the middle

As uncharacteristic of me, this New Year's Eve, I'm not thinking of beautiful endings or exciting beginnings. I should be, maybe. I mean, the end of the month, finishing the year...a time to reflect on the things in my life that ended and changed. And the beginning of a new month, the start of a new year...a chance to hope, dream, and plan. But for me, this holiday is about the middle. I sit here thinking about the end and yet, looking toward the future. I'm stuck in the middle.

And I don't like the middle. I should have loads of optimism and chutzpah as I approach 2012. I should look at this journey with fresh eyes, bright and beautiful. January 1 is like the first day of school. You're wearing the new outfit you laid out the night before. Your backpack is organized, clean, filled with sharpened pencils and new gel pens. You have good intentions of being a better student. You actually say out-loud that you're going to study 3 hours for every hour of lecture. The beginning is hopeful, full of possibilities. 

I want to be hopeful and optimistic, but I can't because I am still in December. And so I'm tired, worn out, and realistic. I'm a tad more cynical than I was 12 months ago. I haven't forgotten about the struggles, the pain, the hurt. I am in the middle. And I don't like the middle. It's exhausting, monotonous, and often times lonely. 

In the beginning of winter, there is excitement as the first few snowflakes fall. But as the season continues, the freshness wears out, and not even a mug of hot cocoa can make the forecast better. Winter seems to last forever. And it takes much effort to remind yourself that someday those bare branches will have green leaves and the frozen ground will turn to a lawn of luscious green grass.

When you're in the middle, there isn't much that can be done to make the time go quicker. You want to get to the end, the place where you're a better person. Where the beginning and middle refined you and made you wiser and more patient. The end is resolution. But when you're in the middle, there's not much worse than the middle. The middle is filled with good and bad. And neither last forever. In those sweet moments, you must breathe deep and savor. In those bitter moments, you must practice believing in springtime. 

I cannot make the big ball in Times Square drop any quicker. I cannot make spring come any sooner. And I cannot remove myself from the middle. 

The middle is where I am. I feel like it's abstract and I can't grab ahold of anything. I feel like there is nothing touchable near my grasp. The middle is like a dream...a terrible dream that doesn't end. But I can't check out. The middle is where I am. Despite my feelings, my cynicism, my fears, and my hopes, I am here. In the middle. And I believe that the end will find me a deeper, stronger, better person...one who loves unconditionally and gives without attaching strings. So instead of vacating my life, I am going to choose to engage. In this weird, intangible season, not really December anymore, but not yet January, I am choosing to stay. I will not relinquish my duties. I will not quit my calling. I may not be bright-eyed, but I'm not blind. I may be bruised, but I'm not shattered. So in this place, this middle, I simply will be. Because it's not forever.

So I'm going to be present. I'm going to love deeply from the heart. I'm going to give until it hurts, and then I'm going to give some more. I'm going to ask questions. I'm going to dream. I'm going to write, sing, and paint. And peace will fill my soul. Because the Prince of peace dwells in me...in each season. Abstract, ugly, uncertain, and scary...He stays with me here in the middle.

concerts and the flesh

I love concerts. I’m kind of a concert junkie. I love the booming bass that makes your insides vibrate. I love the atmosphere. I love the jumping, the waving of the arms, and the crowd surfing. And I really love the way your voice breaks the next morning proving that the concert the night before was epic. But what I love most about concerts is seeing the music artist in the flesh. I stand in the midst of thousands of people, close my eyes and go back. I go back to my car, listening to that song on my ipod as I roadtrip. I go back to my room, as I have a dance party with myself. I go back to the beach where I laid, basking the beauty of the summer sun. I go back to mile 12 where I thought I couldn't run another mile. And then I open my eyes and marvel that the voice I listened to so many times before has a body. The voice comes out of a mouth on a face, a real face. A real person. And at the concert, I realize that that musician in the flesh is 100 times better than the voice I hear through ear-buds.

There’s something about flesh.

There’s something about seeing somebody. But there’s something even greater about being able to touch that person. Skyping, telephone calls, and texting are all great, but seeing someone in the flesh is magnificent. A hug, a high-five, a kiss, a hand-hug...the flesh is wonderful.

When you haven't been with someone in a long time, you know how wonderful it is to finally be in the same room as that person. Their voice is clearer. Their eyes shine brighter. Their laugh sounds better than any "haha" or "lol". But before you are with that person, the wait can be excruciating. Your heart aches and longs to be near that person. As you drift off to sleep, you try to remember what exactly they smelled like. You try to remember how their voice sounded, how their hug felt, how their hair fell across their forehead. You replay previous times together and long for a reunion. You want to be with that person again. And sometimes your desire for that person to come near takes up many waking minutes of your day.

Two thousand years ago, the people of God were longing. They were waiting, some more patiently than others for God to come near. I imagine their hearts ached. They remembered the prophesies and the promises. And they waited. 

And in a tiny body of flesh and bones and blood, God came. He didn’t just send a picture. He didn’t just speak to His people. But He came, in the flesh to His people. God, a human. God, with a face, a voice, and certain mannerisms. 

Tonight I’m longing. For snow, for family to finally arrive, for Peppermint Hershey's Kisses. But mostly, I'm longing for the Christ. He came two thousand years ago. And He's coming again. And nights like tonight, I imagine what His voice sounded like, what He smelled like, or what His hug felt like. This wait is excruciating. My heart aches to see my God in the flesh. Anticipation rises as Christmas so quickly approaches. I don't know the detail of our reunion, but I do know it will be epic. 

Until then, I'll continue to wait...and go to an occasional concert.

voices

The following is a message I got to give at church this morning. 

Perhaps I'm a bit windy...

There’s a television show on NBC about individuals who audition, train, and compete using their voices. It’s a singing show, properly entitled “The Voice.” This show centers around four musicians who search for amazing voices to mentor and turn into stars. I like this show because of the first episode, the audition. The musicians or as the show calls them “coaches” have their backs turned to the individuals auditioning. Thus, their opinions are based solely on the voice they hear. The rest of the competition hangs on their voice.

Not all of us are talented enough to be on a singing show like “The Voice,” but we all have voices. The sound of your voice is made by the air rushing from your lungs past your vocal chords, making them vibrate. It’s like taking a rubber band, stretching it, and plucking it. Based on the size of the rubber band, the twang sound you hear varies from high-pitch to low-pitch.

In the same way, based on the size of your vocal chords and larynx, your voice can be high or low. And your voice changes as you get older. Before puberty, your vocal chords are small and thin and your larynx is small making your voice high. As you go through puberty, the larynx gets bigger and the vocal chords lengthen and thicken, so your voice gets deeper. As your body adjusts to this changing equipment, your voice may "crack" or "break." To you young gentlemen going through this, may I encourage you by saying this process only lasts a few months. In the mean time, I may chuckle as your voice squeaks occasionally.

Today’s Gospel message is about a voice. The name of the voice was John. He said himself, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.”  John was on earth to bear witness about the light. The light being Jesus.

We’re in this season of Advent, and Advent is all about voices. Advent is the paradox between light and dark. Advent is the time we prepare and we wait. We sing about having a ‘holly, jolly christmas’. We bake goodies, we decorate our houses, and we buy gifts. We send out greeting cards with nice words like Rejoice, Celebrate, Joy, Hope, and Peace. But in reality, those words don’t really describe the year 2011. If we’re honest, words like Loss, Betrayal, Regret, Loneliness, and Anger better describe our last year. Advent in the church forces us to be honest. Because the church is the safe place where we can speak of our reality. Just because the mistletoe is hung doesn’t mean he didn’t break your heart. Just because we anticipate the birth of the baby Jesus, doesn’t mean we forget about the baby that was miscarried. Just because we smile as we watch our children write letters to Santa Claus, doesn’t mean we won’t have to do without in order to put gifts under the tree. Just because Christmas is coming doesn’t mean the cancer is leaving.

I can’t stand up here and speak of the coming Messiah without acknowledging our reality. Reality is, this world is broken and messed up. And we are too. There is hunger, envy, tension, sickness, rumors, bitterness, death, divorce, fires, and layoffs. Orphans are starving. Spouses are breaking their vows. Wars are beginning. Children are bullying. Churches are fighting. It is in this season of Advent that we admit these realities in our lives and we wait, praying “Come, Lord Jesus.”

