You are Mine.

The other day, I was at a training for Professional Collaborative Learning (PLC is the common terminology around the field of education).  the speaker, Rich Smith, was enigmatic, engaging, and just about the opposite of most presenters I've had the opportunity to learn under in my 6 years of teaching in three different states.

He recognized the challenges we deal with every day.  poverty.  language barriers.  race.  academic deficits.  they are challenges that we use as qualifiers, even with the best of intentions (i.e. yeah, she isn't proficient, but she's a language learner.  or  he has such-and-such behavior issue, but it's to be expected coming from a home situation like his).  these qualifiers are never meant to excuse a behavior or a trait, merely to help explain or shed some light.  nonetheless, they often times list like an asterisk, marring the simple identity of "child."

Rich spoke, admonishing that no matter the situation, no matter the challenge, when that child walks into our room, those labels should fall off at the threshold.  It is no longer, "you are broken," but instead, "you are mine."

Immediately, I was hit with the deeper truth: that that is exactly what the Lord sees in and says about us.  

I was also hit with the gravity and grace in which has been entrusted to me to steward well.  I have the unique honor of imitating the forgiving, grace-filled, blindly-loving Father for these children.

We come to him with our poverty, our bruises, our broken hearts and weary souls.  We come dirty and deprived.  And as we enter into His presence, as we cross that threshold to the throne, it all sloughs off.  and He doesn't see us for the laundry-list of items we aren't.  He sees us as His, as He comforts us and reminds us, "You are Mine."

do not be afraid

It's clear: we are all nervous.  An attack like the one we saw unfold in Paris reminds us that terrorism is at our doorstep.  It is all too close to home.  It all-too-quickly brings to surface the fears we faced 14 years ago on our soil.  It makes our blood boil.  Causes our stomach to churn.  Nausea flairs with every thought of each life lost, each bullet fired, each bomb-- strapped to the chest of someone so committed to their cause, they are willing to not only die, but incite their own death-- detonated.  Its not that we don't lament the loss of life at all costs, everywhere, but rather, that in these attacks, we've been reminded of our own mortality, of our own fragility that has been exposed.

And when we are fearful and nervous, we search for a life raft to cling to.  We feel like we have to choose a camp, 'our people,' in which we choose sides, and simultaneously lob our own ammunition with the conviction that we now have a right to do so, lest the lives lost be in vain.

We feel like we must take a stand, one way or another.  With our politics, with our religion, with our country.  With whatever it is we truly pledge our allegiance to.

As a citizen of the United States, I want to feel as if my country is doing what they can to keep us safe.  That our commitment should be first to keeping our cities free of terrorism and arming ourselves with words and weapons to defend and protect our very fragile lives.

As a Christian, I feel a call to love my enemy, to turn the cheek (even when it wasn't mine that was slapped in the first place).  I feel a call to the orphan and widowed, the oppressed and the foreigner.  A call to live like Christ, and to live amongst those that don't know him, so as to be a light. To follow the most spoken piece of advice and "do not be afraid," and to "take courage," and to "love God and love others."

I get the fear, and I get the courage.  And it's messy, because I don't know which camp to stand with.  Practically, it can't be both, and.  Patriotically, it can't be, "let the refugees live freely here!"  Protestantly, it can't be "KEEP THEM OUT!"

I admit that I don't know.  My citizenship isn't strong enough to fully bleed for the protection of our country at the exclusion of those fleeing this terror.  My faith isn't strong enough to unabashedly say that I am without fear in ushering in thousands of refugees, unknowing if a terrorist is disguised within their mix.

But we are comforted that the strength of God is made perfect in our weakness.

I'm just worried that my weakness will cause harm to one side or the other, and that passing off the responsibility for Christ to shine in spite of my ignorance is a cop-out.  So, I resort to the Word.

 "For if you truly practice justice between a man and his neighbor*, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, or the widow, and do not shed innocent blood in this place, nor walk after other gods top your own ruin, then I will let you dwell in this place, in the land that I gave to your fathers forever and ever."  --Jeremiah 7:5-7

Clearly, we have a call to walk in righteousness as we welcome the foreigner and orphan into our land.

But read on:

"As for you, do not pray for this people, and do not lit up cry or prayer for them, and do not intercede for Me; for I do not hear you. Do you not see what they are doing in the cities of (Judah) and in the streets of (Jerusalem?  The children gather wood, and the fathers kindle the fire, and the women knead dough to make cakes for the queen of heaven; and they pour out drink offerings to other gods in order to spite Me ... Behold, My anger and My wrath will be poured out on this place."   --Jeremiah 7:16-20

The truth is, we as a human race are ultra manipulative.  We can make just about anything say what we want our message to reflect.  We can easily pull scripture about inclusion and exclusion.  In the same way we do with research for or against what we hold to be true, we do with scripture, typically from Old Testament stories that were spoken over a specific people or place in history.  And while the Word is still true, I don't believe it can always be fully extrapolated to reflect God's personal promise over our own lives.  I am not denying his Providence.  I am not denying what I and many other Christians choose to believe as historical promises and assurances in our faith.  I am echoing what Solomon says in Ecclesiastes 12: "Beyond this, my son, be warned: the writing of many books is endless, and excessive devotion to books is wearying to the body.  The conclusion, when all has been heard, is: fear God, and keep His commandments, because this applies to every person."  In other words, the *data* is infinite, and virtually inconclusive if you truly, open-mindedly review both sides equally and without bias. But in the end, follow God and keep His commandments.

One of my favorite books in the Old Testament is Isaiah.  I believe it shows God's heart for His people, and His faithfulness to upholding the righteous.  Chapter 41 is an encouragement to the nation of Israel, but as Christians, we adapt it as an encouragement and promise to us:

"You whom I have taken from the ends of the earth,
And called from its remotest parts
And said to you, "You are my servant, I have chosen you and not rejected you.
Do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, surely I will help you;
Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.
Behold, all those who are angered at you will be shamed and dishonored;
Those who contend with you will be as nothing and will perish.
You will seek those who quarrel with you, but you will not find them,
Those who war with you will be as nothing and non-existent.
For I am the Lord your God, who upholds your right hand,
Who says to you, 'Do not fear, I will help you."  vs. 9-13

I could pretty much go on and include chapter 40, 42, heck, all the 40s, and well into the 60s, but you get the point.  We take these verses as a promise that God is with us as our strength and protection.  If we believe these verses are for us, and not just Israel, that means we must also believe two things:

1) Even in light of war and contention, we must rest assured that we are not to cling to fear, but to God, or more specifically, Christ.  That we should take courage that God is with us, and for us.  He will protect us from the evil that lurks, no matter where it may be hiding.
2) If these verses are for us, and not just Israel, how can we be sure these verses aren't also for the Syrians that don't yet know Jesus as Lord?  What if this also falls as a promise that God will rescue and protect the innocent Syrians that are fleeing their land due to those that contend and quarrel and war with them?  Do we not look back, in our present-faith, to a time prior to conversion or commitment, and see God's providential hand on our lives, and relate to scripture in a way that we recognize our own rescue from our old-self?

