Autumn

I love Autumn. Plain and simple. The sound of the word alone spreads a smile to my face. I talk about it constantly. I count down the days until the pumpkin spice latte comes out (which was September 5, if you were wondering)- and then drink them compulsively. My barista, Tom, at the Starbucks I stop at on the way to practicum has already memorized my order, and greets me with a smile and a simple "Is today a grande or venti day?" I relish the feeling of "just air" that Texas Septembers bring, where you can't tell if it is hot or cold. You could literally wear a Northface and jeans or a tank top and shorts and manage to be equally comfortable. But the, being indecisive like Texas weather most always is, the next day will be 90 degrees and humid, once again, and my scorching pumpkin spice latte will have to be iced which just isn't right.

Autumn brings change. The past month, I've felt a change in my heart. Nothing big...minute actually...just a twinge of change, like the leaves gently fluttering from the twigs of trees. They float down one or two at a time, slowly creeping, blowing circularly in the breeze, to the dirt beneath. They show that there is hope for relief from the blistering heat. That's how the change in my heart feels. The most miniscule of changes in thought coupled with gradual shifts in priorities. New convictions. Noticing different things than I would have a year, or even a month, ago. Is this change big or noticable? I doubt it. But it's movement- leading toward the feeling that something big is on the horizon. Do all of the leaves fall off of the trees at once, while the temperature drops 50 degrees in a day? Not usually. But the seasons don't fail to change; they become something new. Gradually.

One of my favorite quotes in all of literature describes Amory Blaine in F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise, in which Blaine is characterized as "dreaming of the becoming, never the being." I would love for my life to be summed up by that quote. As I seek a life of non-complacency, I want to embrace this new season of life. This season of change in the midst of joyful satisfaction. This season of hope. Autumn- I'm glad you've arrived.

controlled comfort

A few weeks back, I decided to make a resolution for my 23rd year. I'll start with a confession-- for the past 21 years, I have gone to sleep every night curled up on my side in the fetal position holding Teddy.

This is Teddy, creative, I know- the Friendship Carebear, circa 1989. My childhood best friend gave it to me for my 2nd birthday. Teddy and I were inseperatable for years. Teddy traveled in the car, to babysitter's houses, to doctor's appointments, to San Antonio, Florida, New York. When I had my tonsils removed when I was 5, I took another bear to the hospital with me because I didn't want Teddy to get hurt. Teddy even spent 4 years at Baylor with me. He's made a lot of pwiends (my 2 year old word for friends, and a common adjective for Teddy). But as of Thursday, as I started my 23rd year, Teddy has had a new home: my closet. After years of comfort during fears and tears, Teddy will live in my closet.

As a child, Teddy was my comfort object, as it is referred to in The Giver. After having my reoccuring nightmare about being chased by a gorilla and not having any defense against it, Teddy was there for me to cling to. Teddy has been bathed by tears on multiple occasions, mourning with me the fact that life was changing, and that going home to Arlington would never be the same again, even though our new home in Waco was so different. Teddy made me feel better as I healed after high school boyfriends and losing love. It seemed as if, no matter what I felt, where I was, or what I was going through, Teddy made it ok. He always brought the comfort and routine I craved. That I think we all crave, even the most spontaneous and free-spirited of us, to some extent. Iappreciate knowing what is coming, knowing what to expect, and those plans coming through.

Sometimes, even with Teddy, my life feels anything but consistent, anything but constant. Projects at work. Something as unpredictable and uncontrollable as traffic. My moods or the moods of others. The tiniest of kinks can throw it all off, it sometimes seems. This leaves mundane, routine lovers devistated, trying to repair the machine we've so thoughtfully and intricately constructed. It leaves us craving that consoling custom we crave.

But where did this notion of comfort come from? Sure, comfort leaves us feeling content, but sometimes almost complacent. Secure. Routine. But at what point did I begin to think this was best? That this was where I was supposed to be?

