Learning.

God's using the Cold Springs Fire to shape a lot of my heart in ways I didn't necessarily anticipate and to teach me more than I could expect. 

He's using it as a reminder that I have no idea what all is going on in anyone's heart-- when I sit here, feeling like my heart is slowly dying a little, others might be feeling similar things for other reasons. And when my situation shifts, and I no longer feel this weight, I still will encounter people who are carrying unseen troubles. One of my favorite quotes says, "be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some sort of battle." This reminds me of that. How many times I treat people like they're not fighting anything, and how that absolutely breaks me when people do it to me right now. A reminder to be gracious always. 

He's teaching me that it's alright to have emotional reactions and that it's okay to lean on community when that happens. (I never do seem to learn this lesson.) what a gift to have Sonlight staff as my community during this chaos. 

He's also teaching me to focus on him and his abundant joy and protection. It's sometimes tough to see, but God is always good (the best, in fact), and my situations are the things that change and shift. When I focus on the fire and the potential and actual losses, I panic. But when I focus on his joy and his face, I'm stabilized. Not that feeling negative emotions is a bad thing, but rather they are something to weather with his help. He provides peace in this storm, to use some Christianese. 

God's teaching me a thing or two about myself too. He's using this pain to point out the ways that I run away to corners by myself to sit with my wounds and bottle my feelings, and he's using it to point out the ways that community will have my back if I let them. That's a scary lesson for me. 

He's reminding me of his goodness too--how I only want his presence right now! It's so good and so much more peace-giving than anything else, be that sleep or running or food or reading. As Psalm 16 says, I have no good apart from him. 

I thank God that he's so good and big. That this is temporary-- "this too shall pass." Sometimes that's all I can cling to, and that's okay for now. 

A perspective on tragedy

Today, July 9th, at approximately 1:30 pm, forest caught fire close to my house--about a mile away. In the early afternoon, it was about 100 acres, and as I'm falling asleep, it has grown to 226 acres. Last I knew, it was 0% contained and a mile from my house, though things easily could have changed. 

I've had about 18 reactions to the news today-- fear and worry, gratitude for fire fighter parents who taught me to understand what the news tells me and who can take care of the house and cat adequately, frustration with my inability to do anything except pray, frustration with my lack of words--what even CAN I pray?-- and anger at flippant Instagram posts, to name a few. I've started to try to process the idea of what losing my house would be like, what it would be like to return to ravaged, blackened tree stumps and bricks instead of my childhood home. That's a painful process. 

Here's what I want you to know in this: as long as the fire burns, it will be somewhere on my mind. Perhaps buried deep in the back and perhaps at the forefront, but it will be somewhere on my mind, whether it burns for just another day or three months. And while right now, this is perhaps very shocking news for you, and it's definitely on your mind, I don't expect it to stay on your mind. I know you have lots of pain and joy and fear and adventure tugging at your own heart, and that's beautiful. My experience with one fire is just a sliver of your existence, of the collective human experience. This is true of any tragedy or trauma, I believe. We cannot all feel the pain on the deepest levels; that is saved for those most directly affected. 

I cannot, will not ask you to feel the weight of this fire for as long as it burns. You are welcome to, if it burdens you too, but please do not force yourself to feel some obligatory pain just because I'm nervous for the firefighters on the line and for those who have lost and will lose property. There is always plenty of pain in the world, as a result of our broken humankind situation. 

Be a joyful light, if you have it in you. You have a joy given to you by a beautiful and all-powerful Creator. My request of you is that you let your joy shine, if you are in a place to do so. If not, be real and raw with yourself and those around you (that's a challenge I'm issuing to myself as well). But if you have light, by all means, share it. In the words of Passenger, "if we all light up, we can scare away the dark." I have a second half to my request though: know that some of us will continue to have heaviness as long as the fire burns and some even after the fire is long out. I think of the many fires we have seen around Colorado and the world recently, and the pain and cost implicit to rebuilding a life and a house after it burns down. I think about the ways that people are still struggling with damage from Boulder's big flood several years ago-- these are weights that carry on long after the news is breaking or juicy. These are the heaviest and loneliest weights. 

So please, shine your light and be joyful, but remember that some among you will always be carrying pain, so they may need a little extra help to smile, or they may choose not to smile at all. And when it's your turn, because we all take a turn with bearing trauma or tragedy, know that others will perhaps start singing soon before you remember how to smile. And that's okay too. 

Homeward Bound

I'm not quite sure where two years have gone, but apparently I only have a day left of my academic career as a college sophomore. All that stands between me and summer are an essay and a test, so naturally I'm putting both off to write this.

I pretty much always knew that I wanted to go far away from home for college. My mom's said that I've been ready to move out since eighth grade, which is probably true. Except for a short stint of wanting to stay in Boulder because it's a fantastic city, I've always wanted to get up and move and get out. Iowa made a lot of sense for that reason. I said I wasn't looking back (much) and figured I wouldn't miss home for a long time.

I wasn't totally wrong, but I definitely was not 100% right.

Turns out, I miss home. A little. Not in an I'm-discontent-here way by any means, but I'm really excited to be around my family (I've come to realize that they get me like no one else) in Colorado (where it's not so overcast all the time). That came as a surprise this year. Last year, going home wasn't all that important to me (don't take it personally, parents). This year though, I'm excited about the prospect of home. Of seeing my brothers. Of hanging out with my parents (the middle schooler of my past is gasping). Of hanging up a hammock in the tree in front of my house. Sounds peaceful.

If I were to give past Lauren (or current younger brother) unsolicited advice, it might be that you should let yourself be surprised by and okay with these feelings. Don't swear that you'll never miss home, because home might surprise you once you're away for long enough. And don't feel weak for finally wanting to be home if and when you get there, even if it takes you two years.

