The wedding club.

I've been working on a couple different posts the past couple days, but neither of them are coming together easily. My brain seems to be becoming more and more scattered as school winds down.  

But today, I was struck by a thought that I felt was worth documenting. 

I was awoken at 3:30 from a text from an old roommate saying she was engaged. 

Despite how I joke about the ABUNDANCE of save-the-dates on our fridge,

it really is a beautiful thing.

I find deep joy in celebrating the love of my friends & sharing in their journeys.

 [As a side note, if you're looking to get hitched, live with me. 

She is my 7th ex-roommate to get engaged.] 

I responded, excitedly, as I always do, & hurried to class. But as I sat down tonight, 

I thought about how someday, I'll be able to say to someone, 

"Thank you for giving me your heart,"

without the fear of having to give it back.
Glimpses like that are pretty. I'm excited for that day. 

Glimpses of Good

"You will have arrived, not when you are rich, but when the sunset stops you because you see its beauty again. Success is free." -Donald Miller. 

        There are few things that are quite as creepy as blogging about someone who has no idea that he or she is the topic of your wandering thoughts. But as strange as it is at first, I tend to write about people frequently in this way. I find joy in knowing that someone who I am writing about might recognize that they are woven into my words. I think everyone likes to feel special in that way, whether or not they are willing to admit it. I like sharing a secret with whomever I've mentioned through the use of just the right amount of detail for them to identify who I'm talking about, while remaining a mystery to everyone else. More than this,  I enjoy the freedom of knowing that the person I've written about will likely never read the words that I've written about them. Something about documenting those moments feels so dynamic, like the ripple of his or her impact is greater than he or she will ever know. It seems like the purity of the impact would be diminished if the person ever knew its value.

        Occasionally, the way a person moves me is by giving me a glimpse of the future I want. Be it an action, a statement, or choice made, it allows me for a moment to capture a picture of what I hope for. I love moments like these because they are so small, yet profoundly moving. When I think about it, I'd say I've learned more through these unplanned interactions than I have in any other setting.

        Yesterday, as I studied in a local coffee shop, I caught one of these glimpses. A homeless woman came in, loudly asking for some money & help. The room immediately felt palpably uncomfortable by this request. I'd like to think that my first inclination would be to lovingly respond, but being caught in that particular moment, I, too, felt uncomfortable. I hate that I felt that way, but I am willing to admit that it is moments like this that elicit my most genuine response. What felt like a very long 5 seconds of blank stares from everyone in the room as we waited for someone to respond was finally broken by a man roughly my dad's age.

     Everything about what he did seemed so natural for him, & I hoped in that moment that one day I might do the same thing naturally. All he did was treat her lovingly. All he did was treat her like she had value, by asking her name, her story. He walked outside with her, bought her a cup of coffee, & listened to her. She had a voice to him. She had worth to him.

    I spent the rest of the day thinking about this seemingly ordinary moment. This guy had no idea that he was profoundly impacting those around him. At one point, my classmate said, "That's the kind of guy I want to marry." I couldn't agree with her more. I felt compelled to mention to him that I thought what he did was really cool. By this time, he was deep in conversation with his neighbors, & it didn't seem right to interrupt. I wish I had, because the next time I thought about it, he was gone.

   So in the spirit of blogging about those who will never know it, I'd like to say thank you to that man.

Thank you for responding lovingly to someone you had no obligation to. 

Thank you for stepping up & taking a risk. 

Thank you for alerting me to my own distrust & cynicism.

Thank you for modeling a strength of character that I hope one day to have. 

Thank you for exhibiting the overwhelming effect of light in darkness. 

Thank you for showing me a glimpse of what is good. 

Beauty in the Ugly.

       

When I was in high school, I got really into listening to Sufjan Stevens. 

His song, "John Wayne Gacy Jr." always haunted me a little bit, but for some reason, 

I was strangely struck by its beauty. I guess I appreciated Sufjan's literary approach & bravery in writing about such a monstrous human being, & I guess I appreciated the overlap of two of my

loves: music & learning. I was taking abnormal psychology at the local university at the time. 

