Vindicated

I believe in the power of words. I believe they change people’s lives for the better, and too often the worse. Hello, goodbye, I love you, you have cancer, how was your day? But sometimes words just aren’t enough. For example, words aren’t enough to explain how much I love my dad. Which is obvious by the tear that betrays me when I talk about how much his life means to me.

My parents use to joke that my first word wasn’t spoken until I was in middle school. Words were too special for me to share. My knowledge of words, of their significance was inadequate to express how I felt. I am not the kind of person that does a lot of things by just getting by. I choose a few things and put my all into them. If I can’t do the act complete justice then I see no point in acting.

So why write a blog?

Well, as much as I’d like to think my words matter I honestly doubt those who don’t hear them will ever miss them. Knowing that my life is but a vapor, here one moment and gone the next, was a lesson I learned early in life. Like I said, though, I believe in the power of words and how they translate from one life to another.

I’ve been reading C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity in which he says the greatest sin is pride. Agreed. But the greatest sin can also be the opposite of pride, insecurity. It is quite easy to point out pride and insecurity, especially on our campus. Pride wears “Save Colonel Reb” stickers and insecurity wears XL T’s and cardigans to hide the hungry bones. Pride tells you to have the last word in an argument and insecurity tells you your self worth is bound in this human yelling at you like a dog.

I wrote these words down two months ago and once again saved them for a rainy day. Well, the weather outside has been cold, windy, and rain of the kind that beckons reading and writing. So I had no choice.

I read these words today by Dr. John Barger and just wanted to share!

Women are capable of and sometimes commit magnificent acts that manifest incredibly power and awaken in us men a profound awe, if not fear and trembling. Yet, when they love, they love quietly; they speak, as it were, in whispers, and we have to listen carefully, attentively, to hear their words of love and to know them...We cannot successfully demand the love of a woman or the love of God. We have to wait. And just as a woman’s heart is melted when she encounters in us weakness accompanied by our humble admission of it, so God’s heart is melted and he is most tender and gracious to us when he encounters in us weakness accompanied by our humble admission of it.

I believe in the power of a quiet and gentle spirit manifested through words of choice, not chance. Choose to not let pride prevent you from embracing silence and insecurity to keep you from your great, magnificent act.

In case you haven’t notice, most of these blogs are reminders to myself. In the great words of Dashboard Confessional “I am flawed but I am cleaning up so well I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself.” Yes, I thought I was a rock star listening to them in high school. No, I wasn’t as cool as I thought I was.

- A

hello christmas.

believe it or not, christmas is happening. i love love love christmas. not just the warm feeling that seeps into my skin when the whole family is together by a fire or the james taylor christmas album playing on repeat in the living room, but the whole concept of christmas itself. the idea that God would step into a human body like a pair of pajamas, that he would live a real life and die a real death. that he would subject himself to the same pains, sorrows, aches, and brokenness that we feel here on earth in order to bring about a redemption that we would have never thought possible. i don't know how it works or why he chose to do things the way he did, but i think it's beautiful all the same.

God Felt

God’s Self poured into the form of Man—
Word to Flesh. Universe’s Splendor confined
in mortal’s shell—Son of God. Son of man.
Spirit fused with bone and

Blood. Forsook well-deserved Paradise.
Planted His feet on fingertip-molded
Globe, touched Creation and Felt:

Dirt caked between toes
and rain of prostitute’s tears swirling into mud.
Leper’s mangled skin melting
into smooth under His fingertips.

Tickle of salt-sweat tumbling down skin.
Cracked-dry tongue pleading for wet
And scratching of vacant stomach.

Pain of friend’s death
and hot tears of agony sliding down face.
Severed Roman ear sticky with coppery blood
Then reunited with trembling body.

Nail sinking into skin and embedding
In wood beneath. Fellowship of Father
Refused. Piercing pain of Trinity
Split.

Droplets of moisture gathering
on stone sepulcher thick with Dark and
Silence.

Crashing of Stone shattered. Cave
Flooded with torrent
of light. Victory of Death
Crushed. Creation
Redeemed through the beams of the Son.