If we're not entirely onboard with allowing these promises to be for Syrian Muslims because they are outside the fold of God as we recognize him (in the trinitarian view), then what about Isaiah 56?  After the prophet exhorts the righteous living under the covenant, promising they are welcomed in as daughters and sons, he says,

"Also the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord,
To minister to Him, and to love the name of the, Lord,
To be His servants, everyone who keeps from profaning the Sabbath
And holds fast My covenant;
Even those I will bring to My Holy Mountain
And make them joyful in My house of prayer.
Their burnt offerings and their sacrifices will be acceptable on My alter;
For My house will be called a house of prayer for all the peoples."

In order for foreigners to join themselves to the Lord, they likely need to see a reason why they would even want to associate themselves with the tribe of people that call themselves Christians.  They need us to be the light that ushers them into the life-changing presence of the Lord.  What are we doing, and saying, to be that light?  We don't want you?  You are evil?  You're not welcome here?

What better people for Christ to speak to: the lost, those stripped of their identity, the rejected.  Those without an earthly home, living life chained in fear and isolation and the bondage of what they have experienced on their own soil.  But let's please not spoil that opportunity by being the reason that someone would not want anything to do with Christianity.

Paul charges us, those that have been called to freedom, to not turn our freedom into an opportunity to serve our flesh (i.e. fear, and other signs of living by the flesh), but rather, "through love, to serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word, in the statement, 'You shall love your neighbor* as yourself.'"  --Galatians 5:13-14.

Christ Himself tells us whatever we do unto the least of these, we have done to Him (Matt. 25:40).  I not only believe that includes feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, inviting in the stranger; but also in rejecting them.  

I know my musings have run in circles, with no declarative answer outside of this is a messy, messy world.  We are all bruised and wounded and scared.  And in our fear, we often turn to selfishness as a means of self-preservation and protection.  I get it, it's human instinct to protect ourselves and our own.  But please, let those of us that know the life-giving grace of Christ that has brought us out of the depths, let our love be the salve that helps to heal the physical wounds caused by bullets and bombs and well-intentioned words that have internally harmed those already broken and bruised.



{*for definition of neighbor, see the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10}

no words.

there are really no words to begin with, so I'll start here, with a repost of my thoughts from 9/11:

This morning, after our class stood to say the pledge, we paused for a moment of silence. In that silence I prayed over my class; that they would never have to experience an attack on not just our nation, but in humanity. That they would remain innocent and naive for many years, retaining as much joy of youth as they can before its peeled from their fingers. That they would live by hope, and not fear; that their lives would be protected from the very things that changed ours 14 years ago. I remember being in school that day, and how nothing else mattered. Not race or poverty or hate or gender; nothing but love and grace and comfort. We've come so far (in the wrong direction) from the united front we were that day. My heart breaks and I openly weep at the status of brokenness and darkness in this world, and I stand helplessly before my class, striving every day to help build up kindness and love and acceptance and generosity in their hearts, yet knowing how hearts grow hard as they grow up. Jesus, I truly believe only you can rescue us from our current state and repair the brokenness in our nation and world. Please grant us the mercy and willingness and grace to stand united, in Love, and never ceasing to do good. Although many lost loved ones and our country lost civil servants, I feel my generation lost a lot of innocence that day. And for a moment, we stood in hope and love and contended for peace, but we've grown weary and complacent. Father, give us the strength to love harder, to speak gentler, to give more sincerely. I'm not quite sure why this is so heavy on my heart today and why after so many years I am still so impacted by this day, but reflection is my nature and the brokenness around us (children washing up on shorelines, pastors committing suicide, heinous genocide, divorces and adultery and heartbreaks abound)-- all of it is too much and renders me feeling so helpless. Jesus, may we act more like you and love more like you and forgive more like you, until you set it all right again.

my heart as of late has been unbearably heavy.  the tiniest things put me in such an emotional place that i finally realize how fragile i am, how fragile life is.  Humans of New York (if you don't follow them, reroute your browser to take you there stat.  Those photos say more than my blog could ever dream of) is wrecking me.  I'm certain he is the last living humanitarian of our generation.  I'm also certain every story he shines light on is just the face of a thousand more just like it; which is so weighty to think about.  this is modern day persecution people.  this is happening, in a time when cars are being developed to drive themselves and phones can do anything a developer sets his mind to and we are at a place we are finding water on mars-- we are freaking ON mars.  And yet, there is war and mass genocide and pain and fear and exodus and so. much. evil.  

it's so easy to dismiss.  it's on the other side of the world, not the other side of our front doors.  it's easy to carry on, to be distracted by Trump's hair or XYZ candidate or the season premiers of some trashy reality show.  but the reality is, this is happening.  more than HALF of Syria's population (of 22 MILLION) has been forced to leave their homes.  that's like saying HALF OF THE STATE OF TEXAS, the second most populated state in the country-- HALF of the state is being forced out.  Would we stand for that?!  Would we go about our day, thinking nothing of it?  more than TWICE the population of Colorado -- FLEEING in fear.  and that's just thinking of those leaving.  I don't know the numbers on those dying-- either in Syria or in transit.  

you guys, that is huge.  its weighty.  its unbearable.  i'm choking back tears just thinking about it, because I'm finally allowing myself to think about it.  

it is literally SO big, and yet SO seemingly far from us, that it feels absolutely impossible to be able to do anything.  i'd like to hope that for most of us, it isn't apathy that keeps our hands tied, but rather, that it's our own insignificance.  our distance.  the gravity of the situation and the limitations of being one person, a million miles away.  

there has to be something we can do.  prayer just doesn't seem like enough.  it seems like a cop out.  if we were being forced from our homes, and braving the sea in plastic boats because it is safer than hiding in the one place you should feel comfortable-- i'll be honest, someone telling me from the comfort of they keyboard that they will pray for me would likely infuriate me more than comfort me. 

i'm so at a loss.  i feel so beyond helpless.  my heart hurts, and i feel severely burdened by every story i read.  these are more than numbers.  these are lives.  of moms and dads and babies and kids that should be in kindergarten-- not watching their friends be torn to shreds by rocket blasts, literally in front of their faces, at school.  these stories are of real people experiencing real terror and fear and being literally chased by death and evil.  and i'm upset that I couldn't find anything i liked when I went shopping earlier.  i am the problem, too, you see.  because i am not a part of the solution.  i just don't know how to be.  

i can pray and ask God to intervene, but to be honest, it doesn't look like he's going to anytime soon.  that in itself is an entire different blog post, and I can't even begin to explore the evil and dark and demonic side of this suffering; i can only merely focus on the physical impact it is having on the lives of these refugees.  

there is no resolution in this prose.  there is no succinct phrasing I can wrap up all pretty, and you can take a little reminder as you depart.  I can't even say that I have hope for this situation-- although I know that Jesus is the only hope we have, i honestly confess that I don't know how telling that to someone that has endured so. much. more. than I will ever, ever, ever have to succumb to in my life would actually improve the situation (eternity, yes; but real, practical, help is what I am talking about).  

