a new decade.

If I’ve learned anything over the past decade, it is that life is much more like riding a bike across the country than I understood when doing so in 2013. There are SO many twists and turns, plans gone awry, and unexpected moments of beauty. Thousands of vista points right there on the side of the road, waiting for me to slow down enough to enjoy their view. 

There were moments on my cross country trek that I biked as if I was being chased… missing countless opportunities to slow down and enjoy the conversation with my fellow cyclists or experience the spectacular sunrise making its way across the sky in front of my eyes. In life, if I am not mindful… I miss a lot of noteworthy experiences because I’m rushed – worried about how efficiently I’m spending my time or the ongoing tetris-ing of my hour-to-hour calendar. In this next decade, I hope to live a life of thoughtful presence. Slowing down to see the growing flower bursting forth from a tiny crack in the blacktop beneath my tires. Noticing. Pausing. Experiencing. 

As I look to this next decade, I want to find joy in the burning of my muscles as I climb the mountains in front of me – recognizing that a part of the adventure requires an investment of both physical and mental energy, steady daily effort, and the occasional ache or pain to lean into the slow pedal-over-pedal crawl to the glorious mountaintop. This past decade has taught me that every extraordinary view from the top of a mountain comes with a series of challenges that require my attention, calling me to rest in the unknown, growing my dependence on the Lord, and teaching me about the beauty that can be found in the disciplined effort it takes to get up each morning and step into the daily mystery of life. 

The ride each day brought with it a set of unforeseen circumstances. Despite planning and preparing for a bike trip, it is impossible to create a strategy for every weather pattern, passing vehicle, and curve in the road. All I could do was ensure that my bike chain was clean, tires were full, shorts were padded, and route was top of mind – knowing that I had done my best to prepare and was as ready as I could be for the adventure ahead. It’s amazing that the older I get, the less comfortable I am with the unexpected… despite the constant protection and faithfulness that the Lord has provided over the years. As I enter this new season, I hope to regain the freedom that comes with trusting that with whatever twist or turn life takes, the Lord will continue to be by my side teaching me to trust in His promises. That not every turn is going to bring forth difficulties, rather some twists might bring forth a beauty so unexpected that it takes my breath away. Life is full of challenges, but it’s also exploding with opportunities for joy, moments of deep and significant meaning, and views that even a postcard could not capture. 

A decade ago, as a young, bright-eyed adult, I left the Midwest and ventured East. That choice sent me on an adventure that captivated my heart, deepened my faith, and stretched my perspective. It gave me some of my most treasured memories. You see, a life well-lived is indeed much like a cross-country bike trip. It’s an unpredictable journey filled with astonishing experiences, scenic views, and life-changing moments that develop and grow us into the next best version of ourselves. 

Cheers to a new year, a fresh start, and a decade of creating memories. Enjoy the ride!

Bows.

I love sharing stories about life’s sweet adventures and God’s faithfulness… especially after the experience is wrapped up, fully processed, and tied off with a pretty bow… because, who doesn’t like an exquisite bow?!

While these are wonderful and valuable stories, sometimes life is messy for longer than expected and the bow simply refuses stay on the top. So, I’m going to try something different today and share from the messy in between.

For me… for us…

Because vulnerability has the power to break down walls of loneliness and perfection… creating space for shared experiences and unexpected growth.

Life has been tough lately. It’s been emotional, humbling, exhausting, and, to be honest, riddled with mistakes. And right now, there’s no bow. There will be one at some point, because I believe in my core that the Lord brings good out of tough situations. But for now, there is no lace ribbon and silk bow to wrap around the story that is called life.

Over the past few months, my husband and I have journeyed through unexpected professional challenges, supported friends through difficult health battles, navigated my mother-in-law’s regular hospital stays, and mourned her ultimate departure from this earth… all while wrapping up the final months of our first year of marriage. To say that we’re tired is an understatement.

As we enter the holidays, we hold a blend of sorrow and hope. Hope for what lies ahead and the ways the Lord will grow us individually and as a couple through this season. And grief as we mourn what was and try to make sense of what’s ahead.

