Due North

November has shown up like an unexpected house guest. I don't know about y'all but I was shocked when I looked at the calendar and realized that once again the end of the year is upon us. Why that is always so surprising, I don't know.

Since May, every month has been surprising. Donning a different perspective, parading new hats around, some I like, some I don't. Post-graduate life has been a lot of vacillating. Watching the pendulum swing from quietness and contentedness, to anxiety and frustration, laced with beautiful conversations, baking and belly-laughs. It all seems normal. The hard is supposed to be this hard and the rest of it is supposed to be this normal. 

The past few weeks have been more the anxious ones. A myriad of them too. Insecurity over my appearance, disappointment over my singleness, confusion at the general sense of newness in the relationships in my life, etc. These things are by no means debilitating, but just quiet themes I've always wrestled with that are rearing their heads, demanding my attention, amidst the unfamiliarity they are familiar. Unfortunately so. In the middle of Noodles and Company on Wednesday night this week, a new friend I distinctly admire posed a question to me regarding the insecurity I was admitting to. 

"What are you afraid of?" 

Usually I have an answer for everything.  If not an answer, I can process through my thoughts and arrive at some sort of conclusive point to share. However I was dumbfounded. It was a pointed question that made me scrutinize my problem. My anxiety is in gaining a lot of weight. If I do gain a lot of weight, then what? Her question forced me to see to what degree of idolatry I was elevating my appearance. My great fears are symptoms of that which I am idolizing, good or bad. They definitively point to the cancerous cells of my mind that keep me from trusting God to take care of me. 

And one doesn't simply stop thinking that way. C.S. Lewis talks about sin and progressing away from it this way, "We all want progress. But progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning, then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man."

This season, this fun, independent, adulthood-laden, peculiar time of life, this is where I am attempting to be progressive. And in that progress, the hard questions, the frustrations and anxieties don't leave me feeling in despair as they used to in college, they leave me free. Free to grieve the ambiguity, free to find hope in the questions, free to lean into the hard things and know that the Father is transfiguring the hard into graces as Ann Voskamp talks about and free to laugh in the midst of all of it.  

I haven't written for a couple of months because I feel constantly inconclusive. Three steps left and then catapulting northwest. There's no rhyme or reason to the direction of things, I am a victim of the new patterns set before me. On my toes, processing, stuttering, faltering and all the time beginning to process through the only consistency. The great mercy that all of this points to Jesus. My insufficiency to know what to do in new situations, my inability to fake-it-til-I-make-it, all of it forces me to fall into His rhythm. 

Last Sunday at church, the question was posed "do you want to be made well?" I can see why the perpetually ill man had a hard time with that. While infirmity is uncomfortable, it is its own form of companionship. Misery loves company right? I fight this mentality a lot. Do I want to be made well? Do I want to trust the process? Will I believe that turning around really will lead me back to the right road? This is the crux of repentance for me. Belief. The action is such a minute part of it. I act based on my beliefs, based on the core fundamentals that are established within me. Relearning those, that is repentance. Asking Jesus to maneuver within me, helping me unlearn old habits, and to rinse and repeat with new grace. During the Noodles and Co. conversation, my friend also told me of something the CEO of my company told her back when her husband first started. Change is about quarter turn decisions. If we can just bring ourselves to make a slightly different decision than the last. The ant that ate the elephant. One bite at a time. Rather than sitting under the weight of the whole, decisively seeing how we can switch a little thing to point us a little closer to Due North. 

Whether you commiserate with me, scoff at me, pity me or find some merit in my jumblings, may God grant you all peace as He only is capable of doing. And may His decisive will for your Good be a quiet hope for you today. 

How To Install Wifi

I like to think of myself as being pretty mature. Pretty responsible. Pretty "together".

Then Tuesday happened.

I "cleansed" this week. Fruits, vegetables, chicken, that's it. Day one I was hungry. Like eat an entire display cabinet of doughnuts hungry. But I'm allowed chicken, lucky girl. Post-work-ravenous-cooking ensued the second I walked in the door. I suppose I was a little too aggressive with the chicken, because next thing I know the smoke alarm is ringing. Ringing like round one at a UFC match.

