Finding Neverland

26 hours and I'll be on a plane back to Northern Ireland.

It's funny, I have a really vivid memory of sitting on Tracy Balzer's living room floor eating dinner with her, her husband, and two of my gateway students. They were asking me about grad school applications and why I wanted to go to Ireland.

I gushed with radiant energy and excitement and absolute passion for that country and grad school program and adventure.

And now here I am, trying to convince myself to go back, knowing very well that I am "living the dream" of so many. And feeling very much like an ungrateful brat.

NI has taught me so much already. If the Lord sees it necessary to repeat a version of the second half of last year, He will. He is not unkind, but He is just.
And if he doesn't find it necessary, he won't do it. He is just, but He is not unkind.

I was given a great gift of mercy in being able to come home for this long. Many have asked me over the past week or so if I'm ready, and I haven't known exactly what to say.

However, my default quote-bank movie came to me with the perfect visual image of my sentiments toward the situation.

Princess Bride: Westley, in pursuit of the kidnapped Buttercup, follows the trail up the Cliffs of Insanity (which are actually the Cliffs of Moher in The Republic of Ireland), climbing quickly up the rope set out for that very purpose.

Then, the rope is cut! This leaves Westley clinging desperately to the side of the rock face, climbing every slowly upward.

When he finally makes it to the top (with the reluctant help of his impatient enemy), exhausted Westley pulls out his sword to begin the duel, but receives an unexpected reprieve first.

After a few minutes, Inigo asks:

"You ready then?"
"Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair."

And they duel.


I've climbed the rope, held on to the cliffs, received help in unexpected ways by unexpected people, made it to the end of the semester, received mercy and rest, but now, whether I'm ready or not, the Lord has been more than fair, and it's time to duel again.


While I rested on the floor of my soul and the floor of my bedroom, I've given some thought back to that night with the Balzers and my initial love. What was it? And what have I found to love now?

I love Ireland because:
-The people are kind and warm and understand how to value relationships over tasks.
-The grass is greenest on every side.
-If there's any conversation, it's everybody's conversation. You hear someone ask for directions, feel free to answer--even if you weren't the one asked. Weigh in on debates, shoe choices, anything.
-The pub culture. It's not a sleezy thing. It's just this culture of togetherness, in a way. They don't try to hide away from their neighbors (unless they differ on the Catholic/Protestant question)
-My church. Warm and loving and accepting and my safe place and my place of prayer and the place where I refound my roots in the Holy Spirit.
-The food is better. Period. Fresher, healthier. Except they have some serious blindspots in the realm of Chinese and Mexican.
-Public transportation. It is clean, mostly efficient, and means I don't have to find a parking space.
-The little green men who clean the streets at night.
-The traffic officers have hilarious wee red suits that I just can't take seriously.
-The material I read, I can have first copies of it. And see the actual places they were written. And see the actual places they were written about. And talk to people who experienced the things written about first-hand.

I'm seeking out that initial love, joy, and anticipation. That kid on Christmas eve frenzy.

It's there--somewhere, buried under heartbreak and exhaustion, but it's there. Few things lost are lost forever.

Snapshots Sans Snapshots

Family Christmas: 

Joey, Cristin, and their two not-so-wee ones Harrison and Gianna finally, finally made it back to Tulsa from their new home in Georgia to spend a few days. 

Therefore, family Christmas!! That means, tons of children (and Jacob) running about crazy, just so excited to have some cousin time. We ex-kid table-ers were pretty excited about it, too. :) 

I've never been a huge fan of children. They're loud, they have altogether too much energy, they're easy to step on, and they're sticky. HOWEVER, nieces and nephews seem to slip right on past that rule. 

There are few sounds more precious than hearing my nieces or nephew (Sam can't talk yet) yell "Aunt Jamie!", or any form of that. 

And I get the great honor and privilege of filling their heads with complete nonsense. I love them. Even if I don't necessarily spend tons of time with them in town, just knowing that they are near is comforting. When I leave, I always hurt to know that there are whole tracts of their lives I will miss. Shoot, Harrison and Gianna are giants compared to when I saw them last. 

But then we're all back together, and all is well. 

Trifecta Christmas:  

I guess we're officially adults now because no selfies were taken whatsoever.

On the other hand, we did put together a puzzle made from one of our particularly favorite selfies thanks to Hayhay.

The evening was spent as it darn well should. Food, friendship, and ice cream on the kitchen floor. 

We're rather simple in our fun-having with one another, but I think that's how it should be. We don't require diversion to be totally satisfied in the presence of each other. We may require Rocky Road and the occasional cocktail, but those are just perks. 

I'm always pleasantly surprised and thankful at the way our friendship has flexed, adjusted, and grown over the past five years. We've made it through breakdowns, boyfriends, cross-country and cross-cultural moves, and all sorts of in-betweens. 

None of us really understand how or why we work together, but we appreciate the fact that we do. We make for a good team, the three of us (and occasionally the lovely Kira).  