With December upon us, we’re not as close to thriving as I wish we were… but we’re trying. With the goal of facing each day as it comes… we’re attempting to extend grace, patience, and love to one another and those we encounter, especially when it’s hard. It’s a daily fight sometimes. And I’m learning a lot.

I’m learning to accept the feelings of failure that often come with the more challenging moments or days when I am operating as an opponent, rather than a teammate. I’m learning that in this season, I have less emotional energy to give to others, which contradicts my subconscious belief that I am the energizer bunny and capable of anything and everything. I’m learning with snail-like speed to recognize when my personal fuel gauge is nearing empty, so I can fill up before I reach mere fumes, which is clearly an unhelpful state.

In the midst of all of this, I choose to trust in God’s faithfulness. Trusting that the Lord will redeem, grow, and provide for us as we step forward. Trusting that this season will pass and soon enough, we’ll be navigating a new set of joys and challenges. Trusting… one moment at a time.

… 2019, we’re so ready for you …

And, if you’ve been in a season like this before, or if you are in one now, know that you are not alone. The beauty of seasons is that they are ever-changing. Hang tightly to the knowledge that this season will evolve into a new one. I encourage you to create space to live fully in whatever life has given you. Allow the Lord to change you and grow you through it, so you can be a more grounded and self-aware person moving forward.

Remember…

You are not alone.

You are loved.

You are a treasured gift.

seasons of engagement

Engagement – in all its excitement and anticipation – is also a place of sharp refinement and growth.  Both are necessary and good, while also weighty and demanding.

With the heightened stress of planning a wedding and a few other significant moving pieces in our lives right now, this season is requiring me to extend extra patience, grace, love, and kindness – toward Chad, myself, and our relationship.  It is here, that I am reminded that relationships are made of two people, each with their own stories, wounds, curiosities, fears, and anticipations.  Through this period of engagement, we get the opportunity to prepare for marriage by navigating this together. Learning from one another, experiencing moments of deep humility, and seeking to love in meaningful ways.

Believe it or not, I can be a total jerk sometimes. My words can be quick and impatient, lacking a slowness that genuinely asks heart-oriented questions to more fully understand what is happening on a deeper level.  At my worst, I say things that might be exactly how I feel in the moment, but certainly aren’t true the other 23.5 hours a day. Or perhaps there are noteworthy observations that should be shared, but I thoughtlessly communicate them in a way that causes more hurt than ever intended. Moreover, I can be ridiculously solution-oriented at times, so much so that I miss opportunities to simply sit in the feeling or emotion. Because of this fix-it mentality, I can miss the underlying lessons that frequently come from confronting the deeper story unfolding in my heart or Chad’s.

Interspersed with the lighthearted, life-giving moments of each day, I’m finding that there are occasionally darker, less pleasant ones – these are the ones that require more of me. And they are slowly morphing me into a better version of myself.

One of my favorite authors, Barbara Brown Taylor, writes about this in her book Learning to Walk in the Dark. She asks this question, “When we run from darkness, how much do we really know about what we are running from? If we turn away from darkness on principle, doing everything we can to avoid it because there is simply no telling what it contains, isn’t there a chance that what we are running from is God?” Since reading this back in March, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.  What if my desire for a quick fix or my avoidance of asking the deeper questions leads me to run from the Lord.  It’s thought-provoking and challenging.

Furthermore, at various points throughout her book, Barbara invites Miriam Greenspan’s writing to shed more light on the value of sitting quietly in these more difficult moments. Barbara summarizes, “The [darker] emotions themselves are conduits of pure energy that want something from us: to wake us up, to tell us something we need to know, to break the ice around our hearts, to move us to act.”  But we have to sit in the emotion to hear the Lord’s voice and to understand the best way to act. It’s a process that requires patience and presence.  It means that sometimes my to-do list needs to be set aside so that I can slow down and discern what actually needs to be done. To ask questions and truly listen for the response – however long that takes. Or to exercise patience with myself, with Chad, and with others… to more fully live out the Fruit of the Spirit.

