Ch-ch-ch-changes

I realized the other day that I have had this blog for two years. It began as a place for me to lay out thoughts I was having, it still is one. But at the same time, I've been thinking about what I will look back on and see from my blog in 5 years. And although I have loved this blog for being a place for me to ponder and sit and record my seasons, it is but one facet of myself. I want to remember my LIFE at this point, not just my perceptions and musings.

I'm sure y'all have discovered Instagram. Me and Instagram are bosom buddies. Besties. BFF's. Bros. My little day-to-day tidbits go there. All in their "rise" filter (what can I say, I love me some faded prettyness). 

See? Pretty.

I love blogging for the sheer fact that it is the epitome of "to each their own". They have different schemes, themes, purposes, genres, some are meant to write professionally, others are for those with family far away. They are hilarious, bitter, honest, fake, mom's, singles, children, creeps. 

i love mexican hat men cutouts.

And as I think about how I want mine to reflect me, I want it to be a fuller perspective. I want people to see that I drink a lot of coffee, I craft and read, I am learning (read: failing) how to sew, I live in a tiny shop/apartment with my roommate and a puppy, I love Kansas City, and I am young and have a lot to learn in EVERYTHING. 

Coffee = Boyfriend

you should love KC too. 

So all that to say, bear with me as things grow a little wider. I write for me. I document for me. But this is also a way to invite people into my life and it's only fair that I be a little more....normal. Or not normal. Because I'm a fool. 

I don't want this to sound as if I have been fake, in fact it's the opposite, I have worked to be very honest here. I just want to be more open with the other stuff. The day-to-day, Instagram-worthy moments that stitch together my little life. 

And besides....blogs are ALWAYS more interesting with pictures. 

Beware of Walrus

Hmm...almost a month since the last time I wrote....I'm that good.

So within this hiatus, I have moved, been back and forth from home a bunch, gone to the lake, learned a lot (or a little) of astronomy, and just been kinda going.

I don't really say that to give you guys an anesthetizingly boring run-down of my life, but these things (minus astronomy, nothing good comes from astronomy) have been the catalyzing factors of my thoughts lately. I've been thinking about friendships, more like any and all relationships I have with people. All this reached a pinnacle when I read the "Reflection" section of my worship guide this past Sunday and was bleary-eyed. My main man Lewis punches my lights out again and pinpoints my questions/thoughts/musings into one little excerpt.

The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbors' glory should be laid on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud wll be broken. It is a serious thing...to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendors....Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your sense.

 C.S. Lewis The Weight of Glory

And what does that mean?? I have heard the end of that before, that we are not just mortal, but souls walking around, and should treat each other with the dignity as such. But to think that "all day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations," has been the side consuming me lately. With which part of myself do I do relationships? Where is my place in them? What do I get to say, or not say? 

I have spent a while now feeling sorry for myself for not feeling known by people. And while that aspect is still true in so many ways, it has left me far too jaded on the flip side. What does it look like to live relationships in light of the Gospel? In light of remembering my own redemption and beginning with acknowledging from where I've come. In light of knowing that of all sinners I am the worst of these. I think that's what Lewis meant when he says that only humility can carry the weight of my own neighbor's glory. My roommate's glory. My co-workers glory. That person I can't stand's glory. The random person who sits by me on Sunday's glory.

The overwhelming sense that we are not ordinary and should not be treated as such has been sitting heavily on my shoulders lately. Begging the question in the car on roommate date, at coffee with a dear friend as she talks about struggling at work, on Sunday when I'm sitting alone in a place I so badly want to be involved. It's like a walrus has clambered into my closet and the tail is whipping the hangers, the tusks are impaling the walls, clothes are scattered by fins, nothing is unscathed in its wake.

So I will allow this walrus to rampage, because I think it's good for me.

Daisies

G.K. Chesterton said:

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. 

Alexa showed me that this weekend. She has a knack for finding beautiful words and sharing them with me. She altruistically let me tag along with her to the lake this weekend. We sun screened up, laid out, and learned new slang (FMF for those wondering, Fat Man Friendly, HA!). Lex talked of a good friend of hers who has shown her what it means to be fully present. To allow the fullness of situations to seep in and to just be there.  

