random and giddy.

Whitworth is a generally friendly place.  Our sidewalk is named the "hello walk" for goodness sake (we also have the "hell no!" walk that's across the lawn, for those days when you just don't feel the cutest.).  When it's warm people swarm the loop and longboard down the hello walk, waving their arms and jumping around like crazy just to say hey to an acquaintance.  Oh, how friendly the warmth is.

Whitworth is also a generally snowy place.  Those same friendly people in the summer that skip down the hello walk and wave their arms like crazy now leave their hands in pockets and wiggle an elbow in acknowledgement.  It's not rude; it's survival.  But oh, how friendly survival is. 

Whitworth is also a generally well-paved place.  There are sidewalks to get anywhere--everywhere.  and it's great.  I don't even mind generally snowy Whitworth anymore, because I know that with the early morning snow comes a mid-morning snow plow, coming to clear the sidewalks and parking lots.  And oh, how friendly clearing the sidewalk is.

Yesterday I saw all three of these things come together in one glorious moment. I began the walk back to my apartment after working out at the gym.  It was one of those workouts where you leave taking slow, wide steps with your shoulders back and a smirk on your face.  For I had squatted 95 pounds.  Yes, folks, I squatted the entire bar, plus 25 pounds.  But that's besides the point.  So I left the gym feeling confident, bold and fierce.  And because I felt that way, I did not want to walk on a paved, plowed path.  I was not interested in the work other people had done.  It was one of those I-want-to-pave-my-own-stinking-way moments.  So, I started through the loop, covered in a foot of snow.  No bother, I was paving my way. 

I was walking parallel to the hello walk, watching the subtle elbow-waving interactions, content with where I am, What I'm seeing and how I'm walking.  Then, in the distance I see a single person veer from the hello walk into the snow.  RIGHT IN MY PATH.  I was very territorial.  But the person got closer, and the huge grin on her face was contagious.  We smiled smug, mischievous smiles at each other, both celebrating the fact that we walked through the foot-deep snow, and feeling silly.  We got closer and she stopped and said, "hi.  pretty outside, huh?"  I responded, "for sure.  it's awesome!"  We both shrugged and walked on.  It wasn't the craziest interaction I've ever had, but I couldn't help but giggle at how silly it was that we walked through a foot of snow, just so we didn't have to walk on the path and contributed more than an elbow wiggle.  I turned to my right and saw a path of compact snow, about a foot and a half wide; others walked through the snow too!  I wonder how many other random and awesome interactions had happened in the middle of the loop that day.

The rest of the walk to the sidewalk was easier and shorter and I was thankful that other people had paved a path for me to follow.

life friends--part Anna

I have a few life friends. There isn't a certain reason why I call them that, except for the fact that we have lived a ton of life together.  Okay, so there is a reason.

This is Anna:

There is no reason Anna and I should be friends.  In first grade, I went over with Anna to her grandmom's house every sunday for lunch.  We would hide from the adults, run with the dog and play so many different card games.  Then, like silly little girls, we fought and I didn't go to grandmom's anymore.  Then, by some strange twist of fate, we were grouped up to be in a "d-group", accountability group with one other girl and a mentor.  I was determined not to like Anna or be friends with her.

And then, by some strange twist of fate, she taught me what friendship means.  Anna and I ran in very different crowds in middle and high school. Anna is super athletic, gorgeous, practical, blonde who ran the school with her also blonde, best friend.  She lived half an hour away, so we only saw each other at church and the occasional lunch at Olive Garden.  Anna's also a straight shooter.  You never have to worry about what she's thinking.  At first I was worried. But I learned that friendship means telling the truth!  We balance each other well.  We also peed on the side of a road in Dar, but also at a random gas station, just for the nostalgia of peeing on the side of a road in Dar!

Anna and I met with our group once a month, and sometimes more often, until we graduated high school.  However, we really became friends in a little bungalow on Kipipeo beach in Tanzania.  Anna taught me what it meant to have a relationship led by the Lord.  She taught me how cool it is to be able to call on a moment's notice, ask for some prayer, advice or money, and know that it will be legit.
It is really fun to have a friend who has a heart for missions! Her eyes are always outward, ready to help and show crazy love to others.  She doesn't flaunt it.  But if Anna is anything, it is loyal.  She has showed me what standing up for others means!

There aren't many life experiences we haven't lived through together, and what a joy, as well as incredible ride it has been! Okay, well maybe there is a reason.

starting over.