"I'm Just a Girl Who Can't SayNo": 

I personally struggle with boundaries. I say yes to just about everything, so long as it isn't destructive or dangerous. Or a practical joke, because those suckers just escalate, and ain't no way I want to be in that cross-fire. You're on your own. 

If I don't have a really, really good reason (or a superior good reason to their good reason) I can't help but say yes because I know if I were in the other person's position, I would want them to say yes to me. 

That's how I ended up judging a high school debate tournament yesterday, yet again. 

Don't get me wrong at all! I love debate. It’s like fencing: calculated, classy, and intelligent.

I've judged tournaments every year since I graduated, upon request. It's interesting, I learn things, and it gives me an opportunity to provide constructive feedback. 

However, with only a few days left in the country, I wasn't exactly thrilled to be asked. 

Nevertheless, I came. 

THIS TIME, though, I set boundaries! I said I'd stay till 8. I did. Then, when they handed me new judging ballots (for a round to which I had not agreed), I said no politely and went on my merry way to watch Snow White with my niece and nephew. 

Then, (I was on a roll, I tell ya), I said no to suggested Saturday social plans. I didn't have alternative plans, I just didn't want to go. And that is what I said, nicely.

The Powerful Play Goes On

We all fall apart. That's the naked truth of it.

Despite what I felt was a miraculous recovery from my depression, I, once again, dissolved just a few days ago in a pretty  major way. It seems when faced with the actual pressure and reality of my return to Northern Ireland, my mind ceased to act out of its state of renewal and repair.

I got sent to counseling later that afternoon and, in the space of three days, have completed three sessions.

It's been good, but it's also been a solid reminder that "getting better" is a process of ebs and flows, a one step forward two steps back kind of situation. That won't change when I go back to NI either.

Not all, certainly, but many of the same struggles will be waiting for me the moment I get off the plane there. I'm not going to be able to (nor do I want to) wean off the Lord's grace or sufficiency or daily bread.

No matter where I go, no matter who I'm with, I will always be an Israelite with a full dependency and hope in the fact that when I walk out of my tent in the morning, there will be manna enough to sustain and strengthen me for the day ahead. In exact measure for my needs.

So, I leave yesterday and the day before where they are in their graves of time and tomorrow in its den, and I hold up the 12 hours in front of me for inspection and growth.

We are well aware that "in a minute there is time/For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."
But we are equally aware that every decision, every minute is a chance to change the world.
Every decision, every minute we are writing new sentences in the books of our lives.

The neverending story continues.

Ghosts of High Schools Past

Today I went and guest spoke in an apologetics class full of high school seniors. Specifically high school seniors at my own alma mater Metro.

Did I prepare anything? No. The way I figured, I don't really have anything particularly insightful to share, so if the Lord had the audacity to stick me in a classroom full of  preppy 18 and 19 year olds then he also has the audacity to stick an hour's worth of words in my mouth. 

I can't say that the power of the Lord filled the room and all spoke in tongues, but I can say I had their attention by the end of my talk.

We went through several subjects, like my belief in the power of ordinariness, but they also wanted to talk about authenticity and relationship building. It was that particular answer that shocked them.

I brought into the conversation my aforementioned idea of failure vs. not yet able to succeed in relation to building deep relationships. Some people in high school (myself included) straight up aren't in a place where they are ready to or know themselves enough to make deep friendships or conversation.

And that's okay.

Then, they said that one of the main reasons why they would shy away from "big talks" is that other people might think they're weird, to which I replied, "high school doesn't matter." (you gotta make sweeping statements to snap out snobby snoozers).

But really, my point was (and don't worry. I expounded the point with them as well) that they're seniors. That means, they've got four and a half months left with people that they will probably never have significant interaction with again.

That means, it doesn't freakin' matter if they think you're weird and honestly, in the  future, they will look back at your boldness and security in self and be not only impressed but a little wistful that they hadn't started living their lives earlier.

Joining Winter Guard (the most socially unacceptable move I made in high school hands down) was the first step I ever made in embracing my weirdness, flaunting it even. In a blue spandex onesie. I joined without knowing anybody, got made fun of by everybody, and I still look back and see that it was the most fun I had in school and am still thrilled I did it.

So I told them, they have a question to ask themselves: Deep down, do I really want (am I ready to) to live for me or do I really want to live for God?

If the answer is truly "me," then keep on walking down that journey of selfishness and shallowness. You wouldn't be able to hear God even if he tried to talk to you.

BUT, if the answer is "God," then those social things will stop mattering. He honors the requests of those who really do want to learn how to love him better and live out of their true selves. It takes work. And pain. And isn't socially acceptable or fun at times, but it's satisfying.

You can be good on your own. Good at activities, good at social-ness, good at life, really. But you can't be great. And it won't satisfy.

I left them with that option. They can either continue conforming to the social strata that they've set for themselves, or they can start living and creating and having fun fearlessly being themselves now.

Like Riding A Bike...

