Forge New Roads

Running outside is the worst. Because of allergy season, I've done my couch to 5k training on the indoor track.

Last week, though, I decided it was time to move my long legs to the outdoors.

I left from my office, which connects to both the graveyard and the trail that goes around JBU and Siloam.

It's the same path Noah and I used to circle and circle and circle for 1-6 hours at a time, the same path my sophomore roommate used to make me run every morning from January to March of 2012.

I hated every second of that run. It was so much harder than running on the track! I was out of breath, desperate, and saying more obscenities than my mother would approve of. And it was supposed to have been an easy run schedule that day. As I ran, my head circled with memories of mornings and late nights and I knew how the trail would turn and twist and could anticipate each predictable frustration.

Today, I changed route. Running through the graveyard and into residential zones, I ran places I had never been before with anyone else and had no idea of what to expect. The hills were steeper, the twists were sharper, and cars came from both directions. I didn't know where I was going, but I kept track of my turns.

The run schedule for today was more arduous than last week's, but I found myself energized and capable of doing it without wanting to give up.

Change: I think that's what it takes, sometimes, to find new motivation. Kind of like the saying, "if you always do what you've always done you'll always get what you've always gotten".

I find myself frustrated by people who won't change any of their habits but constantly complain about the outcomes of those habits.

You're overweight but you won't run.

You're broke but you won't give up your iPhone or monthly manicure.

You're friendless but you won't go out to meet new people.

I accuse, but I'm certain I have my own which are blatant to others. 

One of my vices was pointed out last year at this time by a professor I very much admire. When hearing me complain about a recent romantic annoyance, he looked at me and said, "Odom, you're attracted to the wrong people."

What.

But he was right. All my relationships or flings or trysts followed the same trajectory because each person I had shown interest in was basically the same as the last. And I had wondered when they ended why they did.

And that's when he brought me (yes brought me) Julius.

I couldn't have made a list of things I deeply needed in a person because I didn't know until I re-met him. And piece by piece, it became clear that his innate facets fit into mine.

Never would I have chosen a path with him, I had my chance freshman year when we had met the first time.

My road run with him, though, is an easy burden. There's always something new to challenge us and inclines are a thing, but at the end of the day, I'm not exhausted. I feel good. I feel ready for tomorrow.

So whether it's a person, place, or thing, if you've come to a path where the rock always melts just before you reach the summit or the water always drains just as your lips reach its rim, try something new.

Love Is or Princess Pollen

I woke from a sinus induced nap yesterday to find that I had been cuddling a jar of Vick's Vaporub.

That pretty well sums up my life right now. 

"April is the cruelest month", and I find myself, once again, at her mercy, begging the skies for rain to wash away the oak pollen from my life. 

What a tease, Arkansas is. A forecast of week-long rain replaced by sunshine. And yet, campus tours remain in my personal forecast. 

Neither essential oils nor yoga nor Allegra D nor neti pots nor surgical masks can rescue me, and let me tell you what. These Kleenexes do not have lotion in them. 

Before the month began, I gave my office and my housemates and my boyfriend warnings of what was to come, and I'm pretty sure they all thought I was being overzealous and paranoid. Until they saw what a mere walk in from my car to my office was capable of doing to my system. 

Saturday was spent washing every piece of fabric on my bedding, vacuuming, and diffusing air purifying oils into the air to make my room my safe space. Not even clothes that have touched pollen are allowed in. After being chastised for driving with the windows down last week, the boyfriend, when offering to come over on Saturday, added that he promised to shower, change clothes, and drive with the windows up before he came. I didn't even have to ask.

 Now it's Monday morning after a very long and sleepless night of sniffles left over from last night's parent dorm tour, and I am with my box of tissues sniffling my way through our morning meeting, thinking of the two tours to come today and of what I'm going to do. 

