Year-end Review.

I must say, I am not terribly disappointed to see 2012 go. 

This year has been eventful, to say the least. In the last 365 days, I:

 interviewed and was accepted to my first choice of grad schools,

 spent one last semester in Fort Collins,

felt the joy of watching my friends greet exciting futures,

created new friendships & cherished old ones,

said goodbye,

had my heart broken,

nearly lost everything to a fire,

saw countless prayers answered,

moved across the country,

laughed a lot,

cried a lot,

closed out coffee shops while studying,

explored a handful of new cities, 

& grew. More than I ever have before.

If I had to choose the biggest lesson I learned [& continue to learn] in 2012, 

I'd have to say it's patience. I never realized I was impatient until I had

to wait. & that's what I've done all this past year it seems. As hard as this year

has been, I wouldn't trade the outcome of it for an easier journey. I'm hopeful 

for a new tomorrow.

Here's to 2013!

This is home.

It's easy to love where I'm from. I might be biased, 

but I truly believe I grew up on some of the prettiest land on this earth. 

Call me Jacob.

It's Christmas Eve. It has just started to snow, & as it blankets

the earth, creating a white Christmas here in Colorado, I feel peace settling over

my heart on this night. It hasn't felt this way for the majority of this year, 

& I am thankful that as this month comes to a close, I am able to watch

things change around me & within me. I've been thinking recently about

writing a year-end review, & I still intend to, but I came across an article

that I found extremely relevant at this time in my life. It's well-written, & 

a beautiful, honest account of what it looks like to be real with God. 

It's one of those things that I wish I could have articulated myself, but

was unable to find the words for: 

[Call me Jacob]

What I've Learned [Parts 5 & 6]

I've been avoiding finishing this mini series for a while now. 

I'm just kind of sick of the process of reflecting. 

I've gotten to a place that I'm fairly familiar with- a place where I am just

tired of thinking about things. Oh, how I'd love to just not think for a while. 

& that's what I've attempted to do. But I've realized that there's a reason why

I started this, & it's about time I finished. I'm coming to a compromise & 

combining the last 2 topics into one post: 

Nothing is wasted. 

It is easy to keep yourself from healing. 

[If you've missed anything, catch up:]

overview, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

The first of these two things is rather straight forward. As I've experienced

a semester or growth, pain, opportunity, & change, I've come to realize

that, piece-by-piece, my story is fitting together. I'm thankful that I have 

an interest in documenting my life through journaling & this blog, because its

been so easy in the monotony of each day to think that the details are insignificant. 

But they're not, & of this I am convinced. I'm stoked to be able to look back on this

all one day & have the fog lifted entirely from my understanding of why things happen

the way they do, but until then, this is a promise I'll gladly hold on to. 

It's the last topic that I avoided the most. [that's why I put it last.]

For months I didn't want to believe that I might be hindering my own healing

process, & for months, I avoided confronting the realization that unless I gave

up control to allow God to heal my heart, I never would truly heal. 

I knew in my heart the process of healing would be a painful one, but I 

desperately wanted the control of how quickly I would allow it to happen. & if I'm 

really honest, I think part of me didn't actually want my heart to be healed. 

Accepting brokenness & healing meant admitting that I might have been wrong

in the way I had directed my life thus far, & I wasn't ready to admit that.

It's kind of amazing the destruction we can inflict on ourselves. 

But it's even more amazing how quickly peace can overwhelm the most

broken of circumstances once you let it. 

It changes me.

In light of the elementary school shooting that happened in CT last week, 

I have been thinking a lot. As I watched the news in the ATL airport, 

I couldn't help but remember the Columbine High School shooting, and how it felt

to live so near to something so tragic. My 10-year-old mind couldn't understand 

it, & if I'm honest, my 23-year-old mind still doesn't. 

As a person who believes that there is a higher power- that there is a purpose

bigger than myself, I struggle with the idea of prayer. 

Whether they formally did it or not, I'd bet that every child's parent

at that school formulated the thought, "please, don't let it be my child."

Yet, for 20 families, it was their child. So does prayer work, or does it not? 

