Real

Growing up as a middle child of three daughters who looked like triplets and all played the same sport, I was always trying to find ways to be different. So when I was 6 years old, I asked my mom to chop off my long hair and to give me a bob. I played with bugs and bit my nails to be like my dad. I would do anything and everything you told me to do if the words double-dog-dare preceded it . . . especially if my sisters weren’t going to do it.

I wanted to stand out.

But when I became a Christian I just wanted to join the club. I thought that the name of the game was conformity and the rules were simple:

Look this way.

Wear this.

Don’t wear that.

Talk like this.

Hang out with these people.

Have this opinion about this, and that, aaaand that.

Start going to church every single Sunday and Wednesday and if you don’t, you will be judged.

And above all, make sure everyone thinks that you are this perfectly even tempered, peaceful, ridiculously happy person at all times. In other words “Fake it till’ you make it.”

I tried so hard to fit in and be someone I thought the church wanted me to be. I quit asking questions as to why we did certain things or believed certain issues and I assumed everyone knew better than I did. They themselves had played the game longer than I had. They had parents who were members of the club and they had actually been raised in it. They must know more than I did. I just got used to speaking in someone else’s voice and thinking someone else’s thoughts.

So I went out and bought a bunch of cardigans to cover up my shoulders when I wore my skanky spaghetti-strap dresses. I cleaned up my language and adapted a new lingo. I wore a cross around my neck every day so that people would “see that I’m a Christian”. I got a purity ring and I wore it on my left ring finger so that people would think I was a virgin still. I made friends at church and stopped hanging out with the "heathens" I used to hang out with. Doing these things wouldn't have been bad in themselves, but I was doing them to make myself look like someone that I’m not. And obviously, no one told me to do all of these things, but I was living off a make-believe checklist that I had made for myself out of my own insecurities. I desperately wanted to be liked, accepted, well thought of and . . . loved.

I don’t know when, but at some point I stopped looking at what the members of this club were doing, and I started looking at Jesus--that dude that broke all the rules.

I watched as he interacted and lived life with the sinners and the socially unacceptable. {Matthew 9:10-13}

I watched as he braided a whip for himself and went all Indiana Jones on a bunch of scumbags who had created a marketplace inside the House of God. {John 2:13-17}

I watched as he showed honest emotion and cried when the people he loved didn’t remember his words and trust him. {John 11:35}

I watched as he told stories with normal language about normal crap to communicate the true story of God to normal people who needed to hear it.

And I started to realize that he wanted me to do the same thing. I started to realize that he had absolutely created me with a unique story and a distinct voice and he was calling me to use it, whispering to me “Just be you, Baby Girl. I knew you even before I knit you together in you mother’s womb. I have a purpose for your existence and a plan for your future. Follow me and let me lead you through that. You were meant to speak the truth.”

What a relief! What a precious, precious gift to know that I can be myself, and I can leave behind the false expectations that I had made for myself. It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to ask questions. It’s okay to struggle, and be honest about your doubts, your fears, and your furked-upness. And to do so in a way that doesn’t glorify yourself or your sin, but in a way that points to the awesomeness of God’s grace.

What a gift!

Because when I stop worrying about whom I think my boss wants me to be, and who I think the parents of the kids I lead think I should be, I begin to have real life conversations about real life things. In reality, these expectations are made up in my own crazy head anyways! I don’t omit certain issues and pretend they don’t exist. It enables me to relate to kids by sharing my story without editing out certain struggles that I’ve had and temptations I still fight through today.

I am an imperfect person stumbling and failing to serve a perfect God every single day. And I’m okay with that. Because as I gladly boast in my weaknesses, I am allowing the power of Christ to work in my story. I am trusting in Him that even though I have done things that I am not proud of, I believe that Jesus has redeemed me and made me clean in the eyes of the Father. I believe that even though I am incredibly unworthy, God can use me anyway. And that speaks to how awesomely loving and powerful He is, and not to how disobedient and filthy I am.

Too often, we shy away from admitting to certain sins. We make a secret list of “sins we talk about” and “sins we don’t talk about”. I know that there will be people who shutter when I speak of them because they see that type of honesty as dangerous.

And to that, I say “okay”. I don’t care. I don’t care if I don’t fit perfectly into how you think a member of the Christian club should look like. I will continue to live out loud in a way that makes me the person who God wants me to be – one who worships Him in spirit and in truth (John 4:24). And as I do I will carry out my duty to proclaim His name and live out His call on my life that He gave me when he nudged me so long ago, whispering…

Speak up.

That one time I thought I was a Spartan

This past weekend, me, Casey (fiance) and his old roommate/best friend, Allen, decided to road trip down to Illinois to compete in an 8-mile Spartan Race. It was an experience.