Lord, have mercy.   that is all I can muster.   Jesus, hurry.  Turn the hearts.  protect the innocent and persecuted.  let love win.  

if i told you how many unpublished drafts i had saved or how many times i sat down to write and the words just didn't come or how many times i tried to figure out another platform to start a new blog with a new vision, you'd understand my silence.

but i just have to pull the trigger.  i just have to write. and it doesn't matter where.  it doesn't matter if the background reflects a clean slate (it doesn't), or if i catch you up on all that has happened in between (there's no way, but you certainly know i will try), or if it flows in a poetic prose that takes reality and extracts the beauty to make it more visible to the naked eye (not in this post).

so, i will spend this post as a clarifying catch all (as if anyone has been following my 16 month absence and is on the edge of their seat dying to know whats going on as if i don't have a Facebook) (but thats just how my brain does story telling. it can not bypass important elements; it feels wrong to leave so much unsaid!)

in the past year three months:

ryan matched in Denver for residency

we flew to Denver (my first trip!) to check it out and look for housing

we got engaged!

we bought a house! online! that we had never seen!

we moved across the country

i officially accepted my contract for a new teaching position the last day of school/day we moved

we moved in to said house

and painted and painted and painted and decorated

and it feels like home. 

ryan has since started residency, and i've had a few things here or there to do that are school related, but mostly trips to home depot, lowes, and ikea for house related projects.  we still need a couch and a dresser, but aside from that, i love our little home.  i love our neighborhood, although not laden with trees like much of the other denver boroughs, its quiet, quaint, and still close to just about everything we would ever need (5 minutes to a Super Target!?! yes please!)  I have yet to visit a grocery that isn't TJ's, even though its a little further (farther?) of a drive.  we know our neighbors.  there's Ann on the right, and Neil and Jessica next to her.  There's the Hernandez family to the left, with their TACO TRUCK!!!! and Bill and a bunch of kiddos live in the duplexes across the street.  my mailman's name is James, the neighbor's dogs are Cody and Bella, and I know more in the 3 weeks we've been here than I did about most of my neighbors I have ever lived next to.  with the exception of Jessica and Neil, we are the only white folks on the block, and I love that. 

i'm slowly getting acquainted.  i've met my principal, and one of the other new Kinder teachers and I had lunch together yesterday. I sat on the committee to hire the third new K teacher, and she will be a first year K teacher, so I will have another "Sollman" to groom! :)

We've done three hikes, and two longer bike rides (meaning more than 5 miles, don't get crazy though, I'm not one of those 30+ kinda gals). but we've done a lot to the house and spent the first week with all the new interns, getting acquainted to the city and dinner parties.

now, we are in the throes of wedding planning and digging out venues!

slowly, this blog will make its transition to "the denver diaries".  but again, slowly.

rome wasn't built in a day.

neither will the blog.
or this house.
or this wedding.
or our new lives here, in denver.

xo

 it's spring break. And as breaks go, I usually get sick from slowing down for the first time, or I put as much into my schedule as possible since I have the time for it. This break, I'm planning on doing neither. This break is about healing. Deep, physical and spiritual healing. Relearning the things that, after a long and difficult winter, bring me back to life. So today, in honor of the forecast in the mid-60s, I put on a spring dress and a patterned scarf and bright shoes. And I did my make-up, because sometimes you just need to do that even when you're not going any place special. And although my body is nearing 30, I'm feeling young today. I'm feeling creative. I'm feeling alive. So, take a moment and close your eyes. Think about what makes you feel the most |you|, and do that. My day will consist of learning new things, trying new trades, reading, praying, and sitting in the sun later on. Im learning it is hard to continue to pour into others if the well is dry. What's beautiful is that our wells all look different. The pails are all of different sizes. The consumers we fill all have different needs. So, drink up today, so that you too may be so full, that you spill into others.

a bruise in the shape of a ski on my bum.

it was supposed to be a fun day with the beau.  a two hour drive to the hills of Indiana.  sunshine, and actually above freezing.  a day outdoors after spending what has seemed like my entire time in Indianapolis holed-up inside avoiding the sub-arctic temps.

i tried not to notice it as the drive got long and winding.  i tried to ignore its presence like a misspoken word, in hopes he wouldn't notice and it wouldn't build and i could just go about the day being active and learning how to ski and tearing up the slopes.  but it stuck with me unnoticed, like dirtied, discarded gum on the bottom of my rain boots.

covered head-to-toe in heat-wielding accessories, with skis tightly secured to my rented boots, i hit the slopes.  I still had it.  I had been skiing only once before, at this very place, only falling once and thorougly enjoying myself.  certainly this would be the day i would graduate to the tougher runs and learn to cut in and out across the hills with the agility of a seasoned skiier.

and as i set forth down the first slope, panic overwhelmed my body. my chest felt hollow, as if no amount of breathing in would ever fill it with the oxygen needed to sustain life.  fearfilled my veins, and tears filled my eyes.  i wasn't close to falling, i wasn't unsteady on my feet.  my hands were shaking and i burst into tears before I could even come to a stop with my pizza-shaped ski position.