I’m grateful for this mess, actually, as it is teaching me to lean into the Lord, trusting him to speak truth to my spirit when I can’t conjure up a single truth for myself. It is in this place of weariness and weakness that I am beginning to understand what God’s gift of free grace and love truly means… because I’m receiving it by the barrelful from both Chad and the Lord.

It’s a beautiful, messy, wonderful season. But that’s life in the truest sense. Even in these seasons of sharpening and refinement, I firmly believe that life is peppered with the Lord’s faithfulness and goodness.  So my prayer is morphing into one that seeks to embrace both the light and dark moments of everyday life. My hope is that when Chad and I look back at our time as an engaged couple, we see two people expressing patience, grace, love, and kindness toward one another – seeking to find peace and joy in the Lord as we enter into this “profound mystery” called marriage.

Cheers!

space.

I have this habit of filling life.

It’s a habit with the best of intentions… the desire to enjoy the fullness of a moment and the richness of ‘more’.  In my heart of hearts, I truly believe that there’s never enough goodness, wonder, and joy in a single day.  Yet, in the midst of this, I crave solitude… stillness and space.  I long for this… hoping that one day I might reach a place where I have enough.

How does one find themselves in a life that balances slowness and adventure? Coffee on the porch with birds chirping in the background one moment and a rooftop dinner with friends over meaningful conversation the next?

All I know is that I certainly haven’t figured it out.

My love for ‘more’ always leaves me feeling like life is too much.  I am learning that more is not always better, but sometimes it is. Discerning the difference is the true challenge.

One of the things I’ve been learning is that this idea of having, being, or doing more can often provide me with amazing experiences… but it can also leave me feeling somewhat dissatisfied.

Why? Because every experience could be bigger and more profound the next time. Because small, unplanned, intimate moments could become a regularly planned part of the many activities peppering my schedule. There is always opportunity for more.

And yet, I continue to come back to the idea that ‘more’ can crowd out moments of spontaneity and space to be truly present.

I want to be a present person. One who lives in the moment fully – unconcerned about the next item on my overgrown to-do list.  I want to be a person who has space to enjoy the fullness of a good conversation, a quiet night of reading while sipping a glass of pinot noir, and the fulfillment that comes from preparing a meal entirely by scratch.

Space. It is hard to cultivate. Yet it is desperately needed.

 

Community & Christmas.

In recent years, I’ve developed a nighttime practice of reflecting on the day and identifying moments of beauty from the adventures it held.  This Christmas Eve, I found tears in my eyes as I reflected on the events of a day filled with so much tradition and celebration. At the end of this wonderfully long day, during my quiet reflecting, I was struck by an overwhelming and fresh understanding of the power of community.

Upon entering my parent’s church for our four o’clock Christmas Eve service, I was overwhelmed by the number of familiar faces, greetings, and hugs awaiting me.  This place – one that witnessed my daily outfit rituals during middle school, knew me before I joined my first book club in high school, allowed me to lead worship Sunday mornings in my late teens, and sent me off to learn how to “adult” in college – felt like home.

In that moment, I was tasting the fruits of a community that have been cultivated over decades by my parents’ love and investment in the lives of so many people.  What struck me as especially remarkable about my experience on Christmas Eve, is that the love this community has for my parents is clearly abundant, and yet it doesn’t stop there… this love and care extends to my life too.  In each of the interactions on Christmas Eve, I felt known and loved.  That holds significant power.

Being known – in all its terrifying vulnerability – is what community provides.  Isn’t that one of the core needs of all humans? To know and be known. And to be loved because of this knowing.  One of my favorite authors, Jean Vanier, writes in his book Community and Growth, “A community is not simply a group of people who live together and love each other.  It is a place of resurrection, a current of life: one heart, one soul, one spirit.  It is people, very different one from another, who love each other and who are all reaching towards the same hope and celebrating the same love.  This is what brings the special atmosphere of joy and welcome which characterizes the true community.” Community holds the power to dramatically influence and restore the lives of those who come in contact with it.

Years ago, my parents planted roots in Hudson, choosing to invest deeply in the lives of those they came in contact with here.  They allowed their hearts to feel the joys and sorrows that their community felt.  They also invited others to know and be known by our family.  Because they did these things well, I still reap the benefits of being known and cared for today, regardless of how frequently or infrequently I step into this community.  And for that, I am tremendously grateful.