I'm sure I'll be full of more thoughts as it gets closer, but my flight's still a week and two days away. See ya soon, CO.

Musings from a (sort of) bald head

It's been a week and two days since I shaved my head for St. Baldrick's. I highly encourage it.

One of the things I anticipated and have quickly confirmed is that people enjoy petting recently-shaved heads. I think it has to do with the texture. I used to love when people played with my hair (when it was long), and I definitely enjoy people petting the little bit of hair I do have now. Some of my friends joke that I was/am a dog-- I want to be fed and pet and taken for walks all the time.

One of the things I didn't expect was how much I would appreciate the question, "may I pet your head?" I'm not going to say no, so it's not a question that I have to actively consider. But I definitely appreciate people asking, at least the first time. It's a way of them showing that they understand that I may not want that physical contact.

That can be extrapolated-- ask permission. Get consent. It's important. It gives people their autonomy and the power to make choices about their own bodies and their own well being. And then respect their choices.

Why Bald?

If you haven't heard yet, children's cancer research is super underfunded. It has a lot of separate considerations from adult cancer research, and as such, it is funded separately. Adult cancer research has awesome campaigns and is getting more attention these days, which is a great thing, but kids' cancer research isn't as well-funded.

So, if you haven't heard this one yet either, I'm shaving my head in 8 days to raise money for and awareness about this fact.

If you want to watch it happen, show up in Upper Gage/Phifer Commons (at Coe) between 6-9 pm. I don't have an exact time for my specific scalp, but you can contact me closer to the day of the event, and I'll let you know.

If you want to donate, click this cool link. I also can take cash and checks! All of the money raised goes to St. Baldrick's, which distributes the money to responsible research organizations.

Go wander through and read the stories of kids on St. Baldrick's page. I'm honoring a few of them specifically with my donations, but there are countless stories that'll break your heart and wreck you a little bit emotionally. Do it for them.

When I was in middle school, my family knew a family who knew a family from Mexico, and that family had a daughter who was basically my age. They came to my hometown because the hospitals in Mexico said, "give up." The hospitals here said, "we'll give it a shot."

One afternoon, I remember my family sitting the two of us down, hoping that we would keep each other company. I wasn't sure what to say. We didn't have much in the way of common language grounds, and we were both incredibly shy to start with. We looked at each other for a while, smiled timidly. I think we tried to talk a little but didn't get far.

I wish I could tell some heart-wrenching story about us becoming good friends. Instead I can tell you that I got scared because I didn't know what to say, and to this day all I can think about is how incredibly lonely it must have been to live in her body for those last few years of her life. She died when I was still in middle school. I'm shaving my head in memory of Andrea.

If I'm honest with you, it's a little bit scary. I don't know what it'll be like. But I cannot imagine how scary it would be to be told as a kid that I had cancer, and I can imagine that it would be many times scarier than this. So I'm shaving my head for every kid who is braver than me and to raise funds so that there will hopefully come a day in the foreseeable future when we can tell a kid that what she has is curable or a day when we don't have to tell anyone that they have cancer.

Support these kids by donating, by getting educated about cancer, by reaching out to kids, by shaving your head. If you're interested in shaving your head with me, get in contact with me.

Not a lost sheep

Tonight has been an incredibly average night overall. I'm on duty, which means not leaving the building. All of my core groups of people had plans elsewhere on or off campus tonight, meaning that I had a night with just me (and the occasional conversation with a resident). Whether it's a result of that fact or simply bad timing I don't know, but I've felt lonely all night. I wanted to be around a person or two who knew my heart well so badly, but I couldn't come up with anyone.

It hit me about three minutes ago, sometime just before 2 a.m., that God still hasn't lost track of me. Even in this deep loneliness, which feels like it's surfaced more often than usual this winter, He knows where I am and who I am. He knows my heart. He's holding me in the palm of his hand. That's really comforting.

O LORD, you have searched me and known me!You know when I sit down and when I rise up;you discern my thoughts from afar.You search out my path and my lying downand are acquainted with all my ways.Even before a word is on my tongue,behold, O LORD, you know it altogether.You hem me in, behind and before,and lay your hand upon me.Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;it is high; I cannot attain it.Psalm 139:1-6

I can't help but think of the parable of the lost sheep-- the shepherd went after that missing sheep and brought it back. Jesus went after me when I wandered and doesn't lose sight of me now. Even in these moments that it feels like I'm so alone, Jesus is right here with me. How cool is that.

One Knight Stand

This is (part of) my team. They are quirky, fierce, often inappropriate, and always dear to my heart. They love playing cards, driving too fast with music that's too loud, eating all the time, and occasionally playing ultimate (when they have to). 

This picture was taken sometime between 1 and 3 am last night...I can't remember when exactly. It's all such a blur, like all-night tournaments always are. I don't know if other sports love all-nighters as much as ultimate players, but I know that it's somethingthing I absolutely love about my sport. 

We lost all of our games at Wartburg this year. The closest game was 11-13, the most painful loss was 0-13 (yes, we got bageled). But honestly, the scores don't matter too much to me. We improved from our first to our second game, which was huge. I watched each of my teammates grow over the course of the night: improved field vision, getting comfortable with the rally scoring format, playing zone more aggressively, learning how to support one another as a sideline, learning to lead. 

If there's one thing I want to say, it's that I am so proud of my teammates. We faced some tough opponents, and while we didn't always do the right thing or treat one another well, I did watch everyone grow and learn and put their all out on the field, and I am proud of them for that. It makes the exhaustion the day after well worth it.