The truth is, I didn't learn how to ride a bike until fifth grade.

I know! Crazy! It's ultra convenient, fun, and keeps you active, but no matter how many people introduced it to me or took painstaking attempts at trying to kindle a bond between us, bicycles and I were not friendly with one another.

Then one day while we were cleaning out the annex, I took out the bike, walked it up to the street, got up on it, and rode. No problem.

That, in a nutshell, is my friendship with Haley. Slow to start but impossible to forget.

Introduced at age 3. Mutual hatred until mid-middleschool, despite countless attempts to cozy us up to one another.

Then, one fateful Monday carpool with our neighbor Susan (oh, we're neighbors by the way), Haley Nelle and I finally clicked. Naturally, through bike riding. And we've been riding the same neighborhood pathway ever since.

I can't say our friendship has ever been anything short of extraordinarily strange, but I can say it is extraordinary.

High school for us was a literal version of a T-Swift song, "She wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts. She's cheer captain, and I'm on the bleachers." We didn't talk at school hardly at all. She the extreme extrovert, everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. I was introverted, booky (not to be confused with bookie), and had a presence very much felt wherever I went. Different. Perhaps bad different from one another, but we worked.

Mostly, our friendship is one of puzzles, bike rides, Walmart (RIP Reasor's Video), and the random soulful conversations that give relevance to the other seemingly depthless 98% of the time.

And, despite however far we go from one another, like if she ran off to China and I ran off to Northern Ireland, we still fit right back in to the flow of life together the second we both show up in Tulsa.

She's the best friend whose family sets a place for me at the dinner table if I happen to be there anywhere near that time (unannounced, of course), who searches through my pantry if she gets hungry during puzzle time, who knows my garage code and just shows up with a "hi family!" at any given hour and day, who keeps a toothbrush and contacts case at my house but assumes she gets choice pick of my clothes, and whose family isn't the lease surprised when I pop in at her house or family functions even when Hay is out of town. They just smile an hand me pie.

She gets me, differently. Like, her predictions of my relationships are always completely dead on, whether I agree with her at the time or not and she knows how I'll respond to things before I even know how I will sometimes--and why--and we live oddly parallel lives to one another right down to matching wasp stings one summer several towns and campsites apart.

Unlike Caity and Kira--whose friendships I value completely but also understand how they function really well--I don't understand or know how to communicate my friendship with Nelle. Each time I try, I totally fail and end up confusing (and concerning) my audience with our past adventures and mountains and valleys and total lack of emotionalism with one another.

For instance, at the end of one summer, she chest bumped me and said, "well. it's been real" just before we parted ways for multiple months. A different break, I don't even think we had a final goodbye. We're just not like that. But I live and laugh louder when Haley's around.

*Do not ever ask me to join you in (or tell you about) sledding, trampoline jumping, or riding down any hill of any size on a toy tractor.

All that to say, my favorite Chinese import was delivered to me via airmail last week, and we instantly fell back into "normal." Biking, Spades, ice cream, Walmart, Snow White puzzles, the works.

Who knows? Maybe I'll move to Denver with her after all. She's got 9 days in person to convince me.

Verbal Nudity

For the past four days, I have been in Siloam Springs.

A lot of people challenged me on this decision (for a variety of reasons), but I went because I graduated early, and all my friends are still on campus, not to mention my professor friends. 

Three and a half absolutely packed days of meetings, friend dates, coffee, and Jenga. 

There wasn't a friend specifically assigned to Jenga, but I've found over the years that if I ever have an awkward space of time on campus, if I sit in Walker Student Center for 5 or more minutes, someone I know and like (but unfortunately neglected to schedule time with) will show up. 

And, because sometimes interactions with friends like that--the ones you really like but don't always know what to talk about with--can be a bit awkward, Jenga. It's the perfect amount of social distraction. Not so focus-necessary that you can't focus on your conversation but just enough that you can focus energy on it if the conversation feels slow. 

In this way, my free time was enriched by several people I haven't been able to have a chance to speak with in months, and it added so much flavor I would have entirely missed out on. 

Going to Siloam also offered me an opportunity to make a few new acquaintances, some I very much enjoyed making and a couple that were necessary to make. Both were a stretch. 

More than that, though, the journey of the past few days was one of verbal nudity. 

As far as the 5 Love Languages test goes, I usually classify myself high on Words of Affirmation. However, I am not usually a verbal affirmer. Instead, I write. 

Most times, actually, when I need to address something particularly saturated with sentiment, I write instead of speak. Thus, this blog, and my letters and emails. Raw, but hiding. 

It's not as though I think writing is wrong--indeed, letter receiving is one of the greatest things, and I love sending them. However, when all big conversations (or really any big conversation) is done via the written word, I think there is a problem. 

70% of communication is non-verbal. So when I'm not forced to look in your eyes, weigh the immediate impact of my words and decisions on your heart, watch your body language, I miss out. And even if my letters or blogs are extremely vulnerable, they lack that intense intimacy that comes through individual communication. 