Ryan encouraged me from behind as i slowed to a stop on the other side of the path.  i couldn't go near him, i couldn't speak, i could hardly breathe.  the thought that i had to complete the course before i could even make it back up again ignited absolute terror throughout my body.  through the grace of God, I made it down (what to me was) the hill with the straight, deep, decline, and to the bottom by the ski lift. shaking and wiping away tears, i confessed what he already knew, that I had had a panic attack upon starting, and my body was overwhelmed right now.  i couldn't control the tears or the terror and felt awful for something like this ruining our day while we were just getting started.  he said he was more concerned with me being okay than him having fun, and I know he was sincere, but the thought of ruining his time just made me feel that much worse.

and every time i got to the top of the slope, no matter how many times i mastered it with ease, the cavity in my chest again became hollow, my hands never ceased to shake, and the terror never relented tormenting my mind.  and after a nasty spill the only time i tried a new run, one that left me with a ski up my bum (and the bruise to prove it happened) and no comfortable way to sit, each run was a battle to not give up, to do it afraid.  i was presented with the choice to make each time, to A) give into anxiety, and give up, just not even trying any more; or B) push past the anxiety, and do it in fear the whole time, stripping it of any fun that it could or should be?

it's this dilemma that drives me crazy.  in either option, i have zero control over my anxiety, and it wins.  as irrational as it can be, that is how it wins, every time.  it just has to show up.

so today, i start a new journey with my anxiety, and i ask that you would pray for me as each step is a little scary and asks me to be a little more vulnerable.  today i went to the doctor, and they prescribed an anti-depressant to help combat everything that has made me feel so unlike myself.  we will see how this goes.  right now, it's just for the next 6-9 months and we will reassess from there.  so much of my pride wants to not talk about this; wants to pretend all is fine and dandy all the time, and that i don't need to rely on anything outside of myself to help control the panic.  but that part of pride is a liar.  that part of pride wants to save face, rather than be real.  and although i can't control the anxiety, i can control my pride.

this post by jamie the very worst missionary spoke so much to me a year ago in this journey of discovering what i've been dealing with.  it also reflects a lot of honest thoughts i have had about trying to defeat this with a jesus-only prescription.

the bruise and welts and cut on my bum remind me that its a hard journey, and it will be filled with accidents and pain and days that are just no-good.  but, it also serves as a reminder that i did it.  afraid, yes.  but i still did it.  i start out these new steps with the same thoughts, and one day i'll look back and be grateful that I did it.

first things first.

about 2 years ago, i read a daily devotional that talked about Mary and Martha, and how they interacted with Jesus when they hosted Him for dinner one night.  Mary ran about the house, tidying things up, making sure the casseroles were baked and the laundry neatly folded.  Martha sat at His feet, and listened.  They each had very different ideas of hosting.

i like to think i've got a little bit of both personality in me.  when it begins, i'm totally Mary.  I plan and prep and cook away to make everything perfect, but when it's all said and done, i know that it's not the party that makes the people, it's the people that make the party.

i had planned to spend my day up at the school, getting things planned and prepped for thre upcoming week.  but instead, got wrapped into 3 hours of conversation about love and life and faith with Ryan's roommates.  as each minute ticked away, i thought of how i really should be headed out by now, but the resounding sensation in my heart and soul was that i was putting first things first.

these conversations are what awaken us to insight and enlightenment and joy and learning.  these conversations allow us to express our unique identity as human beings that we are simply able to express ideas and feelings and thoughts and beauty and love.  on top of that, these are the things that are good for our soul, contribute to our joy and sanity, and remind us that there is more to life than a clean desk or copies made.

so today, i vow to put first things first.  to put people ahead of projects.  to put feeding my soul ahead of checking off an item from my to-do list.  to sow into growing community and bonds and creativity, through conversations and insta-meets (yes, I'll be headed to an insta-meet this afternoon.  don't judge.).  relationships. discussion and dialogue. painting. writing. photography. dancing.  more of these things.

we work all week, and often into the evenings on work.  when do we work on self? on relationships?  on the parts of us we starve and sacrifice in order to meet the needs of our careers and callings?  there is much to be said about diligence and work ethic and professionalism.  but do those things fulfill us in the way that people and relationships and creativity can invoke joy and satisfaction and pure contentment?  i know it's a fine line, and most days, we must succumb to sacrifice and diligence because it's the responsible thing to do.  but some days, i don't buy that neglecting our humanity is responsible.  neglecting growing and building and sowing is what makes us machines, not humans.

put first things first.  the things that make you breathe and grow and love and give and live. those things.  those are first things.  everything else will survive if you nurture those things.  i'm sure of it.

because, it's not always summer. part II.

i sat there, in the yard, praying.  reflecting.  silently mouthing the words to "Your Love is Strong," and realizing that God probably honors our open-eyed prayers even more than our bowed-heads one, because we're able to recognize and confess gratitude for the beauty before us.

i smiled as i remembered back to a very similar, yet strikingly different experience.  i was in nashville, on the porch of my adorable sylvan park cottage, when a rainstorm struck out of nowhere.  grabbing a towel and ditching my jeans and overshirt, i sat in the yard, beneath the early summer rain, and i sang praises.  i giggled, and felt like a child.  unafraid of the elements, no-- rather, in harmony with them.

this time, i sat there, my arms hanging around my bent knees, remembering those moments in the rain.  those moments on the porch.  those moments in summer. those moments of peace and joy and freedom.

this time, i was bundled in tights and snow pants, in shirts and vests and ski jackets and scarves.  but, i sat and watched as the snow fell violently all around me, all over me, and i didn't feel the cold.  while rolling the snow into a head for our giant snowman, the beauty around me overwhelmed me, and for a moment, i forgot about the freezing temperatures and my rear-end sitting in a foot of snow.

the wind picked up with the crescendo of the chorus, and i felt like it was the Lord whispering His promises to me once again:

"... So why do I worry? Why do I freak out? God knows what I need. You know what I need ... Two things You told me: You are strong, and You love me. Yes, You love me..."

i sit in a very different spot than in that summer place in my yard in Tennessee beneath the rain. but that's the beauty of the Lord.  He's with us always, and He loves us indefinitely, regardless of the season of life we are in.  because, it's not always summer. and just like those open-eyed prayers, i can't help but think that he rejoices with us more in our winter season revelations.

because, it's not always summer. part I.

i'd love to say winter lulls me to sleep, like the hibernating bear that can't be bothered by the lack or want or cold, but that would be an outright lie.  winter causes panic, anxiety, tears, and fears to arise like no other season can.  seasonal depression is a real thing, and for some reason, the quasi-nostalgia-inducing weather turns my head and my heart into something i truly know that i am not.

i fight it. with heat, and baking, and warm socks.  i wear leg warmers and paint my nails and even do my makeup in an effort to pretend i'm warm and entice myself to girly and frilly in order to falsify external beauty when the insides feel cold and dull.

but some days, it's hard to fight. some days, the tears well for no other reason than it's cold and my body is vitamin d deficient and my hormones are wacky. for no logical reason, to fight means to cry. because crying is my body's natural reaction when facing fear. yet, it signifies i am doing just that: facing it.