A team, a passion for ultimate, and a body that can (generally) play hard and rowdy are three huge blessings from Daddy in my life. I love the community, the friends you make on the sideline, and the feeling of lacing up before a game. I'm so grateful. It's so exciting to me that Daddy built us all differently and that he gave me the passion for ultimate and a team that supports me. I'm so darn blessed. 

A post with no proper attribution for the additional content

I stole this image (meme? JPEG of words?) off of Facebook. 

My edit to this would be "if Jesus can (and did) calm the ocean, he can also calm you." 

On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. 

And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. 

And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” 

And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. 

He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” 

And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” Mark 4:35-41

Just be held

Hold it all together
Everybody needs you strong
But life hits you out of nowhere
And barely leaves you holding on

I spend so much time trying to be so many things for so many people. A sister, a committee chair, a friend, an RA, a leader, a servant, a teammate, a captain... it lands me here, when I try to do it by my own strength. There are so many things I'm trying to do, plan, think about, research... so many things I love yet can't give my heart to entirely because it's spread other places already.

I spend so much time keeping a checklist, doing things on it, crossing things off, working to get to the elusive end of it. But the illusion of a checklist is the idea that you could ever reach the end of it. There will always be more tasks to do, meetings to plan, and problems to solve.

And when you're tired of fighting
Chained by your control
There's freedom in surrender
Lay it down and let it go

I spend so much time trying to control what I can't (everything), and that's exhausting. And then I break, which frustrates me because then I've lost control of myself, which feels like the thing I should definitely be able to control.

So when you're on your knees and answers seem so far away
You're not alone, stop holding on and just be held
Your worlds not falling apart, its falling into place
I'm on the throne, stop holding on and just be held

It's really incredibly difficult for me to break down. I don't cry often, I rarely cry hard, and I struggle to sit with negative feelings and be okay with just feeling for the moment. I try to rationalize sad and stressed feelings away or ignore them entirely. That's a strategy that has worked decently...until recently. Good friends have slowly but surely worn down the lies and are starting to finally break into my stubborn mind, slowly reassuring me that it's okay to have rough days, to have dislikes, to not feel 100% awesome or even look the part, to cry. It's okay. It's integral to the human experience.

My dear cat, dog, and grandma dying in the past 9 months have shown me so much about grief and processing that in more healthy ways. Through the insanity of my schedule in the past year and a half, I am slowly but surely starting to understand how God can be a rock in the everyday. It's a slow refining process.

If your eyes are on the storm
You'll wonder if I love you still
But if your eyes are on the cross
You'll know I always have and I always will
Just Be Held, Casting Crowns.

It's true that this is a matter of perspective. The more I focus on the problems in my life, even if I am saying, "Daddy, look at these problems, fix them!", the more my problems become the center of my life. But when I spend my time looking to Him first, saying, "Daddy, you are awesome, and I know you won't let go of me, and I trust that you love me best",  the more I understand that it's gonna be alright. Maybe not my ideal version of "alright," but His, which is better anyways.

Because your steadfast love is better than life,
my lips will praise you.
Psalm 63:3

He's so good. Love better than life? That's a tough thing to fathom, really. Just sit with that for a while. Sit with the one who can put a leash on the Leviathan and play with it as a pet (Job 41:1) for a while.

It's hard to contain my excitement (I jumped up and down)

Lord willing, I'll be in Germany in a year and a few months. First of all, that's super exciting. Studying in Germany has honestly been a dream of mine since probably eighth grade, which is when I first realized that it was an option.

I'm applying for supplemental funding, because plane tickets aren't cheap, etc., etc. One of the scholarships asked me to cook up a research project to do while in Germany. It's a lot to explain, but mine has to do with German environmental preservation efforts and their roots in German history, simply put. As such I'm doing some research about German preservation efforts and change over time to write my proposal...

...and I am so excited. So, so, so excited. Molly made a fun of me a little for how much I jumped up and down when I found an article that helped me move forward. This is so exciting. What started out as a requirement is turning into a project that I want to research whether or not I get the scholarship.

And this is how I've reached the conclusion that for right now, I am exactly where I need to be. Not that I didn't think that before, but it's yet another awesome reinforcement of how Daddy loves to bless in surprising ways (research isn't something we all get excited about, I guess) and how right he was about bringing me to Iowa of all places on the planet...and sending me (hopefully) to Germany. Finding pieces of what I am passionate about is encouraging and such a blessing.

Ahhhh. I love this. Thank you, Daddy.

In-between space

I'm really grateful for the people who support me. For the professors who understand that I cannot find the motivation to do my work today, for the friends who take me book shopping and give me hugs, for the friends who text me to check in from hundreds of miles away, for my brothers for sharing sad space with me and laughing at videos of monkeys in the snow.

It's a strange in-between space today. Some of it has to do with being so tired from staying up last night to get work done, I'm sure. Some of it is just residual sad from Max dying. I'm starting to understand why so many people write about grief-- it changes in ways I don't expect it to and is different every time. What a beast of a thing. 

In my essay class last year, which focused primarily on creative nonfiction, one of the guys wrote a brilliant and moving piece about grief. It was a braided essay (you can look that up if you want to know more. It's a cool form), and one of the strands was a story about how he had a summer job in a department store. Every day that he went to work, he passed a perfume booth lady who always offered him samples. One day, he decided, spurred by a video of a similar situation online, to yell "NO" loudly at the lady when she offered. He was sure that he had finally solved the problem. But the next day, she still offered. 

He closed his essay with a beautiful paragraph about how grief is like the people at the mall kiosks offering you samples. No matter how many times you walk past, no matter how many times you say, "no," no matter how loudly you say, "no," they are always there and will always offer. Grief is the same, he says. No matter what you tell it, how you try to avoid it, what you think about it, it will still linger. 

