Reflections on Graduate School

Hi, friends!

It’s been a long time since my last blog post, and it’ll probably be a while before I can write again. As some of you know, I’m in my last year of graduate school, which means free time feels a bit like a distant dream right now. There are so many stories I can’t wait to share with you all from the past couple years of my life. The Lord has taught and blessed me with so much over the last (almost) 2 years, the biggest blessing being my husband, Brendan. I hope to write snippets of our love story after I graduate, but today, I want to record some of my thoughts about graduate school as I approach my last semester. My words will probably be rough and unpolished. As much as I adore words, they take up most facets of my life at the moment, and there aren’t many words left for creativity at the end of the work week! I want to record this moment of time, though, while I’m still in school.

I’m in my second year of a master’s degree in English. My focus is on Rhetoric, Writing, and Linguistics, which just means I love teaching and studying how we can effectively communicate and why ideas and stories are worth telling in the first place. I specialize in medical rhetoric, which encompasses anything about the language of health and medicine. I’m lucky enough to be a Graduate Teaching Associate, which means I receive a full scholarship and a small monthly stipend in exchange for working for my university. This year, that means I teach a couple sections of English 101 in the fall and a couple sections of English 102 in the spring. Overall, graduate school has been such a strange experience—it’s choosing to do something that brings a lot of pain and a lot of joy.

Graduate school unfairly demands too much time, effort, and health from anyone, regardless of their circumstances outside school. There isn’t enough time in the day to take multiple courses, teach multiple courses, research and write a thesis, and be a human. Something always falls to the side, whether it’s not being able to read all 400+ pages of readings your professors assign each week (on top of working towards the 40+ pages of research you have to write by the end of the semester, the dozens of sources you have to read to write those papers, and the presentations you have to give on that research); only being able to grade 20 of the 40+ student essays you need to leave feedback on (while also lesson planning, grading the smaller assignments, scheduling one-on-one conferences, designing the Canvas courses, emailing students, etc.); not being able to make much progress on your thesis (oh, not to mention the fact that you also have to pass an oral reading examination to graduate, which consists of every assigned reading from the entirety of your time in graduate school); or having to miss that family member’s birthday party, pull an all nighter, struggle to find the time to make dinner or do chores, or worry about finances because your salary is far below the federal poverty level. Add half a dozen disabilities to the mix, and it often feels impossible.

And yet, I’m so thankful. I’m so thankful that the immense difficulty of attending graduate school while experiencing health issues has led me closer to the Lord, as I truly have to lean on and borrow from His strength each day. I’m thankful for the way it has required me to lean on my husband, too. He so lovingly and unconditionally cares for me, and that care draws me closer to both him and Christ, as I know that marriage is an earthly representation of God’s great love for us.

I’m so thankful for coffee study dates with grad school friends or the times we’ve met up at someone’s house to grade papers together. I’m so thankful for the days we’ve met up just to be humans, too, even if they’re few and far between: the days we played board games or ate sushi and went ice skating. One of my graduate school friends even came to one of my wedding dress fittings so I wouldn’t be alone after my mom couldn’t make it because of chemo!

I’m so thankful for the flexibility in both my schooling and my job. I’m so thankful for professors who have worked with me so I could still submit assignments and attend lectures amidst health issues and that when I had a medical emergency in the midst of this semester, I only had to send one email before I had multiple colleagues doing everything they could to help make sure I was taken care of so I could continue teaching my students. I’m so thankful for my students! I absolutely adore teaching, even on the days no one does the assigned reading (haha), and smile every time I get an email addressed to some variation of Professor/Mrs. Eaton/Howell.

I’m so thankful for the opportunities this degree has offered that I never would have experienced otherwise! Last winter I received a scholarship for a class called Drama in NY where I got to spend 8 days in New York and saw 7 Broadway shows, something I never would have been able to do on my own. And I still can’t believe that I’m to the part of my coursework I get to research the things that matter to me and tell the stories I most want to tell. After spending years wistfully reading research papers, thinking of how incredible it must be to research medicine and language, I’m now the researcher on a medical rhetoric project!

And none of that includes how, more than anything, I’m so thankful for every single day with Brendan and Piper (our golden retriever). There’s nowhere I’d rather be than curled up on our (far too small) couch with both of them as I respond to students and annotate texts that just a year ago would have felt like gibberish but now make perfect sense. There are many moments I wish I could fast forward through graduate school, which, if you’ve ever gone to graduate school, I’m sure you can relate to! But I would never really skip through this part. These might be my last semesters ever as a student, and I want to take full advantage of all there is to learn so that I can continue to improve as a scholar and a teacher. I’m thankful to have found a career I love and one that can fit in this stage of life and all the next ones.

2022 Word of the Year

I chose “light” as my word of the year, with my interpretations of the word as far-reaching as light itself. I have a lot of special “things” with the Lord, but one of my favorites is the stars. There were many nights in college where I’d wander campus after midnight until I found a well-enough lit spot to sit to write in my prayer journal, pausing to look up at the stars whenever my cold hands lost feeling. And even though I was in the middle of Nashville and light pollution meant the sky would often glow purple or orange even in the dead of night, I could always find at least one star. Always. And when I found it, I wasn’t the only soul still awake; I was alone with my God and all His creation, and maybe it was the most seen I’d ever been. 

I adore the stars, but I’ve had years where they’re all I see by. The Lord has cultivated such joy in my heart, and every day I thank Him for a dozen small, precious blessings: the guitar riff in my favorite song, the way my dog’s face lights up when she first sees me in the morning, a text from a friend just checking in. One of the greatest blessings from a life of chronic illness has been the way it has fostered a thankful heart while pushing me further into Christ’s arms. I treasure each joyful moment, but I've always hoped there would be seasons where I wouldn’t have to work so hard to find the light. This hope has never been in vain—I’ve spent years cultivating a relationship with Christ, and in those years, He has placed desires on my heart, asked me to start praying for them, and promised their fulfillment in His perfect timing. These promises have provided hope during desolate years, but their sweetness doesn’t erase the pain of prolonged waiting and suffering. I can be so thankful for the hope I hold each day and ache with hope deferred. 

My mom was the one who first introduced me to the concept of hope deferred; it comes from Proverbs 13:12, which says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” I’ve spent the last nine years trying dozens (literally) of medications, keeping up with multiple appointments with different specialists, and implementing every lifestyle protocol my doctors have recommended—and it hasn’t been enough. Nothing has worked. I’ve prayed for years that I could find any amount of relief from just one of my conditions, however He would choose to bring about that help, but that hope hasn’t yet been fulfilled. I have every Christ-given hope that there will be years here on earth where my health affects far less of my day-to-day life (and, of course, every assurance of full healing when I’m reunited with Him in heaven), but I still struggle under the weight of both my current pain and how prolonged my suffering has been. I can be so thankful for this hope and ache from its deferral. 

Five years ago, the Lord sparked another hope in my heart, one that restored brokenness that occurred when my illnesses first became treatment resistant. One night, while researching a potential medicine, I saw an article on whether people with chronic health issues should get married or have children. I was so taken aback that I couldn’t help but click on the article. The author and commenters were in agreement—it was incredibly selfish for someone with health issues to marry or become a parent. They believed anyone with health issues would burden their spouse and could not give a child the parent they deserved. 

The article shook me, but I did my best to forget it. I tried the new medicine, and though it didn’t work, I went into my next appointment ready to try again. Instead, my doctor told me there was nothing she or any other specialist could do for me. She said that maybe years down the road someone could offer a treatment, but for the foreseeable future, my life would be overwhelmed by illness. And so, at the age of 13, I decided I would never date. I would never marry. And I would never have children, even though being a mom was one of my first dreams. I knew my family loved me, and I knew I couldn’t spare them from the parts of my life dominated by illness, but I vowed to keep anyone else from experiencing the bad times.

I could cry to recount all the subtle and bold ways the Lord worked on my heart over the next few years. He showed me my identity in Him—how worthy I was in His eyes and how fully He loved me. He reminded me that my life is beautiful, hilarious, and spectacular even if my health also brings harder moments. And he told me he had created someone who would fully desire to be a part of every moment of my life. He nudged me to start praying for my future husband and future marriage when I was 16, and it has been the sweetest honor to pray almost every day since. 