Being all of five foot three I look up at my cavernous ten foot ceiling where there sits the culprit. Mocking me. As I start scrounging around for something to annihilate his existence, his pitchy jeering stops. I think he knew I meant business.

About an hour later, I decide to take on one of my cavernous walls and paint. Roller ready, paint poured, floor covering....covering the floor, I pick up the paint holder to carry from the kitchen to the living room. Wouldn't you know it, when you don't pick up full plastic painting trays by the fullest point, they spill. And not just spill, catastrophically splatter down the dishwasher and abstractly cover the floor. I think it was attempting to look like a Van Gogh painting. Unsuccessfully.

Half a roll of paper towels later, I paint for about fifteen minutes, get bored, and clean up. Next up in my string of successful apartment-dwelling moments, setting up the WIFI (pronounced wih-fee, New Girl style). I've got about 1,324 outlets in my apartment, I know approximately what half of them are for. There's one in particular in my bedroom that has a foot long, snake-like cord coming out of it with a red button on the end. Looking for the phone jack....I wisely think that if I push that red button, one will appear.

It didn't.

It was the panic button. And the fire alarm has nothing on the panic alarm. This was akin to a marching band that only played foghorns

into bull horns

on a Sprint Center sized speaker system.

The control panel was barraged by blue painters tape. Picture me lacerating through the tape in attempt to punch in the four digit passcode about 42 times, only to discover that it doesn't work. Amidst the blaring alarm I run across the hall to my neighbor, who I have never even seen before this fine fine evening. The frightening red button in my room not only set off my alarm, but hers too, so she's in Power Ranger mode ready to face the attack.

She opens the door, not to a six foot five karate master, but to a sniveling blonde midget in painting clothes having an anxiety attack. I calmly and rationally asked for her assistance, and by that I mean partially coherently begged for help. Between the two of us, we could not soothe the savage beast that is the alarm. So we begin running up and down the stairs rapping on doors looking for someone, anyone who knows what they're doing, to no avail.

In the frenzy, we both begin to realize that the tragically-awful-horrible-vicious-noise has stopped. The freedom began to register and I refrained from dancing, for the sake of my new-neighbor-friend. I know, one heckova way to meet my neighbors. I go all in when it comes to meeting people. I think neighborly love is best fostered through crises.

And then I had wifi!

Lewis, Trailers and Cawley on the Brain

I feel compelled tonight.

Compelled by a conversation at work and subsequent blogging by my friend.

I have two best friends. We were supposed to move back to KC together after graduation. Start a cupcakery. Have a little house with Fourth Room (mind you not A fourth room.....Fourth Room). Eat our way through the city. Then as May loomed closer, Olivia had the opportunity to move to Florida. And now, here we are in August. I'm moving into my own little apartment North of the River this weekend. Becky just bought a trailer. And Liv is returning from Florida in a few short weeks.

Although we have all battled our bouts of disappointment at watching our idealistic dreams wither, tonight I just can't help but sit in awe. My two best friends are beautiful adventurers. Not afraid to take risks and do what they love. There is something so beautiful and freeing to me to see that despite how good our plans could have been in reality, this is it's own kind of lovely. C.S. Lewis says, "Good as it ripens, becomes continually more different not only from evil but from other good".

My pastor at Redeemer on Sunday bequeathed to us the line his uncle used at his wedding, and he subsequently has used at every wedding since. "You will best love your wife when you love her less than Jesus". Put a blank in there (or put a bird on it) and it's all encompassing.

We will best love everything else, when what we love is secondary to loving Jesus. That's where freedom is. Freedom from labels, jobs, relationships, expectations. I have to confess, I don't live in freedom in a lot of ways because I still love likeability more than I love Jesus a lot of days. I get frustrated when that is threatened and insecurity seeks in, choking me.

The three of us are adventuring in our own ways now. Independent living, vagabond living, and ambiguous living. Freedom to go, stay and be in between. I love watching people live expanding lives. Seeing experiences shape, comfort, shock, and rest people. My personality is such that I love the end result, but over the years the Father has developed such a deep seeded love of the process.