As I continue to learn how to plant roots here, I hope that the friends and family I invest in here will turn into a beautiful, welcoming community.  Not just for myself, but for everyone that comes in contact with it.  That when visitors come to town and interact with my community, they immediately enter an atmosphere of joy and welcome.  That it is a place they feel known and loved. Because there is really nothing like it.

Cheers & Merry Christmas.

c.

(photo credit: Marnie Marie Photography)

making all things new.

As a Girl Scout, we learned to “make new friends and keep the old”. There’s even a fancy song that we all sang, probably in harmony around a bonfire at some point.  Ironically, this is a philosophy that I’ve unintentionally expanded to every area of life over the past couple decades: to value and hold tightly to the old, while also embracing all possible new opportunities with wide open arms – friends, habits, memories, magazines and books, hobbies, and the list goes on. Whatever it is, I want to experience ALL of life. Squeezing every last second out of every single day.  And then file the good stuff away in my catalog of wonderful life moments… with the hopes of repeating it in some fashion in the future.  Do more. Achieve more. Experience more. And if that means maneuvering the hours in my calendar like I would adjust pieces in the game of jenga, I’ll do it.  Whatever it takes to experience life to the fullest and say yes to as much as possible. That has been my life’s mission for as many years as I can remember.  The problem is, as you move pieces in Jenga, the game becomes more fragile. Holes begin to appear and layers start to wobble. My life, in turn has begun to do the same.

This zest for life within my soul – for all the possibilities that life can hold – can be beautiful.  Yet, I’m finding that facing endless possibilities doesn’t always mean I should say yes to each and every option.  Why? Because when I say yes to another great opportunity, I inadvertently say no to something else I cherish. I’ve been aware of this concept for over a decade now and I am ever so slowly beginning to comprehend it’s meaning. The challenge, of course, is figuring out what it looks like to begin acting on this.  To begin saying no. Slowing down. Sorting through the reasons behind my desire to say yes all the time… and the fears behind my avoidance of the word no.  It’s been quite a process.

I’m learning to refocus on the Lord during this journey of slowing and intentionally being present, rather than proving myself to be competent, capable, or successful. I’m learning to believe that I am competent, but I don’t have to prove myself. That although I am capable to do something, that doesn’t mean I am the person that should do it.  And that success doesn’t mean that I should have the busiest schedule, wear a business suit, and climb the professional ladder at work… perhaps it is something different entirely. I’m facing my pride. And in turn, learning about dependence.  I’m handing over my tight grip of control, and finding peace and contentment.  I’m learning that I am enough.

I think that a part of myself hoped that if I slowed down, I’d experience hundreds of “aha moments”. That the Lord would be speaking directly into both my ears and I’d know exactly what to do next.  In actuality, I find myself left wondering what is truly next… just as frequently as I did before. But I am finding that my ears are tuned differently. I can hear my thoughts a bit clearer. I’m discerning things with more wisdom. My entire self is turned toward God rather than toward the things that captivate my mind day-in and day-out.

This season of slowing has been terribly uncomfortable. I’ve had to seek significant accountability from friends and family to call me out when I’ve begun sprinting again, grasping onto everything I come in contact with. They’ve been bold in their honesty… and they’ve had to be….  because the curious, inquisitive dreamer in me is constantly thinking up new ideas. In just the last month, I have created about 12 different options for my future careers. Developed plans to turn my apartment into a retreat center. Planned several trips around the world. Considered adopting a dog. Researched bingo halls to connect more with the aging communities nearby.  Purchased at least 10 new books, and am now in the middle of about half of them. And the list goes on. I’m telling you… my accountability partners deserve coffee. Lots of coffee. And maybe wine too.  Thankfully, they’ve kept me sane, refocusing my attention and assisting me in embracing the calm that comes with being still and sitting in each moment.

There will come a day when I begin to say yes again. I’m not sure when though. It’s been a true struggle to hold back from putting a time frame on this process… but a project like this is going to take time. So I wait.