fear is real, every day, for me. i don't know when i started being so afraid, i just know that a lot of days i wake up or go to bed just feeling that way.  afraid of loss, of failure, of not being enough. afraid of losing love, or not feeling it, or not giving it. afraid that i'll face anxiety and fear and sadness for much longer than i can handle. that it will ruin me, or steal my joy, or ruin my relationship because it steals my joy.  i'm afraid of being a burden, of being a downer, of having to hide behind a happy i don't always feel. i'm afraid to be honest about it sometimes, because everyone always thinks there must be a reason you're sad or that happy is what you make of it.  then, i'm sad and afraid, and furthermore sad because i'm afraid.

standing up to these fears may look like wallowing.  but tears often times signify courage. that even though i'm fearful, i'm choosing to fight. by confessing my fears. by asking for help. by discussing my anxiety.  those things are scary enough, and walking through those things my body undergoes physical stress that causes the tears to rush and exhausts my body once it's over. 

truthfully, i fight back tears in composing this.  there's fear in releasing honest thoughts that leave you vulnerable as you confess the very fears that keep you feeling weak.  but sometimes crying doesn't show weakness. sometimes it means i'm doing it afraid.  afraid, yes. but i am doing it anyway. because, it's not always summer. sometimes its winter, and its cold, and you just have to go about life honestly while you wait for the sun.

find your snow.

It is no surprise that I practically abhor the winter season.  I grew up with “White Christmas” defined by the color of the sand on the gulf shores and the caps to the waves.  I have about a 15 degree threshold for temperature variance. Somewhere between 75 and 90.  I’m a staunch believer that Christmas does not begin until after Thanksgiving is over.  I live in the same two pair of black riding pants from November through March. I slept in my boot socks.  I cried at the first snowfall (and subsequent iced-over-windshield-scraping) of the season.  I don’t take my coat off when entering a building.  I don’t handle cold mornings with much grace. 

But then, something magical happens.  This white, semi-solid, uniquely and individually designed particles start falling from the sky.  But that’s not even the magical part; what’s most miraculous is how it immediately causes my heart to react.  It’s as if, suddenly, I’ve forgotten my limbs have lost sensation, and I begin to lose all reason.  Maybe snow in general is still enough of a spontaneous rarity that I’ve not yet become familiarly acquainted with its negative properties.

I stand. I stare. I gawk. I watch, as the flurries float effortlessly towards the ground, often detouring and giving shape to the unseen gusts blowing them every-which-way and back again. And as the flakes seem momentarily suspended, it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to time standing still.

Winter itself, and perhaps it’s the holiday season specifically, conjures up feelings of nostalgia for something that never was.  There’s a romantic notion about white skies and bare trees. It’s a paradox of sorts.  Snow is the culmination of every frigid little thing I detest about winter, yet, it’s the one saving grace for the season.

Whatever season you’re in in life: transition. waiting. grief. rebuilding. winter.  Find your snow.  Find the one thing that brings out the beauty amidst the barren.  Seek the solace that causes you to forget how cold it is.  And rejoice that the Lord has provided grace for even the most difficult of seasons.

***

Tuesday Typing Tunes: “Hazy” - Rosi Golan | “It Is Well With My Soul” - Daniel Martin Moore | “Such Great Heights” (cover) – Iron and Wine | “Deep In Your Eyes” – Jon Foreman | “Brand New Day” – Joshua Radin | “Jesus Paid it All” – Fernando Ortega | “Photographs and Memories” – Jason Reeves | “Still” – Matt Nathanson | “Down” – Jason Walker | “Trees and Flowers” – Enter the Worship Circle

a bulemic at a buffet

just about any of us post-collegiate's can relate.  you're at a social gathering, a meeting with colleagues, volunteering in your community or at your child's school.  next to introducing yourself, the most commonly asked and answered question is, "so, what do you do?" 

our identity is so stooped in our vocation, that next to our name, we are known as or even referred to by our job title.  i'm a teacher.  i'm a student.  i'm a doctor.  i'm a musician.  to an extent, it's much easier to answer the question with "i teach kindergarten," simply because I spend between 50 and 60 hours a week devoting my life to just that.

if afforded the opportunity to expound, and granted the interest in the answer is beyond surface level asking-to-be-nice, i might share what my day looks like, the things i enjoy about it, or the challenges it presents, daily.  and chances are, i will offer the courteous follow-up, "and what about you?"

to a certain point, simply stating our vocation depicts a fairly accurate description of our identity and character, but it's also strangely limiting.  i am much more than a teacher.  and during many parts of my day, i dream about those parts of me that are starving for the same attention i devote to teaching.  granted, it might come off fairly odd to respond to that question with "i'm a dreamer. a writer. a traveler. a do-er. a child of God. an extrovert stuck in the season of introverted-ness. a server."  i'm sure that would elicit a few sets of rolled eyes and potentially the end of the conversation.

i went to school for teaching. teaching is what pays the bills. education is a passion of mine, and on most days, i feel like it's where i am supposed to be.

but regardless of what our calendars or wardrobe may suggest, we can not be reduced simply to what we do as a career.

so why then, do we spend so much time and effort into developing that part of our identity, and so little to the other parts; the other parts that often make us feel more alive and like "ourselves" than our job?

we starve our passions, and we call ourselves committed to excellence in our job.  we don't nourish the parts of us that refresh us, and we wonder why we are exhausted at the end of our work day.  we flex our corporate muscles when what lies under the suit and tie is suffering from atrophy. we give all of ourselves to a career that leaves us feeling worn, unhappy, under appreciated, or insignificant. we get home from work, only to continue to send emails, work on projects, lesson plan, or think about nothing more than work.

exercising more than one part of the body brings your body into balance.  focusing on just the arms will leave you top-heavy.  focusing on just the legs would leave you weak.  at risk of sounding nameste-esque, we need to bring our lives into the zen we were created to have.

you have been given unique talents and abilities and gifts and passions.  maybe you're not even good at them, but you love doing them when no one is looking.  dear one, exercise those things!  allow yourself time (longevity) to grow into them.  but first, allot yourself time (schedule-wise) to spend on them.

yesterday morning, i had a moment of peace in my busy day in which i felt joy from teaching.  to be incredibly transparent, i don't feel that often each week.  and at the same time when i felt a love for teaching, i simultaneously wanted to quit my job and be a starving artist or writer, holed up in a corner coffee shop, scribbling notes and ideas that allow my creative side to flourish. 

I realized since the start of the school year, I have only fed and poured into the part of my identity labeled teacher.  my other identities were starved for attention, and i felt the hunger pangs that were drawing me into feeding my creative side.  i could hardly wait to get these words out of my mind and onto a page.  not that they are ground breaking or new, but for the simple sake of writing.  for the act of artistically and systematically stringing together sentences of alliterations. of expressing feelings that aren't neccessarily coupled with linguistic expression until the words trickle onto the page at the mercy of my finger tips.