Lewis also describes life like a tree, branching out and separating as it grows, not heading toward unity. If that doesn't describe this stage of life right now, I don't know what does. This summer I have found a great responsibility in choosing my attitude about things. Choosing how you are going to react and move forward from an incident or lack thereof is so telling of ones character. As I'm wriggling around in this time of life, figuring out what adventure and freedom are for me, I'm being to see that I have to choose to embrace the different-good of others to find freedom in my own. Expectations and sameness will become weary very quickly.

Compelled writing isn't my best. It becomes a collage of thoughts stapled together. But I suppose if you want a little summary of where my head is tonight, here it is:

I want to best love adventuring, my friends, life, my job, beauty, etc, by loving them less than Jesus. I see others doing that, and it draws me in.

Don't Be Like Me

Well. I'm moving.

In two weeks I will be living large in 655 square feet of my very own. So my recent weekends have been spent shopping for the goods. Furniture, cookware, bedding etc. However, I am all about the freebies....and these babies are throw-backs from my childhood.

Many a birthday, dinner or chat with my mom occurred on these stools, and now they get to move on to bigger and better things.

Here's the deal. I'm twenty-two. This is my first time living on my own and I have no idea what in tarnation I'm doing when it comes to tutorials. But I repainted these green monsters and I'm gonna show you how to do it Emilie-Janky-Town Style.

Note: you probably should find people who actually know what they're doing if you ever are going to do this and you want your to turn out nice. I however, just tend to go for things. Some call this foolishness.....let's call it valiance.

The first step is to stare at the spray paint aisle, Instagram, stare some more, and decide on a color. You shouldn't be like me and spray a little bit on the price tag to see if you reeeeally like it.

Next step is to remove the seats from the chairs. Don't be like me and spend thirty minutes finagling newspaper and painters tape around the seats, only to realize you're four screws away from easy removal.

Sanding should occur next. Don't be like me and forget to wear gloves. Because then this happens...

Also. This is an example of how you probably shouldn't sand. I don't think the sand paper is supposed to look like this at the end.

Priming the chairs is important. But don't be like me and only get one can of primer....because you'll be angry later when it takes four cans of blue to cover. And you may react like this....

Then spray....one can

Two cans.....or toucans if you're feeling jolly

And four cans later I had the finished project. Don't be like me, buy a quart of paint....it's cheaper. 

They did turn out pretty fly for some blue guys if I do say so myself. 

But really. Don't be like me. 

Because then you make weird faces like this when you're finished.

Blast from the Past

Knowing I wanted to write, I have been contemplating "what" for a few days now. Even had an entire post written out last night. Do I write about Hawaii? My new job? Dallas? So many new and different things in my life the past two months to document. But then I went to Redeemer this morning.

And I saw my next door neighbors. My childhood friend. My middle school friend (who married one another). My college friends (now married). My high school best friend. My former boyfriend (now married). And my best friends parents.

One from every season of my life. The group together could tell you about some of the moments I killed it and others when I completely bit it. The ones I bit it probably moreso, since that occurs more often.

It was not expected, considering I didn't think I really knew anyone there, to all of the sudden feel so...um...exposed is the word that comes to mind.

I think most of us head into new seasons of life thinking we can "start over" in some way shape or form. I certainly didn't feel a need to, there is nothing to start over from necessarily. However, I still got that vulnerable feeling of exposure. I'm sure I was inconsequential to most of these people, but each of them represented a consequential time in my life. And now I go to church with them.

My natural inclination to this kind of susceptibility is to hide. Emotionally, and to be honest, physically. I want to avoid contact and ignore the reality of it all. Not because of any ill-feelings toward them, but because I am insecure about who I have been in my life and being seen accurately by them now.

All of that to say, I started to feel that way and then Communion occured. The blood and the body being consumed by each of us. More than any of the other insecurities I felt, there was camaraderie with them. That regardless of my immaturity, naivety, and blatant young-ness with some of those people, that we are living under the same banner of redemption.

Seeing all of these relationships from a perspective of being done with the hard parts, I am easily seeing this side. The beauty of working through hard things, of allowing each other room to grow and mess up and offer grace and love in return. The messiness of relationships and the overwhelming peace that the Gospel creates through healing.

This morning, the one with the weird emotions, pointed me so directly to the absolute hope of the cross to not only redeem my self-ness, but to redeem our relationships with one another, for His own sake. Jesus doesn't provide healing amongst us for only our benefit, but because there is no better depiction of redemption than seeing broken relationships healed for broken people by the Perfect one. There was not conflict with all of these people in my life, however, I know and can immediately recall my offenses to them during the seasons they were in my life.