I remember my junior high youth minister often telling us awkward teenagers to "get out of our comfort zones" and not just follow the crowd. Although the motives are now different at 23 years and 3 days, the same concept appears to ring true in my life. Getting out of my comfort zone, be it at work, school or social situations, seems to be key. It seems to be where I've been placed. And I've spent my summer despising it. Wishing I could feel comfortable. Dreaming of times I didn't feel awkward. But as I've thought more about it lately, I realize that the uncomfortable area seems to be where great things and growth happen. When we are not sure, not comfortable, we seem to be stretched a little further than we thought we could be stretched. Pushed slightly harder than we thought we should be pushed. And what do we do? Adapt. Until we are pushed again, that is. It reminds me of running. You run one mile, and your quads throb the next day. But the day after, you drag yourself out of bed and do it again...and it gets easier and easier, less and less painful each time.

Nothing great happens wtihout great risk. Realizing that the best things come from change, from that place outside of our comfortable and complacent box, and striving to let go of that comfort and consistence is what makes life grand. It's what makes us grow.

Goodbye Teddy. Goodbye comfort. Weclome, growth, change, rejuvination.

Simplicity

Stuff. Clutter. Junk. It's so easy to accumulate. In my apartment, it seems as if it can go from spotless and spic and span to a jumble of belongings faster than I can think of 5 synonyms for the word stuff. Returning from grocery stopping. Coming home after work or school. Going shopping. Even the simplest return home seems to come with baggage. Living like this drives me crazy. I can't find what I need. I don't know where anything is. My stomach writhes and twists with the most limber of snakes. I can't take it. How do you fix it? Easily- Pick up. Clean out. Reduce.

Life has the same tendencies. Friends. Work. School. Opportunities. Exercise. Necessities. Supplementaries. Commitments. Spontaneity. Quickly, it's full and there isn't a moment to breathe. It's a struggle, as if I'm swimming and treading water with every ounce of energy I can muster, just to find that my nose keeps slipping under. I've got to reduce. I've got to clean out. I've got to simplify. But how? These intangible things are so much harder to sift through than the tangible junk I dispose of daily.

As I long for simplicity, I think about necessity. In the words of John Mayer: "Friends? Check. Money? Check. Well-slept? Check. Opposite sex? Check. Guitar? Check. Microphone? Check. Messages waiting for me when I come home? Check." Although my list looks different (God? Food? Shelter? Water? Love?), the concept fascinates me. How is it that one narrows down to the necessities without micromanaging? And while the other things, the wants, are so enticing?

I think in our culture, we crave drama and excitement instead of just being. Just saying what needs to be said. How much easier, more real, would life be if we were more like glass than an onion? If we were more transparent- talking and being real, genuine, rather than having layers, being mysterious, or having to read between the lines. Would this level of simplicity be real, or would it be boring?

2 weeks ago, my computer caught a virus. It has miraculously fixed itself, and although I am grateful, life felt easier without the distraction. It helped me to realize that sometimes, complication needs to be like tensel on a Christmas tree. A little looks lovely and brings a sparkle, but too much looks gaudy.

Working on full presence. Craving simplicity.

Antonyms

I've spent a large portion of my summer as an intern in slate gray scrubs (my favorite color) teaching second and third grade boys upper level language concepts. I now know idioms like the back of my hand, and have become a pro at asking and answering questions on legos and soccer to help them improve their social skills. One of the harder concepts for my 8 year old friends to wrap their minds around was antonyms- opposites. Sure, some simply come to mind: hot and cold, yes and no, in and out, up and down... But many others the kids struggled with, like the antonym of bold or bravery. It's often difficult to envision something very different than what you're talking or thinking about, something you're used to.