I’m forever thankful for five years of hope, but that doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t sometimes ache with hope deferred. I love supporting, praying for, and celebrating with my friends who have found their partners, but I can also wonder why God put the desire for marriage on my heart years ago and hasn’t yet fulfilled that hope. I can wish at least one hope, whether about health or my relationships, would be fulfilled someday soon after so much prolonged waiting. I don’t know what 2022 holds, but I know light will guide (Psalm 119:105) and hold me. After all, Jesus was the one who said, “I am the light of the world. Anyone who follows me will never walk in the darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12). It would be the greatest gift if I didn’t have to cling quite so tightly to the hope of things yet unseen because the light was shining on their realizations, but I’ll love and praise Him either way. Whether I’m surrounded by stars or sunshine, I’ll adore every day spent by His side.

Part 1: Love in 1 Samuel—God and His People

1 Samuel chronicles Israel’s transition from judges to kings. Samuel, whom the book is named after, was the twelfth and last judge of Israel. Each judge was from one of the twelve tribes that comprised Israel, chosen by God, and tasked with protecting His people and enforcing His laws. The judges were far from perfect—as humans, they sinned and ruled sinful people—but in keeping God’s vision for His people at the forefront, the Israelites prospered more than surrounding nations, which were ruled by kingships and worshipped other gods.

Israel’s successful periods followed a pattern. When judges ruled, Israel thrived, but when one died, the nation would gradually begin adopting the beliefs of nearby nations. The country would fall into sin, despair, and corruption until the people cried out to God, at which time He’d rescue His people and elect another judge.

No matter how many times God rushed to rescue them, the people forgot His mercy and rejected Him. And no matter how many times God was rejected by His people, He still rushed to their aid the moment they asked. There’s so much here to speak on about love—true love. Faithful, steadfast, relentless love. Because even when the Israelites left Him, He never abandoned them. Can you imagine His heart as Israel’s Father, the way He must have ached to ease the pain His children brought upon themselves and were determined to face alone?

When God created mankind, He granted us free will, because there’s no true relationship, no true worship, and no true love without choice. Free choice led to sin, but isn’t the love it allowed worth the negative consequences humans created? Because sin and the pain that arises from it is inevitable, but the Lord’s love is inescapable. No matter what we face, He is with us. He comforts us in affliction (2 Corinthians 1:4), provides for us (Psalm 23), and never stops loving us (Romans 8:38-39). God steadfastly loved the Israelites even when they disregarded His faithfulness, even when they chose idols over their Father.

Israel made an idol of being like other nations, and that idol ended Israel’s era of judges. Samuel, the last judge, was truly a man of God. He sought the Lord’s counsel in all things are remained close to him throughout his life. When Samuel grew old, though, the Israelites requested a king instead of another judge. 1 Samuel 8:5 says, “[The people of Israel] said to [Samuel], ‘Look, you are old, and your sons do not walk in your ways. Therefore, appoint a king to judge us the same as all the other nations have.’”

The first sentence of this request could be interpreted as the Israelites subverting injustice, but the final part reveals the heart behind their ask. Once again, the Israelites wanted to be like other nations instead of embracing their identity as the Lord’s chosen people. Samuel, grieved by his people’s words, sought the Lord’s wisdom. This was His response:

But the Lord told him, “Listen to the people and everything they say to you. They have not rejected you; they have rejected Me as their king. They are doing the same thing to you that they have done to Me, since the day I brought them out of Egypt until this day, abandoning Me and worshiping other gods. Listen to them, but solemnly warn them and tell them about the customary rights of the king who will reign over them.” (1 Samuel 8:7-9)

Even in this moment of betrayal, the Lord thought of His people. He shared His own pain only to comfort Samuel and ensured the Israelites fully understood the potential consequences of their choice. You see, Israel had two choices ahead of them: to be ruled by their King or their king. Both kings would have ultimate authority, but only One guaranteed a just Ruler.

Israel chose to have a king, a man named Saul who seemed perfect for the role. Saul’s kingship began with humility and justice on behalf of the Lord, but Saul soon began to disobey God’s commandments out of impatience and a desire for earthly rewards. Saul began focusing on how he could get himself out of hardships in ways that would glorify him instead of seeking humility and following God’s will.

The Lord could have left His people there, living under an increasingly self-centered king, but He isn’t like any other god. The God of Israel had a plan for His people, one that involved an unlikely candidate, abundant faith, and a testament to the importance of community with other believers. His people may have rejected Him, but what followed is a testament to God’s perfect, compassionate, everlasting love.

Introduction: Love in 1 Samuel

I spend a lot of time thinking about love, because I try to spend all my time living out my faith. When Christ came to be with us in the flesh, fully God and fully human, His life had so many purposes. He came to live a sinless life so He could die on the cross for our sins, a lifetime of self-control and sacrifice He assumed so sin wouldn’t separate us from Him any more than it has to in this life or keep us from Heaven. He also provided an example of how believers should strive to live our own lives. Over and over and over, He called—and calls—us to love. In word. In action. In thought. The three are equally important, each working together to show glimpses of Christ’s love for us in our interactions with others.

One of my favorite Bible verses is Galatians 6:2, which reads, “Carry one another’s burdens; in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” The Bible—and if we’re being honest, probably our own lives—is full of stories of people who complicated the law, but Galatians 5:14 simplifies it: “For the whole law is fulfilled in one statement: Love your neighbor as yourself.” Love. That’s it: that’s the heart of the whole law. Love is how we serve Christ and are served by Christ. Love is how we serve others and are served by others.

I get weepy at the expressions of love in multiple Biblical stories: when God met Hagar in the desert, when He buried Moses, and when He restored Job. Every one of Christ’s miraculous mental, physical, or spiritual healings. When Jesus, while dying on the cross, asked John and Mary to care for one another. Each story softens my heart and wraps me in peace.

The weepiness has continued this past month as I’ve made my way through 1 Samuel. There are so many passages I want to talk about that I almost felt paralyzed by my passion for this book. How do I take all the notes I’ve scribbled in the margins of my Bible and present them in a way that even begins to provide a semi-coherent glimpse of the intricate, redemptive story God wrote for Israel during the transition from judges to kingships? But when I looked back at the passages that inspired the deepest adoration for God, I realized they all revolved around faithful, steadfast love.

And so, here’s my introductory post to a series exploring the way love stitches the story of 1 Samuel together. I would be honored to share my three favorite stories of love from 1 Samuel with you:

  1. God’s faithful love for His people

  2. Jonathan’s faithful love for David

  3. Hannah’s faithful love for God

You can click here to read the first part. Feel free to check back here throughout the week for the next two posts or visit this blog’s Instagram, @sara.j.eaton, for updates. Until then, friends, I would like to leave you with two truths: I love you exactly as you are in this moment, and that love pales in comparison of Christ’s love for you.

Joyful Endings

It’s 10:49 p.m. on August 20th, and I move back to Nashville in 13 hours, 8 minutes, and 55 seconds. I will decorate a dorm room for the last time, and on Monday, I will have my last first day of school (well, at least for undergrad).

Every word of that paragraph is so final, and even though finality can mean sorrow, tonight I only see Christ’s faithfulness.

Seven years ago, a bad health flare unsettled the future I’d imagined. I wanted to attend college, study English, and keep writing novels. Instead, I became so ill I missed over 30 days of school in the 8th grade and enrolled in an online high school. I kept writing even as college seemed unlikely. I could rely on my writer’s brain, which was always spinning stories from overheard conversations in grocery store lines or curious statues in the yards of even curiouser houses, even as my body betrayed me. I found such joy in the creative process until September of my freshman year. I lost the ability to understand the speech of others or read after a bad medication reaction, and when the words returned, they were different. It took at least thirty minutes to read a page of text, and my writer’s mind remained silent. 

The Lord met me in the ashes of my old life. And slowly, new flowers began to grow. 

I began college two years after the medication reaction. I see the Lord’s generosity in that line alone, but I realize what a miracle He granted me when I recall the full circumstances surrounding my first day of college. My organs had started shutting down in January, I was hospitalized from March 6 until June 9, and I started college in August. Also, I was only 16. 