The other admissions counselors are super kind and have offered to divvy my students, but I feel so ridiculous asking that of them that I can't bring myself to let them, despite the fact that I know my fate later today if I do the tour myself. Being pathetic is the least fun when you can't help it. 

Being practical and practically compassionate is important me, even if I'm not great at being on the receiving end. But that's what love is sometimes. 

Love is offering to take someone's tour when you see them under a pile of tissues. Love is driving with the windows up on a beautiful day. Love is going for your run and mowing back to back so you pollinate the house only once on your way back in, heading straight for the shower to get it off and protect your housemate when you do so. Love is texting your daughter allergy solutions, even if she is already doing all of them. Love is conscientious and kind and seeks to protect. 

I guess that's my happy thought in this time of praying for rain.  

Hadden: Belfast Brought Back

There is an acute release of the soul which comes only when in the presence of one who knows you.

Not someone who has heard your story or your interests or work ethic or habits but someone who is able to discern your character, who is unwilling to misunderstand you.

They are not flippant and they take their time to study, so as to gather the whole picture before making judgments about who you are. Very few in any person’s life can go into this category.

Hadden is one of those people for me.

As the director of studies in Northern Ireland, he was the person who picked me and my team up at the airport during my very first visit (I sat by him the whole van ride to the manor and heard the story of how he fell in love with his wife Betty), and he was the person who was my stable ground when I moved. Though our visits were infrequent, he always approached me with love, with compassion, and with Christ.

There’s something about “old folk” I love and it’s this: they don’t give you no bull crap Christianity. 

Rather, it seems to pour out from a deep and still place and it resonates with truth inside the listener.

I heard a lot of bull during my struggle but never from Hadden, and I think that’s why I love him so. He listened, validated the truth of my words or weeded out the untruth, then redirected me to Christ but also to tea and a hug. It was not indulgent, but it was also not canned.

Hadden saw the ugliest, most pulpous parts of my wreckage, and yet, he trusts me, he loves me, and he always speaks truth over me.

Sometimes I forget who I am.

Who I am here, I feel, does not always reflect who I was there.

Perhaps it is because I did feel so lost and forgotten and silenced that I now find myself almost constantly talking, in a way that practically screams, “NOTICE ME NOTICE ME NOTICE ME”.

Do I want to be noticed or do I want to follow Christ?

Because, if I were to be totally honest with myself, when I was fully following the Lord, I was deep and still and quiet and, somehow, I was seen, though I didn't draw overt attention to myself (you know, being that I lived alone and for a long time had no friends). And now, when I am surrounded by others, I often feel more unknown and misunderstood and alone in my true self than I did then.

Part of that is how I have ceased to write. And part of that, as well, is that I am closer to “reality” than I was there. I am closer to the consequences of my own words, good or bad, than when I lived abroad and this nondistance is discomfiting.

Being known to the level which I desire takes a lot more time than my patience feels as though it can handle, which leads to a lot of explaining on my part. That, as you know, can never end well, as words, unlike consistent behavior over time, can bounce all kinds of directions in other people’s perceptions.

To be known is to have a voice without speaking.

And it’s as though I forget to trust that the Lord writes my reputation, not me. What will be will be, and nothing I can do is going to make me get ahead. All I can do is follow.

I’m pretty passive and a very good follower in so so many ways. That is not one of them.

What do I fear?

I fear that reverence to my true nature will lead me back to being alone, deeply alone. And sometimes, in a very human way, I don’t think it’s worth it.

Yeah, sometimes I really miss the immaculate times of tea and tears with God, but other moments, I do not remember those experiences clearly enough to want them over what I have now.

Then comes Hadden to speak in chapel this week. Hadden, whose friendship blossomed during a time when no one could hear me, and I remember how right and pure and exactly good and better than everything else it is to be someone who is known. To be known by man is precious; to be known by God is worth far more.

The Reasons Why

Today was part two of I don't even know how many interviews for a potential future job.