My heart knows it does, but situations like these make me question

my own grasp on it all. I can certainly see how easily one can lose hope

when something so devastating happens. 

I just started reading a book yesterday, & came across this. It seemed pretty 

opportune for the thoughts inside my head: 

"It is not so true that 'prayer changes things' as that prayer changes us, 

& then we change things. Jesus Chris is not a social reformer. He came to alter us

first, & if there is any social reform to be done on earth, we must do it. 

God has so constituted things that prayer on the basis of redemption alters the 

way we look at things. Prayer is not altering things externally, but working wonders

within our disposition. When we pray, things remain the same but we begin to be different.

We are never what we are in spite of our circumstances, but because of them."

-Oswald Chambers

Here.

I made it back to the 719, & it feels good. 

The past week started off in Atlanta, where I visited the World of Coke, 

walked across covered bridges & perused little shops all decorated for Christmas.

 I made my way to Fort Collins, where I wandered through flea markets, 

thrift shops, & a welded-creation wonderland. I stayed up entirely too late

every single night, & I had more fun than should be allowed in one week. 

I think I left my heart in Fort Collins back in May. But now I'm here:

& it feels good. 

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

[if Christmas was rainy and overcast.]

Tennessee has made an effort to get as close as it can to a white

Christmas with lots of cold rain this morning. I don't mind; weather

like this is always appropriate for finals week. 

I cannot believe I am one final away from finishing my first semester

of graduate school. 

Next stop: Atlanta & then home for Christmas. 

Tennessee, you're starting to grow on me, but it just wouldn't 

feel right to spend Christmas anywhere but here: 

29 days.

This year has one month left in it. 

Never in my life have I wanted time to pass quickly & stand still 

so badly at the same time.  Part of me wants to just put 2012 out of its misery & welcome

2013 with arms wide open. But another part wants time to stop-

I just don't want to start a new year just yet. Give me one more month &

maybe then I'll be ready. But sure enough, each morning I wake up & another

day has passed. I don't even want to talk about the fact that it was

August just yesterday, wasn't it? Then I think about all I've done since

then and all of a sudden the past 4 months feel like an eternity, crawling

by at a snail's pace. Time is so strange like that. 

So here I am on December 2, and I am already thinking about 

this year's end & if I'm honest, I'm a little bit scared. What if this new year doesn't bring

what I hope it will? What if I miss something in these next 29 days because

all I can think about are the following 365? What if the messiness of this

past year doesn't become compartmentalized in 2012 on December 31, 

never to be seen again in 2013? 

The truth is, I know it won't. Life doesn't work that way. 

While I'll never again live through December 2, 2012, I probably

will carry with me some of the hurt, confusion, & uncertainty of this year into

the next. & maybe I won't. Either way, time is moving forward, & like

everyone has always told me, time has a strange way of settling things. 

I can feel it happening. I'm looking forward to these next 29 days. 

A letter in my mailbox.

I don't generally struggle with the idea that my prayers

might be falling on deaf ears. In fact, I honestly believe that faith

has become one of my stronger gifts throughout the last couple years.

I have had very real experiences in my life in which prayer has been 

answered. Not by coincidence, not by chance.

But for whatever reason, I've really struggled lately accepting the truth

that He not only hears me, but he acts on what He hears. It seems

I've been a broken record with my prayers for almost a year now. Just typing that 

sentence makes me feel a bit foolish- I know that some people spend 

their entire lives repeating the same prayers, never to see the answer 

in their lifetime. But it's still how I feel.

I think of Joshua and how he asked God to

keep the sun from setting & God did. & I think, surely God could

just change things if he wanted to. So why doesn't he? Questions

like this do sometimes keep me awake at night, but I'm getting better

at seeing answered prayers in ways I am not expecting. 

Yesterday, I experienced one of those moments in which I 

was just certain that I'm being heard. It came in the form of 

a letter in my mailbox. Pretty much everything about

 the letter- the sender, the topic, the timing-

made me realize that God is moving in my life. 

I desperately want to hold onto these moments.  

Rejoice, my heart.

There is something about hymns that really speak to my heart.