It wasn’t my plan; He was too kind to give me what I’d always imagined, to provide the flowers I’d always envisioned. The two years I pursued my associate’s degree were some of the sweetest, healthiest, most joyful years of my life despite PTSD from my hospitalization. Nothing erases that suffering, but if I hadn’t lost every semblance of a typical high school plan during those fourteen weeks, I would have never been brave enough to try something new. The Lord left me no choice but to be brave, and the bravery led to one of the greatest blessings of my life.

Four years after the medication reaction, I transferred to my current university and declared an English major. There have been many nights I’ve paced in empty classrooms as I read papers aloud to myself, repeating the same sentence over and over until the words clicked. I took a class last fall on autobiographies, and when we created metaphors for our lives, I said my mind was and is a garden. Two gardens for two brains, each with distinct blooms. The old flowers were beautiful and so plentiful you could get lost among the petals. I never struggled to traverse the garden paths—read—or find the flower—the word—I sought. The new blooms are slower growing, but the roots run deep. I used to compare these petals to the old ones, wishing they were taller or brighter, lamenting their unfamiliarity. Now I just hold each flower to my heart and praise its presence. Even during the worst study sessions, I can’t help but remember what a gift it is to be here. Each word is a blessing. Each moment is a miracle.

In seven years I have seen more destruction and creation than I’d have imagined possible, but all I can picture as I write these words is how the Lord held me through it all. He saved me when the garden died. He planted new seeds while I mourned what was lost. And I still find myself in awe of the fields we stand in now.

All I dreamed of still happened even if it took the most unexpected, and unexpectedly beautiful, path to get there. As it currently stands, I’ll graduate summa cum laude in December with a degree in English Writing. And I’ll end with a sweet yet nerve-racking sentence, friends. On Monday, I attend my first creative writing class in years.

Pure Kindness

Today was hard.  

I spent an hour writing about the good and the bad, the joy and the despair, not knowing if the words would be read by other people but knowing I needed to write them. I kept thinking of a poem I wrote the same night I composed “Brick by Brick.” The first line reads, “It’s pure kindness that joy and despair can exist like this.” 

And it is.    

At the time, I was thinking of a different grief. If you’re new here, hi! When I was 16, I spent 14 weeks in the hospital, and I still have PTSD from the experience. Today’s grief is much softer in comparison, but the first line of that poem still applies. Today’s grief is because I have a few health conditions flaring up at the same time. And it’s okay, because I’m really good at coping and spotting blessings from the Lord. My family is a blessing. The fact I could rest today is a blessing. And these words are a blessing. Because if you’re new here, you should also know I lost the ability to read and understand the speech of others for a month when I was 14 after a severe medication reaction, so even on days the words don’t work like I wish they would, I never take them for granted. 

But sometimes, despite the blessings, I’m just so tired.  

I’m tired because I sleep 10 hours a night, see multiple specialists, prioritize nutrition and movement, take almost a dozen pills a day, and am still as ill as I am. I’m upset I still have days like today where I spend most of the afternoon on the couch, too tired to even hold my head up.  

I’m allowed to be thankful the Lord grants me the strength I need for each day while also wishing my body was capable of more. And I can be sad about my body’s limitations while also being so okay with chronic illness, because I know the Lord made no flaw when He created me. 

I’m reading Matthew right now, and as I read chapter 9 just minutes ago, I encountered story after story of healing. He heals a paralytic, a young girl, a bleeding woman, a blind man, and a demon-possessed man within this one chapter. Each healing is deeply personal, but the healing extends beyond the one person. Each redemption from illness is a chance for that person and their family, friends, and neighbors to witness Christ, witness hope incarnate, see good stem from pain. 

That’s what I’ve always prayed for my life, that others see Christ through my thoughts, my words, my actions, my testimony. I pray every moment points to Him, and yes, I pray that good comes from grief.  

I didn’t start writing about my life because vulnerability is easy; I still hold my breath every time I publish a personal blog. I write because I know illness is lonely, and it’s lonelier still when you feel you have to hide it. I hid my health for so long because well-meaning Christians misrepresented Christ in equating sickness with a lack of faith. I started writing so others know God will always heal in His perfect timing. I write because healing on earth and healing in Heaven are both beautiful, and neither shows more favor or love from God.  

But even though I know those truths, it’s hard for me to share the difficult moments when I’m actively living them. I know that chronic illness is common, but we still live in a culture of get-well-soon cards, and, well, sometimes people don’t know how to react when “get well soon” means something different in your life. In the past, friends left once they realized I would always have good and less good seasons of health, and even though I’ve since had people stay, the bad experiences still stick with me. I worry that honesty will drive people away, or worse yet, that someone will remember my words about pain more than the ones about blessings.  

The other night, though, I realized these fears were from the devil, not Christ. I remembered that years ago, He asked me to write so others might feel less alone. And even though anxiety remains, I also know those who truly care about me would care more, not less, after reading my words.  

And so as I read Matthew 9, I got a bit teary-eyed, because it will be an honor to be healed by Christ one day! And until that day, it is an honor to know and be known by Him, to love and be loved by Him! And it is an honor to write about Him.  

In short, friends, it is pure kindness that joy and despair can exist like this.

Brick by Brick

“Brick by Brick” is a story I wrote three days ago, late at night when my house was quiet and my mind was not. I’ve been thinking about, praying about, writing about redemption a lot lately. I read Job last month and couldn’t stop thinking about the duality of redemption. When the Lord promises to redeem the darkest parts of our lives, we know we will be gifted far more than what was lost, but the loss aches in the meantime and the grief never disappears; it just changes. But in the midst of mourning we find the faithfulness of God, and it roots us, provides us a foundation, a stable place to rest. And from that barren, mercifully stable earth, God starts to build something new.

At least, that’s how it was for me.

I kept trying to write about redemption, of the ways I am seeing it in my life and glimpse it on the horizon, but the words never felt right. “Brick by Brick” is unlike anything I’ve ever written, but the Lord led me to the poetic prose I needed to record my story (and share it, as nerve-wracking as that is). And to add to the vulnerability, I’m including an audiorecording I made while editing. I heard the story in my mind as I typed, heard the places I paused and emphasized and wasn’t sure if I’d laugh or cry. I think there’s something special about the reader putting their own voice to my words, but if you want a glimpse of how it sounds in my mind, the audio is at the end of the story.

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“Brick by Brick”

Job’s story ends in restoration, and mine will, too. But Job’s story is his and mine is mine and while he greatly suffered and was greatly restored, my restoration is slower. More gradual. Brick by brick, such subtle changes in construction that sometimes I do not notice what the Lord has done until I walk outside and the frame is completed, a wall is bricked, the drywall is installed.

I live and I break and I remember and I remember and I remember and I praise and I cry and I remember and I remember and I remember and I laugh and I lament and I remember and I remember and I remember. And He builds. We sit together a lot, me and Him, sometimes me and Him and Memory. We sit and He holds my hand, and I thank Him, and I grasp onto Him so tightly it is a miracle He can simultaneously soothe and construct.

He never stops building. Some days I sit in the grass while He works, telling Him about the wildflowers I saw on the side of the road and the starling perched on a telephone wire. He listens, always listens, even though He created the flower and the bird, placed them in my path because He knew they would make me smile. Some days He holds me while I cry, and others He holds me as I scream at Him, and other times still I have locked the doors to my current home, my not-yet home, and I watch Him from the window, still building and building and building. He brings me gifts for the new house, coffee cups and picture frames, the trinkets mixing with all the presents he has already granted me while in my not-yet home, gifts I can never earn and will never deserve and yet was given so freely. There are bigger gifts, too, ones I experience through blurred eyes of thankfulness—He lets me look at the blueprints, feel the sturdiness of the floors, run my hand along the bookshelves. I fill the shelves with journals, accounts of the things that have happened and the things He has done. There are spaces on the shelves, times I couldn’t write. He fills them with verses written long ago, just for me yet also for billions of others, tells me it’s okay, tells me those years are over and I am not lost, I was never lost. He hands me journals now, ones I can’t fill fast enough. Sometimes I kick the house, beg Him to build faster. I ask Him why so many storms have slowed the process, why He let the wild world crack the foundation and snap the beams. He lays His tools down for a moment, comes to me in silence. He kisses my forehead, the softest touch I’ve ever felt, and returns to His work. The kiss lingers, burns into my skull and melts into my bloodstream and circles, circles, circles, keeping the memories at bay, coating the waiting in peace.