American writer and essayist, Flannery O'Connor once said, "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say."  Selfishly, I write to make sense of the mess that is going on inside my heart and mind.  Writing brings unity to the chaos.  Words on the page are the universal language to the multitude of dialetcs being spoken and (mis)interpreted in the silent space between my ears.

Secondarily, I write in hopes that it brings sense to those that read it as well.  for those yes! moments in which we feel as if someone relates. in hopes that my experiences will help reveal the mystery of the metaphors life often speaks to us.

i've never run a marathon, but i volunteered at the finish line once (and that pretty much counts). i imagine that crossing that line is like hitting "publish" on a post.  it may not have been pretty.  it may have taken a lot longer than you anticipated.  and you may have done it just for you.  but the feeling when you get when you're finished, the satisfaction of having done it, knowing that you had it in you all along: these things make the investment worth it.

so, feed yourself. and well. not the junky, fast-food version that does nothing more than make you not-hungry. indulge, even if it means making extra time to add the extra ingredients to make it extra savory.  it's good for you. it makes you healthier.  a healthier you is a happier you.  whether that you is a dreamer, a dancer, a doctor, or a do-er.  feast on, friend!  i'll be right behind ya in line at the buffet!

to callings beyond careers,
xo

new-ances.

you and i both know it, so there's little reason to spend a ton of time discussing my absence here.  i could lie and say i've been busy, but that's not really the case. i could say that i haven't felt much like talking, or that i wouldn't know what to say; but those two would be fallacies.

living in Indianapolis has not been Nashville.  this fall has not been last fall, and this year has not been last year.  this move was not like my move to Tennessee a short six-and-a-half years ago. this coffee shop i'm sitting in is more Taking Back Sunday than Sufjan; this Mexican Hot Chocolate is definitely not a Mayan Mocha from The Well (which definitely is not in Indy, either).

so, i'm adjusting.  i've been slow to write, because i've been slow to acclimate.  embarrassingly slow.  like, an i-thought-i'd-be-good-at-this-by-now, but-i-was-wrong sort of pace.

and that's okay.  Indy was not meant to be Nashville.  and this year was not meant to resemble the one prior, or any others for that matter.  nothing here is meant to replace that which came before it.  nothing here can take away that which already exists.

there's a deep tension in life of what we have and what we are missing.  contentment happens when we focus on what we have.  resentment happens when we focus on what we are missing. 

when I first moved, it was difficult to see past all the life I have just given up to transplant myself in a new city.  all the changes at once: new city, new job (and the initial lack of one), new district with new curriculum and a new demographic and new administration, a new church, a new house; and all of the things missing: friendships that have surpassed a decade, or even longer than 10 minutes, being roommateless for the first time ever, those local spots that felt like second homes (second reference of The Well, in case you missed it), my yoga class from 4 blocks away, faith friendships that i could call on with a moment's notice, even just knowing where to get the best taco (the perma-parked truck on Charlotte) or good felafel (Farmer's Market). I felt the tangible absence of each and everyone of these things.

And, even in the presence of the goodness of why I moved (my own personal McDreamy), it was hard not to feel the withdrawal pains of all I chose to leave behind.  it was much less of a battle against resentment than it was a fight for contentment.

i expected carbon-copies of friendships and churches and coffeehouses. and the reality is, not only is that unrealistic, it is also limiting and mildly insulting that those things could ever be replaced.

i'm finding a rhythm to life.  the cadence to this new song is different than that i've danced to before.  but different is not bad.  how often are you afforded the chance to start anew?  to build a life from scratch, and share in that new life with the one you love?  to fall face-first into new experiences and treasure them as unique and valuable and shaping?

in the same way i expected to replicate life from Nashville in Indianapolis, i've expected my walk with the Lord to be duplicitous to how I've experienced Him in prior seasons of change.

I'm learning that the ways I've experienced the Lord, or looked to Him, or grown to know Him in the past, are not the ways I'm experiencing Him, looking to Him, or growing with Him here, in the present. At first, I thought that meant I was doing it all wrong. But after the tides have settled from the drastic ebbs and flows of change, I've been able to see that in this new season, I need Him in new ways. and a good friend reminded me during a quick meet-up in Nashville that is the way it is supposed to be.

He says I am, because, He is. all things. any thing. every thing. exactly what I need. even when I don't see it, don't notice it. 

in this new season, I need a fresh facet of His face.  where i've latched on in faith before, I may need His hands to hold me in my doubts.  where i've walked in confidence, I've forgotten my identity in Him, and desire Him to patch up the places of my life that have been riddled with the holes of insecurity.  the aspects of His character that I've gotten to know intimately have suddenly felt foreign.  and for a time, it left me feeling that i was holding onto the tattered rags of what once was, but is no longer.  it was a scary place to be.

but i can't help but think of the tabernacle from the Old Testament. it had to be torn down, and reconstructed to a set of standards each time it moved on to a new place among the people.  God has been hard at work rebuilding my tabernacle, and although it's a life-long journey, I think this phase of the project has just met completion.

as scary as that can be, it has been beautiful.  although we're in the throws of fall, my heart seems to be on the verge of spring.  and what's prettier than Paris in the spring?

thoughts + questions on provision

i sat and watched on through the spotless glass as the chipmunks lapped up refreshment from the tiny creek.  the hummingbirds, suspended in mid-air, fluttered and flitted to and fro, from one feeder to the next.  two robins took their turns at the feeder, one repeatedly trying to fly through the glass that separated us.

i sat and looked out, but i came to this room to reflect.  within moments, my cheeks were wet with tears. and then, the full-on silent sob came.  fortunately, i had just hiked, and the mid-august heat had my face already "glistening" with beads of sweat, so the tears didn't seem so apparent.

i thought about these birds, that don't have to work for their food.  these chipmunks that don't have to hunt.  they've all been provided for.  but what about the ones in the field that couldn't make it? or didn't know? or were just too far away?  what happens to them?  and who gets to choose?  certainly these birds and beasts didn't *earn* the right to this never ending smorgasbord.  and certainly, the others didn't do enough bad-bird-stuff to get themselves banned from the buffet.

***

i looked to my right.  silently, a woman sat with an older, disabled child in a handicapped stroller.  they watched the birds, and every now and then, the woman would whisper something to the child, who wasn't capable of verbally responding.

my heart broke for this child, for this woman.  as they left, another dad came in, with yet again another older child, in a handicapped stroller, capable of only involuntary outburst and screams.  i heard him speak with tenderness about his daughter to the woman he was with, presumably, a new date.  i was broken for the difficulties that she would have to sacrifice for, and for the long, difficult, and somewhat unpredictable journey fatherhood must've been for him.

who got to choose that these children would have disabilities, when the ones in the other room are running and yelling, free as can be, with no assumption that it could, or should, be any different?  why is this the path that God had for them and their families?  certainly the Lord wouldn't punish a child for the sins of his parent; no more than he must grant bounty to some and bareness to others. 