I’ll end this with a quote from Shauna Niequist’s new book, Present over Perfect, which I received in the mail last week. She reflects, “The stillness feels sort of like walking on the ceiling – utterly foreign.  What makes sense to me: pushing. Lists. Responsibility. Action, action, action. What’s changing my life: silence. Letting myself be fragile. Asking for help.” Truly, she is my soul sister.

That’s where I’m at. Embracing stillness, vulnerability and courage.

Cheers.

my one month anniversary.

Rye, NH

As I sit, perched on a perfect chair-like structure made of large rocks, couples stroll leisurely passed me, hand in hand, smiling and laughing in the morning sunlight.  Dogs playfully wander between the ocean and the stone-filled hillside, enjoying freedom from their leashes, if only for a moment.  My senses can’t help but engage fully in the sights, sounds and smells surrounding me.  The fragrances emanating from the beach dance playfully, blending the salty air with the fragrant roses lining the beaches.  Meanwhile the echo of waves break along the shore composed of varying colored rocks, fine sand, and an endless array of sea-life left behind in the receding tide.  The soft, barely perceptible breeze, gently tousles my hair as I gaze at this beautiful scene playing before my eyes.  I am happy and content… profoundly at peace.

The past two weeks have been glorious – filled with adventures around the east coast.  I’ve been able to spend time sipping coffee with friends while we reminisce about past adventures, process current realities and pray over the upcoming stages ahead of us; sharing experiences, best practices and encouragement with both new and old colleagues from colleges across the United States; exploring new restaurants, coffee shops, boutiques, beaches, towns, lighthouses, museums, cities, and hiking trails; and making new connections with Airbnb hosts, restaurant owners, higher education professionals, and neighbors.  It has been an absolute treat and has brought me tremendous joy.  A timely gift from the Lord as He takes me on another unexpected, yet energizing turn in my life.

Harpers Ferry, WV

Years ago I told the Lord that I would follow Him wherever He guides me.  Since then, I’ve engaged in many conversations with him about what this means – some filled with anticipation and others with dread.  The process of listening always takes a different shape.  Given my strong stubborn heritage (thanks mom & dad), I’ve had some 2×4 moments with God where I made my demands or strongly shared my desires.  In these scenarios, God gently prods me with a 2×4 until I step back – eventually letting Him lead the way.  I’d like to think that with age, and some added wisdom from experience, I step aside and listen more attentively now… even if I’m uncertain about what might come next.  God has been so patient with me and for this, I am grateful.  God has proven to be so very faithful.

Since returning to the Twin Cities, I’ve been in long conversations with the Lord about who He has created me to be and what His purpose is for my life – how I lead, what my gifts are, the ways in which He uses me to influence others, my weaknesses, the roles He has placed me in, what it looks like to be a good ___ (fill in the blank with: friend, sister, daughter, granddaughter, employee), and thousands of others.  It has been a season of questioning – sometimes deeply painful and other times entirely delightful – all times beautiful and transforming.  It is through this refining process that I have been sharpened, molded, and reshaped.

As I’ve slowly emerged from this season, a new understanding of myself, my values, and my priorities have surfaced as well.  As common with many, my career has played a significant role in my life.  The past year, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking through my relationship with my career, and in turn, my relationship with the Lord.  Through this season of reflecting, I have discovered how closely my identity is attached to my career and that, perhaps, I could benefit from taking some time to reorient and refocus on the Lord.  It was around the time of this this ‘aha moment’ that a unique opportunity came my direction.

Several years ago, I began wondering about working outside of Higher Education, but didn’t have the direction from the Lord to make a change.  When I began conversing with a company that is developing an educational platform called Clinical Training Manager that seeks to better prepare students studying Social Work and Counseling for their field of study, my love of Higher Ed and my desire to serve in a different industry collided.  The company moved quickly in their pursuit of me – which was humbling and a true gift.