One day soon I will be in the house. I am in the doorway now, the walls bare but standing, the floor solid beneath me. I’m sure the waiting will change and He will not. It will be us, sitting on the floor, and then He will bring me furniture, soft places to rest. The house will be filled with voices, some of the same that fill my heart now and new ones I ache to discover. And some days I will forget that even as I move into this home, and as it and I change, He is building me another home, too. I get so focused on this next one that I forget there is another. I never liked gold much before I knew Him. Now I can’t wait to sit with Him on golden floors, not because there is no furniture but because we just want to sit and take it all in like we used to. “You made this for me?” I’ll whisper, still holding His hand. He will nod, place another kiss on my forehead. “Did you ever stop building?” He will shake his head, kiss both of my cheeks. “What about at the old house, when I yelled at You, when I tried to paint the walls myself, when you handed me the keys and I didn’t invite you over for weeks, when I complained about the fixtures you chose?” Each time He will answer, “Not even then,” in the softest voice that pierces my heart, cupping my face in His hands, grounding me to the here and now, here and now, here and now. And then we will weep until we start to laugh again, and we will have a picnic on the floor and everything from before will be a memory, only a memory, just a memory. And I will fall asleep in His arms as the old things fall away.

Part Two: Love without Fear

On our last day in Ohio, there was a moment where Granddad and I were alone in the living room while he read his morning devotionals. “Let me read this to you,” he said. I was already excited to do another devotional with Granddad, but I couldn’t stop smiling as he started reading. “Scripture of the day: There is no fear in love; instead, perfect love drives out fear, because fear involves punishment. So the one who fears is not complete in love.” 

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you know that each New Year, I choose a word and Bible verse to represent the upcoming year. This year, I chose a phrase instead of a word: love without fear. I wanted to love life, love others, and love God without fear. 

For years, I’ve prayed about God’s love and my love for Him. I’m still so awe-struck of the Lord’s kind, faithful love towards us that I can’t help but continually thank Him for it. And I often prayed that I would focus on God throughout the day. I didn’t usually pray that I would remember His love as I went through my day, though, and I certainly didn’t ask for that remembrance to help me cast aside fear. 

For as long as I can remember, it has been hard to truly enjoy the good moments in life. Historically, blessings only lasted for a few months before being taken away. The better times still had problems, and the worse times still had joy from the Lord, but it was harder to go back to “normal” after knowing a different, a better, life. 

I love serving others. I love trying to let the Lord’s love show through my actions. But letting myself love in other ways can be terrifying, because it’s easier to be cautious in life. To enjoy being in school, but not enjoy it too much, because I’ve had to medically withdraw before. To love my friends, but not rely on them too much, because they won’t stay if my health gets bad. To savor the moments my words flow easily, but to never expect it, because it just leads to heartache. To adore the days the Lord feels so close to my heart but know there will be days where it is harder to connect with Him.

I don’t want to live in fear, though. I want to love life, love others, and love God as much as I can. The Lord wants that for me, too. And the great thing is that I don’t have to fear, because no matter the outcome of a million little moments of love here on earth, God’s love continuously surrounds me.

When Granddad read me his devotional, I remembered the courage and love Christ has called me to. I was reminded that when the Lord directs me, courage is worth assuming and love is worth pursuing no matter the outcome. I’ve already had times this year where I fully loved and it ended in deep heartbreak. It was excruciatingly painful and confusing in ways I could never cover in a blog post, but goodness do I love the Lord more than ever. I see His goodness more than ever. I understand His love better than ever, too, and yet I recognize that there’s still so much more to learn and see and so much I can never even comprehend.

Here’s to a lifetime full of sweet, heartbreaking, funny, slow moments, friends. Here’s to a lifetime of love through it all. 

John 15:12: This is My command: love one another as I have loved you.

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Part One: Serve with Love

There are so many little tokens of faith at my Granddad’s house: stacks of devotionals and angel figurines and countless Bibles. There are prayers, too, like this framed one in the living room. 

I saw the prayer this week as Mom and I helped Granddad recover from surgery. It called to me when I first saw it, because it’s different wording of a prayer I’ve prayed a million times, especially the lines, “Let me greet others with the joy of Your love. Please use me to create a positive impact during these twenty-four hours.” When I was in elementary school, my mom used to pray a similar prayer before my brother and I got out of the car: “Lord, please let Sara and Drew bless those in their paths today, and please let those in their paths bless them.”

One night this week while I was getting ready to read my Bible, Granddad asked if I could get his devotional from the other room. We sat down to do our individual studies, but after we realized Granddad’s post-surgical medications made it difficult to read, I offered to read his devotional to him.

As I read, I just kept thinking how honored I was to get to do this for my Granddad, to be a small part of his walk with Christ that day. Nothing miraculous happened—the passages weren’t especially applicable to this time of life, and our conversation didn’t lead to any divine revelations, but I was still so overwhelmed by how sweet it was to spend time with my grandfather while growing closer to the Lord. It was even more special, because we read from the devotional my Mom bought him for Christmas years ago; three generations of faith came together for that moment.

I kept glancing up as I read, watching Granddad sit back with his eyes closed and hands clasped in his lap, like he always does when he’s concentrating. “I always try to really focus on the devotional,” he told me, “to really get the meaning of it.” I’m a woman who looks for meaning in everything. I think that’s how I’ve gotten through a lot of life, finding the meaning, no matter how small, in the best and worst memories. And even though the moment alone was enough, I see meaning in it, too. I see the Lord saying he hears my prayers, that He sees how in love I am with Him and His word, as imperfect as that love will always be on this earth. I see Him trusting me to share His love with others. That’s what I try to convey with my blog—who Jesus is and why I adore Him, why I wish everyone knew Him. The longer I’ve served the Lord, the more I want to talk with and about Him. He’s so generous, so compassionate, so faithful that it feels like my heart will burst if I don’t share that love with others. I’m honored to share even a snippet of the Lord’s love here. 

1 Peter 10-11: Just as each one has received a gift, use it to serve others, as good stewards of the varied grace of God. If anyone speaks, let it be as one who speaks God’s words; if anyone serves, let it be from the strength God provides, so that God may be glorified through Jesus Christ in everything. To him be the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen.

Psalm 9:1: I will thank the Lord with all my heart; I will declare all Your wondrous works.

Before, After, and Now (or Why It Matters that I’ve Read Exactly 51 Pages of a Novel)

I’m on page 51 of Six of Crows. That probably seems like such an insignificant number. I mean, it is—after all, the book is nearly 500 pages. But I’ve read 51 pages of this book, and each page has been a gift. 

All books have been difficult for me to read since a bad medication reaction caused me to temporarily lose the ability to understand the speech of others or read when I was 14. I used to fly through multiple books—books at least as long as Six of Crows—but that was Before the medicine. I slowly found ways to cope: audiobooks, reading out loud, following each word with my finger, but reading was never the same. It was never easy, never effortless. 

Fantasy has remained one of the hardest genres for me to read. Some books are easier; I started reading Cassandra Clare’s novels years Before. Those books brought me one of my best friends, and not even the medicine could make me forget key world-building information about those novels. I remember from Before, and that remembrance lets me jump more easily into Clare’s novels Now. 

Other series are more difficult. My brain already needs time and energy to process each world, and keeping track of all the world-building details in fantasy novels is exhausting. I hate that it’s exhausting. Fantasy is such a detailed, beautiful genre. I want to be absorbed in new worlds when I read, just like I was as a middle schooler, but my brain doesn’t work that way Now. 