Analogies aren't perfect, but this one helps me understand where I am.

In this in-between space, I am caught between immediate sadness and inevitable healing and numbing with time. I am caught between being "allowed" to spin my wheels for a while and being asked to move on with my life. I am also caught between feeling loss and knowing that Daddy has bigger hands than I do, for which I am grateful.

My dog, grandma, cat, friends...they all might slip through my hands, but Daddy still holds them dearly. He happens to have this whole running-the-universe thing down pretty well. I love that even now, even as I struggle to convince myself to do my work, even as I keep encountering random sad patches, He is sovereign, good, and worth praising always. What a wonderful God. 

This isn't a very upbeat post

So, long story short, my family put my dog down today. My mom called me right before I went to conditioning practice (all of the big phone calls seem to come right before ultimate practices/games).

I was okay, at first. It kinda felt sad. But an expected sad. He was, after all, 15 years and 9 months and 5 days old, which is quite old for a Golden Retriever. Goldens, according to Google, have a life expectancy of 10-12 years. Well, ya blew that one out of the water, Max. You always blew everything out of the water though-- you were a great dog like that.



My younger brother took that picture of Max this summer. You can't even tell that really, Max's just a giant, lumpy conglomeration of tumors. He couldn't stand then and wore a diaper at night (a thing he'd be shocked to read on the internet, if he could read; he was a proud dog).

I have a strange relationship with grief and my emotions in general. If you know me, there's a good chance you know that already. The past year feels like it's been full of lessons about grief and being okay with how I feel.

Before my grandma died, we joked about if she would outlive Max, or if Max would outlive her. After she died in March, I struggled to feel like I was allowed to feel sad but also struggled to feel like I was "sad enough." It felt like my sad wasn't enough to express how grateful I was for everything she did for me, but it also felt like my little piece of sad took up an awful lot of space in any room and that people just wanted me to send it away. I grieved very quietly as a result-- only a few people watched that process. (Thank you for supporting me.)

In July, we watched as my aunt and uncle's dear dog, Benji, battled the pains of getting older, and finally he too moved along from this life. That one didn't hurt so immediately, but as I look back through the pictures right now, I'm choking up.

In December, just a week before I went home, my family endured a painful week during which our beloved Spare Cat had all but five teeth pulled, was de-wormed, and then stopped eating. It was sudden, it was the first close-to-home pet death in my cognizant lifetime. I cried a lot more than I expected for a full day (which means I cried at all). It was sad, and it was hard to shake. A professor sent me a beautiful obituary he had written for his cat. I sobbed the whole way through.

Spare Cat's life and death taught me a little more about being okay with being sad. People, for maybe the first time in my life that I noticed, told me it was okay to be sad. They offered to listen to me tell stories about her and let me cry. It was beautiful and heartbreaking. (Thank you for supporting me.)



With Max, death was inevitable. When I was home for Christmas break, I helped stand him up every time he barked to go outside and every time he barked to come inside. My best friend helped him stand up when he fell over in a snowbank when we were sledding. My parents diligently and lovingly moved the food and water to him when he just couldn't stand any longer. We joked about him being all cancer and no longer dog, but really, we didn't want him to go. The daily questions were, "how will we know it's time?" "What do you think, are you going to live another day, buddy?"

It wasn't out of the blue. When I saw the voicemail from my house phone, I figured it was probably because Max was gone. My mom left the voicemail. It was all crackly because she held back tears for most of it. He had fallen over and couldn't get up, or something like that. She took him in to the vet, and the vet tech said, "Hon, it's time." I think that sounds like one of the hardest sentences to hear.

I got quiet when I first heard the message. I got a little quieter, put down my phone, and warmed up with my team. I don't think they even knew that anything was up. My mom asked me to call her back, so I did as I walked from conditioning to where I needed to be next. I didn't know what to say to her, so I let her talk as much as I could. It still didn't really hurt, and that fact almost bothered me. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to feel like I had lost him. It didn't feel like a loss...more like a drifting away.

At Salt Company tonight (it's a sweet college ministry--check it out sometime), something hit me during one of the songs in the final set.

Your love is enduring through the winter rain and beyond the horizon with mercy for today. -Bethel Music

Daddy and I walked through all sorts of memories of Max and me. It was beautiful. It was heart-wrenching. I cried just a little, and I started to feel the hurt hiding in my heart. In the end, I felt so much gratitude for how many good memories I had with Max and for how sweet it was for Daddy to place him in my life.

I was also struggling with wanting to just let my sad be sad for a while though. One of the songs talked about rejoicing in everything. And that's awesome. God is always good, and he is always worthy of praise. But there's also something to be said for being okay with being sad. That's what I'm learning. I can feel sad and sit with my sad and cry and be okay with that and acknowledge that God is good, sovereign, and in the business of giving excellent gifts.

I got back to my dorm room and cried a lot more than I anticipated (read: I sobbed a few times, didn't for half an hour. Teared up a lot, didn't for another fifteen minutes. Repeat process several times). Reading my brother's tribute post on Facebook made me cry. Reading my aunt's text letting me know that they'll miss Max too made me cry. Texting my brother made me cry. My best friend saying he's supporting me through this made me cry. Finding old pictures of my dog made me cry. I use "cry" here to mean a big range of things, but the bottom line is that I don't ever cry really, so this was a new world for me. And I'm okay with it. I've gotten better about just letting myself cry, rather than trying to stop it, especially when I'm by myself.