Because Christmas will come. The baby will be born and placed in a feeding trough. The angels will sing. The wisemen will bring gifts. We wait throughout Advent for God to come near. And God doesn’t just come near, but He is with us. That’s what Emmanuel means: God with us. We anticipate the Messiah, bringing hope and restoration to this broken world. Isaiah spoke of God restoring that which was once in ruins. The psalmist announced God’s faithfulness and love for His children. John testified about the light. This Light is Jesus. And darkness cannot overcome this Light. We all have darkness in our lives. We want to hide it and pretend it’s not there. But God is not surprised or offended by the dark parts of ourselves. It is in the darkness that the Light, Jesus, shines brightly.  Emmanuel: God with us. God with us in our darkness. God with us in our hurting and grieving. God with us in our doubts and questions. God with us in our fears and anxieties. God with us in our rejections and failures. God with us in our sins and regrets.

This world has lots of voices. Voices of despair and destruction. Voices that speak lies and malicious stories. Voices that pronounce darkness and hopelessness. We hear these voices.  But counteracting these voices are more voices. Voices that speak the exact opposite. Voices of peace and restoration. Voices that bless and encourage. Voices that announce new beginnings and hope.

It is in the season of Advent that we all become preachers. We all become the voice crying out in the wilderness. We testify about the Light. We sing songs about the coming Savior. We write notes of encouragement and love. We speak of second chances and renewal. We live as if there’s real joy and lasting peace, because there is. We acknowledge our present reality and we announce that something new is happening. We sit in our darkness and point to the Light that is coming.

John was the voice. John knew there was Someone greater, and his job was to prepare everyone, point them in the right direction. John didn’t change human history, but he pointed to the One, Jesus, who changed the world. John was the voice crying out in the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord.”

Maybe your voice is quiet, reserved, almost like a whisper. You don’t want to speak. You think you have nothing to say. Maybe your voice is booming loud, for the next county to hear. You have a big mouth and always have something to say. You think your opinion matters most. Maybe your voice is squeaking. You’re embarrassed and refuse to speak. You are worried about getting made fun of. I don’t know what you think about your own voice. But this I do know: You have a voice. One that was given by God Almighty. And with the gift of the voice, He gave you something to say. But here’s the beautiful part—you choose. What are you going to do with your voice? What will you speak of? To whom will you share?

Today, I am the voice crying out in the wilderness: God hasn’t forgotten. God will not break His promises. God hears you and loves you. God has come near to be with you in your difficulty. God is getting His hands dirty, working with pitiful old me and you to bring about a new Kingdom. He is reversing that which was. He is building up that which had been torn down. He is binding up the broken-hearted. God is revitalizing the weary and worn-out. God is forgiving the murderer. God is comforting the grief-stricken widow.

And God is giving each of us a voice. How are you using your voice?

sleep

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, "The worst thing in the world is to try to sleep and not to." This guy may have been exagerrating a bit, as not sleeping is probably not 'the worst thing in the world'. But this American author does have a point. It's terrible to try to sleep and fail miserably.

Sleep has been on my mind lately. My friends say I think about it too much. Maybe they're right. Working day shifts and night shifts prompts me to sleep at random hours. And because I'm sleeping here and there, with no set schedule, I think about it. There's this little piece inside of me that will not rest until I have counted exactly how many hours of sleep I will get. So I lay in bed, using my fingers to count hoping I'll get to use my second hand to finish counting. I schedule out my time awake, so I can be sure to fall asleep between a set time frame. This may be a tad on the crazy side. But usually, my body has no trouble sleeping on command.

The last couple weeks haven't been usual. My scheduling, counting, and eye mask are not facilitating sleep. It's unfortunate, as my social life doesn't facilitate sleep, either. Hence, being awake for 34 hours with a 2 hour nap in the middle. My poor circadian clock.

Sleep has been on my mind lately. It's frustrating to lie in bed, wide-eyed, knowing the alarm clock will go off in a few hours. It's annoying to toss and turn when the sleeping environment is ideal. It's aggravating to hear coworkers say the next morning, "Oh, someone looks tired." Thank you, I know I need to buy a better under eye concealer.

I have two friends that really like sleep. One can fall asleep at a party anytime after 9 pm. He's like a grandpa. The other friend just loves naps. Once in college, she took 3 naps before 10am. Their love for sleep hasn't rubbed off on me. In fact, I don't even like sleep. I kind of wish I was like a vampire, because then I wouldn't need to sleep at all.

But I do need sleep. We all do. REM and non-REM sleep is vital to our mental, physical, and emotional well-being.

But sometimes not sleeping is okay. Sometimes the best thinking happens at night. Musicians leap from their bed to quick write down what they heard in their head. Techies create sweet websites. Writers finally find a solution to their block. Bad nights with no sleep are not always a bad thing. The sleepless nights provide insight and revelation that may have not come without the silence of the night.

Like my three year old niece who won't take naps in fear she'll miss out on something exciting, I tend to refuse sleep. Physically, I want to sleep, but mentally, I can't. Because when I'm tired, I think. And I've been thinking about sleep. And cities. And a King.

There was a city that was sleeping and missed the birth of its King. It was right in front of their eyes and they couldn't see that this baby would grow to save the world. That silent night, the city had no room for its King. And now there's a city, a nation, a whole world that has no room for their King. We are a people who are sleeping. We close our eyelids to the pictures of the starving, the oppressed, the marginalized. We roll over, turning our backs to the widows, the prisoners, the naked, the orphans. Our heavy eyelids may interfere with recognizing what is happening. And I fear we may miss it. The Bridegroom is coming. And we don't know when. I think Scriptures says "like a thief in the night" not because it will actually happen at night, but because this city, this nation, this world will be sleeping.

What will you miss while you're sleeping?

feasting

Turkey. Stuffing. Mashed Potatoes. Cranberry Relish. Snicker Salad. Pumpkin Pie. Moscato d'Asti.
My mouth is watering. And somewhere deep in my heart, joy is beginning to bubble as I anticipate the next 48 hours. Thanksgiving.

This is the commencement to the holiday season. This is the day where one plans to nap during the football game. This is the day where we feast. I always thought a feast was a very large, delicious meal. Period.

But I've been reading this book called "Sharing Food: Christian Practices For Enjoyment" written by L.Shannon Jung.  Sounds silly, no? But, I love eating. And I love reading. It doesn't get much better than reading a book about food and eating. This book is savory and delicious to read. I'm not very far in the book though, because I've been stuck on this chapter about feasting.

And many questions have flooded my mind. Is feasting simply eating and drinking in excess? Where did feasting come from? Why feast? How can I feast when the images of those beautiful children in Mozambique flash in my mind?

I don't know much about feasting. But this I do know: I'm not alone. Few people in America know much about feasting. Sure, we as a nation know all about excessive eating and drinking. We know gluttony and the lack of self-control. We know what it's like to sigh loudly, lick your fingers, wishing you wore your stretchy pants to the dining room table.
But I don't think that's feasting. L.Shannon Jung wrote, "Feasting is a communal practice of celebration. In the church, and in the culture, feasting has become a rare occurrence because we do not know much about celebrating (except over-celebrating or self-indulging--again, too much alcohol or food or drugs) because we are not comfortable in community. We simply do not delight very well."


This feasting thing came about many moons before me. The Israelites in the Old Testament had all kinds of feasts: Passover, First Fruits, Unleavened Bread, Feast of Booths, Feast of Weeks, etc. And there were feasts in the New Testament, too. There were wedding banquets, anticipated feasts, and parables about feasts.

Feasting is much more than food. Feasting is about our hearts and our attitudes. It's about celebration, community, trust, and gratitude. Feasting is "an exuberant recognition of God's mammoth surplus of love and goodness." Feasting is about worshiping God. Feasting transforms us. Feasting brings together people, encouraging reconciliation and unity. And when that happens, we get a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven. And that is beautiful.