I don’t remember how far I made it into Shadow and Bone, the first book in a fantasy trilogy, before I took the medicine. Maybe halfway? Maybe through the whole book? Either way, I didn’t get to read the whole series despite how badly I wanted to. I reread Shadow and Bone After—after I could slowly, slowly read again. The plot was one of the memories from that time I lost; I could remember how the book ended, but all the details were lost. It took three tries to make it through the novel, but on that third time it clicked, and I sped through the next two books in the trilogy. 

I tried reading Six of Crows years ago, right after I finished the Shadow and Bone trilogy. It’s a duology that takes place within the same world as the trilogy, but I just couldn’t make it through. There were too many locations, types of magic (they call it a small science), and characters. I must have read the first two chapters of Six of Crows four or five times, but I couldn’t keep all the details straight.

Netflix recently adapted Shadow and Bone and Six of Crows. Not two different shows—one show that combined both stories so, so beautifully. As a bookworm, adaptations are usually disappointing, but I loved the show more than the novels (not because the books aren’t good, but because the show is just that good). 

Seeing the Crows (that’s what the characters from Six of Crows call themselves) made me want to know more about them—I wanted to know the details only a book can provide. I spent days wanting to find my copy of the novel and start reading, but I was too afraid it would be another failed attempt. One night, though (or early morning, rather. My insomnia has been an unwelcome constant since I’ve been home from school), I caved. I thought I knew exactly where the novel was—the second to last shelf on the bookshelf just off the living room—and I was right. I just looked at it for a while after retrieving it, staring down my opponent, tracing my fingers over the textured cover. 

And then I started to read. Slowly. Oh so slowly. But reading has no speed requirement. And I have the whole summer. 

I used to get so frustrated by my mind. I still do. I talk about missing my old brain, but right now I’m thankful for how much healing my brain has undergone in the past (almost) 6 years. And today, celebration looks like reading.

Instagram Bios and What I Love

Two weeks ago, I decided to change my Instagram bio. Take a moment to process that information if you need to—it’s truly shocking, world changing news. (I say this, of course, with as much sarcasm as possible.) There was nothing wrong with my old bio: “A proud Christian with a love of words and a passion for mental health advocacy.” All those things are still true, but I’ve had the same bio for years, and I wanted to alter it.

First, I thought of quotes. Let me tell you, it’s a struggle to find a quote that represents all your components and harder still to find one you feel comfortable sharing with the world. There’s always the words I used for my senior quote, which are, “Be who you needed when you were younger.” After all, that’s my why for most of my personal writing. Then there’s one of Morgan Harper Nichol’s beautiful quotes which shares a similar sentiment: “Tell the stories of the mountains you climbed. Your words could become a page in someone else’s survival guide.” And then there’s, “Visit many good books, but live in the Bible,” which really sums up the whole English major and Christ-follower vibe.

Bible verses fall along the same lines as quotes, and it would be easy to choose one of the verses I center my life around, like Galatians 6:2 (“Carry one another’s burdens; in this way, you fulfill the law of Christ”). 1 Corinthians 16:14, which says, “Let all that you do be done in love,” is also so simple but far-reaching.

And then there were the words I tried to write about myself. I started with “Hi! I love Jesus and words,” because both of those things are true and fundamental to who I am as a human being. Then I changed it to, “Hi! I love Jesus, words, and my dog,” because as I always say, Ms. Cas is the love of my life. But I realized that word—love—is what I wanted my bio to portray. I wanted it to show some small part of what I love, because I think life is about love. We live because Christ loved us, and we’re tasked with loving Him and one another. Everything else is secondary; nothing is more important than love, and I want people to know what I love, because I think it shows my heart.

Of course, there are better ways and places for vulnerability. How I interact with people on a daily basis is more important than what I say about myself in 150 characters. During the past year-and-a-half of quarantine and social distancing, though, I’ve used social media more than ever to interact with others. I can’t include everything I love in an Instagram bio or a very short, very hastily written blog post, but I wanted to share some of the things I love. If you want to share the same with me, please leave me a comment or send me a message on Instagram! I’d love to get to know you better.

So, hi! My name is Sara. I really love Jesus, words, and my dog. I love books and audiobooks. When I was younger, I would carry books with me everywhere I went, even when I knew I wouldn’t be able to read them, because their presence brought comfort. I adore music, especially the kind where I can clearly hear acoustic guitar (I’m looking at you, Ben Howard). I love fine-tipped pens and yoga and embroidery. I love dresses (especially the ones with pockets!) and cardigans. I adore swimming and miss the water every day I’m away from it. My mind clears when I’m underwater, and the only other times I feel such calm are while praying or when I’m with certain people I love.

I love when the leaves turn colors in fall and when the air is just chill enough that I can wear my aforementioned cardigans in comfort. One of my favorite days of the year is the first day you need to run back inside for a light jacket, and I wish the weather would stay that way all year. I love puns and when my friends send me memes. Fun fact: if you can make me laugh hard enough, I’ll cry so much that I’ll actually need tissues. I get giddy when people write me notes or buy me flowers. If you’ve written me a note or sent me a letter since I was in middle school, chances are I still have it. I love fuzzy socks, even in the summer, because my feet and hands always get cold. I love chocolate as much as I despise grocery shopping, so I buy some every time I shop to ease the terribleness. I will fawn over pretty much any animal, especially if it’s one I can cuddle with.

I won’t even really get into people, but I’ll briefly mention how much I love my family; I love how my dad used to read me Nancy Drew books before bed, and how my brother can make me laugh even when I’m upset, and how my mom loves better than anyone I know. I love my friends and my classmates, because I know what it’s like to have neither, and that absence will always make the current love that much brighter. And I know I started this whole list with the Lord, but I have to end it with Him, too, because goodness do I love Him. I love Him when the vine flourishes, and I love Him when the fig tree does not bud, and I’ll never get over how crazy it is that He is with me in both places and loves me back. I’ll forever live in awe that the Creator of the universe looked at this world and its deep history and infinite future and decided it needed me. And I’ll never deserve how He knows me—truly, deeply, entirely knows me—and loves every part of me. It’s a love I don’t deserve, and my greatest hope in life is to show others glimpses of God’s love through my actions.

A Spiral of Stars

     I spent October in mourning. I feel odd saying that. I feel guilty saying that. My life has been so much worse than it is now, and the Lord has given me so many blessings, but there is still so much that is heavy and so much that is missing and so much that was lost. I needed to mourn those things. I still need to mourn those things. I am so quick to try and cover the dark parts of life. It is a necessary coping mechanism from almost twenty years of struggle; I often feel surrounded by darkness, but I force myself to search for the little bits of light, the gifts from God, the stars among the night. But as Ecclesiastes says, there is a time to mourn, and I had been pushing back that time until it all came crashing down last month. This time of year is the five-year anniversary of some very traumatic medical issues that still affect me today, and everything I lost hit me even as I recognized the things I gained.  

     I often feel like I am always at the edge of a cliff. Sometimes, it is storming. The rain makes my feet slippery, and the winds push me until I am nearly off the edge. In fact, sometimes I feel I am off the cliff, hanging on with all the strength I can muster. Other times, I am back from the edge. It is sunny and flowers surround me. But I am still on the cliff. And I can still see the edge. And I know that no matter what I do—no matter how firmly I plant myself on a different part of the mountain, no matter how many steps back from the edge I take—I can always end up back at the edge. It is out of my control. It feels like I am stuck in an endless cycle of suffering. The suffering is scattered with good weeks or months or even years where things are a little bit easier, where I don’t have to search so hard for the stars, but it always returns to near darkness.  

     I was thinking of this one day during class. We were talking about the moon in a short story we were reading. I have always been a night owl; I always feel most alive when the moon replaces the sun. I never really felt a connection with the moon or stars, though, until I read Psalm 8:3-4, which says, “When I observe Your heavens / the work of Your fingers / the moon and the stars / which You set in place / what is a human being that You remember him / a son of man that you look after him?” It was one of those moments where a verse hit me, embedded itself in my heart, demanded I memorize it and carry it with me. I love the moon and the stars now. I always think of this verse when I see them and remember how miraculous God’s love for me is. And as we talked about a short story with the moon, my professor mentioned a spider’s web and how there is no true center or path to get there.  

