The Noise

A Week Without Facebook and Instagram, Part One

Due to some fears of mine, I always have to know what's going on around me, specifically so I'm not surprised when something blows up. It soothes my fears to gather as much information as possible - not just what's actually happening, but details like facial expressions, items on someone's desk, words on a piece of paper. Nowadays, I call it being perceptive or really discerning. In several ways, God has redeemed my behaviors and I am able to walk into a room and feel the emotions, collectively and sometimes individually, that are in the room. It's a great gift, and I'm blessed to be able to respond to others' needs by having that extra sense.

This paranoia of information, if you will, of course is subconscious. I would carry my phone with me at work at all times in my back pocket, checking FB and IG in between patients, when I'm walking from one side of the hospital to the other. I would check it the first thing when I woke up (to open my eyes and get my brain moving), and check it before I went to bed (to make sure I didn't miss anything big). I had to know the latest! Because there's nothing more embarrassing than not knowing what's going on, right? In this world of information at our fingertips, it's almost shameful to not be in the know. {sarcasm there}

CNN did a recent article on teenagers and FOMO (fear of missing out) - how teenagers have anxiety about seeing on social media their friends hanging out without them, or finding out they missed something someone posted. It piqued my interest. Then one day, my husband asked me bluntly "why do you look at your phone so often?" and I hadn't realized I did. One day at work I noticed how many people were on their phones with other people (without phones) standing nearby. Slowly, through several observations and pricks of my mind, I realized I used my phone for distraction, and inadvertantly, ignored others in doing so.

But if I stopped scrolling FB every hour, how would I know what's going on? How, then, could I prepare myself for what was to come? I enjoyed the "noise," so to speak, the extra information that made me feel safe and knowledgable in the world. I wasn't ready to make any sudden moves. I liked the noise too much.

But in church one Sunday, I felt the HS was asking me to respond to that problem. In an odd movement that I don't quite remember doing, I deleted the FB and IG apps on my phone. It was scary. I was letting go of control over my environment, and placing it into the Father's hands. I knew He was safe and good, but I wasn't trusting Him with my world.

The next day, I was listening to a Bethel sermon by Danny Silk on expectancy and it wrecked me. He basically delivered it straight to my heart:

When you put God in a box, you will always be disappointed. Your expectations will never be met. But if you let God give you expectancy for His goodness, you will always be satisfied. Expectations are rooted in fear, and expectancy is rooted in His promises. 

I was slowly giving back to God the control He needs to work perfectly in my life. Without giving Him full control, I was limiting my experience with him. It was a hard week in learning to do that - but also so relaxing. I didn't realize how much I was trying to control my life instead of letting it happen.

In the moments where I began thinking about the next day, or wondering what my friends were up to on social media, I recalled the Message's version of Matthew 6:34:

"Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes."

So, all in all, I've learned the WHAT: I use my phone for distraction sometimes, I tend to ignore others when I'm on my phone, and I need to release control of my world and embrace each day as it's own. It's been AMAZING to be able to be present with those around me. So much life is happening and I was missing out! I can't believe I functioned for so long without engaging my world - crazy.

I would encourage you to just take a step back from your phone and social media consumption: when do you grab your phone? What is your intent in scrolling through FB, posting something, or liking a friend's post? Just think. Don't feel ashamed or guilty - just observe. There is such power in knowing what we're doing and how we affect others. If you feel completely at peace about your engagement with social media and your phone, great! If not, do something! :)

Next up on Part II: What I Learned from Not Knowing Anything (and what I'm going to do about it)

Coming up for air

Recently life has been hard. We're in the midst of it. In the thick of it. We know there's a way out; we know it will end. We just don't know how. {I apologize for the vague-ness of this post - will post details when it's appropriate to do so.}

This past week was especially hard - trying to make it through the situation we're in while also waiting for news on a possible new situation that could "rescue" us. We were supposed to find out on Friday what would happen. I was looking forward to Friday all last week. Maybe they'll call early, today. Then we can know now! The week dragged on; we heard nothing. Friday came. I woke up, weary and done with the week, hanging for dear life on the hope that by the end of the day, we would know SOMETHING. All day Friday, I was checking my phone every 10 minutes. It was really hard to focus on the tasks at hand - I could focus for 15-20 minutes, but then would be sucked back into the reality of anxiety. Waiting. Fear. What's going to happen?

Even when I went to work out, ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT was finding out the news. The news. Just tell me something. Yes or no. What's it going to be. Six o'clock rolls around, and Brent finally calls the guy and we get SOME news. We need to wait a little longer. Hang out in limbo. Almost there.