I Need Thee Every Hour was the chorus sang this morning, how apropo. I need Thee every minute, and regardless of my recognizing that, He is providing for me thus. I love hymns because their beautiful depth and consistent accuracy over the years. How they still resonate with my 1991-born self. This morning was no exception, hearing that hymn and sitting with these feelings. Often times I see things through MY lens....and this morning I caught a small glimpse of the US side of the Gospel. Our communal need for Jesus and the complicated beauty of the Gospel reflecting through relationships. The togetherness factor enters in such a nuance that cannot be experienced by ones self alone. I forget that in my independence and introverted-ness.

All that to say. Church is helpful to me. People are helpful to me. And the Jesus makes both of those things so. Today I see that, and I wanted to pen that so I will remember that when this perspective is far from natural.

Grad-ee-ation

Very rarely in my life do I hear my full name. Em, Emmie, Emjack (and it's inappropriate cousin), Jackson, Em Dog, those I hear on a regular basis. But only two occasions warrant the use of my seven syllable moniker. Getting in trouble and graduation. Saturday morning around 10:38 was one of those times. Making eye contact with my favorite professor as he read my name, I cautiously walked across the stage to grasp an empty tube and cordially shake our very southern and very iconic university president's hand as he reached for the next empty tube to hand to the accounting major who was blessed with the opportunity of sitting by me.

Supposedly graduation is supposed to be some sort of solemn occasion. But that's not the world I live in. My cap fell off mid-ceremony. Twice. Blowing into the row behind me, down about four seats so that everyone got to participate in the Great Cap Return of 2013, only to be followed by the attempt to be sly and put it on without creating a spectacle. Besides having to pee in the middle of the ceremony, and then having to wait until the very end, and be the last row dismissed to be allowed to do so, it all went rather smoothly after that.

Suffice it to say, I am a college graduate. At this moment, sitting in Starbucks as I have almost every other summer of my life, things don't feel so different yet. They felt different on Friday when I had to say good-bye to my guy. They felt different when I received a phone call from my brother in Afghanistan on Saturday morning before graduation, congratulating me. They felt different when I packed up my little Hermit House for the last time. And they certainly felt different as I drove out of Bolivar for the last time. But then I got here, and nothing seems to have changed yet.

I'm sure it will take time to settle in. But I think the part that's the weirdest is that I have no idea what I'm settling in to. Saturday afternoon, sitting for the last time in the boy's infamous loft, we were discussing the future. Scott, the ever impulsive one, is heading into Physical Therapy school in the fall, strapped into another three years of school. I, the planner, have no plans.

Oddly, I'm not afraid of it, and I haven't been for a long time. God has been generous to provide me with whatever I needed when I needed it, and just because this season of change is layered with goodbyes, His provision is consistent. But in that conversation, my friend pointed out how open things are for me. Open. For the first time, I have zero responsibilities in my life, heading into nothing. He made mention of how this enables me to just look to God and be faithful to anything. While I have always had freedom, never has it felt this absolutely free.

Up until today, I have been avoiding the processing phase of all of this. The final few weeks at school I stayed busy, packing, working out, soaking in my friends, it wasn't time to be sad and think about this part yet. Sunday I arrived home and continued in my stay-busy-mode. Seeing a few people, shopping, unpacking (somewhat). And today I think I need to start sitting with the weighty hard parts of it all. There are still tears left. Mourning the end of an extremely hard and equally wonderful time in my life. Steeping in the freedom of my current situation and asking the Lord what to do now. It is an odd feeling this time of life, never before have I not been a student. Never before have I moved away from friends not knowing how often or if I will get to see them. Never before have I had the option to make whatever choices I wanted and not been afraid of disappointing people around me. So many new sensations that I still have no idea what to do with.