2015-16 Student Leaders (among many other)

Throughout the process, I felt the Lord’s presence in new ways as I prepared to step away from a field I know and am quite comfortable serving.  I have absolutely loved the field of Student Development – giving 110% as often as possible by investing in the transformative work of developing young leaders as they grow through leadership roles, academics, roommate conflict, disability accommodations, advocacy, event planning, and preparing for the future.  I’ve given so much of myself and have been radically changed by the thousands of students and colleagues I’ve worked with at Geneva College, Simpson University, and Bethel University.  Naturally, there has been a number of emotions wrapped up in this job change – which is why it has taken me some time to figure out how best to authentically share my journey.  One of the most beautiful things I’ve experienced through this decision making process is that the Lord has faithfully provided incomprehensible peace since making the decision to work for Procentive.  And for this I am grateful.

I recently opened the pages of Lauren Winner’s brilliant book, Wearing God.  She quotes another author within her writing (another favorite of mine) and I’ve been chewing on it since reading it last week.  Barbara Brown Taylor writes, “’The Kingdom of heaven is like this,’ [Jesus] said over and over again, comparing things [his followers] knew about with something they knew nothing about and all of a sudden what they knew had cracks in it, cracks they had never noticed before, through which they glimpsed bright and sometimes frightening new realities… Every created thing was fraught with divine possibility; wasn’t that what He was telling them? Every ho-hum detail of their days was a bread crumb leading them into the presence of God, if they would just pick up the trail and follow.”  I love this because Taylor is challenging us – well Jesus is – to pay attention, to notice details, to watch and observe the regular parts of our lives.  And through intentionally taking note, we can see glimpses of heaven… of our faithful Father guiding us into His presence.

New Hampton, NH

As I sit here in the presence of the mysterious and vast Atlantic Ocean, I can’t help but wonder if difficult seasons – ones where we have to re-evaluate, face ourselves, and search for God – are also the times when we begin to see cracks and glimpses of God in the midst of our seemingly mundane or ordinary lives.  Through this, our very own lives become “fraught with divine possibility” and we are led into the transforming presence of God. This has been true for me in recent months.  It has been absolutely delightful to see and experience God’s presence throughout this season of conversations with God.

Today marks my one month work-anniversary at Procentive.  Here’s to seeking the Lord in this new season.  It’s riddled with potential!

Cheers.

My stone pillar in Newport, RI – built as a reminder of God’s faithfulness.

good morning

There is something about the sunrise that captures the anticipation of a new day dawning… the playful rays of light against the wooded lot out my window beckon me to follow. Yet, I remain still… quietly welcoming the day’s wonder and beauty. In these moments, I can’t help but be reminded of how gloriously creative my Heavenly Father is.

Today, I want to enter my day with an eye turned towards God. To see his beauty unfolding with each step and in every conversation. May I worship the Lord with every breath I take… today and always.

curiosity.

Boxcar Children – the books that inspired my childhood ‘orphan’ play

I don’t think I knew how curious of a child I was… but as I find myself engrossed in yet another book – this one a novel with mystery-like qualities – this personality trait, that follows every answer with yet another question, is becoming more evident to me.  I have always enjoyed a good mystery.  As a child, I would get lost for hours in Boxcar Children books.  Barely a fan of the more popular Babysitters Club series which was the favorite among my female classmates, I adored the adrenaline that would fill my little heart as I followed the adventures of Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny – this quartet of siblings constantly meeting people, asking questions and helping to solve hundreds of mysteries they happened to encounter on every trip they took.  They had a passion for learning how and why things operated so they could live in the world around them and help others experience a better existence too.

 

More evidence. As a child, I was given the nickname ‘big ears’.  At nearly any gathering my parent’s hosted, I remember leaving the children to play in the basement, while I would inch my way closer to the adult table.  Claiming that I was hungry or had a question that needed answering right then and there… not because I truly had an urgent question and I most certainly was not famished. Instead, this urge to be close to the adults was because I craved to know what was going on in the adult world.  What did they find to be important? What political happenings did I need to investigate further? What did that one friend of my dad’s do that led to uproarious laughter? What work stories weren’t talked about at family dinners during the week that would be shared during ‘adult time’? Anything and everything they shared with one another kept me in the kitchen just a minute longer… wanting and hoping to hear a golden nugget – something that would help me understand this world a little more.  Of course, it didn’t take too long for my parents (or really anyone at that table) to notice my presence and to ask me why I wasn’t playing with the other kids – eventually dismissing me to the basement to play with those my own age.