-katy

Bucket List

Tis the season to cross things off my bucket list! There is something about the holidays that makes me extremely morbid. I like opposites and a good oxymoron so maybe this is just another one of my (many) (strange) quirks. Anyway, like any good quarter life crisis patient I have a bucket list of anything and everything from seeing a professional ballet to adopting a child to being a waitress (preferably on roller blades, but I'm working on that skill). I also apparently like parenthesis today, my apologies.

Anyway,I decided to share something I crossed off this summer that may seem like a no brainer to you but to me it was a highlight of the summer, and it is so easy to do. I ate a meal by myself. I'm not talking about heat up a Lean Cuisine and turn on Lifetime movie kind of solo meal. I'm saying dress up, go to a nice restaurant (cafes don't count) and enjoy a meal getting to know none other than you. I'm afraid with so much emphasis on technology and communication we've forgotten one of the most important conversations to have is with yourself. Intentional time with yourself is spent planning a special night for you and you. Order the fish or the duck, heck even send yourself a drink and dessert, I don't care. But ask yourself how are you doing? What's been going on in your life? What has been tough lately? What friendships have helped you move through this? What have you learned about yourself that you love? That you've grown to despise?

You may just find that you are the person you've been waiting for your whole life. I sure hope you find your fulfillment in the quiet of your mind, in the stillness of knowing that who you are was divinely inspired and cultivated.

- A

Throw Back

I went through my high school memory box today and found oh so many surprises. By far the best is my "boy book" that is disguised as a "shcool asignments" book. Yes, I spelled school "shcool." The Boy Book goes back to when I was 8 years old and was last updated when I was 16. An 8 year old entry says "Funny but not smart. Ugly but not mean." It also has an appearance from Kevin of the Backstreet Boys. Some classics are "He use to be bad but now he goes to church and doesn't cuss." We were 12 at the time. There's also a boy named "Palm Beach" because I couldn't remember his name. My friend Elise made an entry about her boyfriend Blane when we were 16 and they are still dating. (Awhhh) The best is that every page has a "Love Thermometer" to rate the boy from 1 (Cold Fish) to 7 (Super Hot.) Number 6 is called "Simply Sexy" and rating 3 is "Cute Buns" and 5 is "Kool Kisser." Keep in mind I purchased this book from Limited Too when I was eight. So I decided to write about some other things that take me back to the days when I was cool and had friends. (Yes, I had friends even though I would pretend to be a mermaid in the water.)

Flubber


Dunkaroos


Beanie Babies


Duck Hunt


Tamagotchi (I had a camo one)


And last but certainly not least, a membership to Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen's Fan Club. We were all dedicated members!

Gifts

If you know anything about my dad (and thus me) you know he is a good as they come but down right quirkier than them all. Every year for Christmas he fills our stockings with the most random assortment of items that were on sale at Walgreens. I think last year I received the National Inquirer, Q-tips, hand sanitizer, a snow globe and tampons (TMI?)
When I was a wee little one, still in footie pajamas, we had carrots in our stockings one Christmas morn. My sister, older and wiser beyond her years, caught on immediately and ran down the hall, threw open the front door, looked in the yard and exclaimed “MY PONY! MY PONY! MY VERY OWN PONY!” Moments, decades, centuries later you see me on the video camera running as fast as one can in footie pajamas on hard wood floors with carrots the size of one’s arms when I finally see the object of my Christmas letter’s affection: a pony. All this while Lindsey is still saying “MY VERY OWN PONY” to which Little Al’s face scrunches up and cries “But where’s MY pony???”
Needless to say, I’ve never been a great gift receiver nor giver. Maybe I still harbor ill feelings for having to share MY pony with MY sister but blogs are not meant to be counseling sessions (although much cheaper and convenient.)
This summer especially I began thinking about spiritual gifts and realizing the gifts of all those around me. My mom’s gift is by far hospitality. She taught me everything I need to know about how to be a true southern hostess. My sister’s gift is making people feel beautiful – whether it is through artwork or makeup (both of which she is extremely talented.) Caroline is gifted in making people laugh and Alise is gifted in making a stranger feel like a long lost friend. Sarah is gifted in counseling (she has far many but this is my favorite because I get to benefit from it) and Betsy is gifted in homecoming. Seriously, walk in our house any day of the week and Betsy will make you feel like Justin Beiber in the flesh. Her squeals are the highlight of my day. In the words of Sumner “there’s something Biblical…” about coming home.
So this Christmas season I’ve been sweating bullets to buy the perfect gift (not really because I always wait until the last minute.) To wrap this up and get to my point, finally, I wanted to share with you all some great gift ideas that really give back because lets me honest, we already have so much crap in our lives. Who really needs another sweater or video game? Our lives have so much clutter. I clean my room on the daily and sometimes I stop and think about the hundreds of thousands no actually millions of kids, parents, real people like you and me who simple want a meal this Christmas. Or someone to smile their way. Or someone to show them that prostitution isn’t the way. That last sentence breaks my heart - but it is the story of some of these women in my first suggestion. So here are a few – enjoy!