Over three days' time, I had three different conversations with three different girl friends. 

In one, I sought for forgiveness; in the second, I offered an admission of cowardice; in the third, I opened the understanding . In all three, I opened the door for rejection. 

In a previous post, I defined "intimacy." With intimacy, there is a tension and an opportunity for the other person to either accept and grow or reject and let die. 

Incredibly, all three chose the former. 

It wasn't just that choice that impacted me so much, though. Rather, it was that I felt the power of having to fully engage, to admit some pretty deep and sacred feelings in the immediate presence of the ones capable of decimating my attempts. The result was access to depth that I didn't know was available to me in those friendships. Our God is an awesome God. 

But is it? Is it really?

One single concluding paragraph separates me from fully completing my first semester (and first half) of my Master's degree.

I can't think of anything at all to say in that concluding paragraph, though. At one point in my academic career, this would be call for a total meltdown of failure. 

Not only would that be an absurd response from me right now, as the paper is actually quite good other than its lack of final statements, it also wouldn't fit with my current ideas of failure. 

Failure or the fear of failing is ultimately what drives us in our interactions with other humans, or even in our personal decisions. 

I don't think what we view as failure is an accurate description of what failure is. 

We think that if we're not good at something or we totally tank in an attempt then we are failures or we have failed. I just don't think that's true, especially when we are making those statements in comparison to other people.

Not only do we all have varying skill sets, we also have varying degrees of experience. 

In order to "fail" at something, there has to be a certain degree of experience already gained in that area. 

Think of it like this: If you've never tried something before, it is as though you are standing on the solid ground. If you aren't stellar at your first try, so what? You've nowhere to fall really. 

It's when you've practiced at something, gained skill and ability, that you walk up the stairs. Then, if you a horrible job, you actually fall pretty far. That is failure. 

Am I making sense? 

There's got to be cognizance and awareness. 

For instance, I used to say often what a failure of a friend or girlfriend or person I was. 

However, I wasn't at a place where I could understand what it meant to be good at any of those things. I knew nothing other than what I was doing. It wasn't for lack of trying. It wasn't failure. I wasn't a failure. 

Rather than thinking back and saying, "I failed" then, I think it's more accurate to say that I was not yet at a place where I could be able to succeed. 

I was yet to be equipped with the strength, stability, maturity, or even information at how to be good at any of those things. 

Maybe a better example would be academia. If I'd started this program at Queen's at the age of 18, I would have flunked out. 

Well duh!! I was 18 and without the brutal writing boot-camp Patty Kirk put me through during my undergraduate degree. I would have "failed" at Queen's because I did not yet have any of the training necessary to succeed in a Master's program. 

Those are just my vague, procrastinatory thoughts, but I think that mental shift in definitions is worth further consideration. 

In the Context of the Whole: Letting Yourself Like Poetry

I've just spent my morning in a sunlit sunroom--faithful dog at my feet, faithful coffee in my hand--reading aloud Modern American poetry, which is my favorite sort, though I have read extensively of the premodern variety as well as far too many Irish kinds.

There is something very spiritually clarifying in reading poetry aloud (the right poetry, that is) because it gets to a certain moment when you realize "THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN!", and there, on the page, someone has captured it exactly.

And then there are other times, like in life, that you don't understand the meaning (or any meaning) of a poem at all, and that's okay. So long as you can concede that the poem has intrinsic beauty and greatness in simply existing, you don't need to understand it.

On that note, there is never a point at which a poem can be fully known, not even by the poet him or herself. The meaning constantly shifts from person to person, no two people having the same poetic experience or interpretation.

Some find that aggravating beyond all reason and, thus, refuse to like poetry. But is that not the glory of poetry? That it can communicate afresh with every read?

Why can we not just "press [our] ear against [a poem's] hive"? Why is it that all we "want to do/is tie the poem to a chair with rope/and torture a confession out of it"?

We want to know the "real meaning" because that nebulous in-between place is uncomfortable and doesn't fit with our box-set comprehension levels.

It doesn't fit with what we believe our world to be.

But our lives aren't like math equations. Our lives are like poems.

Sometimes the stanzas make absolute sense to us, and we want to read them aloud to anybody who will sit down long enough to listen to us.

And yet, other times, we get boggered down in the line breaks and slant rhymes and "what does that word even mean in this context?!" and can't for the life of us riddle the answer out.

Yet later in life, we may just wonder how we ever didn't see the meaning in those heroic couplets.

Let today begin a new tributary in your creative wanderlusts. Sit down, strip off your expectations, and simply listen to the stories and structures of Billy Collins and Marianne Moore and Allen Ginsberg and so many others with something to say.

Start today in somebody else's mind, and maybe you might find your own.

Day Date

I spent the entirety of yesterday with prong two of the Trifecta: Caity Ruth (Kullen) Roberts. Try saying that five times fast.