     I don’t know why—I guess it’s because I had the suffering and the stars on my mind—I thought of a spiral of stars. I apologize to my professor, because I immediately stopped taking notes and started sketching out an idea. I was afraid I’d lose it if I didn’t write it down at that moment. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to see it anymore if I couldn’t sketch it. And even though I can’t draw, I did my best to represent what I saw in my mind. 

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     I saw a spiral of stars, and the star in the middle was the end. It was Heaven. It was a final, eventual, unshakeable, and unavoidable good. And spiraling out from it were all these stars. Some were brighter than others, and those bright stars were the remarkable events in life, the ones that are fantastically good and terribly bad, the ones that make an impression. I only had a pink pen and a blue marker, so I made the pink stars the fantastic and the blue ones the terrible, but there would be so much purple, too. And even though the bad events kept happening, going on and on and on, the spiral was not never-ending. The spiral stopped at the largest, most pink star. And every blue star, every ring of the spiral, brought life closer to that final good.  

     I kept thinking about my spiral of stars, and then, a few nights ago, I saw another image. I was walking to study with some friends, and it was dark out. I had (and have) been feeling isolated even though I was surrounded by people. I knew God was with me, too, but I still felt such loneliness. As I stopped for a moment to look at the sky, to remind myself of God’s presence, I imagined four stars. There was a smaller one in the middle and three larger ones surrounding it. I realized t it was me, surrounded by God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. I realized that wherever I am in the spiral, the star that is me is surrounded by the stars that are Him. I rushed to my study spot and jotted down the image before I forgot it.

I’ve been redrawing those four stars over the past four days, and today I felt called to write about them. Life is unbelievably sweet and unspeakably bitter. And there is a time to mourn the bitter and celebrate the sweet. But the greatest thing to get from life, the only thing that really, truly matters, is knowing and loving and serving the Lord. No matter where I am in the spiral, as long as I am living for Him and looking for His light, the rest doesn’t matter. I seem to be surrounded by darkness, but I’m surrounded by stars. Surrounded by Him. And there is no brighter place. 

Diverse Literature: Black Authors and Protagonists

I want to use this blog post to highlight the voices of Black authors and characters. My three goals for this website have always been to advocate for mental health, express my faith, and share my love of reading. I love reading because it allows us to experience lives outside of our own and sparks compassion, empathy, and understanding.

As a white person, I know I will never fully understand the racism, discrimination, and prejudice my Black friends face every day. My promise is that I will never stop listening, learning, and supporting in any way I can. One way to simultaneously listen, learn, and support is to read books by Black authors and/or about Black characters.

This blog post will begin with a couple dozen books, plays, and collections of poetry, but I hope it keeps expanding. If your favorite book did not make this list, use the Contact link to send me an email or DM me @sara.j.eaton on Instagram. I want to include as many texts as possible!

Before I finally start the list, I also wanted to share an amazing resource I just found. If you click here, you will be taken to the African American Literature Book Club. The specific page I linked shows you independent Black-owned bookstores in the United States—how cool is that?!

Fiction

This list was compiled using Google and Goodreads

  • Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

  • A Gathering of Old Men by Ernest J. Gaines

  • Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

  • Beloved by Toni Morison

  • The Color Purple by Alice Walker

  • The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead

  • Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi

  • Black Shack Alley by Joseph Zobel

Poetry

This list was compiled using Google and Goodreads

  • The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes by Langston Hughes and edited by Arnold Rampersad and David Roessel

  • The Essential Gwendolyn Brooks by Gwendolyn Brooks and edited by Elizabeth Alexander

  • My Soul’s High Song: The Collected Writings of Countee Cullen by Countee Cullen and edited by Gerald Early

Drama

  • A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry

  • Fences by August Wilson

Nonfiction

This list was compiled using an infographic made by Jane Mount, an infographic from Good Good Good that was aided by Sarah Sophie Flicker and Alyssa Klein, and an Instagram post by Mahogany Books.

  • The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander

  • The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin

  • How To Be An Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi

  • Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America by Ibram X. Kendi

  • Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi

  • An African American and Latinx History of the United States by Paul Ortiz

  • The Color of Law by Richard Rothstein

  • Me and White Supremacy by Layla Saad

  • The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

  • Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson

  • Black and British: A Forgotten History by David Olusoga

  • The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration by Isabel Wilkerson

Memoir

  • I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

  • Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

  • Twelve Years a Slave by Solomon Northup

  • Becoming by Michelle Obama

Young Adult

Compiled using Epic Reads and Goodreads

  • With Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo

  • Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi

  • Let’s Go Swimming on Doomsday by Natalie C. Anderson

  • Dreamland Burning by Jennifer Latham

  • Sparrow by Sarah Moon

  • Loving vs. Virginia by Patricia Hruby Powell

  • Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds

  • Opposite of Always by Justin A. Reynolds

  • Dear Martin by Nic Stone

  • The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

  • The Sun is Also a Star by Nicola Yoon

  • American Street by Ibi Zoobi

  • Black Enough: Stories of Being Young and Black in America by various authors and edited by Ibi Zoboi

Middle Grade

Compiled using Book Riot and Afoma Umesi’s blog (please check out the link to her blog, because her suggestions are great!).

  • The Crossover by Kwame Alexander

  • Blended by Sharon M. Draper

  • Full Cicada Moon by Marilyn Hilton

  • From the Desk of Zoe Washington by Janae Marks

  • Ghost by Jason Reynolds

  • The Harlem Charade by Natasha Tarpley

  • Genesis Begins Again by Alicia D. Williams

Children’s

  • Hair Love by Matthew A. Cherry

  • Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis

  • Elijah of Buxton by Christopher Paul Curtis

  • Anacaona: Golden Flower, Haiti, 1490 by Edwidge Danticat

  • Little Leaders: Bold Women in Black History by Vashti Harrison

  • Little Legends: Exceptional Men in Black History by Vashti Harrison

  • The Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats

  • The Vast Wonder of the World by Mélina Mangal

  • Nzingha: Warrior Queen of Matamba, Angola, Africa, 1595 by Patricia McKissack

  • Sulwe by Lupita Nyong'o

  • The Addy Walker American Girl Series by Connie Porter

    • Includes Meet Addy, Addy Learns a Lesson, Addy’s Surprise, Happy Birthday, Addy!, Addy Saves the Day, and Changes for Addy.

  • The Word Collector by Peter H. Reynolds

  • Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor

Every Good and Perfect Gift

This week has been really hard. I had less schoolwork than usual, which was a relief, but I also had some really disappointing things happen in my personal life. I am not much of a crier, but I went through two tissue boxes in less than twenty-four hours, so it’s pretty safe to say things were not great. What was great was the way the Lord comforted me this week. I’m overwhelmingly thankful that through the worst parts of the week, I kept praying and spending time in my Bible. In fact, the more upset I felt, the more I prayed. This hasn’t always been my reaction in the past, but it was my reaction this week. I’ve spent a lot more time in prayer the last few days than I have in a while, and while I wish it was under different circumstances, I’m in awe of how the Lord has drawn close to me and walked through the week with me. 

During one of the more difficult times this week, I felt like I was supposed to read a prayer I wrote on December 31, 2019 about the upcoming year. It was ironically funny to read it, because the three things I felt called by God to pray about/for have all been pretty firmly delayed so far. To give you a feel for just how terrible yet hilarious it was to read the prayers, one of them was that I would have my best school year yet. It was even a bit bittersweet to read the only Bible verse I put in that prayer, which is James 1:17: Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. I didn’t really feel a lot of gifts from God as I read that verse, but I knew I needed to be reminded that

  1. His gifts are all around me, even now.

  2. There are certain gifts I know He wants for me even though I don’t know the timing. Just because I’ve been praying for a long time, years even, and not received them yet doesn’t mean they aren’t going to happen. 