My day is not complete without a scarf and these are beautiful, hand crafted Ethiopian scarves made by women who have escaped prostitution by being employed to make these beauties. I bought the Mulu one a few weeks ago (I also think I lost it already) but they feel incredible and are so worth it. The Dember one is new and will hopefully be added to my collection soon. Each scarf is named after a woman who helped make it so read their stories!



I know we are all obsessed with Bottletree Bakery coffee -- I currently have a bag in my pantry but this coffee comes to me from the grapeVINE (get it, Viner?) ahahah, he worked with this family this summer and I've heard all great things about his mission in Guatemala using the funds from coffee.



Speaking of coffee, if you and your recipient share a love for coffee then how about supporting the Mocha Club for a year?

Or an orphan? I hear the number of orphans in the world is projected to be 165 million now. How insanely saddening is that?

These necklaces are made my Ugandan women from recycled magazines! Environmentally and globally friendly and they are such an easy conversation starter to help spread the word.





Or give a cow through Heifer International?

And last but certainly not least...give a box with a big red bow and some holes cut in for breathing. Who doesn't love puppies on Christmas mornings? But make sure there is one for every kid! This is Patches with Friends of Pete

busybusy.

yeah, yeah, yeah i know… it’s been a while. sorry, readers. and sorry, allie. let’s just say that life has been, well, busy these days. i do feel like it’s such a cop out to say that. busy. i know, but we’re all busy. and when is there really a time that i ever think to myself “i really don’t have anything that i need to be doing right now”? i think i just need to accept the fact that life is always going to be busy, so i should quit using the fact that i’m busy as an excuse not to do certain things.

so i’m sitting here in square books drinking my pumpkin spice coffee, wondering why my life is so busy, and i honestly don’t know why. i think i’m coming to realize that it doesn’t have to be, or at least it doesn’t have to be busy in the way that it usually is. i don’t have to spend so much time and energy on the things that just.don’t.matter. i get so bogged down with triviality, and i would love to be the kind of person that can just take life as it comes, live in the moment, and live without constantly think ahead toward the next big thing.

i won’t go into details, but recently i have become [painfully] aware of how much heartache and brokenness people carry around with them every day. it’s everywhere. not just in africa or romania or inner city new york, but it’s in oxford too. people are hurting. my friends are hurting. and yet i busy myself with so many things that end up consuming my time and my thoughts and my energy, keeping me from loving people well. i want to be the kind of person who refreshes others and pours into other people instead of stressing people out always talking about all of the things i have to get done. if i’m going to be busy, i might as well be busy about the things that matter.

-katy

Dream

You know those dreams that you wake up from thinking they might have been real? Well when I was a little tot I slept in a twin bed, had blue carpet in my bedroom, thought there was a secret passageway into an alternate universe in my closet, and had repetitive dreams that Michael Jordan was stabbing me in my back. What? Yeah, Michael Jordan. In his Bulls uniform.

Until I was in high school I wouldn’t let people touch my back and still to this day I occasionally will pout when someone pokes me or wants to check out my tag to make sure it doesn’t say “Made in Heaven.” My grandmother use to tell a story of a family of spiders that lived on my back and would crawl up my back to have a picnic on my head and it drove me INSANE. I much preferred the mother and daughter ladybugs that would slide down my ears…but the spiders tickled so bad, painfully bad.