Yes, that was my mystery skype date while I was in Dublin that had me running all up and down the streets on my quest for Wifi.

Though I am simultaneously preparing to continue on with my plans to go to Denver Seminary (ie filling out a scholarship application, finding housing with Haley), my heart is with this job.

Interview one happened last week.

While prepping with my friend London and answering questions I thought might be asked, we came across two subjects that I should probably avoid: glitter and dancing.

What did I almost instantly bring up in my interview?

Glitter and dancing.

I have no recollection at all as to how I brought glitter into the conversation...twice...but I do know I told them that I handle stress by spontaneously breaking out into dance and silently serenading strangers. Which is true! But what?

At the same time, I felt good about the interview. I was very much myself, so they got a very clear image of who they would be getting if they chose to keep me.

Turns out, they liked me! Glitter and all, and I advanced to round two: today.

Please keep in mind all of these are via Skype. ha...

Today's interview I think went very similarly to the last. Prayer and some dancing (an interpretive rendition of Eye of the Tiger) to get the nerves out, then I presented myself.

I say the most bizarre things when under pressure. They're very me to say, but never in real life would they even pop into my mind as the answers.

Such as:

"What do you not like doing?" "Wedding showers, wearing high heels around short people, and running. I mostly curse when I run." "What would you do first if hired for this position." "Look for a roommate, buy business casual clothing, and start researching." "Do you have any other questions for us?" "You know, I really don't. I spend a good deal of my free time trolling your web page. Better than Pinterest...sometimes."

Oh man. Take me or leave me.

The one question I legitimately had a hard time answering was this: 

"What originally drew you to apply for this position?" 

Yikes. 

My answer is ready but not interview-ok. 

Also, my reasons now are not the same reasons as the original. 

They're better. 

They are Spirit led and family oriented and student ministry focused, but they are not the same. 

I gave them the new and not the old. 

But in a way, the old is just as beautiful, despite the outcome. 

It's beautiful because it demonstrates just how dynamically the Lord had started to shift my heart. 

Remember task-oriented plan-obsessed Jamie from senior year of college? The one whose 5 year plan ended with her in 3 different states, two continents, and two Master's degrees before she was 25? 

I'll tell you a secret.  

Those plans weren't spirit-filled at all. They were made out of fear. They were made because I couldn't handle the idea of not knowing where I was going, and I was terrified of landing aimless in Tulsa after my European adventure. 

I consulted God, but it wasn't about God. 

And the thing was, I made these plans, these super life-altering plans when I had a pretty serious significant other in my life. A significant other whose opinion I did not consult on the matter at all. 

The decision to apply for this position came the day I realized that I wanted to marry him more than I wanted to marry my plans. 

That...wow. A God who can rock this non-romantic, die-before-changing-her-plans girl's heart to that degree must be truly something else. 

See beyond the "girl who changes all her plans for a boy" part because I am not that girl. 

I'm the snotty, self-dependent girl who God revealed what love looks like to. 

Love is not self-seeking. It trusts. It perseveres. It encourages. It is full of faith. It acts out of faith. 

Love does.

Love is wild and it does wild things sometimes that go against every shred of logic in our minds. 

That is what love should look like: founded on truth and good things but manifested in the willingness to risk everything. 

That's what I had been missing, both in my relationship and my relationship with God. 

I had not been willing to risk everything. 

I had chosen what was safe to offer and hoarded and planned-out the rest. 

No, I am not going to marry that boy, but that's just not the point. 

In December, when everything seemed to fly apart for me, it was quite the opposite: Everything flew together. 

I fell desperately in love with Jesus like I just hadn't before. I thought I knew what love was for him. I even thought to a certain degree that I had given him my plans.

Jamie, letting someone have input in your plans is not the same as handing them over. 

Applying for this job is me obeying Jesus and following directly against what would be the "safe" route for me, even though that second option seems like the more risky one to everybody else. 