  3. God does not change. His faithful love never fades or falters. 

I’ve felt the Lord’s constant love and perfect gifts this week. I’ve felt the gift of His presence and the joy and peace that accompanies it this week. When I’ve felt overwhelmed or heartbroken, all I’ve had to do is reach out to Him, and He has been there with me. I’ve also received gifts I don’t deserve even in the midst of a challenging week. One of those gifts came from a class I just finished. My school requires students to take a series of Bible classes to graduate, and I had a final for one of these classes today. I decided not to study for it, which, if you know anything about me, is NOT how I usually operate! I am the person who starts studying a week before an exam and has color-codes flash cards for every subject. I love my Bible classes, though, and often find myself thanking God for the opportunity to learn more about His Word as a part of my education. (I mean, just typing that sentence makes me want to jump for joy.) I’ve worked really hard in this class to learn everything I can, and despite not studying, I only missed one question on the final! The good grade and free time from not studying we’re gifts, of course, but the greatest gift was realizing just how much my knowledge of the Lord has grown since the class started in March. 

I also had another article published with Vanderbilt this week, and I was struck by how cool it is that I get to do science writing as an undergraduate English major. (If you’ve ever wondered, “Hey, I wonder why some strains of C. diff infection have worse clinical outcomes than other strains,” or thought, “I would like to support Sara’s work regardless of how I feel about gastrointestinal infections,” then you can click here or here to read the article!)

As I reflect back on my week, I see even more gifts from God. I see the fun guitar session I had on Monday, or the really good iced coffee I drank yesterday, or the irreplaceable talks I’ve had with my mom, and I can’t help but see the Lord’s hand in it all. He performs miracles, but He also loves to just be with us and put small blessings in our paths every day. It’s impossible to comprehend how much the Lord loves us and how many ways He shows that love, but I pray I never stop being amazed by His goodness. As I reflect on the Lord’s faithful love and think back to my three prayers for 2020, I get the overwhelming sense that the Lord is saying, “Just wait.” It has been a long four months, but 2020 isn’t over yet, and I see that as an encouragement. I have lived so much of my life fearing the future. Right now, though, I feel nothing but hopeful even though I am still sad and disappointed. A lot has happened in four months, both good and bad. A lot has happened just this week, both good and bad. But as I look at my yet unanswered prayers for 2020—the prayers I feel are both the desire of the Lord’s heart as well as the desire of mine—I see how much time is left for them to be fulfilled in whatever way God sees fit.

The Lord is Good: an Update on Writing in My Bible

If you’ve been following me for a while, you know that although I’ve grown up in the church, I only started writing in my Bible a couple years ago. For so long, I was afraid to make any marks in my Bible or even carry it around with me. The Bible felt like such a holy book, and I was terrified of creasing the spine or messily scribbling in the margins.

I’ve been writing in my Bible for almost two years now, and I struggle to comprehend the love God has shown me through this process. As I started writing more freely in my Bible, I felt God’s presence more boldly. As I flipped through the book while hunting for a certain verse, I saw pops of color that reminded me of all the time I’d spent in God’s word. My Bible started to fall open on pages with highlighted passages I really needed to hear. I would find notes I’d left myself—prayers, or moments I felt God working in my life—that reminded me of the Lord’s faithfulness and encouraged me to keep prioritizing time with Him. 

In January, I started reading the Psalms. I didn’t originally mean to read the whole book. It was the beginning of the semester, and I was having a terrible week. I was too tired to leave my room or study, but I was too awake to sleep. I felt frustrated and overwhelmed, and I knew I could either turn to the Lord for help or keep feeling miserable. So, I opened YouVersion and started listening to the Psalms. At first, my brain was so cloudy I barely understood the words. Even without recognizing their meaning, though, I began to feel peace wash over me. I felt clarity start to creep in. I began reading along in my own Bible as I listened, and then I began just reading. About twenty Psalms in, I realized the Lord wanted me to read the whole book.

I haphazardly read at first. I always went in order, but some days I would read a dozen psalms, and other times I would go days without reading. I’ve slowly started reading every day, and I’ve quickly seen the Lord draw continually closer to me as I’ve drawn closer to Him. Sometimes, I feel alert while I’m reading. I quickly fly through chapters, understand most of the references King David makes, and am highlighting or annotating every verse. Other days, I slowly work through one psalm and know I am missing some of its meaning. On both types of days, and every day in between, I know I’m growing closer to the Lord. I know His peace and love always surround me, but I’m more aware of it. I’m more quick to notice the blessings He puts in my path or pray when I feel discouraged. I always remember the Lord’s promises and know He has a perfect plan for my life, but as I drawn nearer to Him, I feel these promises. It’s like I can physically feel the Lord’s faithfulness covering me as I go through the day and feel His presence in my heart. Even more than usual, I just want to talk spend time with Him and talk about Him with others.


A couple hours ago, I sat down to read Psalm 78 and felt overwhelmed by how long it was. I felt mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. I took time to pray and rest in the Lord’s presence, and when I returned to my Bible,I decided to look back and see the progress I’ve made so far this year. In every splash of color, every prayer, every acknowledgement of the Lord’s goodness, every praise, and every plea, I see the Lord’s goodness. I can’t believe I get to read His word, and pray to Him, and grow closer to Him each and every day. I’m so thankful for these blessings, though, and I can’t wait to see what new scribbles my Bible will be covered with as I grow closer to God.

Who I Am

Hi, everyone!

If you’re a new reader, hello! It’s nice to meet you. If you’ve been here awhile, it’s nice to see you again!

My name is Sara, and there are so many stories, roles, and traits that make up who I am. I’m a daughter, a big sister, a friend, a student, and a writer. I was obsessed with three books and authors when I was in elementary school: Nancy Drew books, any American Girl series, and anything by Wendy Mass. I broke my wrist in the fourth grade, because I’m a klutz who shouldn’t be trusted with roller skates. My middle school randomly assigned elective classes, and because the universe was conspiring against me, I was put in P.E.5-7 times (I stopped counting at 5, because ignorance truly was bliss). I make flashcards in any and every subject you could possibly use flashcards for. In the eighth grade, I made hundred of flashcards for the History Bowl, and then I got sick and couldn’t attend the competition. I went to three different high schools and started college a couple years early; I even got my associate’s degree when I was 18!

I’m including this jumble of stories for two reasons.

  1. I love hearing others’ stories from their lives. What can I say? I’m an English Writing major through and through!

  2. My life is full of so many highs and lows, just like anyone else’s life.

I tend to share one side of my life on my blog, which is the side of someone who has clinical depression, OCD, and generalized anxiety disorder. I don’t talk about these aspects of my life because they encompass my entire life; I started talking about them because when I was younger, no one did, and it made me feel really alone. I knew I wanted to try and help others not feel so alone, and I felt God calling me to use writing to share my story.

Throughout my life, I’ve had different fights to find my identity. Was I just a writer, or a student, or a reader? Was I just someone with mental health issues, and later, someone with chronic illnesses? When I tried to place my identity in one thing, one of two things happened: I either felt terrible that my other traits were erased, or I didn’t know who I was when my identity marker was removed (like when I wasn’t a writer or reader anymore). I finally learned to place my identity in my relationship with Christ, and it’s the greatest identity I could ever ask for.

I get anxious when people read my blog. I’m excited that people care enough to read my work. I love that the Lord lets me write about metal health, and that He has let me bless others through my writing. I also get really nervous, though. I get nervous because the content is so personal, and because my more personal posts encompass such a small part of my life.

Mental and chronic illnesses are a part of my story, but they’re just a small part of who I am, and the stories I share here are an even smaller part of myself. I haven’t written about this in other posts about my identity, so I want to take the time to mention it here.

So, hi! I’m Sara. I love to talk about mental health, but I also love to talk about so many other things. So whether you want to talk candidly about mental illness or hear me gush about my family, talk with me about your favorite books, discuss how simultaneously great and terrible college is, or want to talk about hiking, swimming, or yoga, I’m your girl. And if you were wondering what I view as the most important part of myself, it’s that I’m known and loved by the Creator of the universe.

Link to My Articles on The Mighty

Hi, everyone! If you follow me on social media (@sara.j.eaton on Instagram), you’ve probably seen me link some some of my writing from The Mighty. The Mighty is a site that features writing on a wide variety of health conditions by a diverse group of people. Some of the authors live with health conditions while others are caretakers or have family or friends with a condition. I’ve been lucky enough to have five pieces published by the site, and I wanted to link those articles here in case anyone was interested in reading them. This post will be updated for future publications, so be sure to check back periodically!