Thanksgiving is a feast. It's a time to reflect, delight, worship, share, laugh, encourage, savor. So may this holiday transform you. May celebration and gratitude spring up from within you. May you grow closer to those around you as you share food, stories, and memories.  May you laugh and delight in our God because of who He is, not what He gives us. And may you eat slowly, praying for those lying awake because of growling bellies.

alone

I was the girl who would surround herself with people. Nothing was worse than spending a Friday or Saturday night alone. So I would call, plan, and arrange for social gatherings every weekend.

I was the girl who always needed music in the background...whether I was driving, studying, sleeping, working out, cooking, or cleaning. The thought of silence was terrifying. So I would be sure my ipod was charged and had the latest music.

I was the girl who couldn't go to the bathroom alone. So I would work to convince another girl, even if I knew her for just a few minutes, to join me on the journey toward the porcelain gods.

I hardly know that girl anymore. I believe Friday nights curled up with a book can be more refreshing than any social gathering. I believe a person who constantly has music on is a person who is too scared to be in their own thoughts. I believe the walk to the bathroom is still incredibly awkward, but necessary for any girl to be considered a woman.

I often write about the necessity of friendships and good community. But not tonight. Because, I believe there's something beautiful about solitude. One grows as he or she experiences something alone. One can be recharged as they exit the social scene for a few moments. I carved my own Halloween pumpkin alone. I drove 11 hours in my car alone. I went to a coffee shop and sat at a table alone. And it was lovely.

I still believe other people make life rich, difficult, and rewarding. I still believe other people force you to be unselfish and engage in things outside of yourself. I still believe we were made to live this life with other people, deeply connected in relationships.

But tonight, I'm declaring that being alone is necessary. Independence is rooted in moments of solitude. Faith grows in the desert. Confidence stems from growing accustomed to awkward alone moments. So, spend a day in silence. Turn off your phone (not silence, actually power off). Stay in the house on a Saturday night. Say 'No' to your friends. Think. Write. Dream. Run. Pray. Sleep. Dance. Bake. Read. Sing. Reflect. Paint.
Simply. Be. Alone.

And as you sit all alone, may you come to learn that you're never actually alone. Despite your situation, your beliefs, your relationship status, your circumstances, your past...you are not alone. There is One who will be with you to the end of the ages. And He is enough.

dumpster diving and motives

What makes a person run 13.1 miles without stopping? What is it about the alarm clock that results in one arising at 4 am? What causes a person to spend hours dumpster diving for dentures?

Motive. Incentive. Inner drive. Impulse. That which causes one to act.
Motives are linked directly to a person's actions. But actions do not always reflect motives. Why do you do the things you do? What makes you do good? What causes you to do evil? It is possible to do something good with horrible motives, just as it is possible to have good intentions and end up hurting someone.

Pride, money, glory, flat abs, friends, sleep...selfishness, selflessness. What is your motivation? Where is your heart?

There's a little old lady who has dentures. And she has a history of wrapping her dentures in a napkin and  leaving them on the dining room table. This results in the dentures being disposed of accidently. Thus, dumpster diving for dentures. Yesterday, as I leaned over the dumpster and pulled out a gray garbage bag labeled "Dietary: Breakfast 10-30", I thought about my motives. "Why am I doing this?" As I put on a gown and gloves and opened the raunchy smelling bag, I questioned my job description. "I paid thousands of dollars for 4 years of school to pass the NCLEX and do this?" As I picked apart the soggy bread from the banana peels, the straws from the plastic cups, I unwrapped every napkin...one by one.

Now I understand how the shepherd could leave the flock in search of the one lost sheep. I get how the lady could search her house high and low for the missing coin.
And I totally relate with the need to call together friends and neighbors saying, "Rejoice with me, for I have found the sheep, the coin, the dentures that were lost!" There was much celebration when the dentures were found.

But I'm still thinking back to "Why?". Why did I dumpster dive for dentures? Why do I do the things I do? Sometimes, it's because it's my 'job'. Sometimes, it's because other people are watching me. Sometimes, it's because it will benefit me. Sometimes, it's because I think I'll get more 'Jesus points'. Sometimes it's because I want vengeance and justice. Sometimes, it's because of my pride. Sometimes, it's because of guilt or shame.

Not always, but sometimes.

Once in awhile, I do the things I do because of my faith. Sometimes, the Spirit enables me to give grace and mercy that only comes from Him. Sometimes, love for God is the catalyst behind my actions. Sometimes, I'm not actually thinking of myself.

Not always, but sometimes.

What makes an infinite Being breathe life into finite beings? What is it about this world that results in the Almighty sacrificing His only Son? What causes the Lord of the universe to invite His creation to be part of the story of restoration, renewal, and redemption?

God is good. His motives are good. His intentions are good. His actions are good. His love is good. His grace is good. His mercy is good. His forgiveness is good. His promises are good. His thoughts are good. His words are good.

Not sometimes, but always.

cluster chords

Some people are difficult. Something about their attitude or actions makes coexisting challenging. And often times, I realize that if I could change that person, I would end up making them more like myself. I would take the differences and make them no more.

If I wrote music, I'd probably write boring music...one melody line, one volume, one speed. I like things to go as expected. I like harmony and peace. I like it when everyone gets along.


I was sitting in the balcony of my church tonight, singing at choir practice when I found myself plugging my ears. Now, normally, our choir sounds real good. Made of young pups like me and 70 year old men with voices as smooth as butter cream, our group usually blends well. Except for this one chord in this one song. Our director called it a cluster chord because there are several notes clustered together. It sounds as though each note is fighting with the others and no one really wins. Ironically, this chord is held as we sing the word "peace". Singing my F while the person next to me sings a F#, I don't feel any peace. I am tempted to just sing the F# and end the pain in my ears. But I don't.

Because this cluster chord reminds me of life. Dissonance is our reality. People are created, not duplicated. Peace is the aim, but not the norm. Life is not always a harmonious arrangement, with conforming ideas and beliefs. Cluster chords speckle our days and lead us to a decision. We can continue singing our own note, or we can abandon it and begin singing someone else's note. There is a time to get along. There is a time to cooperate and compromise. But not every time. Sometimes, disagreements are good. Sometimes anticonformity is beautiful. Sometimes, disruptions lead to wholeness.

Music is not supposed to always be the same. The weird moving notes, the descants, the key changes make the song interesting. They keep the listener alert, anticipating the possibilities within the song. That's how life is supposed to be. Difficult people don't have to leave me frustrated. Circumstances don't have to leave me discouraged. Disagreements don't have to chase me away. There is a chance to learn, a chance to grow, a chance to hope. Unison is good. But cluster chords are better. A song can always end in unison. But a song would never end in a cluster chord. Cluster chords mean the song isn't over, there's more...just keep listening. It will get better. But it may sound worse before it sounds better...just keep listening.

My life isn't over. The cluster chords continue to pepper my lifesong. So I'll unplug my ears and embrace the sound.

mercy

I walked into a bookstore and saw a book. The cover wasn't that appealing and the title wasn't intriguing. Yet, I couldn't help but buy it. The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. Strange, yes. But so far, it's not terrible. I read a sentence in that book that made me rest my head on the headrest, put the book in my lap, and smile as I closed my eyes reminiscing on the last few days. 

"The world will give you that once in awhile; a brief timeout, the boxing bell rings and you go to your corner, where somebody dabs mercy on your beat-up life."

That's what this last week was: a brief timeout. A chance to get away to a corner. To reflect, enjoy, rejuvenate, and simply be. This last week was filled with divine moments. I witnessed one of the most beautiful weddings. I danced in celebration until my feet hurt. I delivered the best MOH speech of all time. I read often. I sat in silence for hours. I rode in a horse-drawn carriage. I ate lots of shrimp. I ran barefoot on the beach. I fished on the ocean and caught a skate and a bull-nosed shark. I climbed a light house. I listened to good music. And I rested. This last week on St. Simon's Island was mercy dabbed on my worn-out, tired old self. 

Praise the Lord for His mercy, new and fresh with each morning. 

May you take yourself to the corner of the boxing ring of life. May you rest and be refreshed by the unending supply of mercy from heaven. 

airplanes and imperfections

From way up there, the fields look perfectly square, the roads have the smoothest pavement, the houses are symmetrical, and vehicles are clean. From thousands of feet in the air, the world below looks like it's exactly as it should be.