I haven't said much these last few weeks.  I've been thinking.  But there is only so much silence my extroverted self can handle :)

I'm in the process of reading a book to "refuel" my quiet time--what I call the time I spend deep in thought, in prayer, reading or writing, all with the main goal of deepening my relationship with Jesus.  

Lately I've felt like my communication with God hasn't been the most efficient.  So I took a trip to the Christian bookstore.  This small, red book with the words "REFUEL" on it seemed to jump out at me.  So, I picked it up and have been working my way through it.  The author, Doug Fields, says there are three keys to having an effective quiet time: be quiet, be still, and make a connection. The book encourages taking small moments throughout the day to pause and give God glory.   I don't want to rewrite the book, so if it seems interesting check it out.  Anyway, this book has really helped me.  I felt pressure to wake up at 6am and spend hours in prayer and studying the word before my day starts.  I felt pressure to go to bed late because I was thanking God for all of His goodness throughout the day.  Well, it was too much pressure for me.  

I felt as though I weighed 600 pounds and was told to go run a marathon.  Highly impractical.

Now, before you freak out that I am no longer committed to improving my relationship with Christ.  All I'm saying is that I'm starting over.  I want to be able to get up in the morning or stay up late and spend long amounts of time in reverence to the One who created me.  But unfortunately I didn't schedule it in.  A relationship takes work.  It takes re-evaluating.  It takes sacrificing little (or big) parts of one's time, gifts and energy.  But this is a relationship I want to prosper.  I want it more than anything.  It's terrifying to say "more than anything."  Because I know what "anything" implies.  Wanting something more than "anything" means giving up control and ownership of the people I love in order to give glory to Him who I love most.  It's a constant struggle for me to love God more than my family and close friends.  But ignoring time with God doesn't help me love Him more than them, and I recognize that.

So I'm starting over.  I'm starting with the small, quiet moments of being quiet and still and making a connection of thanks with Almighty.  The short moments are turning into long moments which are turning into even longer moments which are turning into a thankful and grateful heart.

I don't like starting over.  But discipline starts small.  Trust starts small.  Initiative starts small.  Patience starts small.  And as I grow, these traits will grow.  

I really do want this more than anything.  

independence

Am I allowed to wear snow boots when it is April (well, technically May now) and not snowing?

yes.

Sometimes it's the small things.

Sitting with my bible on my lap doesn't help me know the Word better. I can pray all I want, but to know, really KNOW the Word, I need to read it. And understand it. And question it. And remember it. And meditate on it. And memorize it. And apply it.

I guess I better open it.

Four days of Happiness

I get this happy feeling that makes me tingle all over.

I spent approximately 72 hours seeing some of my favorite people all in the same city.  There are four of us.  We are loud, quiet, disciplined, scattered, nervous, confident, silly, goofy and loving.  They are the kind of people that make getting up early to go to the gym possible!  It's safe to say that we were all pretty nervous about spending that much time together.  But we made it--and loved it.  We lounged around, had intense conversations with my parents, walked around Portland, prayed together, discovered new parts of ourselves and our friendships, sang song after song, and ate the most amount of food.  It was amazing to see them embrace what I love most in life with open arms.  They didn't shy away from my  unique family.  They didn't get too uncomfortable with the hours of singing.  They allowed themselves to be introduced to new people and hugged by strangers.  The main thing that stuck out to me is that they did not make me have to choose which world I wanted, even though I was currently in Gresham.  They understood how much my heart is divided into layers; not sections.  I did not feel conflicted or at war or like I was doing this balancing act by having them there.  It just felt so complete and wonderful and made me so, so stinkin' happy.

I got to hang out with my favorite 7 year old.  We just understand each other.  It is amazing how she grows so much even when I am gone for only two weeks.  I cannot wait to see what incredible things she does with her life.  I was nervous about running 6 miles.  Real nervous.  But Jenn and I got back into the familiar routine of breathing, talking, laughing, jamming and the 6 miles hardly mattered any more.  Add to it the fact that our running posse expanded; I was floating with happiness.

The Easter choir was phenomenal.  They were so full of love and praise, I had so much trouble staying in my seat! The mixed ages were great.  The harmonies were so tight.  The spirit was just so evidently there.  It is fun to see all the hours of work and collaboration my parents and others put into the weekend.  They really make magic happen.  (is it sacrilegious to talk about church being magical when I firmly believe in the power of the Holy Spirit? Maybe I should say "magic" instead.) It is so lovely to see others choose to follow God above themselves.  I know part of it was because of the obedience and willingness of others.  And then they played Glorious Day, one of my favorite songs.  My voice fluttered with happiness.