Sometimes I can't believe that words written centuries ago have

such truth & meaning so many years later. I can't believe that the

time between then & now hasn't stripped the relevance from the 

verses; that the deepest longings of the writer's hearts are the same 

as mine. Words like: 

O love that will not let me go, 

I rest my weary soul in thee;

I give thee back the life I owe

that in your ocean depths 

its flow may richer, fuller be. 

I've had this song on my mind for a few days now. The words

have been speaking to me, as I've sure they've spoken to countless

others before me. I love that idea.

So rejoice, my heart.

Rejoice, my soul; my savior God has come to thee. 

Rejoice my heart, you've been made whole

by a love that will not let me go. 

Holiday Cheer

The holiday season is officially in full swing.
For perhaps the first time, I am beginning to understand why the holidays can
be a hard time for many people. I mean this in the least dramatic way possible-
My Thanksgiving was great. In fact, I had two: a "friendsgiving" here in Nashville,
and one in Jackson, TN with my aunt & uncle. My days were full of delicious food,
games, good conversation, & so much to be thankful for. I felt so loved & lucky
to have family so close, & time with my friends who also stayed in town was great.

I've written about it already, but there's something about the changing of the seasons
that is hard for me. As holidays approach, it seems like emotions-the good & bad- are
magnified by the sensory overloads, the heightened expectations of things to come, &
the uncertainty that the future holds. I sometimes feel anxious when I think about
the holiday season, and I begin wishing that everything would calm down,
if even for a moment. Before I know it, it is all over
& I've found that I've somehow missed it all.

[I don't want to miss it all.]

So here's to resting this holiday season.
Here's to warm soups, hot drinks, sweaters, & heated blankets.
Here's to joy that is rooted in the hope of a new season.

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. 

Changing seasons

Despite my lack of blogging about it, I am

indeed still trying to keep up with being intentionally thankful. 

It's been good for me. I've realized that as the seasons change, 

I am surprised to be confronted by things that 

I thought might be left in the past. Matters of the heart are tricky 

like that. Sometimes I think they're gone, but if I stand still 

long enough, they catch up to me. But I'm learning to allow them to catch me, 

as opposed to staying busy just for the sake of not allowing any of them 

the chance to look me in the eye.

& when I look at them head on, they don't seem so big anymore.

I am thankful that the changing of the seasons allows this perspective change. 

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.

Thankfulness, continued

This week, little airplane got a new look.

I'm still tweaking it a bit, but change is fun.

Also, this week I was thankful for these things:

Cancelled 7 AM classes & undeserved quiz grades,

Early morning bike rides & pumpkin smoothies,

Stories of adoption that give me hope & a vision of paternal love, 

Warm coffee shops that inspire productivity & dinners with old friends.

metamorphosis.

I listened to a podcast tonight on trusting God, by Jerry Bridges.
He describes a moth breaking out of a cocoon as a metaphor for experiencing adversity:

A moth struggles, as it goes through the metamorphosis process,

to break free from the cocoon it has lived in for a time.

As someone watches, he decides to lift the moth

and cut open the cocoon so as to spare the creature from

the tiresome struggle of ripping through the fibrous enclosure.

He does not understand that this is a God-ordained struggle

with a purpose behind it. 

The moth emerges easily from the cocoon, 

free of the struggle, but doomed never to fly. 

You see, it's it's the struggle that allows the caterpillar to become a moth.

As the moth works toward breaking through the pouch it sits in,

it's body physiologically responds, allowing the correct enzymes 

to be produced & circulating, as well as the strength to be built to use its wings. 

It is impossible for that moth to fly apart from the struggle to break from the cocoon.

Today I am thankful for this: 

No struggle is purposeless. 

Rain.

This morning, 2 classmates & I went on a walk through the woods

around a beautiful lake here in Nashville. The high temperature reached 

75 degrees. Everything about the experience was exactly what I needed:

sunshine on my face, conversation with good friends, & fresh air. 

It's only been several hours & the sky outside my window is dark 

& I can see bursts of lightning & hear claps of thunder. 

It's hard to believe that just this morning, I was walking outside in the warm sunshine. 