The most remarkable sight from the airplane though, is the clouds. White, large, and fluffy. Looking out the circular window, I imagine I could hop from one cloud to another, utterly weightless. And I could grab a handful of that white cloud, stick it in my mouth as it crystallizes and melts into my saliva like cotton candy. When I look down on the clouds, they look large and still. From the top, the clouds look like they don't float or easily change shape. They simply are.

When I'm in an airplane, I see a piece of heaven.

We all yearn for that, the feeling that everything is as it should be. When we catch a glimpse of it, we strive to do anything to keep it from slipping through our fingers. But it does, eventually. Because life is never exactly as it should be. Not yet anyway.

From the airplane, I can't see the bugs destroying the crop or the pot hole in the road. From the airplane, I can't see the paint chipping off the house or the dent in the bumper of the car. But I know they exist.

From the airplane, you can't see me roll my eyes. From the airplane, you can't see my impatience, my negative thoughts, or my envy. From the airplane, everything looks like heaven. I'm not perfect. I untag myself in pictures that make me look like I have a double chin. I use Nair on my upper lip hair. I curl my eyelashes. I paint the skin around my toenails to make my toe nails look bigger than they are. It's all a facade. And I'm not alone.

Because we want things to be as they should be. But they're not. Wrinkles, freckles, bald spots, cankles, muffin  tops...they remind us that this is life. Life changes and it's not perfect. And not perfect is exactly as it should be.

Someday, things will be perfect. Someday, restoration and renewal will spring forth and new things will be made. But not yet.

breakfast

I like to eat breakfast. I like waffles, chocolate chip pancakes, fruit smoothies, muffins, eggs, bacon, yogurt, and oatmeal. But my favorite, go-to-breakfast is cold cereal. Full of fiber or full of sugar, I don't care. I could eat a box of cereal every two days if I didn't practice self control. Today I ate a bowl of Berry Colossal Crunch and I thought about friends.

I thought about my first friend in kindergarten, who is living in San Francisco, a recent grad from Princeton. I thought about our matching Jasmine pajamas, and the times we would yell at each other and try to make the silent treatment last. I thought about the things we shared: deodorant, books, fears, hurts, laugher. And so I smile.

And I thought about my newest friend who recently buried his father. I thought about the first time I met him. I thought about our latest conversation. I thought about the questions, the honesty, and the listening ears that make me grateful for this new friendship. And so I smile.

I thought about my high school group of girl friends. I thought about the hours together on bus rides, in practices, and in class. I thought about the now embarassing phases we went through. We all took turns reading the "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" series. And we had slumber parties. Lots of them. We ate strawberry pretzel dessert. We had silly fashion shows, complete with a runway. And we did whatever it took to try to stay up all through the night. My friends in high school and I were dreamers. We would lay on the trampoline, looking at the stars dreaming. We would swing at the city park, kicking off our flip flops, reaching our toes to touch the leaves on the trees, and we would share our hopes for the future. We would cuddle together, with more than enough blankets and pillows and talk about boys, and college, and dream jobs. And so I smile.

Today, I thought about my college friends. I thought about the countless hours we spent in class Facebooking and online shopping. I thought about living in the dorms and the annoying fire alarms. I thought about living in the apartment and roaring at the people getting off the drunk bus. I thought about intramural sports, and Oasis, and Bible studies. I thought about Trendz, Chocolatte, Cubby's, and the Wellness Center. A lot of things happened in those four years. First dates, dropping classes, engagements, burying loved ones, burning supper, weddings, interviews, mission trips, coffee dates, Hallmark Christmas movie marathons. We cried, we laughed, we prayed, we yelled, we forgave, we listened, we wrestled, we hugged. And so I smile.

I thought about my sisters. I thought about the camping trips, ice hockey, and the Nintendo tournaments. I thought about playing Barbies, potty-training Sassy, and swimming at the lake. I thought about hunting for our Easter baskets, I thought about raking leaves and jumping in the huge pile. I thought about drinking wine as we listened to the Christmas story. We share memories, genes, and crazy relatives. We share recipes, books, and clothes that no longer fit. And so I smile.

Thinking about my friends makes me smile. But I also cringe inwardly, annoyed with the way I've been handling my friendships. You see, this life is flying by so quickly. And I'm beginning to realize that I don't always appreciate the friends and family in my life. I let work and volunteering and good books come before Skype dates and telephone calls.

I believe we were made for community, more than just Sunday morning fellowship. I need deep, honest relationships with people who know the difference between my real smile and my fake one. These people in my life are like my home team, rooting for me, praying for me, telling me the truth even when I don't want to hear it. And I am that for them. These people cry when I'm crying. They tell me their secrets and I tell them mine. They help themselves to a glass of water when I have them over. They text me back and take off their makeup in front of me. These friends and family are my home team. They're my middle-of-the-night, no-matter-what people. But yet, sometimes it's hard to share life. Because to be close and connected requires time, effort, energy, and sometimes money. It takes forgiveness, compassion, and selflessness. But it's so worth it. My home team needs me and I need them.

Shauna Niequist wrote in Bittersweet, "Good friendships are like breakfast. You think you're too busy to eat breakfast, but then you find yourself exhausted and cranky halfway through they day, and discover that your attempt to save time totally backfired. In the same way, you can try to go it alone because you don't have time or because your house is too messy to have people over, or because making new friends is like the very worst parts of dating. But halfway through a hard day or a hard week, you'll realize in a flash that you're breathtakingly lonely and that the Christmas cards aren't much company. Because there really is nothing like good friends, like the sounds of their laughter, and the tones of their voices and the things they teach us in the quietest, smallest moments."

So take time tomorrow to make breakfast. Eat it slowly, praying for your home team. Don't let months slip by before a phone call, a text, or a roadtrip. You need to eat breakfast and you need to live connected to good friends.

sacred

Sometimes the saddest, most difficult thing is the most breathtakingly beautiful experience. Sometimes you go to work, casually turning on autopilot, when something sacred interrupts the mundane.
It wasn't a surprise. When they say a disease is terminal, I know what to expect. He wasn't family. But it sure feels like it now. The memories sting like shaving cream in a razor blade cut. The images and conversations play over and over in my mind. Where's the line? Afterall, I'm a professional. But can a line be drawn when your mission is to love them like Christ loves? Because when you love, you give a piece of yourself away. It's the loving part before that makes the grieving afterward so raw and exhausting. It's like a floodgate opening the minute you let that first tear spill over your bottom eyelid.

I've had to remind myself over and over again, that sometimes it's okay to cry. I've been known to cry...a lot, especially during Hallmark movies, but I always knew there was something deeper to my salty tears. Shauna Niequist said it so perfectly in her book, Bittersweet: "The ability to cry is a sign of health, because it means your body and your soul agree on something, and that what your soul is feeling, your body is responding to." Like early that Monday morning. I wanted to take off my Nikes because I knew in that moment, I was in a holy place. Looking at a shell, a body, where a beautiful soul temporarily resided for 86 years, 3 months, and 19 days. As I sat with the family, unable and unwilling to screw up the beauty of the moment with my words, awe flooded my soul. No more pain. No more bruising. No more edema. No more doctor appointments. No more suffering. As I zipped the body bag closed...I knew it was all over. And I knew it was just beginning. Face to face with Jesus. Joining the choirs of angels. A new, perfect body. Forever praising the Lord. Beautiful.

But she went home that night with his Bible. She laid on her side of the bed knowing that the other side will forever be empty. She knows the Lord gives and takes away. But how do you muster up whatever it takes to bless His holy name? Sixty-one years isn't long enough. Selfish, maybe, but honest. Because she knows God can handle her honest, deep, wrenching pain.

Grief hurts. It's supposed to...because it means you're feeling something. It is right to mourn. It is right to feel sadness. And it's okay to cry...as long as you wipe your eyes with a tissue in order to see. The sacred is all around us, wooing us to something bigger than ourselves. See it. Name it. Claim it.

run.drive.sleep? repeat

195.4 miles.
30 hours.
12 people.
2 vans.
2 hours of sleep.
Craziness.