***

i sat, and i cried, and i thought, and i cried some more.  

i didn't have any answers.  i didn't have any divine, spiritual wisdom revealed to me in some great epiphany.  i thought about my own lack as of lately; when i've been trusting the Lord for provision, for a job namely, but for other spiritual fortitudes, and how I feel like neither my good work can earn it, nor could my failures of flesh do anything to diminish it.  how i seem to be hanging in the balance, watching the birds find their food, yet being on the opposite side of the glass just peering out.

i read through Matthew 6 and continued to weep.  knowing that the Lord promises provisions for each and every day, one at a time.  also knowing that He uses others to be the answer to prayer; the Lord didn't drop manna for these mockingbirds-- He used humans to supply for their needs.  

quite often we could be the answer to someone else's prayers, but we are too busy offering to pray for them, rather than offering to jump in and help meet their needs. 

*** 

this post has been all over the place.  i don't have answers, and i think that's okay.  i wrestle with God often over the depravity of man and the difficult ways life presents itself.  but He's a big God, and He will always win the wrestling match. 

just some thoughts on provision, and the questions i have yet to find answers to.

Sometimes, there are things in life you don't necessarily enjoy or want to do, but you know they are good for you.  Running, limiting sweets, drinking V-8. Things that sort of hurt in the process, but the benefits often outweigh the price, or no one would ever even consider them.

Today, for me, it's writing.  Or, more specifically, writing about the anxiety that I've been dealing with for at least the better part of the past year.

I've prided myself on being the normal one in my family (forgive me of my self-righteousness).  I've thanked the Lord that I've not had to deal with the enslaught of issues that have plagued those on the branches of my family tree. And, when things got hard, I knew the One to turn to.

Today, I stepped outside to head to the grocery when it brushed past me, it's touch lingering and recalling memories that for no apparent reason brought about a haunting nostalgia.  The first crisp air of fall, a season we all long for as a reprieve from often unbearable, scorching summer heat that leaves us desparate for a change.

But for me, for some reason, that breeze wasn't the promise of a fresh season.  It was the poignant reminder of a painful past.  They say scent is the number one trigger of memories; I would argue that it's the first cool snap of fall.  I don't know why it triggers so much anxiety (aside from fall being a gateway to winter cold and awful clothes and seasonal depression), but each time I felt the simultaneous warm sun on my skin and brisk breeze pass me by, it was a lurking reminder of the difficulties to come, again, in the new season.

I try to separate what I feel and what I know to be true. I had to begin this process at the end of last summer, and I honestly never expected to still be dealing with this.  Where every decision is an opportunity to make the wrong, game-ending choice, and the fear of having to deal with anxiety is often worse than the anxiety itself.  You fear talking about it because you fear being seen differently because of it.  And you fear being seen differently because you fear that no one could truly want to try to understand it, deal with it, or even put the effort into loving you because of it.

I know these things to not *be* true, but the problem with anxiety is that it warps your emotions to manipulate your truths into doubts.  And the sinking feeling you get about sharing your emotions and truths and fears, and actually being right about them, prevents you from dealing with the anxiety the way we are called to deal with anything: in the light.

Today, I'm refusing to call lights-out at bedtime.  I'm taking a stand because I know I am strong enough to be transparent, even if our most common misconception of transparent items is that they are extremely fragile.  And tomorrow, I will turn and fight the lies again, as much as I have to, with as much strength I can muster. I'm thankful that even in the hard things, even when the anxiety makes it harder, I can still turn to the Lord and trust that He is bigger, stronger, and more powerful than I feel or realize.

***

I didn't realize this at time of posting, but I'm not the only one wrapped in the shroud of anxiety today. Nor am I the only one taking courage and fighting. Read below.

my new adventure

We are officially halfway through july.  As hard as it is for me to believe that this summer is pretty much disassembling its umbrellas and rolling up its beach towels, it's even harder for me to believe everything that has happened over the course of the past year.

I hardly know where to start.  Most would say the beginning, but I argue that I should start with the end.  

I am moving to Indianapolis.  

Trust me, not what I expected to hear, either.

But sometimes, we make plans, plans that we try so, so hard to align and attribute to God's will.  and sometimes, yes, our surrender and our obedience pleases Him, but I can't help to think how often He must chuckle and say, "Oh, my child."

***

In October, after 10 years of dreaming about it, I began applying for the Peace Corps.  In November, I submitted my application, told my principal I wouldn't be returning, resigned from my shortly-held position as Mission Lead with my new church, and thought that the next three years of my life was pretty well set.  

I interviewed in December, received my nomination the next day, got my legal clearance in February, and was told I would leave in July.

and in March, things began to change. 

For starters, I caught back up with Ryan, the guy who subleased my house while I was in Haiti last summer.  I had no idea we would fall for each other as quickly as we did.  Upon making my first of many trips to visit him in Indy, we talked and learned much about each other and how we ended up in our respective cities and career paths. After sharing all about my global galavants and my several failed attempts at enrolling in grad school, he nonchalantly, even half-jokingly asked me a question that would pretty much ruin me:

"So when you don't know what to do in life, do you just flee the country?"

I went about my business that weekend, not thinking of that question, and certainly not talking about the Peace Corps.  How could this man, that hardly knew me at this point, call me out on something that myself and those closest to me have failed to realize?  

After a whirlwind weekend in which was way harder to leave than anticipated, that question haunted me.  I had already begun having doubts about the Peace Corps as I had realized the anxiety I had been dealing with during that time, and how pervasive it had been in my decision to leave and join the PC.  But I had been less than vocal about this, and only to a few people.  Now, I was faced with this question, and I knew I had to sit down and properly evaluate my motives for joining.  

I decided to wait for my formal invitation to the PC, with my placement location, before making any concrete choices.  Regardless of how and why I applied in the first place, this had been my dream, and I knew there were several places I just would not be able to turn down the opportunity to. 

The end of the school year came and went, and before I knew it, I was back from an amazing trip to the Grand Canyon, and life in Nashville ground to a halt.  With a tentative departure of July, and it being mid-June, I decided to contact the PC to get any update on the progress of my application.  I attached the last correspondence we had at the end of February, in which it said they were working on Spring placements, and I would get mine after those leaving first got theirs.  As far as I knew, I was just waiting on a bright and shiny invitation to come in the mail. 

