe to the people who disagree with me and give them an answer as well. Someday, I'm going to give an answer to God for my words and the motives behind them. I've had apologetics rounds where I went into that room aiming for a high ranking, and that was all. I gave an excellent speech in those rounds, but as I gave that speech all I was thinking was, "I have to do better than at least four of the people in this room to make it to finals." I've done that more than once. I've gotten knocked out in semis, and I've made it past semis. I'm not going to say that my mindset determines whether or not I break. Sure, there have been times when it's been a factor, but whether or not I do well isn't the point. The point is, I decided to pursue those shiny coins, rather than the One whose image they bear. And one day, I will be called to answer for that. For now, I can simply ask for grace to try again.

And Then What?

I don’t often get to the end of a tournament and think, I am so glad that it’s over now. But this time I did. Oh, yes, I enjoyed myself. It was a good tournament. I got to hang out with some wonderful people, I broke in three of my four events, I got to see friends I had not seen in nine months, and I had a great time. But it was also a really hard tournament for me. I was sick, I was tired, and I was having asthma trouble all day, all three days. And on the way home after octas, I kept asking myself, Why do I care? We lost. We knew we lost. But hey, we made it to octas at a National Open. It doesn’t matter that we lost, right? But it sure did. And if it doesn’t really matter, the question still stands, why do I care?

So why do I do this? Why do I bother? 

This is a question that’s been nagging at me for the past nine months. I don’t know exactly what triggered it. Maybe it was something about walking across a stage at a national tournament, maybe something about my older sister graduating, maybe something about falling flat on my face in all my debate goals last year. But I can’t get it out of my head. What if I never do place at nationals? I graduate, I grow up, and I move on. What if I meet my goals, have an incredibly successful senior (or junior) year, have an unforgettable experience and develop friendships that last a lifetime? I graduate, I grow up, and I move on. What if I win Nationals? I graduate, I grow up, and I move on. Every option I look at ends the same. I graduate, I grow up, and I move on. Yes, I have graduophobia. I don’t want to move on, and I’m nowhere close to grown up. But still, the reality of the fact that I will have to move on in fourteen to fifteen months has really been making me wonder why I care, why it matters. It’s so temporary.

I’ve always hated apathy. My response to people who just don’t care has always been frustration. Come on, people! Don’t you realize this matters? My philosophy on competition has always been that if you’re going to do something, give it your all! My mom gently reminds me that life needs balance, it can’t be all about straight A’s and speech and debate. People pretty quickly agree that going into a a competition with the attitude that you must win isn’t a good thing for a Christian to do. But they aren’t as quick to agree that going into a competition and not caring if you win or lose is just as bad. Now don’t get me wrong, if we win, we praise Him, and if we lose, we praise Him! But I think brining apathy into a round is just as bad as making winning your absolute focus. If you genuinely don’t care if you win or lose, you’re wasting your time. But now we’re right back where we started, if it doesn’t matter, in the vast scheme of things, why should we care? This is where my question really gets boiled down. If it doesn’t matter, because there’s more to life than winning and losing, but apathy is a bad thing and I should do everything as if working for the Lord, why do I compete in speech and debate? Shouldn’t I find something more impactful to do with my time? Why do I compete in speech and debate? Why do I get up at five and stay up ‘till midnight just to compete in these tournaments?

I think, maybe, I’ve figured out an answer. After my parents, my Uncle has probably been the most influential adult in my life. I was talking to him on sunday, and that conversation, along with my own nagging thoughts, and countless conversations with others, has gotten me to the point that I think I might finally have a conclusion on why I do this. He asked me how my tournament had gone and I told him that I didn’t feel like it had been my best. I could have done better. I could have tried harder. I could have been healthier. Then said, “I can really tell that doing well in speech and debate is important to you. If you keep working on it and give it enough effort and dedication, you will do well.” I smiled. I had needed to hear that. “And then what?” I asked. “I do well, I reach my goals, and then what?” The answer going through my head was I graduate, I grow up, and I move on.

“Then, you look at your achievements, and you count it all as rubbish, just like Paul said. And then you move on to the next thing. But whatever you do, do it with passion, or don’t do it at all. God has given you gifts and passions so that you can pursue them. Sometimes we don’t want the gifts that God gives us, but he gave them to us for a reason. Don’t forget, while you pursue them, that this is all temporary, but don’t let that be a reason not to pursue them.”

I think, maybe, I’ve finally got it. Yes, I should give every round everything I’ve got. I do speech and debate because it’s a God-given passion and ability. I will graduate, grow up, and move on. I will look at my achievements and count them all as rubbish. Think about that word, Rubbish. Garbage, waste, something you throw away. Something you move on from. You don’t keep rubbish. You don’t hold onto it. You let it go. But you never let go the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ. In NCFCA I have found friendships that have encouraged me, challenged me, and led me to a deeper relationship with my Savior. In NCFCA I have learned the value of an argument, and the value of silence. In NCFCA I have learned to ask questions, instead of volunteering opinion. I have learned how to deal with failure and disappointment. I’ve become quite familiar with failure and disappointment, and I’ve also become familiar with success. I’ve learned how to win and how to lose. 

I can’t say it’s a regular attitude for me, if it was, I think I wouldn’t be writing this, I wouldn’t have had this question on the back of my mind for months and months, but I have had award ceremonies when I really do look at the piece of paper in my hand and consider it rubbish. There were a couple times in particular. Once was when I took third in Apologetics. My speech had been one that was so heartfelt and something I had so passionately wanted to share that I walked out of the room and almost wished that it hadn’t been for competition. The other time was when I did well in the essay contest. I got disqualified from regionals with my only speech. When I got my ballots back, I learned that I had picket-fenced two of my three rounds, and I asked myself the same question I’ve been asking myself here. Why do I do this? Then the essay contest was announced. My first thought was, I’ve got to win this! But then as I started working on my essay and looking at the topic, I realized it was a topic I felt so deeply about, I needed to share it. I truly believed that this was something that people needed to here, so I begged God to just use my words and take them where they needed to go. And He did. When I walked across that stage in Oklahoma I wished that I could have remained anonymous. Those were God’s words, not mine. I didn’t want that cup!

I still do want to do well. I still want to make it to the big, invitational tournaments, to walk across that stage, to reach my goals, but there’s more to speech and debate than that. Part of the value of competition is that those certificates that you get, with your name printed in fancy letters and Mr. Wenzel’s signature at the bottom, remind you that your achievements are rubbish. That your goals which you have reached are just as fragile and worthless as that piece of paper in your hands. That all of this, that all of life beyond this: your career, your academic life, your achievements, are rubbish when held against the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus our Lord. And in spite of the fact that it is all rubbish, it is all worth it. God gives us passions so that we can pursue them passionately. Competition, when approached with the right attitude, drives us to success and pulls us closer to God. Our trophies are worthless, but the time spent competing for them is priceless.