Lessons on Patience & appreciating now.

Maybe I am a particularly oblivious person & I need all the hints I can get, but for some reason, when I’m learning a lesson, I am reminded of its theme e v e r y w h e r e. The conversations I have with people, the books I am reading, and even the media I am currently consuming all seem to point to the presence of whatever truth I need to learn. I appreciate it, because I am so easily distracted, that I often need more than one reminder of the important lessons that come my way.

            I wrote about it in my year-end review, but it seems that the theme so far of 2013 for me is patience. As I sit here on April 5, I can’t help but recognize that the lesson I was learning at the turn of the year is the lesson I am still learning. Even as I write this, the thought of “Aren’t I done learning that, yet?”  has fluttered through my mind once or twice. The irony of that thought’s impatience actually just made me laugh.  Nope, I’m not done learning patience, yet.

            Lately my impatience has manifested itself from the newness of spring and the signs of new life all around me. I am finally feeling the deep peace that was promised to me after the most difficult year of my life, (a post on this will come soon) & I am already experiencing the excitement of restoration and hopefulness of a new year.  But, I find it remarkable how quickly I exchange this fresh start for uncertainty and restlessness for my future.  Almost instantaneously, it seems, I replace hope with distrust and courage with fear. I find myself itching to make things work how I want them to, & a heavy discouragement settles on my soul when things don’t move at the pace or direction I desire them to.

            As prevalent as my impatience has been lately, I have found reminders of appreciating now more abundant yet. I am thankful for reminders that convince me of the beautiful simplicity that results from a patient lifestyle. Something tells me this patience journey will be a lifelong one for me, but today, I am happy to wait. 

The week I spent in silence

Recently, I found myself thinking about my thoughts. I’m pretty sure this is called metacognition, but after several ethics and philosophy courses, which did little more than confuse the heck out of me, I am not entirely sure. On Sunday afternoon, probably inspired by a particularly strong case of the Sunday Blues, I realized that my thought life has been overwhelmingly chaotic and disordered lately. As I contemplated why I haven’t been as introspective as I usually am [I suppose this is a bit of an oxymoron], I realized that moments of silence are almost non-existent in my life these days. I felt tired of just floating through my days mindlessly, & I decided in that moment that this week would be different. Since I am unable to drastically rearrange my schedule, I confronted different options for how I would spend more time in conscious thought:

11.  Wake up earlier to spend time reading and writing down my thoughts

22.  Use driving time [which is usually used for LOUD music time] for silence

33. Cut out a chunk of mindless internet/social media time just to sit & think

While I truly would love to do all of these things in some form, I chose number 2 for practical, measurable purposes. For anyone who knows me, I love music. I listen to it from the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep. Car time for me = music time, & the fastest way I will generally bond with someone is through a mutual appreciation for music. Spending an entire week in silence in the car was a fairly significant commitment for me. 

Here’s what I’ve learned:

Sometimes, when I get the chance to be alone with my thoughts for long enough, I am crippled by how palpable they become. In those moments, I am reminded of a Jon Foreman song that has the words,

“…when all of her nightmares grew fingers & all of her dreams grew tears …”

I remember the first time I heard that song. I actually got chills during those words because in that moment, he just knew me. I got chills not because I related to those specific personifications of abstract things, but rather because my own fears and dreams are that real sometimes, & I was thankful that Jon Foreman was able to articulate it in such an eerily beautiful way.

When I think about my thoughts, I am sometimes frightened by my own reflection. I could honestly give myself a headache in about two minutes of just rabbit-trailing my own brain, but I am simultaneously excited by the fact that I am capable of creating an entire world within my own mind. This week, I confronted thoughts of hopefulness for this new season of life. I confronted fears that felt so real, so human in my mind, that I swear they were sitting in the passenger seat next to me. I was able to confront them in the silence, & it was good.

What I've learned [Part 4]

This is the 4th installment of a mini series.
If you've missed anything, find it here, here, or here.

Brokenness yields opportunity for new things. 


When I moved to Nashville in August, shortly after the hardest season I'd experienced in my life had begun, I knew that few things would  seem familiar in this next chapter I was about to start. 

I was moving to a brand new place 1,000 miles from home, 
&  I knew this move would bring a range of things to adjust to [ traffic, weather changes, 
southern drawls, completely independent living].

 I honestly felt like the person who was moving to Nashville was not the same  
person who had graduated the year before & was about to watch 
all of the intricate dreams she had carefully created for her future unfold. 
I've struggled with living in the now my whole life. If I'm honest, even as I 
write this, I can't help but think of what's next- finishing classes, moving on to my residency
& then moving on from there. 


I've realized that once I saw all of my visualized plans of living in Nashville dissolve, I was left
with a blank slate of opportunity. Nothing I decided to do was hinging on another person,
an idea of my future, or a plan that was already made & waiting to be carried out.
I was completely free [& at times forced] to explore, create, & discover many of the things
I had neglected to think about because I was so far projected into the future I had created.
My time in Nashville so far has been an almost daily experience of recognizing newness;
there are so many opportunities here, so many relationships to be made, and so many 
risks to be taken that I might have missed out on had my 
original plans panned out the way I wanted them to.



 & while I am sometimes still painfully aware 
of the plans I once had & their current state of non-existence, I am finally able to
realize that letting go of them [a daily process] has opened up the opportunity for
new things. Not better or worse, just new. I am not willing to say that none of
these plans will ever come to fruition, but the time just isn't now, & that's okay.

This all reminds me of the song that inspired the namesake of this blog a few years ago:

Hello, my old heart.

It's country Sunday, but I'm listening to this instead:

It's from Texas, so it's close enough to country Sunday.
If you're craving some eclectic folk rock from 

two Texan siblings, give this a listen. 

It's a song that will make you happy & sad at the same time.

I love it. 

Sweet melodies & sweeter friendship

Last night, I got to be serenaded for the fourth time

by this man: 

As usual, his voice sounded even lovelier in person than it does on his albums. 

Don't believe me? Listen here: 

Or perhaps here:

But as lovely as his voice was [& always is]

the night was made even more lovely in the company of 

a friend who I have known for exactly one year. 

When I toured Belmont a year ago yesterday, I had no idea

that a girl sitting at my table would become one of my best friends 

in the program & we would be celebrating our friend-iversary listening

to one of my favorite artists. I was and am very thankful for friendships like this.

I am satisfied in you.

Some days I am restless. 

Other days, being satisfied is as simple as breathing

the next breath, thinking the next thought of how much I am thankful for.

I know a lot of my daily experience depends on my perception 

of what is going on, but I also know that both of these 

types of days were created by God for a purpose. I am completely

understood by Him, & therefore my deepest needs are met by

his closeness as a response to my longing for Him. 

Today is one of those easier days & I am thankful  for that. 

The girl.