As you may have noticed, I have changed the name of my blog. Heading into post-graduate life I wanted somewhat of a fresh start with this. I want to hold onto the things I learned in college, which is why I did not create an entirely new blog, however, I want this blog to reflect who I am. I want to nurture the small thoughts and events in my life. The whims. I want them to have room to be planted and flourish however they may look. I want to be diligent to pen this time in my life. That's important to me. My blog is a place for me to grow up as I may. For the people who will one day be in my life to be able to see from where I came, who I was at 19 and 22 and so on. Here I can mark the stakes God sets in my life. Stakes of grace, pain, movement.

So that's where I'm at. Sitting at Starbucks. Starting to feel reality sink in, knowing it's good. This is all good.

Pay Attention

In the past 9 days I have been to a concert in Nashville, Spring Break in Panama City Beach, a wedding in Springfield, and then hopped right back into normalcy. My poor little mind though has been reeling with these experiences and I just need to pen them down. I want to remember.

The Local Natives blew my mind. This concert was the culmination of so many college memories. Who Knows Who Cares has rang as an anthem for me in college, not so much lyrically as the string of experiences it was latched on to. Suffice it to say, to hear it live, right next to the stage was awe-inspiring. I am so grateful I was there. So grateful to have this stake to go back to in years to come, a zenith to the theme this song has carried over the past few years. 

Spring Break was lovely. Dynamic and exciting, yet it's own kind of restful. I love trips because they are equally as lovely to experience as to remember. Part of the fun of a vacation is the coming home. It's like what Frank says in You've Got Mail about the VCR. 

"Technologically speaking, the world's out of hand. Take the VCR. The whole idea behind the VCR is that it makes it possible for you to tape what's on TV when you leave the house. The whole idea behind leaving the house...is so you can miss what's on television."

I keep company with great people. I tend to be drawn to those who are very opposite of me in many ways, most of whom were on this trip. But with the whole opposites attracting thing comes the sweet rest that comes with being together and enjoying the same things: laughter, the best seafood of my life, and sunsets. 

And finally, the wedding. The wedding of two people I have known all of college. The first two friends who I saw meet, be unsure, date and decide to love and marry one another. We started college together, Brittany and I, suite-mates, babies. We learned how to do college, faced the woes of being gawky freshman, self-assured sophomores, exasperated juniors and seasoned seniors. We inaugurated "The Herd" and watched it deteriorate, seen each other through new relationships and break ups. Driven the other mad, seen sin abound and then grace more, and walked heinously hard seasons together. Trevor, Brittany and I, though not always close, have grown up together these past four years and their wedding was such a wonderful testament to all of our friendships.

As I sit here, summarizing a weeks memories and seeing years of building up to them, I know why I had the thought I did this morning. 

I stayed over in Springfield last night and woke up at 6:30 to study for a test that I had procrastinated studying for. As I'm driving to Panera to nurse my wounds with hazelnut coffee, I watched the sun begin its ascent. I was contemplating, as I often do, Ann Voskamp's thought about how we pay tribute to God by paying attention. And as I sat their soaking it all in I thought, "isn't that the point?" 

If, as John Piper says, God is most glorified in me when I am most satisfied in Him, then isn't the point of my life to pay attention? The Gospel is all about paying attention. I see it with Lent, Good Friday and Easter. Sacrificing something for 40 days to remember Jesus' sacrifice. To pay more attention to my heart and asking to see where I have subsequently created idols that take away from my realization that Jesus is my only need. I bring nothing to the table and incapable to do anything but watch. I need the Gospel and nothing. 

I couldn't create the sunrise if I wanted to, nor can I create a heart change in myself. I am only a participant in watching Jesus work in me. Please don't hear puppet. Paying attention is certainly not passive. It is being engaged in my surroundings, asking questions, attempting to understand and see clearly that which is occurring, but not being responsible to do the actual work. 

By paying attention, I am allowing Jesus the room to work in my life freely. Not withholding because of fear of hardship or not wanting to change. Watching means that I am open-handedly and curiously seeing what He has for my life when I don't get in the way. 

Looking at the past nine days and history with the people involved in them, I can see clearly how He was present, despite our sin and close-handed naivety of His goodness. By paying attention, I choose to hope in His goodness, expecting Him to show up. I am able to see the empty tomb as a joyful, not a problem. I am able to grieve the cross and revel in the resurrection. Easter is all about paying attention, about curiously and actively believing that He is working things out infinitely better than we ever imagine He can, and waiting to see it happen. 

He is Risen.