I haven’t been dreaming lately and I could be super cheesy and say it’s because my reality is like a dream (someone pinch me? Because I’m kidding) but it is kind of sad not to remember anything from 6-8 hours of my day. I’m more of a daydreamer nowadays. I dream about going to Africa. I dream about the day I’m reunited with my Savior. I dream about a lace dress and red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. I dream about mac and cheese and popcorn chicken day at the Chi O house. I dream about dancing as in the eye of a hurricane (Drew Holcomb lyric that I’ve been itching to use.) I dream about writing a book, completing a triathlon, and being back at camp. I dream about North Carolina and Christmas lights.

I dream Katy would update so I don't have four posts in a row.

Humble Pie

Just a little reminder now that rush is over that there are far greater concerns in the world than sororities and swaps.

http://www.miamiherald.com/2010/10/23/1888703/earthquake-survivors-are-being.html#storylink=fbuser

- Allie

Food for Thought

Back when I was a youngster I hated oatmeal. I’m pretty sure I never actually ate oatmeal to validate this, but the same goes for ketchup. Once I hit my quarter life crisis and turned 20 I realized the valuable lesson that comes from eating oatmeal: instant gratification. I can make my favorite instant oatmeal in a 1:15 minute. It even has flax in it!

But let me be slightly vulnerable for a moment and tell you I am one of the least patient people I know. Sure, I don’t mind standing behind the old lady in the check out line who is looking for a lost coupon that will save her ten cents, but I also consider myself a cheapster who loves a good coupon. It’s kind of an adrenaline rush, using a coupon. I’m adventurous, I know.

Anyway, why am I writing about oatmeal? It’s not just about oatmeal. The love of instant gratification transcends into almost every aspect of my life. I enjoy studying for a test and the next day getting results. I enjoy drinking coffee because I can feel the caffeine spreading out from my stomach like a plague. I even sometimes enjoy going on a run and having a little soreness for the rest of the afternoon. I however do NOT like planting a seed and waiting weeks for a flower to bloom. I do not like ordering J. Crew and waiting 5-6 business days for it to come in. I don’t like living in the gray zone. I think Sweden should have picked a side. (Kidding, but you get the point.)

This semester I’ve come to learn that sometimes the things I value the most are the things I have to work for, pray for, and be patient with. This is probably a no brainer for some of you but it’s been a tough lesson for me this semester. Fall semester is always tough for me anyway because I just had an amazing summer at camp in one of my favorite states (NORTH CAROLINA, I’ll probably write about it soon) and I always look forward to spring because March/April are the cardigan/scarf months. So I challenge you, and myself, to “be here now.” (Ray LaMontagne reference, sorry I had to…) I enjoy Rowan Oak because it is a place where time seems to stand still but if I stayed there forever I would never appreciate it for the beauty it is so lets go to the places that challenge us. Talk to the people who are sometimes hard to love. And love. LOVE LOVE LOVE. If rush has taught me anything this year it has taught me how important it is to just love on people. Take every opportunity given to you and find gratification and designate glory to the one place it is to be directed. But also have patience with the things, the people that take a while to bloom. And if none of that gratifies you then at least try Nature’s Path Organic Hot Oatmeal (Flax Plus) and I promise warm results in your belly.

Sorry this turned into a rant. It’s rush week, don’t blame me.

- Allie

black cabs and good music

i’m kind of obsessed with this website:

http://www.blackcabsessions.com/

and i could waste a WHOLE lot of time watching WAY too many videos… in fact, that’s exactly what i’m doing right now. they’re just all SO good. i think i’m going to have to limit myself to one a day. here’s to good music.