Applying for this job is me saying to Jesus, "Despite where it would take me, despite other people's opinions and desires for my life, despite the fact that this does not make sense to me in so many ways, I will follow you. I want to be with you more than I want to be with my plans." 

And when I was obedient and continued to push through with my application process even after the break-up, God was faithful to reveal to me just how badly I do want this and how well it would suit my heart and strengths. 

At this stage, the result doesn't even matter so much as the act of stepping out in faith. I may get this job, and I may not. The end is not the point. If I'm following Jesus, he's not going to stick me through the wrong door. The point is that I'm listening, expecting nothing, and am willing to risk everything. 

"What originally drew you to apply for this position?" 

Love. 

What kept me in the runnings? 

Love. 

I guess my answer hasn't changed so much, after all. 

The Domino Effect

What's crazy is, if my phone wouldn't have drowned, if rice would have solved the problem, if Apple was helpful, if the water damage man had been there on Saturday to fix it, if the phone repair shop had been open the first time I checked on Monday, if I hadn't gone back to Starbucks after dropping off my phone, and if a couple hadn't stolen my cozy window spot, none of what happened would have happened.

As it was, upon sitting down in space number 2 in Starbucks, a girl asked if she could sit with me before seeing that it was, in fact, me whom she was asking. It was my coursemate. 

Of course I was delighted to have her sit with me, regardless that we had never spoken really before. 

I offered her a cookie (baked lemon lavender cookies at Eli's idea. Note to self: always trust Eli's cooking ideas) and we began to chat. 

We ran from how long I'd be in the country to young marriage (I'm leaving in June to make it for Kira's wedding) to Presbyterians (I guess in this country, Presbies get married very young). Naturally, this led to me asking after her own religious beliefs and her divulging a lot of pain and bitterness about the religious abuse she (and a heck of a whole lot of people in this country) has experienced. 

I asked a couple handfuls of probing questions (as I am known to do) and, after fully answering them, she asked me after my own religious views. 

Now, there's something I've started doing since this past summer waitressing, and that is this: I don't volunteer the fact that I am Christian. If there is nothing in me to set me apart as different, I don't want to be any part of furthering the bad Christian title. However, I will tell you all you want to know if you ask.  

Therefore, I told her straightforwardly that I agreed with her view that organized religion has achieved for itself a pretty priggish name for good reason but that I myself had found Jesus himself in a pretty profound way. 

Next came some questions as to a few specifics in my theology (particularly homosexuality, sex before marriage, and "how far is too far?"), and she was a little surprised (in a good way) by my answers' balance of theology and reason. 

She asked about my depression and counselling, and I briefly shared about my last semester's horrors but necessities and reciprocated the question as to whether she herself had ever experienced a wretched time that she would keep in her history anyway, if given the chance to remove it. 

I was given the great honor of hearing her story, known only to half a handful of people. 

Digging deeper, I asked after what it is that gives her the most satisfaction and joy in her life. 

Horses. They're quiet and they listen. 

The way I see it (and told her so as well), the reason we all love dogs and horses so very well is that no matter how many old ladies I kicked in a day, no matter how many homeless people I passed up on the street, no matter how many times I broke my diet, ignored texts from well-meaning friends, or cursed at wait staff, that little ball of fur is going to come running to the door for snuggles and love, treating me like I'm the greatest thing on two legs. 

And if there were a person like that, well, then there just might be grounds for reevaluating everything. 

That, in a nutshell, is why I love Jesus. 

He loves out the very best parts of me regardless of what I've done. 

Love like that changes a person. 

I am a new creation every day because of the wild love I receive and could not ever be good enough to deserve. 

He makes me a better woman, gives me the equipment to love, in part, others in the same way: seeing all and holding onto and speaking truth into the very best pieces. 

My coursemate didn't open up her life to Jesus right then and there, and she may never. But she didn't shut down the conversation either and has asked that we do it again. 