When my residents stopped by, I still told them I was "pretty good, thanks." Which, in many ways, is true. To quote the song, it is well with my soul. But loss is still tough. I don't know what it looks like to be real with people without unloading everything onto everyone. But I know it's okay to be sad, and I know it's okay to also praise Daddy for how good he is while I'm grieving. And I am slowly learning that grief looks different every time and needs to be played out in the time it takes to work through it. There's no rush. I'm learning. Thank you Daddy, for teaching me.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace. -Ecclesiastes 3 

Adventure is out there

I had a moment just now. A moment when, as I was reading an email from a professor here in Iowa setting me up with potential advisor in Germany, I realized It's happening- I actually can go to Germany (Lord willing).  That's mind-blowing and terrifying and wonderful and so, so many things.

Ahhhh. That's an exhilarating thought, and please, please, please, sweet Father, let that happen.

I'm excited. You'll certainly hear from me more if/when I do venture to Deutschland. Oh to be able to study and learn and research in Germany!

Back to study abroad scholarship applications and writing an email to this potential advisor (eeeek).

Happy Thursday, friends!

These thoughts may or may not be related to Thanksgiving

Sometimes I pressure myself into thinking that my blog needs to be full of big, weighty thoughts. But by doing that, I discredit all of my small thoughts and put perhaps unwarranted pride in the posts I do post here. So I'm trying to challenge myself to value my little thoughts, my short writing, and my fleeting feelings more.

The following thoughts may be disjointed. I'm okay with that.

----

Today is Thanksgiving. I'm grateful for so many things. I am so grateful for and to a good Daddy (God) who keeps blessing me with so many great things.

A list of a few things I'm especially thankful for right in this moment:
1. Socks. My feet are forever chilly.
2. My best friend. Yes, I'm mentioning you here. It could be worse. I could go on and on about how excellent I think you are. I'll just leave it at "you rock" though. You rock.
3. Food and people who feed me. Shout out to all the different people who took me in and gave me food today who aren't my relatives.
4. Rest. I undervalue this so much.
5. The nearness of God. Whoa, do I ever need this.
6. People who lift me up. People who encourage me. People who invite me over to their houses. People who make me rice krispie treats and leave them outside my door. People who talk to me when I'm uncomfortably crashing their family's Thanksgiving dinner.
7. People who make me laugh.
8. My brothers. Seriously, two of the coolest humans on the planet.
9. My parents (shhh don't tell them that I've started to think and talk like them)
10. Antibiotics. Wow, modern medicine, you've pulled through on this one.
11. The opportunity to write, express myself, and think. I take these for granted entirely too much.

----

I went with my best friend to his grandparents' house to bring them Thanksgiving leftovers tonight. Sharing your grandparents with someone takes vulnerability and courage, so first, thank you for that. 

I walked away with a deep ache, missing my own grandma. It's going to be a while before I see her again (whenever Daddy calls me home. I'm comin', Grandma). 

I watched his grandpa help his grandma, and thought to myself, wow, I feel the importance of choosing the person you'll spend the rest of your life with. I hope that someone will cross paths with me that I can spend 50+ years with. Praying for that, for my maybe future husband, and for my friend's grandparents tonight. 

----

I planned my entire day around when I would eat today, and wondered if I would be able to eat everything I wanted to. I felt really awful after thinking through all of this. There are people who literally die because they don't have enough to eat. Not that we shouldn't enjoy time with family and good food, because those are good blessings to be enjoyed, but I was struck by the disparity of the world and a desire to serve. May we pay those blessings forward. 

----

Happy Thanksgiving, one and all. 

xoxox

There Will Be Days...

There will be days you won't want to get out of bed. There will be days that you just want to ignore the world, hide in your room, stare at the ceiling and listen to music that makes you feel even more lonely.

There will be days that you don't think you can handle the pressure of everything.

There will be days that you want to abandon every single thing you are doing and go do something completely different, something completely unproductive.

There might be days that you do that.

There will be days that you will wish you lived someone else's life-- a life with less trouble, work, stress, or conflict.

There will be days that you don't understand why you are where you are or where you might be going.

And that's okay. 

You are allowed to ask questions. You are allowed to feel pain without being ashamed of that fact. You are allowed to struggle.

You do not need to be perfect. You are not perfect. And that is okay.

There will be days that you feel abandoned, alone, isolated, invisible, or unheard. Maybe all of them at once. That's okay. 

God designed life to have different seasons. Solomon understood this, and wrote it down in Ecclesiastes: 

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace." -Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

What's important to remember is that while the world is constantly changing and you are constantly changing, God does not change. Malachi 3:6: “For I the Lord do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, are not consumed."

Take refuge in the fact that everything else around and inside you will change, but your Daddy won't. He is forever good, forever gracious, forever almighty. It's okay to have rough days, weeks, years. It's okay to struggle.

Call out to Him in that struggle. He will answer.

"In my distress I called upon the LORD;to my God I cried for help.
From his temple he heard my voice,
and my cry to him reached his ears.
...He sent from on high, he took me;he drew me out of many waters.
He rescued me from my strong enemy
and from those who hated me,
for they were too mighty for me.
They confronted me in the day of my calamity,
but the LORD was my support.
He brought me out into a broad place;
he rescued me, because he delighted in me." -Psalm 18:6, 16-19

Seeds: (the end of) The Intern Diaries

Be patient, therefore, brothers,until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains.
James 5:7

It's officially over; today was my last day. Whoa. While I am trying to figure out where ten weeks went so quickly, allow me to share an insight from my final day of work.