My handsome dad and his girls.

If children don’t inspire one to recall the curious spirit hidden deep inside each adult, I’m not sure what will. This morning, my 3-year-old cousin came over to visit and play for a few hours.  Everything I said to her was followed with the question, “Why?” that seems to captivate the mind of every little child.

Would you like to play a game?  |  Why?

Let’s go upstairs.  |  Why?

It’s time to clean up.  |  Why?

Isn’t this a beautiful, sometimes frustrating word? The curiosity that melts off such a question is stunning.  We get to help a sweet child understand how this world works and why it works as it does.  Sometimes it makes sense… we clean up so that we can have floor space to play another game.  And other times it makes little to no sense… why did I pick 5 bites instead of 6 or 2 or 10 when asking her to eat more of her lunch. Yet, other times it reminds us of how selfish we are… she’s taking a nap 30 minutes earlier because I need some time to breathe without all… the… questions.  Ironically, about one month after meeting me, one of the first student leaders I ever worked with asked me if I knew that I favored the word ‘why’.  Initially I was unsure of how to absorb her observation; however it didn’t take much thinking to realize that she was right.  I was endlessly curious and I have found that as I continue to age, the value I place on such questions has continued to be a favored one.  Why? Because it delves into the deeper meaning behind our behavior and ideas.  Uncomfortable as it might be, it grows and develops a person in numerous meaningful ways when he/she has to face the why behind actions, attitudes, and beliefs.

My sister, Katie and my sweet cousins Abbie and Sally.

Curiosity.  It can lead us to ask questions of the world and others that shed light on different experiences – experiences that have shaped stories, actions and perspectives.  Curiosity.  It can lead us to wonder about structures that are rooted deeply in historical decisions that were relevant at a certain time, but are no longer effective.   It can lead us to restructure things to better serve and love others.  Curiosity.  It can lead us to a conversation with a person we might never interact with due to social and cultural dynamics. It can lead to changed perspectives and personal growth – reshaping a misinformed understanding of a person or a culture.  Curiosity.  It can lead to uncomfortable conversations that grow us and change us.

There can be a dark side to curiosity too, of course.  Unanswered questions.  Systems that don’t want to be changed. People that don’t understand the value of differing perspectives and stories. Changed perspectives that complicate rather than simplify one’s worldview.

Curiosity requires humility. Why? Because when we question and wonder, we acknowledge that we do not fully know or understand something.  We loosen the tight fist around our ideas and recognize that perhaps, just maybe, we don’t know everything.  And not knowing everything can be incredibly freeing.

Albert Einstein wrote, “The important thing is to not stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existence. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery each day.” I like this.

May we all be a bit more curious. Ask more questions.  Let ourselves sit comfortably next to the mysteries within this world.  Who knows what we’ll learn and how this might change the world!

Transitions and Reflections

I’m fairly certain that every entry in my prayer journal begins with: “Oh. My. Word… Where is the time going.” or “How is it mid-November already?” But seriously… how did we get here?

With nearly one year of living back in the Midwest under my belt, I can’t help but find my introverted heart crying out for space to look in the rear-view mirror and reflect on all that has happened within this short year.

For those that haven’t followed my journey, one year ago I was living in California, grateful for the Lord’s guidance to such a beautiful part of the country.  I was serving in a really neat position, dreaming up plans for my department and introducing two new grad assistant positions into the folds of academic support at Simpson.  It was exciting to see the ways the Lord was working.  I also found myself enjoying the mild fall weather in Northern California with Saturday bike rides to Shasta Lake and coatless walks around town.  The Lord provided fast friendships in Redding through work and book clubs.  I explored the Redwoods, enjoyed wine country, visited a Shakespeare Festival in Oregon and drove Hwy 1 to meet up with a friend to camp in the forest along the ocean.  It was incredible.  I felt fortunate.  I thought I’d be calling California home for awhile.