Maybe nothing will come of it, but I am humbled to have been able to even have that one talk. 

My phone is dead. Really dead. And a lot of dead memories that I'd been holding onto in its archives are now gone forever, along with a few pages of writing notes I'd really like not to have lost, but I've no room to be bitter or even upset. 

Scrubbed-down slate for brand new memories, one of which went down in Starbucks over broken Apple products and cookies. 

God is good. 

And Then You

I was an inverted human bell curve the last week my Kanukukers were here. No, that's not an "I've gained the weight of a potato-bred sheep" joke, it's a math metaphor. They're rare. Soak it in.

High: Emily and Eli ditched their plans to spend their final Saturday going ice skating to come along with me instead and meet up with Adam in City Centre.

They didn't know him, and they could have no reason for wanting to meet him, aside from doing so because he is one of my best friends.

We three took the bus and strolled about for a while looking for him, finding on our way an extremely sketchy alley leading to one of my favourite Belfast book stores Chapman & Keats.

We found him at the loopdeydoop (his description) statue and, from there, proceeded to West for lunch.

West is a sandwich shop, so here mentioned because it possessed a very rare quality for a sandwich shop: They ran out of bread. ...what? They literally closed the shop up for the day after we walked in because of this. Only in Belfast...

Then home to play some games and music and back out that evening for Maggie Mays (a local spot for students, complete with delicious milk shakes).

*Local note: Here, a milk shake is exactly what it sounds like. Milk, shaken with a flavour of your choice. Not ice cream.

Maggie Mays was probably the most fun part, as we went about the circle asking each other questions such as, "What colour would you want a cow?" and "If you could name a street, what would it be?"

I met Em and Eli one month ago. One month friends don't meet and spend the entire day with home friends, at least not in my experience. And if they do, they're awkward about it in one way or another.

They made it feel so natural and easy, much like they made my own transition. They made an effort to like my friend just because they like me. It was meaningful and yet unconsciously so, I'm sure, to them.

The low followed, maybe because of the deepening in my sentiment and attachment to them through this. It didn't seem fair, getting them then having to let them go again. And, true to form, I started to shove them out, glibly making comments about them leaving forever and giving them "the timeline."

The timeline is a principle I developed last year to try to make my friend Heather cry. I'm not evil, she just cries unnaturally easily and it's funny. It was a bonding thing.

1. Separation.
2. A few skype dates, multiple texts, and a phone call on the occasion.
3. Turns to Facebook messages.
4. Turns to the occasional Facebook message.
5. Turns to writing on their Facebook wall on their birthday.
6. Turns to seeing their name pop up on their birthday, not recognizing their name (maybe they've gotten married), and deleting their friendship.

It's actually a pretty accurate timeline, but it also isn't fair, as pointed out by Eli.

I'd spent the evening in my room by myself and had also decided not to attend the next day's trip to Whitehead Lighthouse, and we got in a fight about it because I was being selfish in distancing myself to deaden the separation pain.

I ended up going, and it was an absolute blast of a day.

The wind was shove-you-into-the-rocks-below insane, so Emily and I tried to fly, naturally. The walk around by the lighthouse was rocky and salty with ocean spray with caves along the path where pirates used to smuggle salt and butter, and a trip to Carrickfergus Castle followed, where the three of us played a friendly game of Dragons and Ladders.

*Local note: Salt used to be placed in the centre of formal rooms at parties as a symbol of wealth. The more salt you had, the more soldiers you would be able to feed during the winter because salt preserves meat. No salt, no wealth, no protection. Thus, pirates.

That night, we walked all around our neighbourhood collecting ingredients then going back home and baking S'Mores cookies and Nutella Peanut Butter cookies. YUM.

I would have missed all of that had he not caught me enacting my normal "kill the relationship before it kills you" plan. I guess I can be pretty cynical (I prefer the term realistic) about that kind of stuff.

But then I think about Kira and Tyler.