Every Thursday, we set out all of the resources our volunteers will need for Sunday mornings. It's a piece of the weekly rhythm I have become quite familiar with. This being a Thursday, I resourced. It struck me that I was preparing supplies for events in the future that I would not get to see. I was equipping volunteers, even though I do not necessarily know who is leading this Sunday, for success in the future. Planting seeds, if you will. I will be on the trail by the time those resources are used, so I will not see them in action or maybe the immediate fruits of that labor, but I can trust that Daddy will use them. 

This is a metaphor for so many things in life. So often, especially in ministry, especially in children's ministry, we do work equivalent to planting seeds. The stories we tell kids, the ways we interact with them and our co-workers, the truth we speak over them, and the ways we love them plant seeds in their little hearts about who God is and who His people are. Though we may not immediately see the fruit of our work (which can be rather frustrating), God is keeping careful watch over those baby plants, and knows exactly when they will bloom and produce fruit. 

I certainly have a handful of memories from early childhood that the people involved probably would have considered small in the moment, but they helped define the way I understood people, God, and the way the world works. Small seeds, but with big impacts over time.

Consider what sort of fruit you plant in the lives of those you interact with. Perhaps first impressions you leave and what those look like in the future when people find out you love Jesus. Perhaps how you treat coworkers in front of your kids, or how you interact with cashiers, waiters, and custodians. I have a friend who is incredibly friendly to those who are often taken for granted, like custodians and cashiers, and she changed the way I think about those interactions. Because of her over-the-top friendliness in just a handful of moments when I was around her in those situations, I consciously try to emulate that every time I interact with people I do not know. She unknowingly planted small seeds, but they have definitely made a considerable dent in my day-to-day (and I doubt she knows that). 

So I encourage you to consider the types of seeds you plant. Consider if people know what you stand for by how you live, and if not, perhaps address why that might be. It certainly will be food for thought on the trail for me this coming week.

Little Fish, Big Things, and Closure: The Intern Diaries

I don't say a whole lot here, I realize, so it feels somewhat counter-intuitive to be writing a post about closure when I've hardly discussed the opening. But no matter what I have or have not said, this intern-ship is docking soon (see what I did there?), and I figured I might have a few words to say about it all.

This is such an incredible opportunity. I cannot put into words how valuable the past nine weeks (and this final tenth) are to me. I have learned a lot about my own motivations, my spiritual gifts, my love of kids, and my best and worst sides. A few stories could  be in order.

One of the beasts of the summer internship is the craft closet. It doesn't take too much imagination to picture how a closet full of glitter, popsicle sticks, every shape, size, and color of paper, paper clips, paint shirts, stickers, birdseed, and everything in between that is accessed by many volunteers with varying amounts of time to put things back correctly over the course of a year could quickly become chaotic. Thus, our (my co-intern's and my) task was to tame the beast. This involved hours of putting things in bins, making the label maker cooperate, taping over the labels that refused to stick to the bins, and generally organizing things in logical ways (i.e. the markers with all the other writing utensils, not hiding under the sticker bins). Sometimes though, our tasks were as simple as sorting out the different types of ribbon or throwing out a heap of messy tinsel.

There is a pleasant rhythm that hides in tasks like organizing ribbon and stickers. Granted, some of that rhythm is pleasing to me because some of my main spiritual gifts are helps and administration-- I like organizing and doing little tasks to free others up to do big tasks. But there is something satisfying looking at the rainbow-ordered rows of ribbon and knowing that order has been restored (for now). In those moments of detail-oriented organizing, Colossians 3:23 had a habit of crossing my mind: "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." That verse was a great reminder that in the smallest (and biggest!) tasks, the Lord is near and cares about my heart as I work.

I got a taste of bigger tasks too this summer-- teaching Sunday School, planning and leading the games for 120 kids at Music Camp, and co-head coaching the four- and five-year-olds at Sports Camp. Sometimes it was terrifying, and I felt incredibly under-prepared. For example, all the mornings I had not prepared my lesson well for Sunday School and wondered if the words I would say would be life-giving. Walking into leading six high schoolers and roughly 120 kids in all manner of rowdy games with hopes of minimal injuries and too much fun, but feeling incredibly inadequate to lead such a venture. And most recently, co-head coaching with one of the coolest humans around (shout out to you, Mia), but also recognizing that neither of us had really been formally trained in what we were supposed to do, a job that usually required a week of formal training. But even in all those moments when I felt small, God did miracles. 

In the story of the feeding of the 5,000, Jesus takes a little boy's lunch of five loaves of bread and two fish and feeds a crowd of at least 5,000 (probably more, because they only counted men back then, and the men usually had families with them). Not only that, but there were twelve baskets of leftovers. So many times this summer, I have felt like the little kid who brings forward a lunch with hopes of helping Jesus feed thousands. Surely people laughed at a little kid with dreams to feed what must have felt like the world. Surely that little kid must have felt a little intimidated walking up in front of all of those people to Jesus, the center of their attention. But Jesus doesn't laugh at the boy or condescend. He uses the offering to bless many. 

Countless times this summer, I have watched my few loaves be turned into dinner for many. I have watched my scared little self walk up to Jesus and ask, "could you maybe use this?" And every time He does something unexpected. 

We use high school volunteers for Sports Camp (news flash: high schoolers eat a bunch). We had planned to feed them lasagna, but by some miscalculations on our part, we wound up with food that was supposed to cook for two hours and only half an hour to cook it. So I was dispatched to pick up microwaveable ones from a nearby store. I got ones that were not ideal, but Daddy took those five small, too-frozen lasagnas and fed around 25 volunteers with voracious appetites. It took every microwave in the church, my fearless ministry coordinator, and our wonderful kitchen manager, but God used what we had to feed the masses. 