I don't know if you've ever done one of these, but they're hard. Basically, it's an obstacle race inspired by the movie 300, and it is as challenging as it sounds. You run 8 miles through mud and dirt, and run through a series of obstacles. If you fail, or chose to skip any of the obstacles, your punishment is to do 30 burpees. These obstacles are things such as: army crawling under barb wire, climbing over 10 foot walls, carrying a 20 pound sandbag a certain distance, etc. Most of these obstacles were not made to cater to little-old-5-foot-3-inch-stubby-legged-me. Oh, and it's pretty much all through mud. Did I mention that it was in 8 miles long?!

We began the day at 7 AM volunteering to help out because if you do that, you get to run the race for free. Casey and I were stationed at the Monkey Bars (which were not your ordinary monkey bars), which was toward the end of the race. I watched as person after person went through and they looked dead. One girl even had to quit the race once she got to us because she was obviously close to hypothermia. Oh yea, did I mention it was 30 degrees that morning? Yea. I grew more and more intimidated by the race as the morning went on, but with Casey's encouragement, decided to run the race anyways.

At 2:30, our heat took off. It had warmed up to around 40 degrees, but still felt pretty cold to us Texans. At first, I was pretty confident. We started out going at a decent pace, and Casey and Allen helped me out on the obstacles that I couldn't do by myself. For one of the obstacles, we had to drag a 30 pound cinder block with a chain for some hundred yards around a track. Casey, being the man that he is, didn't hesitate to grab hold of mine when he saw that I was struggling, and drug both of ours by himself the majority of the way. You could say it was one of his more attractive moments. Again, for one of the obstacles we had to carry a sandbag around an even longer track. I'd say it was close to 2 or 300 yards around. Casey and Allen grabbed hold of theirs (which was probably twice as heavy as the girl one that I was carrying) and took off. I was halfway through by the time Casey had finished, dropped his bag, doubled back to find me, and carried mine for me the rest of the way. He was literally carrying my burden as I struggled through the race. (Cue cheesy Jesus parallel)

And then the calf cramps set in. Two hours into the race, the sun began to set, and it got significantly colder. At mile 7, we approached a series of obstacles where we were jumping in and out of chest to waist deep mud, and waiting through long lines to complete other obstacles. We were running along a straight between obstacles when I was paralyzed by the twinge of my muscles preparing to clench. I stopped to stretch them out because I knew the excruciating pain that would happen if they fully cramped up. Casey stopped with me and Allen ran on. I tried to walk to the next obstacle, but when I got there, my calves fully cramped up and I knew I wouldn't be able to finish. Casey's body was apparently more prepared to handle the cold than me and Allen's. Allen and I had to quit at that point, only a mile from the finish line because we were nearly hypothermic, and my legs weren't going to go any further. The combination of the cold and being coated in freezing cold mud was just too much. I had literally pushed myself as far as my body was going to let me go. They picked us up in a 4 wheeler and drove us to the medical tent where they covered us in blankets and sat us in front of a space heater.

Casey finished the race because there wasn't any room on the 4 wheeler for him, and also because he was perfectly fine (which made Allen and I feel pretty lame). Once he finished, he raced to heat up the car and drove us to the nearest hotel, where we had the best showers of our lives.

One might say it was a disaster, but the trip really was an overall success. It made me admire Casey even more with how well he took care of me. I was literally a damsel in distress and he came to my rescue. It was great to just have a weekend to spend time with these boys because we always have so much fun together. Since Casey moved out to Hallsville, Texas in June, we hadn't spent that much consecutive time together.

I will, however, think twice next time I think it's a good idea to test my spartan-like characteristics in weather like that. I think I'll stick to attempting races like this in warmer weather.

Allow me to introduce myself

I’m Ashton Fenster. In a few months, I will be Ashton Zager.

I’m a Bible College student. I’m a Junior High Girls Intern. I’m a Young Life leader. Here are some things I’m about:

I’m about friendships.

I’m learning to be more about transparency and honesty.

I’m about making mistakes, or as my mother calls them, “oopses”

I’m about organic discipleship and conversations that come naturally, or as I like to call them…relationships.

I’m not about organization, or administering. These things just don’t come naturally to me.

I’m about messiness--both in a physical, haven’t-showered-in-three-days, sticking-some-gum-in-my-mouth-because-I-don’t-have-time-to-brush-my-teeth kind of way, and in the metaphorical, always-running-late, being-the-queen-of-last-minute-planning kind of way.

I’m about hearing people's stories.

I’m definitely not about making decisions. Whether it’s choosing where we go to dinner, or the potentially-life-altering kind, you can expect a cry-fest or an attempt to transfer the responsibility when you ask me to make a decision.

I’m about learning to be the best companion in life that I can be when I marry my best friend on June 7^th.

I’m not about debating theology, but I might possibly converse with you about these things.

I’m about loving on teenagers--the 12 year olds and the ones who just act like they’re 12 years old.

I wish I were more about exercising.

I’m about second chances and undeserved grace.

I’m about Pinterest, and pretty clothes and being girly and overthinking practically everything.

I’m about Jesus and I’m learning to be more like Him, and less like me, every day.