When I felt the Lord prompting me to apply for a position at Bethel University in St. Paul, after such a short stint in California, I was baffled and confused.  I had been praying to return to the Twin Cities for so many years.  Why now? I had just begun to settle into my role and life out west.  The timing made no sense.  After much prayer and guidance from mentors in my life, I threw my name in the pool of applicants, once again at Bethel.  You see, I’d applied at Bethel before, without receiving an offer, so I kind of assumed that the Lord was going to simply teach me something about patience in this application process – doubting that I’d actually get the job.

The process moved smoothly at Bethel, which led me to wonder if I’d actually be moving – for real – back to the Midwest.  It felt wrong to be excited about this prospect, as I felt a loyalty to Simpson and the call I’d received from the Lord that led me there in the first place.

Talk about a season of mixed emotions.  At the time, I didn’t realize that these feelings of both bitter and sweet would continue to be a part of this season for months after making the move back here.

I ended up receiving an offer and uprooted myself again, sending my belongings and car ahead of me – meeting them in Wisconsin after a final weekend exploring San Francisco with friends.  By mid-February, I was in a new job, living with my family, and trying to adjust to living – for the first time – as a professional, full-time working adult near my family.

A total whirlwind.  A beautiful, confusing whirlwind.

I knew how to be a professional and invest in community apart from my family, but I had no idea how to be intentional as a daughter, sister, cousin, niece, granddaughter and friend living near everyone again.  It looks different.  Feels different.  Comes with different expectations and new boundaries.  Everything was different.

So was my job.  It required odd hours.  Student interactions took a different shape.  My leadership and voice sounded different.  I felt a bit like a foreigner and an outsider in a familiar place.

Transition.  Even in the midst of exciting change, transition can be challenging.  Several years ago, in another time of transition, I began calling seasons of transition the Transition Shit Storm.  Why?  Because often times, even when transitioning in only one area of life, every other area can feel upside down and turned around.  I’ve shared this title with others going through transition, and they usually laugh & then express how accurate that name actually is.  Feel free to use it in future discussions – just give me the credit!

So, in this particular Transition Shit Storm, when so much feels out of my control and different, I’m trying (quite imperfectly) to focus on how I’m living out my life in the midst of the bitter and the sweet.  Who do I want to be remembered by?

After some reflecting and processing, I know that I want to be remembered as someone who…

• speaks truth
• honors the Lord with my actions
• listens with attentiveness
• asks meaningful questions
• encourages excellence
• expects greatness, while extending load of grace
• loves deeply
• faces fears and setbacks with humility
• doesn’t give up

Although there have been some challenges in the midst of the transition, there have been some beautiful moments.  I live near my family and even though I cannot attend everything, I do get to see them face-to-face more than I did when I lived on either coast.  I have the opportunity to celebrate birthdays and take a week to camp with them during the summer months.  We get to hike, shop and dream together.  Not only is the experience of sharing life with my family again beautiful, but my role at Bethel gives me the opportunity to interact with hundreds of students each week as I work with student leaders to create an engaging culture to participate in outside of the classroom.  What I have prayed for over the past 6-years has come true… I get to live daily life with my family again, while investing in the lives of college students through my job.

This is an amazing gift.  The Lord has been using Shauna Niequist – whom I’m convinced I’d be best friends with if our paths ever crossed – to speak truth to me lately.  She writes, “Bittersweet is the practice of believing that we really do need both the bitter and sweet, and that a life of nothing but sweetness rots both your teeth and your soul.  Bitter is what makes us strong, what forces us to push through, what helps us earn the lines on our faces and calluses on our hands.  Sweet is nice enough, but bittersweet is beautiful, nuanced, full of depth and complexity.  Bittersweet is courageous, gutsy and earthy.”

I’m learning to live recognizing this reality daily as I lean into this chapter of life.  I wouldn’t move away from my family to simply avoid the dynamics of learning how to live near them again.  And I’m not ready to give-up the fight to invest in the various commitments I’m involved in at work and in my community.  I’m here until the Lord calls me to something else, so I’m learning to embrace both the bitter and the sweet.  I’ve always loved the stories that wrinkles tell anyway – why not add a few stories to my face during this season.  It will create a lovely book one day.