I remember learning about John Wayne Gacy Jr. in class, & then listening to this song on the way home- each time attempting to understand why a story so ugly could sound so beautiful to my ears.

       Much like everyone else, I spent today reading everything I could about what was happening in Boston. As the story unfolded, I felt helpless, sad, & somewhat sick thinking about everything. I hate that our world is so broken. I hate that people are so messed up that they can intentionally harm each other. I hate that I don't understand it. As I headed to a concert with some friends, we discussed the most recent unfolding of events. By this point, 2 people had been killed, many were injured, 1 suspect was dead, & the other was in custody. One friend said, "I really hope they don't kill him." I agreed, realizing later that I wasn't entirely sure what he meant by it. I didn't know if he meant that this man deserved something worse than that or if he genuinely didn't want another death to result from the death that already existed. I understood & hoped for the latter.  I found myself thinking about it off & on for the rest of the show.

        Tonight, I came home to an empty apartment, & for the first time in a while, I remembered that song. I have no idea why it came up, but almost instantly, my eyes filled with tears, & the final verse repeated through my mind. At the end of the song, Sufjan literally compares himself to the man who killed 33 teenaged boys, by saying, 

"& in my best behavior, I am really just like him. 

Look beneath the floorboards for the secrets I have hid." 

It's a pretty freaking creepy verse. 

But as I think about what has happened in Boston this week, & how I should

react, I am struck by the gravity of those words. I am by no way trying to 

condone the heinous acts of a serial killer or make light of what happened this week.

Clearly both have made a rather momentous impression on me. But it got me thinking if

I believe those words. Do I believe that sin is sin & I am capable of such horrific acts as

much as the next person? Do I believe that the same redemption that was washed me

clean is available to someone who's actions have such destructive, far-reaching effects?

Do I believe that there is beauty to be seen in the ugliest thing imaginable? 

I desperately want to believe these things. I claim to believe them in the calmness of

life, but I am really tested when I react to events like this- Events that break

my heart a little bit & expose the true me, which, I am scared to admit, sometimes

looks a lot like the things I claim to hate. I guess it's times like these that make me
thankful that I don't really have to understand much else besides the power of light to overcome
darkness. All I know is that darkness is darkness, & light has the power to overcome
all of it, if given the chance. 

-Laura

Summer Dreaming

“We are music makers, and we are dreamers of dreams.”

–Roald Dahl

            A few weeks ago, with the shifting of the weather and my sights set on the faint glimmer of summer’s arrival, I felt something stir deep in my soul. Each time I sat down to chip away at my to-do list, my mind wandered. It started slowly at first, but what began as a few simple daydreams soon turned into something I couldn’t stop thinking about.  My mind wandered to warm nights on porches, fireflies over fields, and hammocks strung between trees. It seemed like every time I allowed it to, my mind wanted to dream.  So I let it.  This weekend I finally sat down & channeled the dreams into something tangible. It came onto paper in the form of a bucket list. While I was once worried about my first summer in Nashville, I am excited for the prospect of a southern summer in a city I am quickly growing to love. The list is a work in progress. There are items that are failed attempts at past bucket lists which embody desires I’ve had for years, items that are iconic Nashville “must-do” events, and some that are just fun lines from sentimental country songs, that if I am completely honest, I really hope get crossed off.  Here are a few highlights:

One: Join the East Nasty Running Club: 

            I haven’t really mentioned it before, but on April 27^th I am running the St. Jude Music City Half Marathon. Throughout this semester, I have enjoyed training for this race with some of my favorite friends who also happen to be classmates. I am fascinated by the fact that I can (fairly) painlessly get my body to run 13.1 miles. Once the race is over, I want to continue what I’ve started, & the The East Nasty Running Club seems like the perfect way to do this. For my Fort Collins friends, East Nashville reminds me SO much of The Fort. Running through it is good for my heart in more than one way.