Very anticlimactic.

I just melted onto the couch. All the stress of having a day-long anxiety attack was too much. I didn't know what to do. Despite my laid-back attitude, I don't deal with stress well. It kind of overtakes me and I have no usual way to get out. So we talked. And prayed. And cried. And remembered that God is good, that He has a plan, that He knew this would happen. And really, there's nothing we can do for the weekend. We can either choose to be miserable or choose to enjoy the freedom of knowing God is in control. We chose the latter.

We ate amazing sushi and watched Antiques Road Show. I had brunch with basically my bridesmaids and house party. We had a double-date wine picnic. We adventured to Fiesta for our grocery shopping. We hung out with another couple in our house while they graded papers and we experimented in the kitchen, conversation flowing freely. We served our church and were encouraged by each other and also a few surprise people. Slowly, we crawled out of the depths into some sense of normalcy.

This morning at church I was reflecting on how different Friday at 6 pm to today was, and came across 2 Corinthians 7 (MSG):

"When we arrived in Macedonia province, we couldn't settle down. The fights in the church and the fears in our hearts kept us on pins and needles. 

We couldn't relax because we didn't know how it would turn out."

I actually don't have a clue why they were so nervous specifically, but man! That's what I felt like! The passage goes on to talk about how a visit from their friend Titus took them from "worry to tranquility in no time!" I was amazed that someone else, namely Paul and his friends, got just as anxious and worried as I did! I'm not a weird basket case that can't keep it together. I'm a human being!

We're still in the waiting stage, but I think we've learned a little peace along the way. There are still hard decisions to be made, and wisdom to be discerned. but at least for this weekend, we have come up for air. And it's clean. It's fresh. It's perfect for what we need.

Kansas

In May, my husband and I made the decision that we needed to visit my paternal grandparents on their farm in Kansas. There were rumblings since Christmas of them moving out of their house on the farm and into a sort of retirement-independent living community in town. During a discussion with my father after his own visit to see them, I felt a tug on my heart. My father said they were going through old boxes, photographs, and memorabilia, sorting what they wanted to keep and give away. Along with those items were a lot of memories, stories I've never heard and my grandparents may have never told until that point. If they were going to leave the farm, I needed to visit one more time and pay homage to the memories I had made in the house and with my grandparents, to the stories I will tell my children, and to the place in my heart that the farm has a hold on.

In Brent and I's conversation, I was telling him about what my father had said, how they were sorting through their lives and making an effort to both literally a figuratively move on. I recounted how I had spent, on two separate occasions, a week at their farm sorting through their old photographs and making each my grandmother and grandfather their own heritage scrapbook, filled with their ancestors' pictures, stories, and in the process, learning more about who I am. I told Brent about how my grandparents are people I deeply respect and love, and how my grandfather was born on the property he still lives on, almost 90 years later (that, in and of itself, is amazing!) Now Brent had only met them and visited the farm once, a visit that lasted possibly only 24 hours. But what was happening during my telling him these things was that I was realizing why it was so important that I go visit: my grandparents were the most consistent and steady family I had growing up.

Of course they aren't my only family growing up. I have been blessed with a large, loving, hilarious, and mostly uncomplicated family on both my mother and father's side. But for some reason, my paternal grandparents had a special place in my life. Maybe it's because there's a part of me that wishes I was raised by them, living a simple country lifestyle, surrounded by the beauty of a Kansas agricultural landscape. Maybe it's because, year after year, we would visit and they would still be there, still their same old selves, still believing that the Lord is good, still married, still providing the best poppyseed bread and mashed potatoes you could find anywhere. Their house changed very little over the years: they painted the wood paneling one year, got new drapes another. But I know their farmhouse like the back of my hand, and am amazed in it's simple, yet sturdy construction and use.

Their farm is one of the safest places in the world for me.

So when we actually visited in early August, we did the usual small-town Western Kansas activities: walked around the dirt roads, attended the county fair complete with funnel cakes, demolition derby, and pork burgers, as well as simply just sitting around and visiting. That's another thing I love about their farm - besides being in the quiet, peaceful country, there really isn't much to do. You just hang out. And I loved it! During our visit, Brent and I, as well as my father and stepmom, observed the changes going on, had discussions, and wondered at the best course of action. I knew the purpose of my visit, though: to grieve and rejoice. To find closure in a part of my life I am so grateful for.