Right before Sports Camp, the head coach for Team 4/5 got incredibly sick and had to go home, leaving a volleyball head coach (Mia) and myself to teach 36 four- and five-year-olds how to kick, throw, stand in straight lines, jump rope, stretch, and dribble both soccer balls and basketballs. Intimidating, to say the least. She had watched Team 4/5 for just a day or two the week prior, and I had assistant coached as a high schooler last year and the year before. Needless to say, we might not have been the most qualified with our little fish and loaves of experience. But Daddy still used us in all manner of unexpected ways and places. Mia encouraged me in so many simple things, by modelling enthusiastic leadership, perseverance, and humility. Plenty of parents came up to me and told me how much fun their kids were having and how sad they were that camp was only one week long. The kids' smiles were evidence enough of a good time. 

I started keeping a list of big and little miracles I got to witness during Sports Camp prep and execution. God did some crazy things, some big things, some beautiful things. And it was not limited to Sports Camp happenings. All summer, I have been privileged to watch Him work in and through my co-workers, friends, kids, and me to build His kingdom. Needless to say, I am so excited. 

...And thus it also is very bittersweet to be leaving. Two more days of work left. Two. I knew the time would fly by, but I did not recognize it might fly quite that quickly. To all who have crossed paths with me, encouraged me, modeled leadership and so many other good things for me, welcomed me onto the staff, taught me new things about myself and the world, hugged me, laughed with me, thanked me, tempered my crazy ideas with some reason, and collaborated with me: thank you. Thank you for helping to do a good work in my life. Thank you for making an impact you might not have even known you made. Thank you for believing that Daddy would use your small lunch to feed a crowd, and for feeding me, a member of that crowd.

What's next, you ask? Final closing out of this internship, a week of backpacking in the beautiful south San Juans, a week and a half of annual doctor/dentist/ophthalmologist/physical therapist appointments and final coffee dates, and then back to Iowa! Maybe I'll check back in here with news of all that as it happens. 

Until then, the adventures keep coming. Keep trekkin'!

Rest: The Intern Diaries

First of all, being salaried is a new, weird experience. Also new and weird (and wonderful) is the fact that my director is very conscious of making sure that I'm not overworked.

As a result of my awesome director's caution about me not working overtime without getting compensated (and our fairly small budget), I got yesterday and this morning off. And it was beautiful.

I touched on it a little bit here, but rest is a really difficult concept for me to embrace. If there's work to be done, I would like to be doing it so that I don't have to do it later, or so that someone else can take a break. If I can be productive, I would like to be. If I can be accomplishing something, checking it off a to-do list, moving forward with a project, I would like to do that. So resting is difficult for me.

Most of my work is hard to do from home though, so I was forced to turn to other things to pass the time on my Monday/Tuesday morning mini-vacation, which was a blessing. In that time, I found a chance to rest, to linger where I wanted to, to work out, to just be.

I got a chance to read an entire book (The Maze Runner rocked me). Hammock. Eat s'mores. Hike with friends. Sit with the Lord. Call a friend in Iowa. Do some thinking about life. Brainstorm more for my summer bucket list. Clean my room (it's been a while since I did that). Sleep in. Sleep in a hammock. See my physical therapist. Go for several long bike rides. Hang up my own laundry. Pet the cats. Dance. Make dinner with my family. Enjoy breakfasts and lunches on my porch. Swing on the swing in front of my house. Sit in the creek. Journal.

I had space to exist, to rest, to feed my soul. Let me tell you, that was a blessing of a time. I realized just how essential rest is to our rhythm as humans. I go back to the fact that the Lord even rested after creating the world.

And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done. Genesis 2:2

I can't tell you why He did that exactly, but one of the wise people in my life has said He rested in part because He was setting an example for a fragile creation (people) who are not infinite and need rest. That's pretty neat that He would set an example like that to protect us as people.

How proud I have been, thinking I know best, thinking that I don't need to rest. How proud of me to think that I know better than the One who created everything. (Thank goodness for grace and forgiveness. Thank you, Jesus.)

It's a learning curve. I am definitely a slow learner when it comes to things like this. But I'm learning nonetheless. If I can encourage you to do anything this week, it would be to take some time to really rest. Not kill time mindlessly or a do an easier task than your usual grind, even an enjoyable task, but really rest. Step out of the routine and embrace time with Daddy. Whatever that looks like for you. I'll try to do it too. It's just good for us.

Ecclesiastes 3 talks about how there's a time for everything. There's a time to work and a time to rest. Resting doesn't qualify you as lazy or unproductive. It qualifies you as smart, as obedient, as treating yourself right.

As my fantastic director would say, "work hard, play hard (rest well)."

Gratitude: The Intern Diaries

I'm pretty sure I have the coolest job ever (technically a paid internship, if you want to be technical). I get to sing, dance, play games, and make crafts. And hang out with Jesus. And little kids. Basically the coolest job ever. Officially, I'm a summer intern at my church in the children's ministry. Effectively, I do everything from organizing cabinets to running games at our week-long music camp, from making photocopies to leading Sunday school and teaching stories, from laughing with kids to teaching them about how much God loves them.

Coolest. Job. Ever.

People ask me all the time how it's going, and I really have nothing but good things to say. I am so grateful that Jesus let me be here for the summer, and that He let me have this ten-week position. I'm also so grateful to so many people for teaching me the skills that make my life easier as the intern-- to the past interns who modeled everything from leading to restoring the classrooms, to my family for teaching me to work hard always, to my friends who have taught me to laugh, sing, and dance.