Today for our one a month, the RA team became a roller posse.  Meaning, we all got on our perspective "wheels" (scooter, roller blades, long board, bike, tandem bike) and rolled all around campus.  The sun was out, most of us wore flip flops and we just laughed and laughed and laughed as we rolled around in the sunshine.  It was so carefree.  Nothing about the past or the future mattered because we were all together having glorious fun.   To finish off the ride we stopped at Jack in the Box for some french fries and hot seat.  We are such a different group of people, yet we can have fun with wheels and french fries and just talking.  My peddling feet, my wobbly balance and my liberally-braking hands could not contain the happiness that was all around me.

Needless to say, these past few days have been a complete blessing.  And, did I mention, the sun came out today?

I have never understood the passing of time.

Sometimes the day feels so long it's as though I have experienced a few lifetimes before sunset.
Other times I am caught up in life and responsibilities and relationships that I miss sunset after sunset, after sunset.

And so it has been two years.

Before:

it feels like time is crawling, creeping, dragging by.  It's as though the sun sees right through my tanned skin to my tender heart and promises to slow down time.  It feels like the sun is my enemy, refusing to set and let another day start.


I beg for months for the promise of Psalm 40 to be fulfilled in me.  But instead of finding a firm place to stand, I only feel the ground beneath me give way, plunging further into the earth.  Some days I begin the process of stitching my heart back together.  Then the memories come flooding in and I drop my needle; The stitches come out, failing to mend my broken heart.  The pit grows deeper.

Finally darkness comes, but sleep doesn't.  It's that terrible feeling of desperate desire to be in a different world, yet dreading the moment eyes open to a new day: twelve more hours of antagonizing sunlight.

The fight to sleep or not takes all night.  In the morning I refrain from looking out the window, from hearing the ever-so-regular thought of today will not provide relief. I swear that today will not be as bad as yesterday. I swear that the pit will not get deeper.  That I will climb to solid ground. I swear that the stitches on my heart will hold. I smile at the thought of stability.

Then I look in the mirror, at the gaunt, hollow girl with sad eyes and a too-thin-waist.  Climb, girl.  Find solid ground.


It's impossible not to look out the window.  I remember when sunlight meant warmth, playing, joy.  Now I have the ability to only see shadows.  I see the sun and cringe at the nagging, angry, forceful voice that chides at me.  I look at the ground.  Climb, girl.  Find solid ground. 

By evening I am exhausted.  With every moment my mind is elsewhere; on what could have been.  I look for messages.  I glance towards the door.  Still, nothing has changed.  My stomach churns with the realization that this might be my new reality.

I look at the window.  The sun begins its deep-chested laugh.  Starting as a low and quiet growl, ending as a loud, fierce scream that pierces my heart.   I do not feel the dull pain of a sprain.  I feel the sharp, pointed pain of a fracture; I am broken.  My heart is broken. Climb, girl.  Do not lose your footing.  The laughter stops.

I close the blinds.  Climb.  I shut my eyes.  Reach.  With each inhale I cry, I need a song of Praise.  With each exhale I cry, I need a song of Praise. Climb.  Reach.  Hold.  Please, give me a song of Praise.  Climb.  Reach.  Hold.  Climb!  I can't climb any longer.  Reach!  I don't know where to reach.  Hold!  I'm too weak to hold.  Lift me out of the pit, O God.  


I open my eyes and darkness has come.  For the first time in too long, I did not hear the sun fighting its way through sunset.  The stitches of my heart had not come undone.

After:

Sleep came that night without a second thought.  In the morning the girl in the mirror was still gaunt, still too thin.  But after a few minutes the corner of her mouth twitched up into a soft smile.  Courage that hadn't appeared in months suddenly surfaced.  I walked to the blinds.  Slowly, I turned them open.

I peered through the window into the daylight.  I heard only the sound of nearby cars.  I stared at the silent sky.  For the first time in too long, I did not say climb.


I said hello. 


And so it has been two years.

At first I could only barely utter a one-word prayer and each day felt like eternity.  Then one word turned to two, then a sentence, then a paragraph.  And eventually I stopped noticing the sunsets.  It took awhile to notice, but He did hear my cry.  When I couldn't climb or reach or hold, He lifted me out of the pit.

I am at a place where I can see the beauty of sunsets and sing a song of Praise.  My feet now run on this solid ground.

I turn my face to the sun and drink in its warmth.