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.