Several times throughout the race, I wondered, "Why did I pay money to do this?" Between the smelly, cramped minivan, the pitch-black trails with incorrect/missing signs, and the limited amount of sleep, this relay race was trying. But as our team of 12, decked out in animal print spandex ran across the finish line to the song "Welcome to the Jungle" I couldn't help but smile & shout "Woohoo!" This was a pretty fantastic experience.

Praise the Lord for a body that allows me to physically run. Praise the Lord for a mind that is strong enough to persevere. Praise the Lord for friends that are crazy enough to join me in adventures like this.

My favorite sweater smells of sweet victory as we overcame a 195-mile feat and are still smiling as we reminisce.

Ragnar Relay Great River 2012, watch out!

tomato hornworms

I planted a tomato plant in a pot and set it on my patio. I watered it and the sun shone on it. I watched the plant grow. I shouted 'Woohoo!' when I saw the first little green tomato hanging from the plant. My mouth watered as I imagined slicing a red, ripe tomato and placing it on toast, lettuce, and bacon. But a couple weeks later, my tomato plant had lost about half it's leaves and was leaning pathetically. As my mom & I looked closer at the plant, we noticed a disgusting, huge green caterpillar thing.

After a couple minutes, we had found and collected four of these nasty buggers.

Thanks to Google, I learned that these things are called tomato hornworms and they eat up your tomato plant until they're fat & full. Then they drop to the ground and burrow into the dirt to wait through the winter. When spring comes, they come out as huge moths also known as 'hummingbird moths'. Turns out, these caterpillars can attack other plants like eggplants, potatoes, and peppers.

I feel betrayed by nature. I try to be all 'earth friendly', and in return, I get a nasty bug decimating my plants. Surely, nothing good can come from these tomato hornworms.

Tomato hornworms remind me of a story in the Bible. It's about a boy who is betrayed by his brothers. He ends up beaten, and sold into slavery. Betrayal. Suffering. Injustice. As the story continues, this boy grew to be a great leader of Egypt and save his family from a famine. This boy was able to see past all the bad stuff, and recognize God's greater purpose. He said to his brothers, "You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good."

These words suggest despite life's struggles and sufferings, there is a greater good.

The tomato hornworms do not come close to comparing to life's struggles and sufferings. In fact, there is no need to come up with analogies, because hardship, disappointment, injustice, abuse, betrayal, and evil is all around us. It leaves you, the tomato plant, half-eaten, drooping pathetically toward the ground. Can good come out of the evil?

Life from death, beauty from ashes, forgiveness from abuse...I have to believe in this.

I don't know why tomato hornworms exist. But I have to believe that where the destroyer is, God shows up too. With a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. God has plans to not harm us. He takes that which is wrong and makes it right. He brings justice. He brings life. He brings healing. He brings peace. He brings forgiveness.   It is God who rebuilds, restores, and redeems.

I am not able to prevent another hornworm from destroying my tomato plant. I am not able to prevent the abuse of every child. I am not able to free every enslaved young girl. I am not able to heal every broken relationship.
There's bad stuff in this life.
But God can use it for good.
This I have to believe.

inspiration

I like to be productive. I like to cross things off my list. In fact, to make myself feel like I'm accomplishing things, I occasionally finish a task and then write it on my list so I can cross it off. But sometimes, I lack inspiration. And when that happens, I get little done.

I like to be creative. I like to take a blank canvas and make a piece of art. I like to restore, build, sew, cook, and create. But sometimes, I lack inspiration. And when that happens, I make nothing original.

I like to learn new things. As a student for the last 16 years, I decided to continue learning post-graduation. By asking questions, observing things around me, and trying it out on my own, I like to learn. But sometimes, I lack inspiration. And when that happens, I despise learning something new.

This hasn't been the case lately, though. Inspiration has filled my soul and I'm indebted to Universal Sports, Fritz's, and Pinterest.com.

I played sports all throughout highschool and college but wouldn't consider 'athletic' as an accurate adjective to describe me. But when I watch Universal Sports, I feel like I'm tight with Michael Phelps, Ryan Lochte, Phil Dalhausser, and Todd Rogers. This diverse, and oh so entertaining sports channel makes me feel like a super athlete. To try out my skills I've learned over the summer by watching this station, I took my parents to the tennis courts to play a little game. Let's just say the racket is much heavier than it looks on the television. And after a horrible first fifteen minutes, I decided the only way to hit the tennis ball with any umph was to grunt loudly as I swung the racket. The following day, I decided I was an avid swimmer. Sadly, the 22 people at the pool can testify I am not a swimmer, unless it's in less than five feet of water. Tomorrow, I may take the canoe out to practice my rowing.

I like old stuff. Especially if that old stuff is someone else's junk that they're trying to get rid of at a reasonable price. Case in point, Fritz's old furniture/consignment shop. The smelly, vintage treasures hidden in the old school building made me jump and click my heels together. I returned home with a real treasure chest filled with real treasures and the inspiration to renovate and decorate.

In an effort to organize my inspiration and share the creative juices that flow so swiftly, I made an account with Pinterest.com. If it weren't for the slow internet at home, I would potentially spend hours a day pinning different things to my boards of favorite recipes, style, and craft ideas.

Inspiration...that which inspires. To inspire is to produce a new idea. Inspiration makes me hope. Inspiration makes me dream. Inspiration says in the face of drudgery and complacency "no". Things do not have to be as they always have been. People can learn new things. Furniture can receive a fresh coat of paint. A new song can be written. Life can be breathed into dry bones.

I'm rejoicing for these moments of feeling alive and creative. I'm grateful for that which inspires me...to create, dream, forgive, build, learn, and hope. May you find inspiration in the vast creativity around you.

surprises

I don't really like surprises.
When we were little, sister #3 used to surprised me. It would begin at bedtime, with sister #3 running up the stairs to hide in the hallway between our bedrooms. I would whine, yell, and cry because I knew what was coming. As soon as I walked up the stairs and turned the corner, she would surprise me. With a boo, a growl, or a grabbing of the foot...always resulting in me screaming at the top of my lungs. Sister #3 would double over, laughing hysterically while I ran down the stairs to tattle.

I don't really like surprises. That is, until yesterday.
I received a package in the mail yesterday. It was white and smallish, with messy boy handwriting addressed to me. There was no return address. Curiosity got the best of me, and I ripped open the package. There, in white tissue paper sat a movie. But not just any movie: my beloved movie, Up...the one I have been looking for since October. What a surprise! After months of complaining to and blaming my roommates, I now have my movie. Whether or not it's the original matters not to me...I have watched it almost two times already. And it's better than I remembered. So thank you mystery person for mailing me Up.

Surprises can be awful, but they can also be really good. The suspense of a thriller movie that pushes you to the edge of the seat with your fingers ready to cover your eyes at a moment's notice is exhilarating. The anticipation as the five year old tries out the bike without training wheels for the first time is delightful. The marriage proposal that the girl isn't expecting is beautiful.

Life is freckled with surprises. And although they often make me cringe because I realize my lack of control, they make me celebrate because I realize I'm not in control. It's freeing to know that things aren't always going to go the way I plan. The only thing I can do is expect surprises along the way.

One of my favorite quotes comes from my favorite movie, Dan in Real Life...
“I want to talk to you about the subject of plans… life plans and how we all make them, and how we hope that our kids make good, smart, safe plans of their own. But if we’re really honest with ourselves, most of our plans don’t work out as we’d hoped. So instead of asking our young people, ‘What are your plans? What do you plan to do with your life?’, maybe we should tell them this: Plan… to be surprised.”

So may you take a deep breath today and accept the fact that things may not go the way you'd like them to go. May you rejoice in life's little surprises. And may you write in your planner  'plan...to be surprised'.

mr.colon

I think reality shows are dumb. I cringe at the thought of wasting evenings week after week following these individuals who will be forgotten by the time the new season begins. And even though I love music, I don't like reality shows like American Idol. And I would never ever ever vote for a contestant on a show. That's like sinking down to a level I would never recover from.

But I'm coming clean and finally admitting this: I watched The Voice. And I loved it. And I voted for a contestant. Once.

Whew, it feels good to get that off my chest.

I don't care that he's the older, more mature version of Justin Bieber...his swagger, white teeth, and oh so smooth voice have enchanted me. I don't care that his last name is the same as the last part of the digestive system. And I don't care that he's old and married. He has the voice of an angel and my ears are happy today.
And some lyrics from his new single reminds me of my God. It is He who puts my broken pieces back together...stitch by stitch.

