Silhouettes

Tonight's one of those nights I just so deeply enjoy. Had dinner with my cousin, got our Coldstone on for dessert, and swung by Starbucks for the drive home.

But on the drive home I was reminded. Although I like sunrises, and enjoy blissful afternoons in the sun, the most compelling time of day for me is the twilight. I swoon over silhouettes of blackened trees against the embers of the days sky being swallowed by the black quilt of night. This, this time is when I stare. And it's then that I am reminded of my sister writing of beauty being the things that draw us in.

To be drawn in elates me. It's peaceful to linger in the beckoning of beautiful things; to let the weight of bigness, smallness, vibrancy, normalcy, chaos, simplicity seep into our being and leave me a little more hopeful than before. I lean into this truth, this peace that settles deep, because it is here that I am paying attention. Not just to beauty, but to the Beauty-giver. I love this time of day because it speaks to the vastness of who God is I get a taste of that "perfect peace".

And is that not why He created the Earth initially? To allow us to experience harmony, harmony that we lost so long ago due to our ability to exaggerate and choose ourselves over divinity. But He's good like that, He leaves us tastes, glimpses of that which we hope for.

I'm finding that the more I'm choosing to pay attention, the more I see. Eyes opened to a vaster reality than which I have been living. A reality in which I see my depravity deeply and His goodness even deeper, and the chasm between the two closing slowly through my repentance and asking. I just keep finding that I can't do this for myself. I'm a messy person with self-protectiveness written all over me, but He's changing that. He's causing me to not see less of my ugly, but to see that the ugly does turn beautiful, like One Thousand Gifts said. That all things are grace because all things can transfigure. The ugly can't turn itself beautiful because ugly is the absence of beauty.

I watch the sun tuck away, leave the silhouettes dancing for a moment, only to soon follow underneath the black covers. And for a moment I stare, reminded to not miss it. To stop missing moments because of myself.

Beans

I have a new nickname. Beans. Holla at me playas.

No, I am not joking. For two months I worked with two people for a major project (50% of our final grade major--YIKES), and in this time they dubbed me Beans.

I'm not telling you this for no reason. I was "gifted" with this nickname for my love of coffee....okay, and the Even Stevens reference causes the three of us to snort laugh. Over on The Anderson Crew she copied the idea of writing the things she could tell one over a cup of coffee. Hence the relevance of Beans...get it? So if we were sitting over a cup of coffee in my thrift store mugs, this is probably what you'd get out of me...

I am not blogging with selfless intention. I'm avoiding studying for a test in a class I hate. So thank you for being my outlet tonight.

I have this new job, and I really like it, it makes me feel productive. I like feeling as if I am going somewhere and that these years in college have been towards something.

Bethie came to town this weekend. I got to watch her with my momma and it was a ballin good time. I love me some Beth Moore.

In about a month and a half I get to move back in with my favorite roommate in an amazing little apartment that God just kinda dropped in our laps. It was written in big fat capitals in my graces journal.

Exercising is NOT my favorite thing. At. All. But I'm trying to get better. Anyone out there here me when I say that self-motivation is SO HARD?? The only thing that makes it remotely okay is that is when I allow myself to watch Saved By The Bell. I've made it through two episodes so far. Told ya I hate it.

Redeemer had a phenomenal sermon this morning about legalism. Brother was speaking to my heart. Listen to it. I'm not playing. Go. For those of you who don't listen to me (RUDE) the gist was this: when we create rules that aren't given to us, it just festers into pride. Rules about dress, faith, tats, chew, etc. Dude, thinking that through is rough. I am one heckova proud girl but over the past year I've been changing. It hasn't been self-inflicted or even noticed mostly, but those rules have been getting ousted, and if not completely ousted, at least evident. God's just been shifting my eyes to see things, giving me a mindfulness of the self-ness of me and the Absoluteness of Him and how I have to keep coming back to my need of Him. When I do that He compels in me things that aren't my norm.

This time of year is my favorite. I love the weather, I love sun, fresh air, and fruit. The greatest of these is fruit. I could eat it all day every day if gross things wouldn't happen, and it was cheaper.

So that's what y'all are getting from me tonight, Bethie, Saved By The Bell, and fruit.

Peace,

Beans

Some Love

Happy Saturday to all! As this was a crazy pre-week-before-the-week-before-Spring-Break week and I am thrilled for time to myself. I am also thrilled that my best friend is currently on her way to meet me in Springfield--after a 3 month hiatus it will be good to see her.