I've found this fact to prove true in life. A lot of my friends are similar to me- synonyms if you will. Our thought processes, reasoning, interests and therefore lives are the similar. Sharing life with them is comforting, calming, effortless, wonderful. I cherish it and the fact that they can understand how I tick. Some of the most fascinating people, some of the people that I've learned the most from, however, are those completely different form me- the antonyms. Because of their very nature of being different, I feel challenged around them. Sure, sometimes they upset that comfort and consistency that I so deeply long for, but it's in a wonderful way. I think one of the most important and life changing things we learn in life is to love and learn from those antonyms.

Antonyms encourage growth, change, progression. They help us to become more than we are, better and different than we thought we could be. They bring out qualities and sides of ourselves we didn't know existed. And isn't that the point of it all? Growth. Becoming. Journeying to who we were created to be.

David Crowder says it best: "The antonym of me, You are divinity." It should come as not surprise that sometimes, it is antonyms who help us to become who God created us to be. My appreciation for antonyms increases daily. I am grateful for that.

Feelings

I am a feelings person. A "heart over head" person, if you will. I base decisions on a particular feeling at a particular time; I go with my gut. This is most definitely a blessing and a curse.

I am also an associater ( I'm pretty sure I coined this term). I like to associate various senses with particular feelings. If I smell the perfume that I wore during my freshman year in college, I can't help but to reinvite those feelings back into my life. The feelings of hope, of newness, of realizing I had a new life I could create however I wanted; but also feelings of nervousness, of loneliness, of uncertainty. I do this with all kinds of things. Songs, movies, people, scenes, scents, even clothes.

Spring brought a time of change. It brought busyness that I had never experienced before. And with that busyness brought neglect of feelings. This blog is often my outlet, and I clearly neglected it. I also neglected feelings. My life felt like I was running a marathon. I had to force myself to keep up the stamina to power through, and my thoughts were suddenly consumed by to-do lists, reminders of people to call, and post-its to remind me of even the most mundane things. To be honest, this part of it was awful. I love that I feel and that I can truly empathize and feel in so many situations. I felt like a family who returned from vacation to find their most prized and treasured possessions absent- robbed of something I cherished.

Lately, my feelings have returned. When driving to Waco a few weeks ago, I hit the southbound 35 drag seeing Baylor to the left and Fazolis to the right, and I was right back in college. Excitement overcame me. I felt as if I had no plans, but knew that fun would come, no matter what happened. Anticipation and excitement filled my face, as my mouth widened into a smile. A similar thing happened at work. I was in my square office listening to "Brick" by Ben Folds on Pandora. The first few lines moved me…6am day after Christmas/I throw some clothes on in the dark/ The smell of cold/ Car seat is freezing/ The world is sleeping/ I am numb. I think it must have been the day after Christmas part, but I felt just like I've felt the past 2 Christmases in Arlington. Filled with cheer because of the Christmas season and working at Hallmark. High on life because of the fun with friends. Doing absolutely nothing but having more fun than I could imagine. The inability to explain or talk about these blissful feelings, but loving them nonetheless. Being snuggled in my northface in the back seat of my friend's Camry, feeling the coolness of the broken in tan leather seats on my hands.

Feeling is one of the most important things, I think. It shows me that I am really living. Really experiencing. Really remembering.

The Beauty of Grace is that it Makes Life Not Fair

"Grace is but glory begun, and glory is but grace perfected." -Jonathan Edwards

Being a perfectionist in the society we live in today, grace has always been a concept I've struggled to accept. I've been taught that grace is "what makes life not fair." That it is a gift that should be accepted without question. But especially lately, as I have struggled to trust and relinquish control.

Last week, I checked out DVD's from the UTD library to complete a project. Due to my inability to return any item ever, I forgot to turn them in...and accrued $80 worth of fines. I e-mailed the librarian to see if I could set up a payment plan, and he asked for me to come in and fill out a form about why they were late. I did just that. Today, I checked my student mailbox. The paper that lay in it looked familiar, etched with my block print handwriting in my black pilot pen. "Why did they just put this back in my box?" I thought, starting to feel frustrated. As I continued to read over the paper, however, I realized why it was returned to me. A small "x" had been written in tiny penmenship in the box labeled "dismissed." Grace. I deserved to pay that fine, but it was taken away. I think God places situations in my life to help me accept this grace, so that I will better be able to accept His grace.