"And I'll give you all my pieces broken

In your hands, there's nothing that you can't fix

My heart is frayed, my scars are open

So put me back together now, stitch by stitch

Put me back together now, stitch by stitch

What you say, without words, resuscitates what was numb inside

So repair me, every thread of me, 'cause you're bringing me back to life

I'll be okay, 'cause you heal me..."

beautiful

I've been so busy looking around that I almost missed it.

I've looked at my own problems for so long that scale-like things have slowly formed across my eyes. And just when I could barely see out of myself, something happened.

This could be a sweet story about a dazzling, almost blinding bright light that shone in my darkness. Or about a huge thunderstorm that spoke loudly to the depths of my soul. The story could be aobut a song, or a conversation, or a vision. But it's not.

The 'something' that happened was just a small flicker of light somewhere inside of me. I realized how much I've been squandering this gift of life. I ahve been looking around my own little bubble with the sadness and hopelessness and it has obscured my vision. There have been days when I've felt like my life has turned to dust. I've been so troubled and annoyed by my circumstances that I've almost missed out on something so beautiful. There is so much goodness right in front of me. And I almost missed it.

I always thought I knew how to celebrate. But then I read the inspiration for this blog, a book called "Cold Tangerines" by Shauna Niequist. She talks a lot about celebration. And her words are much better than mine.

"Celebration when you think you're calling the shots? Easy. Celebration when your plan is working? Anyone can do that. But when you realize that the story of your life could be told a thousand different ways, that you could tell it over and over as a tragedy, but you choose to call it an epic, that's when you start to learn what celebration is. When what you see in front of you is so far outside of what you dreamed, but you have the belief, the boldness, the courage to call it beautiful instead of calling it wrong, that's celebration." (pg. 178)

Last night, I decided some of the these things I've been calling curses may actually be blessings. And some of these things may actually be curses, but I am going to choose to bring a blessing from this. Because that's the story of God...water from a stone, healing from wounds, wine from water, life from a tomb.

I think this season of my life is hard. And it's not always beautiful. But I have been so busy focusing on that, that I almost missed the goodness. Weddings, baseball, birthdays, old friends, taste buds, backyard parties, bike rides, lobster, dances, registered nurse license, fishing, family. I smile today, because I am alive. I celebrate, even though my circumstances are the same. I rejoice in a God who is teaching me to see the goodness right in front of me. I'm calling this season beautiful because God is in the midst of it. In the darkness of uncertainty, God meets me, and He is beautiful.

lately...

Usually, I eat my reeses peanut butter cup by first eating the chocolate off the sides, then the top, and then the bottom. Then, and only then, I eat the delicious peanut buttery center.
But not lately...
Lately, I take 3 bites and the reeses peanut butter cup is gone.

Usually, I watch Dan in Real Life a couple times a week as I'm cleaning, napping, scrapbooking, or blogging. Usually I quote every line and laugh at the many funny parts.
But not lately...
Lately, Dan in Real Life hasn't left my basket of DVDs. In fact, it's been over a month since I last watched it.

Usually, I read...a lot. On any given day, I can begin talking on a whim about the latest chapter out of one of the several books I'm currently reading.
But not lately...
Lately, I have stared at my stack of books, untouched in the last few weeks.

Lately is a word that explains the recent past. It suggests reflection and comparison. And as I reflect and compare my plans, dreams, habits, and expectations with reality...I'm left making a face resembling a 2 year old pouting. Lately, I've been in a funk. Things are not as I hoped they would be. And every day presents the choice to praise God or wallow in self-pity. This season of my life is pruning and refining me and it's painful and uncomfortable. With lots of questions and lots of silence, I keep coming to God. Because no matter what I say to Him, no matter how honest I am, He loves me and gives me more grace. His ego is not hurt by my questions, nor is He offended by my honesty.

There's a song I keep singing in my head called "No Matter What" by Kerrie Roberts. The lyrics resonate in my soul...may you be blessed by them. May you claim these truths for your life. May the Lord remind You of His unfailing love and His steadfastness in the midst of uncertainty.

"I'm running back to Your promises one more time
Lord that's all I can hold on to
I gotta say this has taken me by surprise
But nothing surprises You

Before a heartache can ever touch my life
It has to go through Your hands
And even though I keep asking why
I keep asking why

No matter what, I'm gonna love You
No matter what, I'm gonna need You
I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain
But if not, I trust You
No matter what, no matter what

When I'm stuck and there's nothing else by myself
I'm just sitting in silence
There's no way I can make it without Your help
I won't even try it

I know You have reasons for everything
So I will keep believing
Whatever I might be feeling, God, You are my hope
And You will be my strength

Anything I don't have You can give it to me
But it's okay if You don't, I'm not here for those things
The touch of Your love is enough on its own
No matter what I still love You and I'm gonna need You"

rivers

"What I love most about rivers is:
You can't step in the same river twice
The water's always changing, always flowing"


Pocahontas got it right as she sang in her canoe. 

I wish I had a canoe. And a nearby river. That way, I could chill with my pet raccoon and hummingbird as I sort out my mind. So many decisions, opportunities, possibilities. As I've graduated and partly moved home, I've thought a lot about rivers. Because life is like a river. As much as you want things to stay the same, they don't. Life is always changing. People are always coming in and going out of your life. The scenery changes so quickly. And circumstances rarely remain the same forever. 


Sometimes it's hard to think about what's around the riverbend because I'm looking behind my canoe at the water I just crossed over. There's lots of water I've recently crossed over. 

I ran a 1/2 marathon with my bestie...

I graduated...

I planted an herb garden...

When I do look ahead, I see much more water. There's also rocks ahead that will make the canoe ride quite turbulent. These rocks I've named the "NCLEX". 

So, I've set up the most ideal study area...

coffee, chapstick, candle, lotion, jelly belly's, music, Hurst review...

This river of life is wide and long and winding. And sometimes it's scary. Sometimes it's exciting. Sometimes it's rough. Sometimes it's beautiful. And almost always, there's a big fat question mark in the middle of the river. You never know exactly what's around the riverbend.

Pocahontas' song ends in many questions. I love that. Because there isn't always a clear answer...more often than not, additional questions answer the first question. 

"Should I choose the smoothest curve
Steady as the beating drum?
Should I marry Kocoum?
Is all my dreaming at an end?
Or do you still wait for me, Dream Giver
Just around the riverbend?"

Despite all the questions, I give thanks for the river. I give thanks for life and breath. I give thanks for the journey. I give thanks for the companions that come alongside. And I give thanks for the Canoe that keeps me afloat. 

pinkalicious

There's a book my nieces like to read. It's about a little girl who refused to eat her vegetables and only ate pink cupcakes. When she woke up the next morning, her skin was pink. Appropriately entitled, "Pinkalicious," the book teaches the lessons of listening to your mother and eating your veggies.

I eat my veggies, and I usually listen to my mother. Except when she tells me to wear sunscreen. Today, I became pinkalicious.

When my 90 year old neighbor came over with the daily newspapers, she gasped at the sight of my bright pink skin.

"Do you know what will happen to you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm gonna get skin cancer and die," I quickly replied.

Skin cancer is not funny. And I know all the risks of not wearing sunscreen. But this morning, when I had to squint at the sight of my albino skin, I chose to be irresponsible and stupid and not wear sunscreen.

And now it hurts.

As I watch Dan in Real Life, every little movement makes me wince. It's so uncomfortable. I'm half tempted to revert back to my 5 year old ways and lay topless on a towel on the floor sobbing in pain as I lather on more aloe vera. But I'm 21, so I'll sit in my pajamas, sip on ice-tea and watch my favorite movie as I blog about the pain of sunburns.

My sunburn reminds me of a chapter in "An Altar in the World," which is about the practice of feeling pain. As the author suggests, and I wholeheartedly agree, a person who has never been in real pain cannot give advice to someone in pain.

I feel like I shouldn't even be writing about pain. Because my sunburn does not even come close to real pain experienced by people dear to my heart. But when I'm inspired, I must write.