At long last, we found a slot of time between her married life and busy schedule and my unmarried life and apparent inability to accomplish the one goal which would enable me to go and see her (paper writing...I finished, by the way! Only edits and online submission stand between me and freedom now). 

The day started with coffee, as it should. We sat and chatted for I don't know how long in my living room, Cubby ever watchful. 

Then, after what seemed like an endless struggle against mutual indecisiveness, we headed on down to Brookside. It's this super trendy part of town with restaurants, coffee shops, and shops with stuff that are super cool, but you can't help but wonder who the heck buys from them. 

In Brookside, we split lunch and had high-five one of three for the day. When you share food and end up with the perfect amount, you need to high-five. There's an unspoken law. 

Shades of Lame came next. It's actually called Shades of Brown, but my camp friend Annie Paige always used to refer to it as Shades of Lame, and I've never been able to rewrite it back to the original in my mind. 

Probably because I think it's a definite shade of lame. It's like if a hipster were on hipster steroids. Except that it's so hipster, it's not even hipster anymore. It's just kind of uppity and I feel judged when I go in. Because they are, in fact, judging me. 

But Caity likes it, and anything with Caity is fun. So, we drank an eggnog latte and a brown sugar latte and talked and talked (so sorry to fellow coffee goers). On the list of subjects were people we went to high school with, how everyone we've ever met seems to be getting engaged, Joel Osteen, books we're reading or want to read, and how creepy the guy across from us was. 

Seriously, he was either tripping or had some sort of serious social dysfunction, but this guy across from us just sat there, blatantly staring, grinning, shaking his head, grunting or chuckling in response to our conversation, and giving us thumbs-ups. 

Then he'd leave. 

Then he'd come back. 

In the end, we left and went on a quest to find little HayHay a Christmas present (SHE'S CURRENTLY ON A PLANE HOME TO US OHMYGOSH). 

Mostly it just ended in us feeling really bad for the overly friendly store owners. "Well, she doesn't wear jewelry, she doesn't like trinkets, she doesn't do a whole lot of recreational reading, she lives in China, so it has to be small, no, still no trinkets"...etc. 

Usually, to find her a present, we just have to wander around stores until the muse reveals the correct gift. It's a serious struggle. Thus, the reason I didn't come up with anything to give her from NI. 

Caity, on the other hand, has a veritable stash in my closet. She's the easiest person for me to find gifts for. 

The rest of the evening was a blur of more chatting, searching, food, and ice cream on the kitchen floor. 

The best purchase (only purchase) of the day was a bowl shaped like a lettuce leaf. Since my freshman year of college, I've kind of been amassing ceramic cups, plates, bowls in the shape of fruits and vegetables. Not like have pictures of fruits or veggies, they actually look like they're made of them. 

I have a plumb cup, an apple cup, an asparagus cup, a lettuce bowl, and I used to have three more cups made of carrots, cabbage, and corn, respectively, but I have since given those away.  Jansie hates them. I think they're great. 

It was great, having Caity back. I'm never worried about our friendship, but it's such a pleasure to interact in-person instead of Skyping. 

I guess we sort of take each other for granted in that way, but it's a good way. We can move apart, make new friends, and alter the make-up of our everyday lives, but I always know she'll answer her phone if I need her to think up a word for me and she knows I'll always edit her writing. 

We'll forever share inside jokes, books, and our life stories. She's my best friend, what can I say? 

Forbearance: Patient Endurance

I know what I said about girls calling boys their "little brother" but, like many stereotypical girl moves I make fun of, I am an exception to this rule (don't worry. I'm guilty of a whole host of other things).

Today, I co-babysat with my "little brother" from high school, Taylor Pride. I don't think he and I have seen each other or talked for about two years, but my senior year of high school? We were besties. His word, not mine.

Junior-Senior prom. Caity and I robbed the cradle and went with Juniors. Taylor asked Caity & Will (Tay's best friend) asked me. It. Was. Epic.

By co-babysat, I mean LibbyRosie slept, and Taylor and I chatted it up. He's doing International Relations up at Wheaton in Chicago.

Meeting new friends at University or even reconnecting with old friends is often frustrating. Either you have to give 22 years of backstory for the current story to make sense, or you have to catch up on however long you've been absent in order for your story to make sense.

But then there are those people that the story doesn't matter as much as the heart. I try to collect (or at least keep) as many of those people as I can. Taylor is one of them.

We spent the better part of our time together "real talk[ing]", as he puts it.

Along with arranged marriages, divorce, cross-cultural differences about both of those topics, and being a spy, one of his main proposed topic questions was, "Why do people of our generation try to avoid pain and hardship?"

My response? "It's painful. And hard."

It was a good question, though. We're a pretty hedonistic society.

When something stops "feeling" good, we take it as a sign that it isn't good anymore, and we go seeking for the nearest available thing that will give us that feel-good feeling again as quickly as possible. A very processed sugar society.