Two: Become a share holder with a local farm:

            I’ve had a long-standing vision of being a backyard chicken and vegetable farmer. Maybe it’s been instilled in my small town, Colorado soul, but I dream about walking into my back yard to collect eggs and fresh veggies each morning. The problem with now is I live in an apartment, in the city, & while I did entertain the thought of it here for a brief minute or so, doing this myself just isn’t going to fly. The good news is, I can reap the benefits of local farming, without doing it myself through community shared agriculture. Think what you might about the type of person who participates in a CSA, [& you’re probably correct] but this stuff is cool.

Here are the ones I’m checking out: Green Door Gourmet & Real Food Farms

Three: Watch the sunrise from Café Coco’s porch:

            It’s officially patio-sitting weather here in Nashville.  This place is open 24 hours & I have fallen in love with the people-watching, the vanilla Italian cream sodas, and strangely enough, the frequently failing internet that forces me to stop working for a bit to chat with my neighbors. I am excited for the conversations to be had on this porch.

Here’s to dreaming. 

-Laura

Reflections on a Year of Growth

“Rejoice, my heart. You’ve been made whole by a love that will not let you go.”

        Just hours before I found myself sobbing in his passenger seat, I had clicked “publish” to my most recent blog post titled,  “1095 days.” The irony in the documentation of our third anniversary on the day he broke up with me stole the breath from my lungs, but seemed eerily conclusive at the same time. For a moment, I almost appreciated how on-schedule things had come full circle. In that moment, I saw our entire relationship-- from the moment he bravely grabbed my hand, 1095 days before, to this conversation in his passenger seat-- flash before me. Despite knowing in my deepest heart that our expiration date had arrived, I remember thinking, “If he were to propose in this very moment, my answer would be ‘yes’.” I knew nothing about how much could change in a year.

            The following days were a blur of crying-induced migraines followed by emotional numbness. I didn’t know it then, but the numbness would stay with me for a while. For the first time in my life, I was afraid to be alone & I found every excuse to be in a room full of strangers as often as possible. I avoided anyone who knew me, [who knew us] because tangled within my broken heart lived the fear that verbalizing our break-up validated its reality. Denial seeped into my bones,  & immediately, I began preparing for restoration. For 3 weeks, I waited for his call. I waited for his realization that letting me go was the biggest mistake he’d ever made, & I waited for God to just answer what I asked of him: Why wouldn’t he just fix things? I knew nothing about how much could change in a year.

        I spent the next 8 months floundering in and out of frustration with my heart’s inability to heal, & if I’m really honest, still waiting for that call.  I dreamt of him every night for weeks at a time, and I feared each morning that followed because it brought the perpetual discovery that brokenness was my reality. Each day felt like the rebirth of sadness, devoid of healing. My heart ached like it never had before. I knew nothing about how much could change in a year.

-----

Here I am, a year later. For the first time in 4 years, I watched April 8^th pass without any significant value besides the fact that the weather here in Nashville was the most beautiful it’s been in quite some time. The year that has passed since I sat in his passenger seat for the last time has been so different than I ever imagined. I dreaded this day for so long. While there were countless moments of peace and understanding, there were also moments when I genuinely believed I wouldn't know happiness again. But as each day passed, I slowly rebuilt my life without him, finding sincere joy in the process. I discovered the miraculous beauty of being honest with myself & others, and I began to taste the sweetness of redemption in a way I've never known before. I will forever remember this year as a time when I learned true surrender, deep healing, & the freedom of a foundational trust in the direction of my life by a loving, gentle God. I felt what I never thought I'd feel: This chapter is over, & it's good.

On this day,  I have more to be thankful for than I ever thought possible. As I reflect on the past year, I can truthfully say that I am falling in love with the day-to-day journey I am on.

 I know much about what can change in a year.