Lets just stop pretending

I am an incredibly self-aware person; except when it comes to being underwater. For those of you who have accompanied me on a beach trip or spent considerable amount of time in a pool with me you might have observed or heard me talking about my alter ego: Star*. Star* is/was my mermaid until I experienced a cognitive epiphany this summer in which my mermaid name is now Lilly. Star*, as I had to correctly recall from the chaos in my brain, is in fact not my mermaid name but the name of my childhood imaginary unicorn that lives within the fences of the Memphis International Airport. I digress, and for blog purposes I will not use the word blogress for when I ramble in cyber world. Digress = real world. Blogress = cyber world. Glad we covered the basics.
To be honest, Lilly (should I make this a double name in true southern fashion and be called Star* Lilly? Lilly Star*?) is an ego that can only be experienced through observation. Therefore, you must invite me on any beach trips you take from now on because Lilly loves to frolic in the ocean waves and emerge looking as if the salt water and crashing waves phase her none. Mind you, Lilly is not someone I created to sound cool in one of those “I like really uncool things like watching Telly Tubbies alone or wearing Nike shorts and Uggs in Septemeber because they make me look cooler” ways. Lilly has been with me ever since I can remember living on the lake in the summers of my youth. Although at that time she was mostly confined to our hot tub because mermaids (at least my species) cannot live in lake water.
Anyway, Lilly is a real deal to me and there’s no pretending like I don’t pretend to be a mermaid when I’m in the water. That brings me to the purpose of this titular entry into the blogosphere.
Let’s just stop pretending…freshman year was as fun as our album quotes make it out to be, that we haven’t been burned by friends and relationships, that random hookups are edifying, that going out and “making bad decisions” brings you the joy it falsely promises, that we all try to act like we have it all together when everything is crashing around us, that a boyfriend or girlfriend will bring you that sense of security you long for, that no one else struggles with what you struggle with. Let’s stop pretending and see what happens.
The intention of this blog is not to look carefree, granola, hippie, Christian, or complete. The purpose is to say I am human. I make mistakes. I daily forget who I am and where I want to be. I have good days and I have terrible days. I make F’s on Brit Lit papers. I choose not to love others well because loving myself is easier. I am indecisive, hard headed, and I despise ketchup. I daily cover up my flaws and hope you, my friends, don’t see me for the emptiness that I can be. But I also love sleeping in late on a Saturday morning and watching cartoons. I love conversations over coffee and a great sales room. I like simple joys like napping in Rowan Oak and holding my hand out the window like an airplane taking off in the sky. I am 21 and I still play like a mermaid in the ocean.
- Star* Lilly
(Allie)

on living c o l o r f u l l y.

[allie and i decided a long time ago to tag team this blog and of course, just like with everything else, we sat around and talked about it for ages before finally doing it. so thanks for pulling the trigger on that one, allie. to the countless (more like 3) people out there that are reading this blog, you’ll be hearing from allie and me both now. i’m sure no one will object to this, because she’s cooler, wittier, and way more granola than me anyway.]

this summer i spent a weekend in boulder, colorado, and it took everything in me not to drop everything and move out there. let me start by reminding you that i love going places i’ve never been. i’m not sure what it is, but there’s an irresistible pull that emerges whenever anything new, fresh, different, exciting, out-of-the-ordinary is involved. maybe that’s why i love to travel so much, and maybe that’s why i’m constantly looking forward to the next big thing i have planned. but that’s a whole different story…

anyway, back to boulder. it was brimming with street musicians, barefoot hippies with dreds dancing in the middle of the street, cool shops, cute walking streets, breathtaking stars, and the dark outline of the rocky mountains on the western border of the sky. so beautiful & so fascinating. mostly, i loved looking at the people the best. they were all just so colorful, which is the only word i can think of to describe these people, but i think it’s the very word i’m looking for regardless. i saw a man who had the most intricate tattoo that covered his entire face & neck, starting in the center of his face & spreading to his temples, over his jawline, across his cheekbones like tree roots. there were homeless people asking for spare change, people in long skirts & bare feet, a man carrying a banjo across his back like a cross. basically, almost every person that passed me was someone who i would love to sit down with and hear the story of who they are, where they come from, and what they’re all about.

but i guess i’m just really drawn to colorful people, and there a part of me that just really wants to be a barefoot hippie & be a street musician in boulder, colorado. i’m not sure that my parents would go for that, and the whole not showering thing would probably start to get to me. but i think my desire to be a hippie is really the same thing as a desire to be a colorful person. and i think i can live colorfully without having to renounce showers and shaving.