Moreover, I'm grateful to the church at-large. Today is the last day of our music camp, which is the best example I've seen of the saying, "it takes a village to raise a child." The camp itself runs for a week of 3-hour mornings. Just 15 hours with these kids over five days. This year, we had 200 kids and something like 130 volunteers. Needless to say, that many people use a lot of space. The church so graciously opens almost every room in the building each year to accommodate the screaming, singing, crafting, playing, eating, learning, questioning, and laughing that these 350+ people bring. I am so grateful for that.

I'm so grateful for my fellow church staff for being so welcoming-- many will say the week is a blessing and a joy, and I love that we have that view here. I'm so thankful for the way that so many of the staff have actively helped us with the preparation and the week, from stuffing mailers to directing families to register to helping move, lift, and carry heavy things. To all who have given us hands along this journey: thank you.

It baffles me that I'm almost a third of the way through my time on staff here. Time is absolutely flying, in part because it's such a fast-paced joy to work here. So thank you one and all who have made it such.

On a time-related note, my partner in crime aka fellow intern starts in 11 days! I'm really excited about that too. (Note: the number of times in a day that I say "so fun" or "so excited" has increased at least sevenfold since I started here. I'm not totally sure, but it's certainly an indication of how much joy I get from this. I just adore getting to share Daddy's love with some of my favorite children on the planet. But feel free to call me out on saying those phrases if they get old.)

And with that, it's almost time for me to go sing and dance with my campers one last time. So fun.

Onwards & upwards! xoxoxo

Themes & Thank Yous

Where to begin? Some context about my life might be helpful, so let me see what I can do for you there first.

I finished my freshman year at Coe College, and wow was it a year. I am home in beautiful (rainy) Colorado for the summer, and interning at my home church with the children's ministry. I could not be more psyched about that.

On Tuesday (which was technically my first day on staff), I went on an all-staff day retreat to a fabulous little nook of the mountains. While up there, my head pastor, Erik, asked us to walk through the past year with the Lord. He encouraged us to ask the Lord to show us themes & patterns, and just to enjoy some time out in the woods.

Maybe I'm an oddball for never thinking of it, but until Erik asked us to, I had never thought of reflecting on a past year with the Lord. It was a super neat chance, and I think I probably ought to make it a more regular habit.

So I did that. I found myself a very nice corner of a trail and perched on a rock. Then Daddy & I got to talking.

If I could sum up my semesters in sentences, it might be these:
1) I don't know how I lived through most of what happened first semester, but I know the Lord carried me through it all.
2) Second semester, he kept telling me, "I know you want ____, but I'm going to tell you no, because my plan for ______ is better."
3) This summer, he keeps asking me to take things off my plate, and to actually rest.

Perhaps that first item sounds a little negative. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE college. My first year was unusually good compared to most people's first years, and it was full of answered prayers. But first semester was tough at times. I averaged about 4 hours of sleep most nights, especially in the second half of the semester. I had one night that will stick in my mind for a very long time-- it felt like the very bottom of my heart had fallen out. I remember this strong mental image of darkness swallowing all of my hope and every word of encouragement sounding hollow. Additionally in all of this, I was fighting hard to figure out who on earth I was (I'll let you know when I work it all out) and how to not be lonely when I was alone.

It was a recipe for a tough semester. But somehow, the Lord brought me through every single wave in one piece, teaching me to praise Him in the storm. Teaching me that my circumstances don't matter when my faith focuses on Him. He provided wonderful women in my life, strong women who modeled trusting him in every circumstance. He blessed me with a church and a connection group through that church that was always uplifting and full of challenging discussion. That group welcomed me so openly, and I am so blessed to call them my friends & siblings in Christ. So blessed. Daddy blessed me with the motivation to not fail calc 2, even when I napped through it and thought the world was probably going to end. He blessed me with the incredible community and friendship of my ultimate team, who are some of my favorite people on the planet. He blessed me with best friends, great talks, and more than enough cheap pizza. Despite all of the tough spots, I came out of first semester beaming and loving the previous months.

Second semester I learned over and over again that He is good, and His plans are good. I also learned that his plans are often quite different from mine. I could cite four or five specific times when I thought I had a pretty good plan, and he told me, "no, but I'll give you something better." And his plan always was better.

I'm learning to trust that Daddy knows exactly what he's doing. It's a process, especially when I panic about leading a class or not knowing how I'm going to balance all of my commitments. It's really hard to believe him when he asks me to rest instead of work always. It's really hard to trust that he will work out my future-- my current favorite thing to worry about is that if I study abroad, I will almost certainly miss an ultimate season at Coe. I have to keep going back to the fact that he knows what he's doing. I have to keep returning to him.

Isaiah 30:15 is a solid reminder to me. "For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel, 'In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.' But you were unwilling."

It is so easy for me to be unwilling to rest, unwilling to return to him, unwilling to quiet myself and trust. But that also means I lose out on the benefits of those things-- being saved & strength. It's an adventure for me to learn to rest and return.

That's what I love about God though-- it's always an adventure, and he always makes a way to learn what I need to learn. Take this summer as an example. People (and Daddy) keep telling me to rest. Keep asking how I'm resting and taking care of myself. Keep encouraging me to take time with the Lord. He is making so much space for me to learn to rest and return to him. Thank you, Daddy, for your grace and for the room you make in my life to learn to obey you and rest.

I am so incredibly grateful for such a fantastic year. Thank you to every single person who supported me through it-- whether we talked once, maybe you just held open a door for me in some random Cedar Rapids store, or maybe you're my best friend. Thank you. I know that I cannot say it enough. Thank you for encouraging me, for teaching me, for challenging me, for giving me rides, for laughing with me, for dancing with me, for loving me. Thank you for everything. (A huge thank you to Daddy for providing me with adventures and people to adventure through life with too.)

I look forward to continued adventures with you all! xoxoxo