But insta-happiness, like processed sugar, only lasts so long, and the crash hits hard. Because you're not spinning life with anything substantive. When the crises of life come, you think that cotton candy is going to protect you or give you the strength you need for a long-term struggle? No.

My cousin Kristina said that in the army, they repeated to themselves the mantra, "Embrace the suck."
They'd be sweating and feeling like Hell out on the field, but there wasn't any way to make it end sooner, so, they just had to engage with it. Accept that it was going to happen.

They survived it. "The Suck", while sucky, made them strong.

I think it's about time more of us learned to embrace the suck, suck it up, and start taking the time to seek out and build our lives with complex sugars. They may not taste as good on the go-down, but when the fight comes, they will be what give fortitude enough to continue on in a manner which will bring glory to the one who created us.

The Makings Of

Today is my twenty-second birthday.
Old, but I'm not that old. 
This is also the first birthday that I've actually truly felt ready to be the age I'm turning. I remember driving around Tulsa on the eve of my twentieth in an absolute panic, not ready to leave my teenage years.

For this birthday post, I'm going to drive you on a brief tour through the past six birthdays. Each section heading is the name of a mix CD my best friend Caity made for me on every birthday. Also, it should be noted that since I'm a student, the years are counted by grade.

Dance Like You're 18

It's senior year of high school, characterized by determination.
I was out to stick it to the world. Who I was was what I was involved in or achieved:
-Student Council Chaplain
-Worship team leader
-Debate team
-Winter Guard captain
-Swim team member
-Bowling team captain
-National Honor Society
-National French Honor Society
-French Club vice president
-Salutatorian (co-salutatorian with Fran Brower. Our speech at graduation was absolutely so fun).
Traveled to:
-Colorado with the senior class
-Chicago with AP Biology and AP Art
Notables:
-Acquired the friendship of a Miss Caity Kullen (Roberts) and, with Haley Vogt, formed the Trifecta.
-Gained an entire friend group due to a popular girl deciding I was "hott" one day.
-Niece Gianna Aloisio born to brother Joey and wife Cristin
-Brother Jacob married to now wife Allison
"My People":
Haley Vogt
Caity Kullen
Dehra McGuire
John Brothers
Taylor Pride
Will Watkins
That Summer, I lifeguarded and taught the Naval Art of War (canoeing) at New Life Ranch and got my nose pierced.
19: Eat your feelings. Boyfriend forgot the birthday. 

Welcome to my Freshman year of college!
The first semester was an absolute dream. Everybody's first semester of college should be like mine.
Timeline:
-Tried out for a play for a joke. Scored one of six parts. Annelle in Steel Magnolias. 
-Had a super tight friend group of artsy type folks. Spontaneous dancing, singing in trees, and group adventuring was a must.
-First boyfriend. Fell in love--hard.
-Spontaneously traveled to Chicago with a carfull of friends.
-Eating disorder hit highest point of unhealthy.
-Best friend literally lost her mind. Was thousands of miles separated from her.
-Boyfriend shattered my heart.

-Lost entire friend group. The ex got custody, apparently.
-Fell in love with Jesus--hard--in an absolute, final way.
-Delivered completely and instantly from eating disorder.
-Joined a band with friend Jordan Weeks.
-Presented a paper at a regional academic conference.
-Reconnected with camp best friend Kira.
-Restoration of best friend's sanity. Thank you, Jesus.
Spent the summer in Tulsa with Kira and Haley. Lifeguarded at the Jewish Community Center. Together, we created Monday Game Night. Everybody the three of us collectively knew in Tulsa came. It was a blast.
My People:
Matt Tintera
Abby Fennema
Allison Harper (roommate)
Peter Myers
Adam Howard
[the mass rest of the "granola poser" friendgroup]
Trifecta & Kira

20 Years Young
Made it! Helloooooo junemore year! (I combined sophomore and junior year)

This was a year characterized by dryness and slow growth. Not a good year, not a bad year. Just kind of...existent.
I was an orientation leader with Drew Duffy and also an Honors Orientation Leader of six blonde girls.
That, actually, was truly significant. I continued to mentor one of those girls throughout the remainder of my time at JBU.

Got a job working as a content developer for Creative Content Experts.
During Spring Break, I went to Jackson, Mississippi for a week long missions team thing and dug a trench.
Gained niece Libby Rose, born to brother Jon and wife Emily.
I presented my favorite college paper at a regional academic conference (the sacramental theology of spit)
This was also the year of my...boycott. It's exactly what it sounds like. I didn't do it legalistically or as a rule, there were just a lot of instances which occurred the second half of my Freshman year/summer that really put me off to any form of interaction with guys.
That summer I traveled to Northern Ireland with the Family and Human Services team. Fell in love with the country and culture. The rest of the summer, I interned for Tate Publishing. Among other things, I actually got to be both the ghost editor and "back matter" writer for a whole book. 
My people:
Lauren Ware (roommate)
Laura Parker (first semester)
Abby Chestnut (second semester transfer)
Anna Jackson (a reconnection from camp years)
Tracy Balzer (mentor)
Trifecta and Kira

Young and Wild and 21
Senior year was characterized by deep satisfaction and fountains of happiness and joy.
Sure, there were struggles and anxieties and I was really busy most of the time, but it was very near perfect.