What is fascinating to me is that, no matter how much I worry and toil, lose sleep due to tossing and turning and thinking, that God's grace surrounds me, covering me like a warm blanket on a cold winter night, and makes everything ok. The fact that He always cares for us never ceases to amaze me. That after every worrysome situation I enter into, I can look back, grin to myself, and thing "If only I had had a little more faith. If only I had trusted Him a little more, and myself a little less, life would have been so much easier." I love that He doesn't give up even when I do. That His grace continues to abound, no matter how many times I may stumble and fall. What patience and love He has.

His grace is irresistible. His grace is perfect. His grace is sufficient. His grace is exactly what I need. Always.

Stop this Train

I never thought the day would come. Four years of memories thrown into boxes, mostly labeled stuff, but an attempt had been made to organize them. The sky looked melancholy, and large droplets of rain poured out of the sky. It was fitting, for I felt that at any moment, tears could pour out of my eyes in just the same way. Soaked after loading both my mom's car and my Liberty, I finally slipped in the car and sighed to myself. I started the car, and John Mayer blared through my speakers as I drove to lunch. As I turned on to Highway 6 for what I knew would be the last time as a Waco resident, "Stop This Train" by John Mayer came on. This was the moment I'd been dreading. Crocadile tears swelled in my eyes, and eventually trickled down my face. Life was changing, and I knew I was sure to change also. Everything was unknown.

One year later, it was another friday. The air reeked of rain, and the humidity made walking outside feel more like taking a shower. As I cruised down the streets of northwest Plano, streets that now felt like home, the same song came on shuffle on my iPod. "Stop this Train..." It's strange that the same song takes on such different meaning now.

It still feels surreal. I'm an adult. My days of being completely surrounded by people my age are over. Have I learned? More than probably any year of my life. Has it been difficult? At times. Am I more sure than ever that I am where God wants me, that He is strengthening my faith, and that He is molding me into who He wants me to be? Absolutely.

I love that He has a plan and is sovereign, and that He uses hard situations to draw us closer to Him, like a father gently yet securely holding His child.

See once in a while when it's good
It'll feel like it should
And they're all still around
And you're still safe and sound
And you don't miss a thing
'Til you cry when you're driving away in the dark

Singing stop this train, I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
'Cause now I see I'll never stop this train.

Stressing surrender

Stress- physical, mental, or emotional strain or tension. Change- to make the form, nature, content, future course, etc., of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone. For me, these two concepts seem to go hand in hand. And also come around together. Stress is something I've struggled with for years. My stomach knots, and I cannot eat or sleep. I look like a zombie and act like a lunatic. I pace. I exercise. But that doesn't seem to help the simple fact that things will change and I will stress.

Two or three years ago, I saw Evan Almighty in theaters. And loved it. Lame, I know. I think Steve Carrell is hilarious, and I can vividly picture myself laughing so hard I cried at multiple points in the movie. For me, though, the most memorable part was not some witty line of comedic genius, but a quote that has stuck in my head time and time again. Lauren Graham, Steve Carrell's wife in the movie, is upset that their family is being torn apart by the fact that her husband is building an arc. She is upset and keeps praying for her family to stop fighting, and for them to be able to love each other again. God's answer to her? (disguised as a man at a skuzzy truck stop) Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?

This really rang true to me. How many times have I, as a Christian, prayed for the ability to be able to love someone and just expected for God to make me a loving person? How many times have I asked that He will help me to "cast my anxiety upon Him", and naively think that He will just remove my fears and worries from me? I don't think God works this way. He wants us to be so wholly dependent on Him, that simply providing us or taking away what we ask (in these situations) does no good. It does not glorify Him. It does not make us more like Christ. I still struggle to grasp this concept.