But this is far from YOLO. This is far from cliches found on Pinterest about moments being rain or whatnot. I have noticed lately that I am hardly ever satisfied in a moment. There is always something better, stronger, deeper that could be taking place. I don't see this trait as inherently bad, although nor is it inherently good. 

I've written much about the concept of numbering grace and paying tribute to the Lord by just paying attention. I guess this is a caveat into that in a way. Not only is my paying attention causing me to pay homage to the Lord, but it causes me to bask. To soak in monotony and be satisfied. For I have sinned and grown old. I have grown agitated, discontent, and senile. I can be just like the old man from Up. Jaded by life and unable to let each moment not be tainted by the sour ones in the past. 

But what of those moments? The sour ones happened and they have shaped me. But does that give me the right to create expectations for the future? The daisies get crushed, picked, torn up, and sucked dry of their nectar, yet the Creator never stops making them or loving the beauty of them. Regardless of the result of what happens with the prior ones He continues moving forward and finding complete joy in them. So we mourn for the sour, but we must always remember to ask to see the best good. 

Maybe monotonous moments are the ones where I get to see Him. Maybe that's where the mercy seeps in. "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness" Lamentations 3:22-23. Mercy is where I gain my vitality. It is where my "spirit fierce and free" comes from. The ability to ask to do it again because I keep seeing His goodness. I keep finding new places to look and graces to number, and when I don't, He shifts me back. He draws me back in because He wants me to be young too. 

And by asking Him to just keep doing His thing again and again leaves me just there. Like the days when my Daddy would swing with me on the front porch and I would ask him to tell me the three bears again, or asking Momma to sing Feed the Birds one more time. Sitting contentedly in those moments knowing that all I could do was ask for the one who could do it the "right" way to do it again. I can't tell myself the story with the deep Papa Bear voice, and I don't have my mother's smooth voice to sing myself Feed the Birds, those are things best left to them. So I ask for it again because it's all I can do. 

In a season such as this where there have not been very big high's or exceptional lows, I am offered the ability to see the sameness differently. Rather than traipsing through the field, I want to be a lowly admirer and memorize each and every one, because it was created for enjoyment and I was created to enjoy. 

Flying Purple People Eater

I have to confess something. I have this alter ego....she comes out about twice a year right around finals time. She's not a friend either, she's a monster rampaging and ravaging all contentedness in lieu of satiating a hunger to complain.

Let's just say, she's baaaaaaaack. I try so hard to fight this, but after 3 years in college, I've just come to find out that this is a big ole' ugly part of me. A part I'm trying to actively repent of. And this is the horrible other side of it, I am the queen of the self-imposed guilt trip. Regardless of whether others are burdened by my selfishness, I recognize it, I know it's there, I berate myself for it, and the flying purple people eater grows.

I guess I'm still riding the learning curve when it comes to knowing myself. I know and I see this cycle, but seeing doesn't change me. These are the seasons when I am so grateful to sit back and rest in the fact that despite my selfish, conceited heart that would doesn't want to fight through the next three weeks, God doesn't leave me here to stew in my guilt.

Years ago I remember lying in my mother's bed with her stroking my hair, softly telling me to repeat after her:

For I am convinced, that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of Jesus Christ our Lord. (Rmns 8:38-39)

And she brings it back up years later, telling me to lean into it. Reminding me that I'm not yet convinced of it. That I still allow myself to think I've screwed up so badly that I'm pushed a little farther out from Love, and worst of all, that I can separate myself from the Christ. So I repeat it to myself. And I start over, allowing myself to remember that I get to reap the benefit of new mercy. 

But it is so effing hard. I just can't say that eloquently. But hardness doesn't give me the right or permission to stop trying, to stop remembering, and to stop resting. Remembering is what brings me back, it's what sustains. Remembering coddles me here again to see with clear eyes that these are the moments when Brooke Fraser rings loudly in my head singing "as I wait for You maybe I'm made more faithful." 

I may be ugly to people, but I'm asking to be conscientious enough to change. I may be guilt-ridden, but I am becoming more convinced. 

Three weeks. I can make it. I will make it. 

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.