-Orientation leader with Steve Sullivant.
-Class mentor for a Freshman Orientation Harry Potter course
-Spoke in chapel.
-Fell in love again, different than the first time.
 -Began mentoring another girl in addition to my H/O blonde.
-Taught Sunday School
-Played a pink panther and an assassin in another JBU production
-Wrote for the Threefold Advocate student newspaper
-Traveled to Chicago again for a weekend "immersion" trip.
-Lived in an intercultural townhouse. Abby and I found them on the eaglenet classifieds. It was amazing. A vanilla latte dream of latina/gringa goodness.
-Best friend Kira engaged to Tyler, best friend Caity engaged to Greg, niece Ella born to brother Jacob and wife Allison.
-Was accepted to Denver Seminary and Queen's University, Belfast.
-Spring Break Missions in New Orleans. Learned how to insulate a house.
-Wrote two books: WaterWorks and Woodsy
-Presented work at a national academic conference in Wisconsin.
-Placed 4th in a national writing contest for a paper on homelessness. 
-Graduated John Brown  University
-Cut off 9 inches of my hair.
The summer was spent in two parts. The first, I waitressed at Ted's Cafe Escondido. It was great learning experience, but I was unable to continue. The second, I worked with  my father at Iron Cross Automotive. Loved it. On the weekends, though, I trekked up to Siloam Springs and got loved on by my best friends. It was perfect. The best year of my life. No regrets.

My people:
Noah Baslé
Abby Chestnut (roommate)
The Perch (housemates)
Madison Stewart
Becca Ridings (Irish studies roommate)
Leslie Lancaster (Irish studies roommate)
Kristina Grimes Pugatch (cousin)
Steve Sullivant
Daniel Williams
Andrew Layden
Peter Myers
Adam Howard
Trifecta and Kira
Anna
Tracy Balzer (mentor)

I Guess We Made It, or At Least We Made it this far. 22. 

Results inconclusive. 

Forget and Not Slow Down

Relient K really does have a song for every life experience.
I don't care what you say, they're lyric geniuses and I have no intention of growing out of them.

New Years Eve.

Even though the conference still had a full day left, I had a tradition to uphold in Tulsa. And, because I am all about traditions and following-through, I came home to the arms of my beautiful best friend.

Now, we thought that no New Years party could top last year, but we were wrong.

Last year, Kira and I kicked off the night in our Forever Lazies, watching Pitch Perfect with champagne in hand. Then, after 45 minutes of desperate texts, heytells, and phone calls from Haley, we finally took pity on her, got off the couch, prettied up, picked her up, and headed over to Caity's.

Meant to be super creepy of us. This is just to give you a visual idea of the magic that is the Forever Lazy

Craig loves us. 

There, pie.

Next stop, our buddy Lauren's for bunko and silly string. Finally, we packed back into Bess (RIP, car) and took the party to my house. We blasted Ke$ha all the way there (making sure Hayhay kept all body parts in the car. Challenge) and howled at the moon in the street after I parked. More Pitch Perfect, some Barbie Sparkle Kingdom, and champagne, then sleep. Great night.

This year, Haley is in China and Caity is married, leaving Kira and I to our own devices.

Our group involved Kira's parents, her aunt and uncle, her brother and his three friends, her, me, and two other girls. And the dog. Can't forget the dog. Petunia hounded me all night. (HA).

I guess there wasn't anything super dynamic "do" wise, but it was, I think, the best New Years ever.

Her family is loud and brash and really loving and wonderful. We danced in the kitchen, laughed, played Uno, yelled (a lot), ate a lot of food, enjoyed contextual beverages, silly stringed one another, tried to watch a movie (asleep before a quarter over. all of us), got perpetually attacked by Petunia the dog, and ended up asleep, piled on the couch together. The next morning, we slept in till past noon and started the year off right with cookies and coffee.

Like I said, simple.

I've never liked parties. I always feel like I'm supposed to be doing or saying something and not doing it right. Not comfortable and more than usually have somewhere specific I'd really rather be.

I think that's why I liked it so much. Yeah, I kinda wished I could still be with my OneThing group (they actually missed me and FaceTimed me at midnight. So sweet), but where I was where exactly where I wanted to be. And Kira was exactly the person I wanted to be with.

Two Christmas breaks ago, I crawled into bed with my mom (yes, at 19) and cried, with just this weird gut feeling that by the next year, everything was going to be different. It was.

By the end of last Christmas break, Caity was engaged (Craig actually joined us for New Years last year). And Kira, too, was engaged by then.

Caity got married this summer. Kira gets married in six months. Haley is in a serious relationship and living in China.

So, this New Years wasn't like it it, necessarily, but in a way, it kinda was. Technically, last year was our final group of singleness and freedom, but I'm digressing from the point.