On the last morning we were there, Brent and I went on a walk around the property, stumbling through overgrown grass, sliding along the gravel, and marveling at the freshly-cut wheat fields nearby with the perfect and clean blue sky as a backdrop. We even snuck a few shots in the cornfield. Towards the end, we sat on the concrete slab next to a large steel building that housed expensive farming equipment and decades of tools and farming supplies, shaded from the morning sun. I don't remember what we said, but I just started crying. The kind of crying that begins as a tight knot in your chest, comes out in unattractive gasps and sniffles, and generally makes me self-conscious that this might be one of those moments where Brent wonders who this lady is and what is happening to her.

I was so grateful to God for allowing me to have this place, for having these grandparents. I was mourning their departure and the change in their living situation, but most importantly, I was learning how to let go. I was learning how to appreciate their presence in my life, yet as I sat there depositing snot onto Brent's shirt,  I was also learning how to cling to a new presence: my husband. I was learning how even though I had a physical picture of steadfast love in my life through my grandparents, the Lord was standing behind them with even more steadfastness and faithfulness. I was learning to step forward and into a new life.

The Lord has never abandoned me. He has always been looking out for me, meeting my needs, and providing in ways that I can only realize later. I'm so thankful for the influence my grandparents had on me and can only hope I can love like they have, consistently and faithfully, powered by a God who never sleeps or slumbers. A God who sees all and knows my heart. A God who is very, very real.

Why Newlyweds Disappear

Starting when I was in college and then until the time I got married myself, I noticed a curious trend with friends that had recently gotten married: they disappeared. Not like really disappeared like in Harry Potter (soooo cool though!), but I just didn't see them that much. They would be absent from daily life and often events that normally I would expect them at. They would do curious things like say "I need to get home before dinner." Or "we're having date night tonight." Isn't every night date night? I mean, don't y'all just have dinner and stare into each other's eyes all the time? It was very weird.

My outlook on marriage at that point was that you get married so you can hang out with your best friend ALL the time as opposed to just a few hours a day, but really nothing else changes. Your current relationships, both male and female, stay the same. You can still be expected to show up at social functions, speak to your friends and family the same way, and have the same level of interest and care for them. 

Yup, not so much. Here's why we disappear. (Or at least, my opinion.)

We're essentially new people. We have consciously made a decision to start a new life together, and part of starting a new life is figuring out how to LIVE. Firstly, how do I live with another person? Why do they fart under the covers and laugh? Why do they take so long brushing their teeth? Does everything really need to be THAT clean? Secondly, if I'm forming a new life with this other person, how well do I know them? My pastor's wife remarked that she remembers wondering 6 months into marriage, compared to when they got married, how little they knew of each other! I need to spend time with them to understand not only their likes, dislikes, etc, but who they are as a person and how I can help them become the best version of themselves possible. These answers don't just come magically when you say "I do," walk down the aisle, and are suddenly married. They come over time.

It's not that I don't want to hang out with my friends, relate with them the same way, and/or spend time and energy pouring into them, but I've found a new person that is my priority. This is not to say I don't do any of the former things AT ALL, they just are put aside for a bit as my husband and I figure out who we are, who we want to be, and how this whole marriage thing works.

Eventually, we'll get to a place where we can reintegrate, if you will, but it takes a little time. It's hard because it's different, yet so so good. And it's needed. I promise!

New Name: New Identity

The first day back at work after returning from my honeymoon, my intern was following me around as I was rounding on my patients. After writing a note in a patient's chart, I signed my name as usual, but then stopped short and stared at the only signature I'd ever known: Rebecca May. She noticed my pause, saying, "Aren't you going to sign your new name?" I was dumbfounded. I guess so? What is my new name? How do I sign it? Is it really MY name yet? Is it official? Who says?

It wasn't until a month later, after submitting paperwork and driving all across town that I held two, small pieces of paper that announced indeed, I was Rebecca May Bassett. It wasn't until then that it felt real. I would go to a doctor's appointment, but get confused when they asked my name - am I Rebecca May here or the new one? Con artists must be pretty smart to keep up with all the aliases they have! I could barely keep straight who knew which name and when people questioned my pause, having to explain the situation. I know who I am, I promise!

One step in the journey to becoming Mrs. Bassett was leaving behind my given name: Rebecca Suzanne Jecha (ye-ka) May. Oof, I know, it's a long one. But it was mine. I was originally sans the Suzanne, added when I was 5 years old. The only thing I remember about the name change announcement from my parents was my deep sadness that I wouldn't be able to rhyme my name anymore - Rebecca Jecha May had such a nice, rhythmic ring to it!