-Laura

Mental Health & Brokenness

“There are some who take anti-depressants and communion and there are those who think both are a crutch.” –Ann Voskamp

Last Saturday, upon hearing the news that Rick Warren’s son had committed suicide after a long battle with depression and mental illness, my heart broke.  My heart broke for his family & those who knew him well, & my heart broke for the realization of depravity, that death always seems to reveal. Despite our efforts to recognize the beauty that can result after it is over, death is never a pretty thing.

Humans weren’t meant to suffer.

Humans weren’t meant to take their own lives.

Humans weren’t meant to die.

           But as it often does, heartbreak reveals the disintegration of what was meant to be.  Hearts weren’t meant to break. But they do, & their brokenness mirrors a broken world that will continue to break, aching to be redeemed. On Saturday, I found myself painfully aware of my desire for redemption here. I wanted it now.

          When I chose to pursue occupational therapy, I knew that mental health would be a world I would become submersed in. Despite my habituation to the topic, hearing about these tragedies never gets easier for me. & I hope it never does.  As I first sat down to write this post, I wanted to talk about the broader scope of public opinion behind mental health. But after reading comment after comment about how this man’s death could have and should have been prevented-most lacking a shred of compassion or understanding for the complexity behind depression & mental illness- I changed my mind. I couldn’t handle the stigmas I found, the ignorance, or the lack of sensitivity for such a painful subject. My cynicism didn’t need the fuel. Instead, I found myself thinking about the bigger picture. Not everybody is depressed. Not everybody wants to take his or her own life. But everybody is broken.

He is.

I am.

You are.

Thoughts like this keep me up at night, but thankfully, that is not the end of the story.  All week, I’ve been thinking about the conclusion that is yet to come—the redemption that I feel my heart longing for, where there is no more death, longing, or pain.  My heart aches for it now, but I can rest in the promise that it is coming. 

“Light pried through the dark. A shaft came through the window like a lifeline.  & The birds sang, & we heard them.” 

Thursday Thankfulness [April]

This evening I sat outside & listened to the rain. 

I shivered a little bit, but I was captivated by the unsteady beat of the raindrops

on the plastic awning that was keeping me dry. 

24 hours before, I sat at the same coffee shop, in

a T-shirt, finishing a good book in good company. 

On both nights, I found myself thankful.

[Thankfulness today:]
1. Rain
2. Good books
3. Home stretch of school
4. 80 degree sunshine
5. Weekly goals & conviction
6. Finishing fieldwork
7. Learning surrender
8. 1 year of growth [more on this soon]
9. 10-mile runs that don't kill me
10. Bible study

What Might Have Been [Part 2]

          Every once in a while, I experience an epiphany that I've already had before. They are the same thoughts twice, & the only difference between the two is the recognition that I have changed between the first and second occurrences. This morning, as I sat in church, I had an overwhelming realization that this was happening. For almost an hour, I sat in contemplation of how my life has progressed over the past 12 months and how things might have been had things not have unfolded the way they did.

           I have dreaded the month of April for an entire year now. It hasn’t hung as heavy upon me recently as it once did, but the idea of a year passing has gently pressed on my mind on good days, & pervasively stolen my concentration on bad ones. While sitting in the darkened sanctuary this morning, thoughts regarding “what might have been” leaked into my mind in the softest way possible at first, but before I knew it, I could think of nothing else. 

[I’ve mentioned it before, but this tends to be how thoughts sneak up on me.]

            Back in June, I was reading “Bittersweet” by Shauna Niequist and was struck by the truth that time was passing like it always does, yet my circumstances were drastically changing. I was crippled by an inability to fix things or slow life down, and I wrote this blog post. In that moment, I dreaded the following year more than I’ve dreaded anything. The proceeding months after that post brought a slow wave of peace into my heart, & until this morning, I genuinely thought I wouldn’t think of it again.

            But this morning I did. As I confronted the beauty that has unfolded in the recent months, I became instantly overcome by thankfulness that things did not happen like they might have last April. Sacrifices that I could have [& was willing] to make don’t need to be made. Compromises that I could have [& was willing] to make don’t need to be made. I am so very thankful for the opportunity I was given to start new. It’s a new year, and I am thankful for it.