As I sit here in my room, I can't help but think that this is similar

to what's gone on in my heart lately. In the "sunshine" I feel satisfied,

happy, & at peace with the unraveling of each day. But in those dark moments,

my reality is the storm, & no matter how close the two experiences are to one another,

I can't think of anything but the realization that there is so much more healing needed in my heart.

I hate that these moments are mixed in so closely with 75 degree sunshine moments. 

It doesn't seem fair that the two should ever meet. 

But the great thing about these storms is they are sporadic. Days with sunshine

here greatly exceed days without. & I am finally beginning to experience the 

same in my heart. Even in the midst of a season painted with sorrow & uncertainty,

the sunshine prevails. It feels good. 

Today, I am thankful for these storms. They exist to put me in a place of

desperation before my God, & I don't want to ever lose that-even in the sunshine. 

30 days of thanks-giving

Last year I decided to spend the month of November

reflecting daily on at least one thing I was thankful for. The

motivation behind this idea was my own cynicism & a particularly

long season of apathy that I just couldn't seem to get out of. 

The experience of focusing on not what I wanted, but what I had been given

was extremely fruitful, & it became a testament to the transforming power

of gratefulness- a lesson I am still learning even a year later.

So here it goes: 

November 1: Yesterday I was thankful for meaningful

roommate conversations. I know I've said this before, 

but I have won the roommate lottery the past several

years, & this one is no different. I am lucky to be able to 

be encouraged, honest, & supported by any friend, but one

that lives in your own house is a great thing. 

November 2: This morning, I am thankful for 

words like this:  

"Be at rest once more,  O my soul, for the Lord has been good to me."

[Psalm  116:7]

Reading that this morning was a good reminder that

I am deeply loved & cared for. 

Discovering Nashville: The Well

Now that I'm starting to feel like I know Nashville a bit 

[& I no longer take 45-minute-long detours of the city because I'm lost]

I decided I'd start documenting some of the places I've stumbled upon.

Since I'm working on homework most of the time, I've spent lots of 

quality time in the many coffee shops that exist here, & I've found my favorite: 

The Well 

There's someting about this place that is very Every Day Joe's-esque.

[Which I miss terribly]

It's in a renovated old drive-through fast food restauraunt & everything

about it screams Nashville, from the burlap coffee sack covered chairs to the 

small stage for impromtu open-mic nights and Tuesday night church services. 

The main room is divided from the bar by two blue barn doors. 

The Well is the kind of coffee shop that makes me take out my headphones,

& listen, because their music is so good. There are books for sale & fair trade items,

& the profits of their coffee go to help underpriveledged people all over the world. 

They have a "wishing well" where people can post prayer requests,

encouragements, or needs, & anyone can take them to help get the 

poster's needs met. It's a beautiful picture of community. 

Be sure to check out their website. It's sweet. 

ps. Tomorrow begins 30 days of thanks-giving. I'm excited. 

Now.

I've been thinking a lot about how cool it is to be in a season of life

where I have very little holding me down. Sometimes I think about 

how just 3 months ago, I was living in Colorado, about to move

1,200 miles away. Now I'm here & it's great & all I can think about is where 

I'll be for my residency, because there are so many places I want to visit.

[spoiler alert: it's Austin, TX. More on that later.]

But in the midst of my excitement for the future, I've realized that 

I am often robbed of each day's joy because of my anticipation of what's next.

So this is now: 

I am almost done with my first semester of graduate school.

I've found friends & a church that I love.

I live in a beautiful city, in a huge apartment, in a cute room.

I have the best roommates I could ask for.

It's almost November, and I still get to run outside in a tank top.

I am so very thankful for it all. 

All Too Well.

It's a Taylor Swift kind of morning. 

Try as you might to hate her, her new album is good. 

[REALLY good.]

I'll pretend it's because I live in the same

town as her, but honestly there's just something

so emotionally appealing, catchy, and perfectly angsty about her

songs that I can't get enough of this morning. [or ever, really.]

Four Months

June 26th, 2012 was the scariest night of my life.