the more i’ve thought about this concept of living colorfully, the more i’ve come to believe that as christians, we are all called to live colorfully, or to live in a way that is slightly off-center from what the world accepts as the norm. it reminds me of flannery o’connor’s definition of the word “eccentric” and how she argues that every christian should be eccentric in the sense that we are all, by the very definition of who we are, “not-centered.” the very core of who we are is so completely different than the center of the world that we have no choice but to stand out and be labeled as mildly (or no-so-mildly) “eccentric.” all that being said, i want my life to be slightly off-center from the norm. really, i just want to live colorfully. i’m not entirely sure what this looks like, but i’m certain that it includes loving extravagantly, delighting in the beauty that surrounds me, seeing the redemption that has affected every aspect of life, looking for ways that i can be a part of redemption in the world and rejoicing in the redemption that has taken place/is still taking place in me.

-katy

Number 25

Almost two years ago I started a folder on my Mac entitled “Personal Journals.” It was my intention at that time to one day share the documents encased inside. It’s taken me a year and a half to come to this point and as I watch the documents rise in number (I’m now in the twenties, fast approaching thirty) I find myself like a mother holding on to her child as she walks to her first day of kindergarten. Then, just as I’m sure your mother has before, I freeze and remember we left the paper sack lunch on the kitchen counter. What is more important in that moment? To turn the minivan around as fast as possible to provide your loved one a meal or watch as your first born takes their first steps into academia? Not to say either is a bad option, but there will always be the kid whose mom packed an extra snack pack just in case. So you trust in the good of mankind, of childkind, to accept what was made out of your own flesh, out of your own brokenness, and have some hope that it will be well received and shared. My words are the offspring of my life right now. I realize people some will look at this blog and immediately write me off as one of “those types.” Trust me, you can’t give me any more judgment than I have given myself before. Against all insecurities and fears I am choosing to stay in this moment and watch my words leave my heart and take their first steps into the real world trusting that it will bear some kind of fruit in the future.

So I must begin this blog by giving credit to the two kids who have encouraged me to not just write but to finally press submit: Marianna and Katy. You can’t have a conversation with me without my mentioning one of these two wonderful women. Marianna and I became friends freshman year through Stewart dorms and fast approached best friend status. When Marianna and I decided to go different sororities I had no fear in knowing it would not change our friendship. It’s cheesy, but an unbreakable sisterhood already bound us. We’ve spent nearly every football game in her parent’s tent and we may go weeks without having intentional conversation but we always start right where we left off with no ill feelings. Marianna and I tell each other like it is and I love her for not-so-subtly telling me to start writing for real this time. We’ve laughed and we’ve cried and we’ve loved all along. She’s the kind of friend that knows when you need caramel cake and knows when you need an apple, her encouragement always comes at the right time in the right amount.

Katy and I start our story a little later but that has never made me doubt the genuineness of our friendship. I accredit a conversation over coffee with Katy as part of the turning point in my life last semester. It was the first time in a while that I sat down with someone who I thought had it all together and realized, “Oh my, she is just as broken as I am.” I say that with all love and sincerity in my heart, and she knows this, because our friendship revolves around redemption. We get excited about it and seek it in every scenario. We are the “Kate and Allie” show. We are those annoying friends who finish each other’s sentences and think the same absurd thoughts then giggle uncontrollable at how silly we are. So to make a long story short, I love these girls and I wanted my first blog to be about them because they implored the confidence in me to finally stop saving documents and instead submit them.

So here is to friends who not only laugh with you and tell you the things you want to hear but also cry with you and tell it to you like it is…

And to friends who share their blogspot with you.

- Allie

Going Home

Most anyone who knows me knows that I love to travel. I always have, really. I can remember being a kid and getting so excited when my parents would tell us we were taking a trip. I loved everything about it—airplanes, airports, long car rides, making checklists and packing my suitcase, going to the library to pick out books for the trip… I’ve always loved going to places I’ve never been, and I’ve come to realize that getting to the place that I’m going is just as much a part of the trip as what takes place after I get there.