Her response, after three days, did not even acknowledge that I had contacted her.  She said in order for her to review my file-- wait, what?! You've had it 7 months and had not yet reviewed it?-- that she would need for me to answer the following questions, a list of 11 questions that I had already discussed at length during my hour-and-45-minute interview.  the kicker was when she asked when was the earliest date I could depart.  this had been answered on my application, during said interview, and then they gave me the date of July.  

Reading this email, I was totally frustrated.  I knew I had a decision to make, and it wouldn't come down to a cut-and-dry, you're going to China-- which means you're not going decision.  I had to either start over, or I had to walk away.

To answer those questions again would seem insincere.  I knew what to say; I knew what they wanted to hear.  But it all felt fake to go through this whole process again from where I was.

So, I withdrew my application.

I spent the following week in Florida, not sharing my decision yet, and then the next 2 1/2 weeks in Indianapolis, where we talked about the thought of me moving, what that might look like, looking at apartments, discussing if I could see myself living in Indy for a couple years, and if that was what we both wanted.  and, it was.  Ryan has two years left in Med school, and that's not very conducive to travel or long distance relationships.  and the thought of being in the same city as my boyfriend is pretty nice :)

So, pending getting a job, I decided I would move.  and then I got back to Nashville, and just altogether decided to move.  At this point, I need a job regardless of what city I am in.  If I am going to move anytime in the next two years, it needed to be at the beginning of a school year, and what better time than now when I was already planning on leaving Nashville and had already quit my job.  Makes me wonder if that's what God had up His sleeve all along.

***

The thought of leaving Nashville behind is terrifying to say the least.  I may have not been raised here, but I most definitely grew up in this city.  So much has happened in the past 6 1/2 years since choosing to make Nashville my home.  The friends here are family.  Many of them are from back home and have known me for 15 years.  Letting go of this city and the people in it is going to be extremely difficult.

But, it is time for a new journey.  It is time to take a risk and a real big leap of faith.  I've never moved for a guy before, and yes, there's huge risk in that.  But there's huge value and reward in it too.  I'm excited for this new adventure.  It is definitely not the path I imagined even just months ago, but as sad as I am to leave, I am just as excited to start this new chapter.

So there you have it.  To those that have supported my Peace Corps adventure, I am so sorry to disappoint you.  It's been hard for me to walk away from this dream, just as any dream is hard to let go of.  But I have to trust that what the Lord has for me in this next chapter will be better than I could've planned myself.  I am trusting Him to guide me in this new season of new cities and jobs and friends.  All of that is so hard to navigate on your own, but I am hopeful that the Lord will direct my steps.

Please continue your prayers as this journey will be no-less difficult than one in Asia or Africa.

It's funny; I have no qualms with the thought of moving to a new country, in which I don't speak the language, don't know a soul, and will likely have to eat a thing or two in which I don't know where it came from.  Those things don't scare me; in fact, I thrive on change and the unfamiliar.  Yet, the thought of moving just 4 1/2 hours away to a city I've spent some time in now, with a guy I've come to trust and care a lot about, is a little scary, mainly because I know my heart is on the line.  I'm discovering my insecurities, each little heavy-rooted one at a time.  I find it interesting to note that physical safety and material comforts and potentially isolated living situations don't make me flinch one bit, but when the heart is involved, there's fear of failure, of hurt, and of losing.  To me, that illustrates a lot about myself, namely that there is a huge learning curve for me to overcome, and this might be just the challenge that the Lord had for me in the first place.  It's in the challenges in life that we grow and come to learn so much about ourselves.  I'm excited to do that in a new city, and with someone that is there to listen as I am honest about my fears and to help me fight them one at a time.  

one-way

Indianapolis is a cursed city.

not Sodom and Gomorrah sort of cursed; but by these inconvenient little things called one-way streets.

seriously-- I have never witnessed so many one-ways in my life.

so one morning, I'm out exploring, pre-caffeine mind you, and I'm waiting at a red light at one of those confusing intersections where 3 roads converge.  going about my business, I make a left turn ... onto a one-way street.

i wouldn't have actually realized this, had two cars not already been occupying the lanes and fast approaching my ill-turned elantra.  one graciously got behind the other, and i found the nearest intersection to right-my-wrong.

and I got to thinking:  sometimes, we don't know the roads we take.  they are unfamiliar, often confusing, and the signs aren't all that clear.  someone that has been down that road could explain where the one-ways are or where they begin, but its hard to visualize that for yourself until you are there.  sometimes, the GPS does little to advise us, and sometimes we just miss it on account of our own disconnectedness.

but something comes out of those moments we are headed the wrong direction:  we learn.  we learn the structure of the city; we learn for ourselves the flow of the streets.  it becomes a part of us that we carry with us, informing us of the next time we are approach an intersection.

so whether you're sitting at the intersection, waiting to make a turn, or you're driving the wrong way down a one-way street, take note and learn from your mistakes.  know that the Lord will graciously redirect your path, and He doesn't revoke our license just because we lose the way.

well, hello there.

it's been quite some time.  

lots of things have happened in that time.  

here's a quick visual recap:

At the end of May, I packed up my classroom at RSE ...

... and said goodbye to these amazing women for the last time.  heartbreaking.

I got to visit this guy for his birthday and experience my first Indy 500,

and he came to Nashville to visit & meet my friends.
(we're sad here because Caleb didn't meet us at the Vineyards)

Then, we flew to Arizona to begin our Grand Canyon Adventure. We got to see this on Day 1 ...

.... and felt like this on Day 5! (after hiking and camping in the canyon for 5 days and nights! woosh! HARDEST thing I've ever done.)

Could not have done it without this guy's encouragement, patience, and help :)

Came back to Nashville for a week and picked up painting
(picture from Day 5's hike just before sunrise at Cathedral Stairs)

Then drove to Florida and got to spend lots of time with this (not-so)little(any-more) munchkin!

and of course, how can you go to Florida and not spend time ....

... on the gulf ...

... or watching the sunset on the beach!

Got to meet my new baby cousin, Lucas!

and take his newborn photos!

Then, I drove back up to Indianapolis, where I explored the city ...

... found pieces of nature ...

... pieces of history ...

uncovered beauty in texture,

architecture,

and in myself, even in the rain.

I fell in love with downtown ...

... the farmers' market ...

... beautiful bouquets of all colors ...

... dreary days downtown.

From authors, 

to book havens,

to bold colored heavens,

and all the sparkling, magical, celebratory moments with this guy and within.
(and of course, my favorite holiday!)

And, after 25 days, I drove back to Nashville.
Crossing this bridge out of Indiana, knowing I'll be back soon.  



and possibly, for good.