So there was a process or handful of moments when I would stare at the new name, then back at my old one, and mentally release my identity as the former in order to fully embrace the latter. As it goes with changing your name, so does your identity. What you are called greatly impacts your identity, who you think you are, and how others perceive you. Naming children must be such a weighty task!

Another thing I realized was that I actually began the name-changing process 10 years ago at Camp Eagle when my friend Mitchell randomly asked one day, "Hey, can we call you Reba?" I had no objections, it sounded cool, so I obliged. Unbeknownst to me, God was preparing a new chapter for my life, one that began small, but as I graduated, moved to Kansas, then moved to Austin, it began to write itself into the most beautiful, redemptive story I could never have thought up. Since moving to Austin, God has increasingly dug into my heart, exposed the lies and hurt that was there, and graciously and warmly healed and redeemed who I thought I was as He was forming me into who I actually am. Thus, my new name began to rest comfortably in a new heart: Reba.

So when I married my husband and "took" his last name as my own, replacing my past with my future, I was in essence forming my new identity.

Reba Bassett, an entirely new woman in more ways than one.

Why I Write

I'm not a professional writer, but I do enjoy expressing my thoughts verbally and on "paper." Typing seems to be the fastest way for my thoughts to record themselves, and I often find myself typing my journal entries instead of physically writing them because there is just so much to spew out.

I never know when I'll have an observation, idea, or topic I feel the need to write about; it just happens. Sometimes the only way to fully understand and process something is for me to explore it through writing. Akin to a sudden need to use the restroom, the illustrious David Sedaris has remarked that he often can't control his writing prompts, creating lots of awkward situations in which he MUST WRITE in the basement instead of spending time with his in-laws upstairs, in one example. I usually write ideas in my phone to look at later when I'm uninterrupted and feeling the "flow" to write.

But I really just write for myself. I have no desire to be a famous blogger, writer, or have anything go viral - in fact, that would make me really uncomfortable. I write because I want to understand myself, and in sharing it with others, want them to understand me, too. I write because it helps me see my ideas and thoughts in an organized fashion, which is typically not how they initially show up in my brain. I write because it soothes me to have something resolved; something finished and posted. Even though the issue may not be finished, I at least have part of the puzzle I can use as a signpost when I navigate the process later on.

This blog is simply me processing life. There is a lot that is new, a lot that is changing. And I don't want to miss any of it. I hope you enjoy my journey!

On Being Blunt

One thing I highly value is efficiency. Whatever is the quickest and most productive way to get something done is the best. While I am a verbal processor and can want to explore things out loud often, when a question is asked that I can answer quickly, I do. Why waste time beating around the bush? Just be honest.

Apparently that's a unique trait.

There have been several times my husband and I have, to anyone else, the most bluntest and honest conversation, usually covering a lot of ground in about 10 seconds. I'm so thankful that he's not intimidated by it, and in fact, appreciates the way we communicate. It would drive me crazy if it took 20 minutes to cover the same ground, especially with someone I know better than any other relationship.

Case in point, we were sitting out on the patio after dinner one night, across the table from each other, and he asked what I wanted to do that evening. Rather than say "maybe we could watch a movie" or "maybe we could go on a walk" with several winks and bats of my eyelashes, I simply said, "I think I need some touch time." I tend to receive love and comfort through physical touch, and instead of suggesting ways that could happen and letting him guess until he got it right, I simply said what I really needed, the deepest, most honest answer I could give. He laughed, and we ended up snuggling on the couch, talking and relaxing. My honest answer gave him freedom to pick any number of options, knowing the real felt need at the time.

But beyond efficiency, I also prize being blunt and honest because it's taken me awhile to be ok with who I am and what I really want to say. I used to be a person who saw my value as very low, and therefore what I wanted to communicate as not important. It's taken a lot of healing and disbelieving lies to get me to feel like I have a voice that people want to hear. I haven't "arrived" at being totally honest (not sure anyone does!), and often have to remember to just "get it out there" instead of letting myself be intimidated by how I think the other person is perceiving who I am or what I'm saying.

But I do feel much better when what's really going on can be put out there instead of waltzing around the issue, hoping someone will know me well enough to guess my needs. I feel safe when I know what is the truth, what is the status quo, and what might happen in the future rather than just guessing and waiting and wondering. I think I do it more for myself than anyone else.

I've also had to learn tact, and how to balance compassion with honesty; listening between the lines. And it's tough, probably just as tough as it is for someone who isn't used to honesty and being blunt. Regardless of your communication style, the bottom line is to listen. You'd be surprised what some people really are saying.