In light of my post earlier this week I thought I'd update y'all on some thoughts I've been having. The first being that I want to be happy regardless of my weight. If I allow my happiness to be dependent on my weight, then we get the meltdown from earlier this week. And who wants that? Not me, that's for certain.

The second is that my comparison scale is running rampant. I have been allowing myself to value the worth of myself based on my size rather than substance (not the three spoonfuls of cookie dough I ate last night substance, the me-ness substance). I've said it before, I praise God for blogs. This week they were my encouragement. Lindsey at The Pleated Poppy hosts this fun weekly post called What I Wore Wednesdays. Basically she takes pictures of herself in outfits she wears throughout the week and posts them. I love Wednesdays because I get to peek in on the way she presents herself through the week.

And as I was looking through this week's post, it hit me. The women who link up to her post aren't all size 2 college students, or consumed with being a size 2 college student. They enjoy who they are and they choose to have fun with style and clothes wherever they are at. I needed to see that this week. I needed to see people who weren't utterly consumed with their bodies but were enjoying clothes.

I know to some of y'all that may sound utterly petty, but I think clothes are a facet of presenting oneself. Clothes have the power to make us feel really good or really bad. There is a quote I saw on Pinterest that said, "I do not have anything in my home that I do not consider to be useful or beautiful." Well the same goes for my closet. I am working at playing with the things I have and getting rid of the items that do not serve me a great purpose and I do not feel good in.

The simplicity of only owning things I feel good in and use is freeing to me. It takes my focus off of comparing myself to other people and causes me to choose to decide how I feel about things. This may seem inconsequential to the whole realm of insecurity, but I think part of the healing process for me is learning how to pursue healthy beauty for myself. When I know I feel good about what I'm wearing then I don't spend nearly the amount of time playing the comparison game with others. So I don't think it's inconsequential at all.

I have to shoot y'all straight. I spent the morning on the Fitness Pinboard on Pinterest and I could just feel the self-torment welling up inside of me about how I ate cookie dough yesterday and that I haven't been in the gym since Tuesday. And the second I realized the turn in my thinking, I refused myself the pity party and am glad for it. I know all this doesn't mean I won't be accosted by the monster still, but this little realization as to how I can better actively choose it, made me a little giddy.

I guess all this to say, if I'm going down this road, I'm taking y'all with me.

Over-sharing

Okay blog world. I read so many blogs of woman who over-share. Those are always my favorite, their absolutely candidness (candidity?) with this community of readers warrants admiration from me all the time. Thus, I'm gonna shoot y'all straight today.

I am insanely messed up when it comes to body image. Like full-fledged-self-deprecating-gag-when-I-see-myself-in-pictures insecure. And this has been a life long battle. I can't tell you of a time longer than a week ever in my life when I was completely secure. I ache for that freedom.

In the past 2 years I have grown insanely in being an independent person, and in my mind, with that should come security. But that's it's own set of problems. Ugly, manipulative, problems. Although I am flattered by compliments, there is always a little rubber band that snaps in me when someone's kind hearted words hit my psyche. It's a nasty monkey that I am dying to not just get off my back, but brutally beat the stuffing out of.

My inadequacy's are only exacerbated by the fact that I am leading my small group through So Long Insecurity by Beth Moore. When the complete irony of it is, teaching is just one other big fact area of inhibition in my life.

I went to my church this last weekend, Kris Mcgee spent the time walking through the point of the gospel. Every. Time. Every time I go there I just sit in awe at the way they are able to convey so clearly to me that I just need to sit with Jesus. All the gospel is is realizing that my hope completely lies in the fact that I can't do anything and Jesus has done everything.

I have a massive issue with my mind turning everything faith-oriented into legalism. But this weekend it was like I finally understood that nothing I do is a catalyst and everything I do is a response. The concept of me being able to control, increase, stimulate, or any other synonym of that type my relationship with Christ is 110% absurd. Everything in my relationship with Him is responding to what has been, is being, and will be done in life, not just mine. It is so hard for me to let that seep in to the way I think. I want to hear this all the time. I need to hear this all the time. Because the lack of that is where my screwed up, messy, hateful way of thinking about myself comes from.