 

Four months ago, I left work in the middle of the day under a pitch-black sky filled with smoke.

Four months ago, I used my windshield wipers to clear falling ash from my view.

Four months ago, I saw a wall of fire cascade down the hillside toward my home.

Four months ago I stood in front of the television all night

& cried as I watched my childhood neighborhood burn to the ground. 

Four months ago, I spent 14 days as an evacuee, moving from house to house 

with my family, close friends & animals. 

Four months ago, I recognized just how few material things mattered to me

& just how many things could never be taken away by fire.

[Don't get me wrong, I did cry in the middle of COSTCO about my

yellow KitchenAid mixer and Ariat boots-both of which did not burn]

Four months ago, my life changed. 

It's amazing what can happen in four months. 

I have so much to be thankful for. 

 

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. 

What I've learned [Part 3]

I've had a hard time blogging lately because I've been so busy &

exhausted with school. But I wanted to finish what I started, which is

reflecting on the things I've learned from this season of life. This season

I had my heart broken, lived through a devastating forest fire, 

 moved accross the country, & followed my dream of becoming an 

occupational therapist by starting school in Nashville, TN. 

Being broken connects one to another. 

This lesson is one of the most apparent & probably

the one that I've experienced as the most fruitful since I've

lived in Nashville. One of the biggest lies you can believe when 

you're hurting is that you're unique-there's not a chance anyone understand

what you're going through. But what I've learned in this season of life is not

only that brokenness is common to all, but also that deep relational

development is born from vulnerability & brokenness. Since I've been in 

Nashville, I've made friends that I would never have bonded with had we  

not shared the common experience of deep hurt & brokeness. I'm experiencing

a closeness with people that has taken so much longer to develop in the past

& it feels great. I have grown in my own ability to see the beauty in new 

beginnings, & I have seen my growth directly affect those who are 

hurting as well. Brokenness creates a fertile ground for restoration not

only in our own hearts, but the hearts of others. I love it. 

[If you missed part 2, read it here.]

   

Glimpses from home

I was able to spend a long weekend in Colorado last week. 

After living in Nashville for a couple months now, it 

was just what my heart needed:

Time with my family that loves me,

old friends who know my heart,

& some of the prettiest land in this country. 

Symmetry

"I love God's symmetry of trouble & mercy."

Troubles for every day;

 mercies for every morning."

[Matt. 6:34 & Lam. 3:23]

-John Piper

What I've Learned [Part 2]

There is a need for emotional vulnerability. 

I've spent a good portion of my life out of touch with my own emotions.

It's not that I don't feel things.  But when it comes to identifying
just what it is I am feeling, I often struggle to recognize or categorize my emotions.
I remember watching The Notebook in theaters & feeling highly
uncomfortable while everyone cried around me. It was then that I first
realized that I'm not very emotional.
. 

Call it being unsentimental.
Call it being  hard-hearted. 
Call it having a heart that is 3 sizes too small.  

What I've learned in this season of life is that there is an absolute need
for emotional vulnerability. Could the root of my inability to exhibit genuine emotion
stem not from an inability to do so, but rather a fear of transparency?
Probably not in the case of watching The Notebook, but most definitely
in my emotional relatedness and honestly with myself & others.
In my worst moments, I want to attribute this to being an internal processor,
but when I'm honest with myself, I can identify the root of this as pride.
More specifically, it is a control issue of choosing just how vulnerable,
just how broken I wanted others to view me as. 

But here's what I'm learning: 
Brokenness is the human condition. 

We all share a common thread of brokenness, 
whether it be a failure in achievement, relationships or status. 
We all hurt, we all feel, & we all experience deep movement within us
that is not only natural, but necessary for growth. Confronting the state
of my own heart & allowing myself to be emotionally vulnerable has been
one of the best things I'm learning to do. I am overflowing with good
things that I have gained through conversations, questions asked, &
advice received because I've allowed myself to be a little bit vulnerable. 
Now that I've experienced these things, I can't imagine sacrificing them
for the sake of not feeling a little bit of hurt.

[This is the 2nd part of a mini series. You can find the topic here,
& part 1 here.]