A devotional e-mail I read today said it like this "The practice of surrender requires perseverance." Praying for that steadfastness.

Time.

Cause I need more time. Just a few more months and we'll be fine. Just say what's on your mind. Cause I can't figure out just what's inside.

Time. What a concept. It's arbitrary-ness. It's necessity. It's control. It's invisible- but aren't most important things.

Sometimes time passes slowly, creeping along as if it is syrup slowly seeping along a slippery pancake. Other times it races by, as if it is Michael Johnson, running at record speeds towards a goal. A finish line.

How to feel about time puzzles me. It can seem urgent, as if not one second should be wasted. Like I can't get enough. So much to do. So many memories to be made.

Other times, it feels like it doesn't matter. Sure, February is over, but there will be another February. It will probably feel similar to this one. Or will it?

When I was a kid, probably in third or fourth grade, I had an insane fear of the end of time. Of the world ending. I can remember many balmy summer nights, laying in my bed beside my lime green accent wall in my bedroom, working myself up into a cold sweat. I couldn't wrap my mind around time. Around the concept that forever would never end. Never. Ever.

Striking a balance between that urgency, that fear that it will end, and that fear that it will never end, is the challenge. But then again, isn't striking a balance the challenge of life?

Have you seen God?

I have a new friend in my client's 4-year-old preschool class. Her name is Jordyn, and I am convinced that she will become a speech pathologist one day. She is absolutely fascinated by my client. I, of course, use this to my advantage and encourage the 2 of them to socialize and be friends.

My first memory of Jordyn dates back to the fall, probably the first time I started shadowing my client. I was standing in Fellowship Hall of the church where the preschool is held, and my client's class was lining up after indoor recess. I was suddenly startled by a blood curteling scream. Someone was yelling at the children. I quickly whipped around, expecting to see an adult. But no one was there, just children frantically trying to line up and go to snack time. I was bothered, as I couldn't figure out who was yelling. Then, my eyes were drawn downward. A tiny girl, dressed all in pink with bouncing golden brown curls continued to yell "Come on guys! Line up!" in the loudest and most abusive sounding voice I'd ever heard. That was Jordyn.

Recently, Jordyn runs up to me as I walk into the classroom and declares "I'm going to stay by your side the whole time you're here!" And she does.

Last week, during snack time, I was sitting in between my client and Jordyn. My client was babbling and pointing at the ceiling. I asked my client," What do you see up there?"

Jordyn tapped my leg and said, "I think he sees God!" I smiled to myself, then decided to talk to Jordyn a little more about her comment.
"Maybe so," I replied. "Jordyn, have you ever seen God?"
"Yes!" she stated, with confidence. "He used to come to my church in Indiana."
"Oh, wow! You are very lucky! Did God talk to you?" I continued to probe.
"Yes. He spoke a lot. I don't remember what He said, but He was there!"
This made my friday.

Sometimes I wish that we could see the world with this child-like innocence. In all reality, God does speak to us. Sometimes at church, sometimes while we're sipping our morning coffee during a blizzard in traffic. If only we were listening, seeing that He is there, and obeying and responding to His word. I hope we can all meet with God like Jordyn.

Test

The fizzy feeling of a redbull tingled as it trickled slowly down my throat, through my esophagus, and into my stomach, where I lost feeling and track of it. My palms perspired. My eyes felt plastered open due to the mass amounts of caffeine consumed. My mind felt drowsy, as it had been drilled and drilled; as if I attempted to jackhammer information into it. My stomach knotted, redbull and all, as the professor walked up the aisle, smiled at me, and handed me the thick packet. Here we go. Tests are out.

Until recently, in my life as a full time student, these are the only tests I'd ever experienced. I've heard about others being tested (namely Matt Chandler in his battle with cancer), and bible characters dealing with spiritual tests (i.e., Paul). I knew these were possibilities in my life. But I'd never felt tested before. Until the past 6 months.