I believe feeling pain can be a spiritual practice. Pain is something that so quickly reveals the good, the bad, and the ugly of the person experiencing the pain. Pain strips us of our frills and illusions and demands we be real with God. Pain causes us to ask lots of questions. "Why me? Why this? How can I fix this?" We cannot decide whether or not we will feel the pain; pain is nonnegotiable. We can however, decide how we handle the pain. Am I going to deny the pain? Am I going to try to avoid it? Am I going to fight it, numb it, curse it?

Or will I engage in the pain and really feel it? Will I pay attention to the pain and to what I need to learn from it? Will I accept my circumstances and let it reshape the way I think and feel about God?

Barbara Brown Taylor, the author of the book, talked about the intense pain of a torn cornea and the prayers she prayed throughout the painful night. "I found myself turning away from the God in charge of pain removal toward the God who had stayed with me through the pain no matter what I said...The pain had not only changed the way I prayed. It had also changed my ideas about the One to whom I prayed." (pg 158)

I know many people who have experienced deep pain and much suffering. And they have wrestled with God and with questions that well up from deep within their souls. And I have come to understand Barbara Brown Taylor's statement, "I learned that it is often harder to sit with someone in pain than it is to feel pain yourself." (pg 160)

As I have spent time with friends in pain much more intense than my sunburn, I have asked many questions about divine justice. These questions have propelled me to Scripture as I have meditated on and shared Job chapters 38-39. The answers to my questions have only been more questions.

"Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?"

"Have you commanded the morning since your days began?"

"Have you entered the storehouses of snow?"

"Do you know the ordinances of the heavens?"

"Can you send forth lightnings, that they may go and say to you, 'Here we are.'?"

Pain reminds me that I am not God. God is still God. God is still good. And God is still in control.

But rarely do I want, nor do I need someone to tell me that. Sometimes, in the midst of real pain, all we need is someone to acknowledge the pain, to pay attention to the hurt and the confusion.

So if you're pinkalicious, sitting in agony, despair, or hopelessness, acknowledge it. Feel it. Ask the questions that draw you closer to God. May you find meaning in the hurt and hope in a God who may not be answering your questions but will continue to stay with you.

And if you're not sunburned, give your sunburned friend an aloe vera plant. Be generous. Pay attention. Be quiet. Pray diligently. And listen.

...

Today is beautiful. It feels like the sun finally decided it was time to appear and bring warmth to this tundra-like land. The rays beckon those inside studying for finals to come outside and enjoy. The sky proclaims the glory of God and today I'm rejoicing. 


Today, I went for a run, wrote thank-you cards, read a great book, and had coffee with the world's best DJ. Today, I packed  up more of my room, read another rejection letter, and tried to figure out loan stuff. 
The thing about today is that there are clouds amidst the beautiful sunshine. So I looked up at the clouds and watched them change shape. I watched the cute fluffy bunny morph into an airplane and then an elephant. So stinkin' cool. 


I have 2 days until I graduate and it's been so surreal. My room is a disaster as I pack up and my conversations with people have included very vague, 'see you later, have a good life' phrases. It's crazy really, that these four years are over. 


As I reminisce with friends, I laugh and cry with joy. God has been orchestrating these last four years to prepare me for that which is to come. As I read Psalm 8 and see the beauty of creation, I smile in awe that the Creator of the Universe doesn't just love me, but He actually likes me! I love the way He's been by my side, holding me throughout these last four years. I keep replaying this song and exalting our Most High God.

This song makes me want to drive a convertible down 6th St. with the wind blowing through my hair, praising God for His faithfulness. Through the midst of craziness and uncertainties this last semester, I've been held by the One who holds the world. All glory to God!

Now, if I can just walk across the stage to accept the diploma without tripping...

lunch box

When I was little, I always wanted a lunch box. A cool, bright yellow one, with Disney Princesses. But my mom made me eat school lunches. I'd watch those cool kids leave the lunch line to go get their lunch box. They didn't have to wait in line - no, they got to sit and begin eating right away. So I'd watch them slowly open the lid and smile with glee at what their mothers had packed: pudding, licorice, brownies, cold sandwiches, juiceboxes. If only I had a lunch box...then I wouldn't have to pretend to eat the nasty eggroll. I wouldn't have to sneak the gross food into my empty milk carton in an attempt to avoid the lunch room nazi, Nelly. When I was little, I really wanted a lunch box.

Today, I got to go to church and listen to one of my favorite people preach. And I walked out the sanctuary doors with tears running down my cheeks as I realized I do have a lunch box. And I'm holding so tightly to it, my knuckles have turned white.

There was this little boy who had a mother who packed his lunch: 5 loaves and 2 fish. And there was a huge group of hungry people. The disciples of the Rabbi saw this as a problem with no solution other than sending the people away to fend for themselves.
But the Rabbi says, "You feed them."
The disciples protest, "We can't."
"What do you have?" asks the Rabbi.
"Five loaves and two fish"
"Give them to me," says Rabbi Jesus.

We all have a lunch box. It might be our time, our money, our talents, etc. And usually, it's woefully inadequate. The little boy in the story didn't hold on to his meager lunch. Instead, he willingly gave it to Jesus...and Jesus took it, broke it, and multiplied it. Surely God didn't need the little boy or his pathetic lunch. But He chose to use it. And the little boy got to be part of a pretty sweet miracle.

I hold on to my lunch box. Mostly because I'm afraid. I'm afraid if I give it up, I'll lose control (as if I ever had control in the first place). I'm afraid if I'm not in control, it'll fall through.

Do I believe by giving Him my lunch box, the need will be met? Do I really believe God will pull through? Do I believe God can take my inadequacies and pathetic resources, and multiply them? Can I move past my growling stomach, and see there is something going on here that is much bigger than me?

limónes

When you travel the world, you meet some amazing people. They make your heart glad. They make your stay pleasant. And they make leaving so difficult.

But what makes these people amazing are the lessons they teach you. Usually, they have no clue your world is being rocked by the little thing they're doing or saying. And more often than not, you yourself don't realize how much your world is rocked until you're back at home, closing your eyes tightly to remember their faces.

It started with limónes. And with a passage regarding love.

When I was in Camichines, Mexico, I learned a new facet of the diamond of love. You see, I had been reading an incredible book, "An Altar in the World" by Barbara Brown Taylor. This one particular chapter was on 'Encountering Others'. In it, the author talks about her desire to be loved in particular, not in general. She's convinced God intimately knows and loves His children. Even the quirky little things that make an individual different than every other person.

Thursday. March. 24.
There was a plastic crate full of limónes that needed to be cut in half and squeezed into a pitcher to make juice. Myself and another team member recruited some of the kids to help us by using the little metal squeezer as we cut the limónes in half.

Every kid loved the idea of helping until after about 5 minutes when they got bored or distracted. Every kid except one.
For the sake of this blog, I shall call him 'Pedro'.

Pedro is 10 years old and at the time I was there, he spoke very little English ('hello' and 'thank you'). Pedro sat next to me and squeezed a couple hundred limónes. Being able to speak some Spanish, I'd try to get him to talk, asking him about his favorite animal, favorite food, favorite game, etc, but I was lucky to get three words out of him. It was like there was a wall between us. I spent a lot of time encouraging him and his work (in Spanish) to which he would simply smile.

Finally, I decided to brush up on my Spanish by asking him "comó se dice en Español" while pointing to different things. He started to give me the Spanish word for that which I was pointing at. And after some time, I said to him "muy bien". He looked at me and said, "comó se dice en Ingles". So I said, "very good". 'Pedro' smiled a huge grin and said in English, "very good."

The wall between us was broken. The barrier, demolished. We continued the job, listing colors and numbers in English and Spanish. His beautiful smile never faded. And we finally reached the bottom of the crate of limónes, having squeezed all the juice into one, large pitcher.

The previous four days, I had been playing with 8 beautiful children at the Little Ranch with Hope, and though I knew their names, I referred to the 8 children as 'the little kids'. I had built up a wall of safety to make leaving easier, thus neglecting to really be part of the sacred in the time spent swinging and reading and playing. But in this moment with Pedro, I saw in his eyes the past of hurt, the hope of a future, and the love of God. I saw the child for who he was and I loved him in that moment...not for what he had done, or for what he would become. Just love for him.