When I think back on family vacations, some of my most vivid memories are from those long hours with the six of us in our white suburban. Counting 18-wheelers. Trying to find a license place from every state. Listening to Louis L’amour books on tape. Stopping at Cracker Barrel for lunch. Buying giant jawbreakers at Cracker Barrel and racing to see who could get to the middle first, licking them until our tongues bled. Seeing who could hold their breath all the way through long tunnels, though I’m pretty sure we all cheated. Listening to mom read the Chronicles of Narnia out loud while Dad drove. The four of us sleeping in a pile in the back seat. It’s often the journey itself that makes the trip what it is, and I always try to keep myself from grumbling about 9-hour flights, long layovers in Amsterdam, hot, slow train rides, and waking up at 4 a.m. to catch an 8 a.m. flight out of Memphis.

Sometimes I forget that life is a journey, too. It’s like I’m going somewhere I haven’t been before. This isn’t my home—I’m on my way there now, and what happens while I’m on my way to where I’m going is just as important as what happens when I get there. Every day I wake up is another step in the direction of my eternal destination, another mile along the road of my journey home. I must never view life as being mundane, dull or ordinary. To me, there is nothing ordinary about going somewhere I’ve never been, and that’s what life is, really. Every day is just getting me closer to where I’m going.

For some reason, I’ve always heard the phrase “going home” used at funerals to talk about dying. True, I suppose dying is the final act of “going home,” but in reality, that’s what life is, and that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m just on my way home right now, travelling to a place I’ve never been.

New resolution...

to see the beauty in everything. I want to be the kind of person that sees beauty in brokenness, joy where there is pain, and hope where there is loss. I am surrounded by unbelievable beauty, and I want to train myself to notice it and to delight in it. I never want to lose the wonder that was so tangible as a child, that intense sense of mystery and newness that every child seems to have hard-wired into his DNA. I’ve been thinking about this a good bit lately, and I’m working on a running list of things that I love, things that evoke that sense of wonder at the beauty that is in every corner of the world.

I love fireflies. I love it when there are so many of them that it looks like the night is strung with a thousand strands of twinkle lights. I love being barefoot on the beach at night and sand crab hunting with flashlights. I love looking at the sky through tree branches that make delicate, intricate designs so that the sky looks like lace. I love hearing people’s stories, and I think it’s so beautiful how there are a billion little pieces that fit together so perfectly to make a unique story that no one else has. I love watching people hold hands and thinking about how beautiful it is when people love each other. I love it when the sky changes colors, when one color melts into another. I think that weather is beautiful. I am fascinated by how there can be one day that is so beautiful and so clear that the sun warms everything to its very core, and there can be another day in St. Petersburg that is so bitter cold that people forget that warmth even exists. And other days the weather is so vicious that it seems like the sky is going to collapse. Mountains are beautiful- so raw and so wild. Words are beautiful. I love to read things that are written by people that know how to string words together in a way that it is beautiful. I wish I were better at it. I love beautiful smells, like a mound of clean, warm laundry, or the grove in the springtime, or honeysuckle. Grace is beautiful. It is so beautiful and so overwhelming that the God of the universe has chosen to wrap His arms around me and to take my life and turn it into something beautiful.

#1 Starting a Blog

I make lots of resolutions. Some of them I keep, some of them I break, some of them I forget that I ever made in the first place. I love making lists too. Grocery lists, to-do lists, bucket lists, lists of resolutions especially… I make lots of those. Anyway, somewhere in the middle of one of my lists of resolutions is the resolution to start a blog. Maybe this is due to my fear or forgetting my life after it happens, and maybe it’s just me jumping on the blogging bandwagon. Either way, I do think it’s such a shame to have so many experiences and learn so many things then forget that they ever happened. It’s almost the same thing as them never having happened in the first place. Not quite…but almost. All that to say, I’m starting a blog in an attempt to document the remainder of my college experience. Things I do, people I meet, places I go, things I learn. These first two years had more substance to them than I could even begin to relate. So much growth, mercy, brokenness, community, and hope packed into the space of two years. And from the very beginning of freshman year to the end of sophomore year, there has been an overarching, unending theme of grace that ties everything together and will continue to tie everything together until my story is finished, perfectly woven into the story of redemption.