Looking back, I can see that my faith was tested. This test lasted longer than the typical hour and a half I'm used to. And there were no essays, and for sure no word banks. This was real. This was life.

The target was something I have worried about for a long time. I think that's where tests start… worry. It's an easy target; something you're clearly already sensitive about. An easy target to make you lose faith. And that's where it started. It began slowly, making small choices. Ignoring the still, small voice. Thinking I would come around and obey later. Putting it off.

I'd prepared for this test. Not an all nighter, no. I prayed. I read the Bible. I knew the facts. But like a shy freshman with test anxiety, the information flew out of my mind. It was as if it was never there.

2 short weeks later, I would know how I did. A concrete number telling me whether or not I passed or failed. Telling me whether I was good enough.

Life tests don't get grades, but I find it easier to know whether or not you pass or fail. You feel it. You see it. You just know.

I failed. I took life into my own hands. I refused to relinquish control. The test was a test of my faith. I let it go. But there is good news. I'm broken but being rebuilt. His strength shines through my broken weakness. I find comfort there. I find grace.

Bikes?

I have an odd obsession with bikes. It started sometime this summer; I can't exactly remember when. But all of the sudden, I wanted the focal point of my bedroom in my new apartment to be a bike wall hanging. With my birthday money, I purchased an old timey bike necklace off of etsy (pictured left) and it has become a staple in my wardrobe. I even purchased a cream bike that sits prominetely on my nightstand.

This semester, I am spending a large portion of my week with preschoolers. I am a grad assistant at a preschool language program, which I absolutely love, work with some preschool aged chidren at a private school for children with learning disabilities, and, my favorite part of all, I shadow the preschool boy with autism that I worked with this summer. He is mainstreamed in a regular 4 year old classroom, so shadowing him means encouraging him to socialize with the regularly developing kids.

One of the kids, Gibson, is particularly cute. He always wears gray clothes, is very animated and acts like a little man. Inspired by the bike obsession, I have been wearing the bike necklace nearly every day. Last week, Gibson came to ask me a question, when a look of perplexion came across his face. "What is that for?" I asked Gibson.
"What is that on your necklace?" He asked, still looking quite confused.
"It's a bike!" I said with a smile, hoping the conversation would end, because I wasn't sure how to explain this to anyone, especially a 4 year old.
"It doesn't look like a bike. It looks like a wheelchair." Gibson replied. I was definitely not expecting this, so I explained that it was an old timey bike, and it looked different than a regular bike that he would ride.
"Are you sure?" he questioned. "It really looks like a wheelchair."
I just smiled this time.


His questioning made my week. When I went back today, I wore the bike necklace. It now puts a smile on my face everytime I put it on. I love kids.

Gray

Gray. It's a strange color; a perfect combination of black and white.

My favorite color is gray. It's odd, I know. It's such a melancholy color. It's dull. It's depressing, It's glum. It's the color of clouds before rain cleanses them. Strange as it is, I love it. Every time I am perusing for bargains at Marshalls, I smile with delight as I see a gray knee-length sweater dress. My friends and family laugh. It's odd.

Life used to fee black and white to me. Things were right and wrong. Plain and simple. There was no middle ground. I knew what was right, what I was supposed to do and what was wrong and that I shouldn't do, and I had no problem finding the discipline to do just that. It came naturally to me. I took that for granted.

Lately, life has felt very gray. What used to be so plainly black and white has somehow been blended together. Emotions float in between. People float in between. And all of the sudden, what was a palate of neatly dabbled splotches of black and white is a charcoal mixture. It's hard to know how to fix it. It's difficult to know what to do next.

Part of me things that the gray is what makes life...well, life. Perfection is wearing. Life would be dull without imperfections. Maybe embracing the gray, embracing the complication, embracing the mess is what makes life.