And now, I spend many minutes staring at this picture...

I spend many minutes praying he has come to know what Love really is. I pray he encounters grace and restoration. And I pray he embraces his individuality, as I have: the awkward dancing, the crooked smile, the gentle hugs, the beautiful brown eyes, the protector-spirit, and the joyful laughter.

And during the minutes I'm not praying, I'm singing this song.

bittersweet

I remember the one time in jr. high I had a cavity. It was not pleasant. It hurt bad. And all I could think about was what I could've done differently.
I should have flossed before bed more regularly.
I shouldn't have drank that Mt.Dew.
I shouldn't have eaten that Snickers.
But it didn't end there... I had to return to the dentist's a few weeks later to get a filling. Many dollars and pain pills later, I had a little piece of gray stuck in the middle of my tooth.
I could no longer brag about my perfect teeth. My mouth was tainted. My pride was brought low.

I haven't had a cavity since that time in jr. high. Because I've learned how to prevent a cavity: electric toothbrush.

I hated the cavity and filling experience. I hated the physical pain. I hated the shame of imperfect teeth. I hated the dentist's office. So I have done everything to prevent that type of pain from ever happening again: electric toothbrush, floss, anti-cavity toothpaste, and limited amounts of pop and candy. I go to the dentist regularly and pray fervently the night before the appointment. Because I don't want another cavity.

The cavity and filling experience was not ideal. And though it's not that big of a deal, it points me to something deeper.

There's worse pain and struggle in life than a cavity. Unemployment, grief, betrayal, surgeries, moving away, bankruptcy...

When your world is shaken, you begin questioning everything you've ever believed in. When it's dark and you can't see the way, your safe room is very appealing. When you've fallen down, it's hard to stand back up. It's hard to move forward. When your heart is heavy, when your eyes are dry of tears, when your head is more confused than ever, what then? Can there be good in the bad?

One of my favorite authors, Shauna Neiquist, has a thing or two to say about this, in her book "Bittersweet."

"Bittersweet is the idea that in all things there is both something broken and something beautiful, that there is a moment of lightness on even the darkest of nights, a shadow of hope in every heartbreak, and that rejoicing is no less rich even when it contains a splinter of sadness.

It's the practice of believing that we really do need both the bitter and the sweet, and that a life of nothing but sweetness rots both your teeth and your soul. Bitter is what makes us strong, what forces us to push through, what helps us earn the lines on our faces and the calluses on our hands. Sweet is nice enough, but bittersweet is beautiful, nuanced, full of depth and complexity.

This is what I've come to believe about change: it's good, in the way that childbirth is good, and heartbreak is good, and failure is good. By that I mean that it's incredibly painful, exponentially more so if you fight it, and also that it has the potential to open you up, to open life up, to deliver you right into the palm of God's hand, which is where you wanted to be all long, except that you were too busy pushing and pulling your life into exactly what you thought it should be. I've learned the hard way that change is one of God's greatest gifts, and most useful tools. Change can push us, pull us, rebuke and remake us. It can show us who we've become, in the worst ways, and also in the best ways. I've learned that it's not something to run away from, as though we could, and that in many cases, change is a function of God's graciousness, not life's cruelty... when life is sweet, say thank you, and celebrate. And when life is bitter, say thank you, and grow."

I don't want to fight the upcoming changes in my life. I want to grow and change and learn to adapt. I want to give thanks in all things. I want to grab life by the horns and face the challenges head on. I want to live utterly confident in a God who will not fail me. I want to give glory to the only God, who is Sovereign and able to take care of me.

The circumstances in my life may not be perfect. I may be uncertain of many things, but that's okay. Because what is happening in my life is not the same as my life. I am not defined by how many cavities I have, or my grades, or my job interviews (or lack thereof).
I celebrate the goodness of life and grow from the difficulties.

As I look at my favorite sweater, it is the snag on the sleeve that reminds me of a time in my life, where my character was developed and I was changed. I see the good in spite of the snag. I see past the gray filling and give thanks for the 32 pearly whites.

heart-smile day

Do you ever have a day that makes your heart smile?
A day where you take off your shoes, and step barefoot onto the cool, luscious grass?
A day where your taste buds come alive like you've never tasted a pineapple before?
A day where you feel alive and whole?

Today was that day.

Today was a heart-smile day.

I started reading a new book: Drops Like Stars by Rob Bell (nevermind the fact that I'm currently reading 4, yes 4, other books)
I discovered two amazing musicians that make your ears feel like jumping up and down for joy.
I played softball with some great people who have zest for life.
I took a long walk with a friend who has a beautiful soul and a wonderful sense of humor...who also happens to be my roommate for only a few more weeks.

Today I made decisions that would make my bestie proud.
I shopped the perimeter of the grocery store.
I ran 10 miles outside...and didn't die :)
I uploaded killer songs on my ipod.
I didn't eat the rest of the Twizzlers.

But the best part of today came in the mail yesterday. It was a letter from the brother of the little boy I sponsor. Who knew a one-page letter, with a tracing of a small, Indian hand could bless me so much...

Today was a heart-smile day.

No, I didn't get an interview or a job offer. No, I didn't cross everything off my to-do list. And no, I didn't find my movie, Up, or my apartment key.

Today was still a heart-smile day.

Because life is about the process, not the end result. Life is about questions and uncertainties. Life is about celebrating and mourning. Life is about becoming more like who we were created to be.

My heart smiles on days like today because I remember there is restoration, hope, and joy. Today, I see pieces of heaven on earth.
I love wearing my favorite sweater.

it's not fair...

I’m watching “Dear John” for the second time today. Pathetic? Probably. But I like it.

The music, the story line, the actors…it’s good. And even though I’ve seen it at least fifteen times, I still cry at the same parts. Yes, there’s the cheesy, Nicholas-Sparks-like love story, but despite that, there’s something deeper that resonates within me.

It’s the twist in the story line, when the good guy doesn’t get the girl. Despite all of his perfect qualities and the deep connection between the two, the girl chooses someone else. And it reminds me that life is like that sometimes. Life is not always fair.

I get it…because today, I lost my apartment key. Perhaps this is no surprise to those who know me well. (Refer to earlier blog) And maybe, this loss is nothing like losing a love.

But it made me sad…no actually it made me angry that this could happen. I had the key labeled and hooked on my key chain. I did everything to prevent this from happening. Yet, when I went to unlock my door, I realized the key was nowhere to be found.

I couldn’t help my mind from racing through all the “good” things I had done earlier in the day, the week, and the month, for that matter. I got on a roll listing off how great I am, rationalizing why something annoying & inconvenient like this should not have happened to me.

Then I checked my email…only to read another email of a job opportunity that I did not receive. I could have moved on to checking the rest of the mail in my inbox, but instead, I grabbed the mental list I made a few minutes earlier and continued right where I left off.

It wasn’t until my list was finished, that I sighed loudly and realized how ridiculous I am. How could I spend 8 days with beautiful, hardworking people, learning how they overcome difficulty only to push it to the back of my memory as I lamented over my difficulty? How could I meet people who walk miles to get clean water and then complain about a lost key? How could I hug the child who was abandoned by her parents and then call my mom just to complain to her? How could I serve a meal to homeless people with no job, and then cry because I didn’t get this one job? Who am I? Am I really that girl?

Since when did life start revolving around me? Did anybody ever say life would be fair?

But when I really think about life not being fair, I smile.

Yes, I lost a key. Yes, I got rejected. And no, life is not fair. The reason I know this is not because poor, pathetic inconveniences occur in my life. No, the reason I know life is not fair is because I am a sinner deserving separation from God, yet I have been redeemed by the blood of Jesus.

As said so eloquently by Relient K, “The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair.”

Instead of moping around because things aren’t happening the way I’d prefer, I can rejoice in the fact that life isn’t fair. I can celebrate the grace I’ve been given. I can acknowledge the tough times, the social injustices around the world, and the difficulties that come with trials. But then, I can smile. There is mercy for the undeserving. There are second chances for us who have messed up. There is healing and restoration because Someone died. It’s not fair that Someone, perfect and faultless, would pay the price for my sins.

Sometimes, it’s not fair.
And so I smile and sing.