I crave to be around people who love that gospel, who are responding to that gospel. And to be honest, I feel like I'm drowning without it at school. This long-term reality of feeling like something is missing down here has left me feeling like I have to do it alone. I am my own teacher, consoler, counselor, etc. It's exhausting. It is the biggest breath of the freshest air for me to go home these days. Hear this. It's not that I hate it in Bolivar, I love the people, and I love my classes, but there has always been a chunk missing for me. I can't tell you that that hasn't produced a good dose of bitterness in me towards it, but I'm slowly realizing it and asking to change.

But truth is, I'm tired. It's like I'm not able to respond because there I no longer know how to listen for it. I praise God for my family and my church where I feel able to breathe and take in for a little while. I have come to deeply cherish those breaks and while this is insanely frustrating, I am choosing to believe that this all has a point.

So here is the summary. I am a big hot mess. I have body issues. I have faith issues. And I'm tired. I just felt like shooting y'all straight. Regardless of my exhaustion, mess, and inadequacy, writing it down keeps me level headed. So I don't write for pity, I write to be honest. I don't crave compliments, I crave freedom. I know y'all have got to want the same thing, and I know that some of y'all have it. And that's the reason I put this out there: to over-share, because we're in this together.

Valentine's

Valentines, oh Valentines.

I love this day. A day to decorate, enjoy, smile, and rest in all things love.  I think I am one of few people in the world who is content to watch Valentine's day go on around me. To watch people gift each other, convey value and love, yet not be experiencing it myself, and I'm blissfully content with that.

Although, when it comes down to it, I have some love shout outs of my own to give. My cheerleaders who no matter what, are there for me.

Momma

The woman who knows me best and deepest. My mother with the sincere heart and rich words that reroute me constantly back to the Lord. Her genuine spirit that doesn't patronize me with half truths. My mother who leans hard into the Lord and hard into her family. The woman from whom I received the blood coursing through me. She is the one who sang me "Feed the Birds," instilled in my sister and myself the love to create, and makes the best homemade bread. The mother from whom I have received a passionate love for Starbucks. This mother, she is a grace.

Sister
My sister, the deep lover of beauty, the one with the eye for creating. The opposite of myself, a fighter. She who has given me freedom to think and be different with grace-filled eyes. She who has frustrated me to pieces has become a dear staple in my life. She encompasses honesty, passion, and fervor. The curly haired one with the refusal to settle. My sister, the believer in students, the heart-changer who chooses to look differently. I love her dearly.

Daddy
I am his Guppy. My father from whom comes my calves and virtually nothing else. I am the daughter of a strong leader. He is the man who shows me Godly provision and selflessness fleshed out. The man who takes me for ice cream and bar-be-que and listens to me ramble on. The man so vested in my life who never ceases to amaze me. My dad, the tiler of floors, killer of spiders, and reader of American Girls, this man filled my childhood with so much life. This man fills my young adulthood with so much love. He believes in me and I am honored to be his daughter.

These, the people I choose to celebrate this Valentine's.

#12 My Valentine's

Leaning

Sweet conversation.

Sitting upon what my friend has dubbed the "vomit couch" yesterday, I did just that. I churned out my thoughts and fears and frustrations and processed through it. Not all the way, but for the first time in awhile I spewed to someone who wasn't my family. It was like a breath of fresh air.

I just cannot shake the thoughts I've been having about grace moments and curse moments. What do I number as grace and what do I number as curse, and what moments do I just let pass me by? Overlooked. Cheapened. Unvalued. I've said it before. I am trying to number because I'm trying to look. To let my days carry their own weight.

Sometimes I look ahead to the next year and a half of college and I think, "how can I make it through?" Not that college is a miserable thing, at all. But I'm antsy. I long to be somewhere where I fit better, where I feel known more. And it's overwhelming to look ahead and see abyss. So I count. I start trying to look at the value in the today. To find grace in it all because I have to. Because if today isn't able to transfigure, then when will it? I've made it to nine. Because most days I forget to look. And I think the not numbering has been just as weighty as the numbering because it shows me how often I just move on, how I forget with ease.

An encompassing word I would use to describe the past few years of my life is redefinition. In other words transfiguring. God has been taking the "Christianity" I forged in high school, and making me lean into it and find beauty. It's been a long process. Time-consuming. Heart-consuming. Some days utterly exhausting, and some days completely exhilarating. And I know very well I am just in the midst of it all. I know this because I see my selfishness. I see how compelled I am to look at myself, what I need, want, value, hate, and to define "good" by that. Maybe leaning into the ugly of my life looks like leaning into the frustrating places and ask to see the beautiful. It means I have to lean hard into Him. And I worry that won't be enough, that I will still be dissatisfied.

