A look back: One year later

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

That day and the days that followed changed me to my core. 

 If you missed the process one year ago, check it out here. 

Or here. 

Today, instead of remembering the fear I felt as I drove
from my neighborhood for what I thought was the last time, my heart is calm.
Instead of remembering the destruction that was left in the ashes, I am reminded of
the beautiful redemption that followed: the new life that is purer now, having been
refined and made new by fire.

"Behold, I am making all things new." 

What sweet truth. 

Prayers that have changed me [1]

As much as I enjoy blogging, I have spent much more of my life archiving things in a written journal.

There is something about using a pen and paper that forces me to slow down a bit &

be fully engaged in the art of documentation. 

My mom told me recently that I have kept a journal for as long as she can remember. 

I have not a single memory of a time when I wasn't keeping track 

of my thoughts, whether it be a quote scribbled on my hand [which I still frequently do]

or through my first online journal 11 years ago. 

[which is safely buried in the depths of the internet, 

only to be looked at when I need a quick ego demolition. Yikes.]

I have a box of old journals in my closet that I have written in throughout

my life, & it is honestly one of my most cherished possessions. 

One of my favorite things to write in journals are prayers. I find that writing

down prayers helps keep my wandering mind focused, & I enjoy 

looking back to see how God has answered each one of them- sometimes

in remarkable ways.

Since I've been lacking inspiration lately, I thought I'd come up with a new miniseries.
I want to flip through my old journals and find prayers, quotes, or entries that changed me.
I think it's important to pay attention to these things when I get caught up in the busyness of life.
That's where I am right now, & I think it'll be a good reminder that I am being continually sought by
a loving, personal God. It is my hope that these reflections will remind me of the dynamic,
exciting journey I am on.
  

Lessons on provision.

I found myself lying awake at 4 this morning, after a fitful few hours of attempted sleep. I got into bed completely exhausted, & it made little sense as to why sleep just wouldn't come.

My body, mind, & soul all felt restless in every sense of the word.  

My head raced through conversations, scenarios, & interactions I'd

had over the past couple days. If I'm honest in my introspection, I could say that I sort of knew a night

like this was coming. I spent most of the day unsuccessfully battling a heavy heart & I attempted sleep at the summit of the heartache. I hate sleepless nights like this, but lately

I've become more familiar with them. 

I can't help but relate to the words of this song:

"Even in my dreams, I am restless... looking for you."

It's strange how sleeplessness & the hours in the middle of the night can 

influence your perspective so deeply. As I sat in my bed, I felt a hopelessness fill

my bedroom, & every small thought on my mind- from my growing to-do list to

the deeper matters of my heart- seemed to be magnified by my exhaustion & lack of rest. 

In that moment, I was overwhelmed by my inability to control even the simplest thing

like sleep. 

I checked my phone in an attempt to distract my mind from my heart, 

& saw a text that said this: 

"God is our strength & our portion. He is more than enough."  

The timing & truth of those words was magnified in that moment, & as

that understanding grew, my mind slowly grew more clear.

For the first time since I had gotten into bed hours before, I felt myself relax. 

At 4 in the morning, in my dark, quiet bedroom, I felt my spirit change.

It is moments like these when I am paralyzed by God's timeliness & provision.

He uses such creative ways to speak to my heart, & it is truly beautiful. 

My prayer on this day is that I might consciously choose to return to that first

love that I have abandoned when I find myself hopeless or heavy-hearted.

It is my prayer for you, too. 

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. 

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. 

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.

Confronting the Lie

Two posts in one day. Sometimes I come across an article that I simply have to share.

This one discusses hardship [as most of the articles I've come across & related to recently have.]

It is beautifully honest & full of truth-

two things I deeply desire to be. 

Whether you are in a season that is difficult & dry, 

or one of fruitfulness & joy, this is a good reminder. 

Check this out. 

Sundays, why are you blue?

Sundays were never meant to be what they mean to me currently. 

I've written about it before, but there's something about Sundays in 

my current season of life that leave me feeling just a little bit down on

good days, & straight-up defeated on bad days. 

Sundays were meant for rest. 

Sundays were made for reflection. 

Sundays were meant for restoration. 

I am thankful for this reminder today.