Things are changing. 




We're like, to that point where people are expecting us to do things like grow up and get married...or a dog. (Ten points, Cubby!). This time next year, Kira will join Caity's wife club. For that matter, so will Haley probably. And me? Who knows where I'll be or what I'll be up to.

But for one night, none of that stuff mattered. We just let ourselves forget about all it all and everything that's staring us in the face, and we were back to being silly teenage best friends. That made it the very best.

Game Changer

It's been a long time since I've felt normal. Or like myself.

There have been brief moments (really good ones!) that I've felt it this semester, but they have been seldom. I think the closest I came was the last couple of days I spent in NI. I guess I finally felt free and non-pressured, and my fun came out.

When anxiety-ridden situations arise, my serious side comes in full force and puts my playfulness in permanent time out.

The OneThing conference was top five best decisions I've made (or others made for me) possibly in all of 2013. I only knew two of the people (there were nine in our group) well, two girls didn't want me to come at all (was told this after I was already there), and the rest didn't really know me at all.

Turned out, though, that we had a great group dynamic. The other 8 were all music majors, which meant they were all on board to sing loudly and dance in all times and in all places. In multi-part harmony.

Steve and Alec with their dream lady

There were a few awkward moments the first evening like walking into the house and being told I was sharing a bed with the one girl I'd never met or like when two of the girls made it very evident my presence was unwanted. However, the awkwardness was fleeting.

My roommate and I hit it off as though we'd known each other for all of college. And, it turns out, she knew all about me before I even got there, had seen pictures of me, too. Just didn't realize it until we got to talking (I told you my looks have changed). Then, after an, "Oh my God. You're her," she and I didn't stop talking for the next 6 hours or three nights.

We had a lot in common, she and I, and were both relieved to meet a person who "gets it." Really, so odd. The chances of the two of us specifically being put in that situation are uncommonly low. She's a sensational human. Don't think I've met anyone like her. She will be (and is) a force the devil is going to have a hard time contending with.

The conference itself was okay. Neither unbelievably lifechanging or the worst experience of my life. In many ways, it was exactly what I remember charismatic events to be:

smoke machines, laser beams, light shows. Definitely a concerty vibe. Then mix in mass chanting, dancing in the aisles, and the truly incredible talent of singing the same line over and over for over an hour, and it pretty much sums it up.

Favorite line of the conference was the (my) last evening when Francis Chan spoke. Chan, though he does recognize the Holy Spirit, is not charismatic. Many people actually resented the fact that he was a speaker because of his mainstream ways. However, he did an excellent job of connecting to us and criticizing us. The line: "I think often we fall in love with 'revival' and forget to fall in love with 'Jesus.'" Excellent. So excellent. And true. Our people like a good revival like we enjoy a good pot luck dinner. They should be plentiful and well-attended.

Every night when we'd come home, we'd all sit around in a circle and crack open my Christmas present from Kira: a book entitled "4,000 Questions to Get to Know Anyone and Everyone."

We probably logged 9 or more hours into that book, starting with the Childhood section, travelling on to the Love section and ending with the Habits section.

My two favorite questions that I answered were definition questions, asking after "Intimacy" and "Betrayal."

I'd never really given any thought to my personal definition of either, but I was really glad I was forced to.

For Intimacy, I said that it was anything which created tension. For example, silly things like playing play-doh or dancing or reading a poem you wrote aloud are intimate because there's that moment when the person you're attempting to engage in your special thing has the opportunity to laugh at you or think you're being stupid. It's a moment of brilliant opportunity. The same is true with larger things like sex (literally being naked with another person. yikes) or sharing memories or your fears concerning your character or the future or any sort of argument. Any situation in which you make a terrifying decision to reveal and share with another person something sacred or nervy to you is intimate. Even answering this question was a moment of intimacy and risk.

Betrayal comes when one person makes the conscious decision to sacrifice intimacy in favor of selfishness.

The group I shared with?

To clear up the tension about the two anti-Jamie girls, it came down to perception. They knew me by their perception of my character and not my character itself. Secondhand chatter just isn't fair, neither against me or by me. If you have concerns, go to the source or shut the frick up.
When they took the time (were stuck with me) to understand me, it turns out I wasn't what they expected, especially currently.

I don't think I've conversed or laughed that deeply for that long...possibly ever. There's a lot more I could say about it all, but I'll leave it at that.

Yeah, I shared my struggles with them and they with me, and we made each other actually engage in the discussion about them, but it was constructive and characterized by joy. The deep kind that exists even in the midst of sadness or pain. Happiness is a complacent emotion, the kind that can kill you if you hedonistically chase it. But joy? Real joy? Only beautiful paths are broken-in by joy.

We didn't do any of the prophecy rooms or such that would have been instantly set in the "soul building" category, but my soul was more fortified by those three days with those eight people than I could have even begun to think that it would or could.

I felt normal. Better than normal. I felt delighted and delighted in.