My most popular publication to date is the third one, “When Church Members Said God Would Heal My Illness If I Prayed Hard Enough.” It has over 1,800 likes; I definitely never expected for it to reach such a large audience or resonate with so many people! I have so much more to say on this topic, and I hope I get the chance to in the future.

Post One: “Why I Relate to 'Stranger Things' After a 14-Week Partial Hospitalization Program.”

Post Two: “What I Do When I Realize It’s Going to Be a Hard Night.”

Post Three: “When Church Members Said God Would Heal My Illness If I Prayed Hard Enough.”

Post Four: “4 Tips for When the New Year is Difficult.”

Post Five: “5 Tips for Students With Brain Fog.”

New Year’s Eve

Today’s my birthday! New Year’s Eve always gives me double the reason to reflect on the past year and the one ahead; I’m entering a new year in every sense of the word. 

The first half of 2019 was (mostly) wonderful. I spent New Year’s Day in Chicago, a city I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since. I took Biology, which is one of my favorite classes I’ve taken in college. I received my associate’s degree and high school diploma (in that order!) from the first schools I felt at home in. 

The second half of the year was a struggle. I had surgery in July. We moved from my childhood home two weeks later. My health plummeted as I started school, and my doctor recommended (more than once) I withdrawal. I was certain God placed hope in my heart that certain things would happen this fall, and they didn’t. I was devastated; I still am. 

The last few months have also held beautiful moments, though, that I wouldn’t change for the world. God placed some wonderful people in my life. I read (well, listened to) some phenomenal books. I went to bookstores and coffee shops and had movie nights with friends. And I survived. 

I’m wary about the New Year. I’m terrified of starting another semester when the last one went so poorly. I’m scared to hope for good things again, but this morning, I decided I will. I know I’ll waver in this belief, but I wrote down my hopes and prayers for this semester so I can return to them throughout the year, because I want to be able to remember a time I believed. I also want to revisit each hope and dream in May so I can see how God has worked in my life. 

I know how to survive through hardship. I know how to love the Lord in struggles. I know how to find the wonder in the worst moments. This is the season I want to experience a different kind of life. It’ll still be full of struggles, but I hope they’re fewer. I want to learn to celebrate with God as good things happen. I don’t want to work so hard to notice the good moments, because I want them to easily outshine everything else. 

I don’t know if those hopes will come true, but I  pray they do. That’s what I love about hope. Hope is strong. Hope perseveres. It fights to remain when every other remotely positive emotion disappears. Hope is the belief that good things can still happen. For years now, I’ve steadfastly believed good things can and will happen to me eventually. Now, I’m hoping they happen sooner rather than later. 

Happy New Year, everyone. My prayer is that no matter what this year holds, hope is your constant companion.

You Are Not Alone in the Struggle

Hi, everyone! Today’s blog post was originally a lot longer. It delved a bit deeper into what is happening in my life right now. I started writing it as a way to cope with everything that was happening, but it wasn’t meant to be shared with the world. Over the past few weeks, though, I’ve gone back to it time after time. I feel like the Lord is calling me to share some of my intent behind that post, even if it never gets published.

So, here we go. I’m struggling right now. A lot. I’m struggling because of things that are out of my control. Since January, I’ve been trying to get food accommodations at my school. I have a lot of food intolerances, so I can’t eat at the cafe (the cafeteria’s manager refunded my meal plan after three weeks of only being able to eat plain lettuce and occasionally a plain sweet potato or grilled chicken). I’ve gotten some accommodations, but not what I need. As a result, I’ve lost a dangerous amount of weight since starting school. I’m very underweight. I’m malnourished. The school’s disability services department is saying I’m not sick enough to get different accommodations for the spring semester. The truth is that if I lose any more weight, I will end up back in the hospital. Disability services may not be concerned with my health, but I’ve reached out to some other outlets on campus that are. They are helping advocate for me, and I’m so thankful and continually praying it helps soon.

And that’s where my physical health begins to affect my mental health. This time four years ago, I lost a large amount of weight from some adverse medicine side effects. After a mentally and physically excruciating year of trying to get weight restored, I spent fourteen weeks in the hospital. They were the worst fourteen weeks of my life. They saved my life, but I’ve lived with post traumatic stress since then. I remember sitting with my dietician shortly after I was weight restored and sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. “I’m just so scared I’m going to lose the weight again,” I would cry. “I’m so scared. I can’t do it again. I can’t ever do this again.” I would repeat those words over and over. “I can’t do this again, I can’t ever do this again, I can’t do it again.” She would reassure me that I would never have to.

Here I am.

I am not where I was before. But I’m closer to that point then I am to a healthy weight, which is terrifying

Everything is terrifying right now. I know I am not back where I was four years ago, but trauma is tricky. I recognize that I am not back in the fall of 2015, but my that doesn’t stop the anxiety and panic. It doesn’t help that I’m starting to get all the symptoms I had back then when I was really sick, which makes it even harder to separate the two events. I often feel like I am repeating a horrible history. I feel like I am trapped in an endless loop of suffering.

It’s easy to become upset. The truth is that there is no reason it should take nine months for me to receive the basic accommodations I need to stay healthy. I shouldn’t have to fight for everything and advocate for myself all the time. Even before this, I spent three months fighting to take the classes I deserve to take as someone with an associate’s degree and be exempt from the classes I don’t have to take because of that degree. Because I’m younger than the typical junior, it was a really long, really difficult battle. But in the end, it worked out, just like I try to have faith this current battle will work out.

I’m so tired. It feels like I can’t keep fighting. But the great thing is that I don’t have to, because I’m not alone. Part of the reason I am not sharing the details of what has happened because of my school’s apathy regarding my health is because I don’t want that to be what people think of when they think of my school. Because I love my school so, so much. I love my classmates and my new friends. I love my professors; they are some of the kindest, most caring individuals I’ve ever met. I love my classes, and my department, and I’ve already learned so much in a short amount of time.

For every bad experience I’ve had with an administrative member, I’ve had countless positive experiences with other employees. For every awful experience I’ve had, I’ve received so much kindness. I love my school. This doesn’t make the bad things okay, but those bad things don’t get to override the good ones.

The truth is that the start of a new school year is always hard. I know that I am not the only one struggling right now. Your struggles don’t have to look like mine. But if you’re working through some hard things right now, I want you to know what you’re not alone.

I am not in this alone. I have a wonderful support group made up of my family, faculty members, and friends. But the true source of my peace, of my help, of my hope, is my God. It’s through Him that I get to have all of these other groups in my life, but He is enough on His own. And if you are feeling completely alone right now, please know that you aren’t. God loves you, and He is close by you during this time. He understands. He cares. He wants the best for you, even when it seems like everything is crashing down. It’s also okay if you don’t feel this. It’s okay if you feel alone. If you feel betrayed. I’ve been there before too, friend. But on the other side of those understandable, valid feelings was the truth that He never left me even when I thought I was all alone.

I want to end this post with some of my favorite Bible verses for the really difficult times in life. Life can really suck sometimes. It’s difficult, and frustrating, and scary. But Jesus is good through it all. He never leaves us. When no one else quite understands what we are going through, He understands it perfectly. Even when we don’t feel it, He loves us so, so much, and He wants so much more for us than this heartache.

If you share my faith, I would really appreciate your prayers. If you have an encouraging Bible verse you’d like to share, please leave a comment or send me a message. But if you’re here for some encouragement, these verses are for you. You are not alone. Leave a prayer request in the comments, or contact me. The last verse I include below is extra special to me. We are not meant to face tough things on our own. You are not alone in the struggle.

Psalm 34:18: The Lord is near the brokenhearted; He saves those crushed in spirit.

Matthew 28:20: … And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.

Psalm 61: 1-4: God, hear my cry; pay attention to my prayer. I call to you from the ends of the earth when my heart is without strength. Lead me to a rock that is high above me, for you have been a refuge for me, a strong tower in the face of the enemy. I will dwell in your tent forever and take refuge under the shelter of your wings.

Psalm 73: 26: My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart, my portion forever.

Psalm 121: 2: My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

Romans 15:13: Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you believe so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Galatians 6:2: Carry one another’s burdens; in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.