Can you had a single hour to your life by worrying? (Matt. 6:27) Does worry ever add anything? Sitting on the vomit couch I asked that. I looked at what I have been fretting over. And all I saw was the worry had taken from me. It had taken life, experiences, and sight. By letting my fear consume me I have willingly blinded myself from counting, and therefore seeing things accurately. It hasn't added anything to me. Insecurity has done nothing but take from me. But realizing that won't stop tightening of my stomach and the whispers in my head.

I have to ask the questions. To look. To lean hard into the fear. And I don't know quite how to do that. Sitting with Friend yesterday was a step into that. I verbalized it out. All of it. The fear, the excuse, the realization. And I saw. Seeing allowed me to ask. It's convinced me of a place I need lean hard into to find grace. To find accurate vision.

Maybe none of this makes sense to anyone else. I never thought I would be so impacted by just the thought of counting graces. But I am. And that in and of itself is a grace.

#10. Vomit couch

Paying Attention

One of the reasons I love blogging is that it allows us to put ourselves out there. Jaded, confused, angry, aching, ecstatic, needing, full....all of it can just go somewhere for others to see. And not just see, but somehow be invited into with perimeters. Blogging allows people to see our processes, and lets us unpack our journeys if we so choose to do so. I think there is something divine about that. 

A mother of 6 posted this morning about her mom/daughter relationship. I have never met this woman and although we share a name (ahem, spelling aside) and an understanding of the Gospel, we don't share much else. But somehow in this little blog-o-sphere, I was second-handedly invited into her story. I love that. I love that I get to "meet" women and be fed somehow by their realities and battles. Some days I skim, and some days I read a post three times through, but these friendships are available to me. 

I know face-to-face relationships are vital, but somehow these written ones have become important too. And sometimes a lot more real than that face-to-face ones. It's a pseudo-mentorship. I get to see the walk that people go through, hardness and all. 

I bet y'all think I'm a total creep by now. But here's the thing. I see the gospel from these people. When I stop looking for it, I get online to read and lo and behold they remind me. Not because we had a conversation and they knew my need, but because they are being faithful to sharing without expectation. And isn't that what the gospel is? 

Isn't it coming to know our need more and more the further up and in we go? Isn't it facing our junk because it needs to be faced? Isn't it allowing other people to see the wreckage of ourselves and allowing them to see the hope that develops through the process? 

I am reminded constantly of the moreness that I want, by complete strangers. And not because they are phenom people who got it going on, but because they display to me the honesty and reality of who they are and invite me in to see their process. And isn't that what community is? Inviting each other into the daily-ness of us and choosing to walk together without expectation. Pointing each other forward with freedom in love and the grace to become. 

I understand that there is a chunk missing. The need to be known well by someone is not lost upon me, in fact, it's something I know deeply.

Last post, I quoted One Thousand Gifts a ton. I recently started my list to a thousand things I am grateful for. I didn't start because she did it in the book and it helped her. I didn't start as a hopeful entry point to grow. I started because of what she said, "I pay tribute [to God] by paying attention." I want to pay attention more. I want to be ever-looking. Eyes opened to the gospel in the every day. Because I need to be pointed back to God constantly. I have a wandering heart. I forget. I am a victim of soul amnesia. And numbering makes me look. It causes me to slow down and pay attention. 

I've felt restless this past week and I haven't been able to figure out why. And as I'm sitting here writing, I wonder if it's because I'm breaking down a little deeper. Maybe when I start paying attention, I'm able to need Him more because I'm asking to see Him more. 

 

Settledness and rest hasn't been a part of things lately. I feel caught in between. But I'd rather be here asking, waiting, and uncomfortable than wandering. I think so at least. It's easy to type that. 

I think that's where reading blogs has mattered to me. When I'm feeling so restless, I am able to take a peek at other people's restlessness, peace, hope, angst. I'm reminded that this is a process. That God is present in the process because regardless of my seeing Him in mine, I can go see Him in others. And it documents my own. This past year and some months of blogging has given me reference points. It's given me documentation that God shows up. And it reminds me to keep being faithful to the process because that's vital to the result. And it's made me pay attention. 

#9. Being invited into a strangers process by blog.