We three met the same day seven years ago in June for two weeks of the Nehemiah program at NewLifeRanch.

And now, seven years later, Kira and I are still best friends, and Tyler and Kira are getting married...in June. :)

There's a solid chance Eli, Em, and I could all fall apart soon, but it's not only not fair for me to act out of that mentality, it's not true.

Sometimes, realism just isn't realistic. Humans happen. Freak accident friendship happens. There isn't an airtight timeline. Man, thank God for that. And thank God for people put in my life to remind me of that.

I Make a Truce With You, Valentine's Day

Loathe would be the most correct verbal form of my hatred for Valentine's Day.

It's consumerist, materialistic, and puts enormous amounts of pressure on everyone involved.
---What does she expect? What does her best friend expect? What if she does something for me but I don't do enough for her? What if her best friend's boyfriend does something crazy romantic and I didn't come up to par? What if there's a glitter cannon mixup and chocolate syrup comes gushing out instead and she's wearing her new dress and it gets all ruined and she starts to cry and there's mascara everywhere and oh my gosh we're out in public and she's gonna hate me forever and won't even let me scoop up some of the chocolate off her arm with a pretzel?!?!

You get my point.

And, even if a girl (such as myself) truly is not a fan of large romantic gestures, nobody will believe her because it'll seem like a cover-up for her actually really, really wanting a romantic gesture. What.

V-Day has also historically been for me a day of bad news. There was a space of about four years there where something legitimately tragic happened on Valentine's Day.

So, I've held a grudge against it. In my mind, not unwarranted.

This was even to the extent that I cancelled Valentine's Day last year. Cancelled it. As in, I didn't even see my now ex on the day.

I've had a lot of time for reflection since I moved to NI in September (by that I mean that I have thought through everything on God's green Earth for lack of something better to do with my ungodly amounts of free and alone time). During that time, VDay and I have had an all-out.

It's amazing to me how many of life's decisions and revisions are driven by a deep deep rooting in fear.

For this day, there's a fear of not measuring up to expectations, of having expectations and being disappointed, of being vulnerable enough to let yourself be loved in unnecessary ways. It's what I talked about once in my definition of intimacy. 

Intimacy as that moment of tension, that point at which you're dancing on the edge and could either fall to your death or jump to a higher ledge.

When I realized at what depth my hatred really did stem from terror and how much I was denying myself as well as other people an opportunity for relational growth, I owed VDay some reconsideration and an apology.

Still not a fan of the gross spectacle it has become, nor am I cozy with being fussed over in almost any capacity, but I recognize that there is some intrinsic value in its existence, if not solely its history.

For that reason, Valentine's Day, you are safe from my slander and cancellation tenancies.  We can now be friends. 

3-2-1 let go. Let’s go!

The trip over went a million times more smoothly than in September. 

On the first plane, I made buddies with the flight attendant and we chatted for nearly an hour about the crazy snow in Atlanta (sorry for that 14 hour drive home Joey, but it has really helped fodder social interactions for me this past week) and working in the service industry. 

Then, in the Dulles airport, I continued on my terminally happy journey of making airport friends. 

Airport and coffeeshop friends are the best to make because you only have to generate small talk for an hour or less. It's the perfect practice, though Kira's book of 4,000 questions did make it home with me just in case. 

Trucked-on through my very long layover (and flight delay) with content developing, bubble blowing, puzzle doing, and even a wee nap. 

My favorite part on the plane back was that I was mistaken for Irish twice. Unconsciously, I seem to have adopted a slight lilt to my speech, especially when I'm talking to someone with a strong one.

On that note, I must have passed the test for looking local, too, because the tour vendors near city hall left me well alone today for the first time. HaHA. 

It's good to be back in Belfast. 

Yes, it is nearly three and already dark and yes, it is unapologetically rainy and yes, my room smells like bad memories. 

But there was sun this morning a bit, I've got on warm socks and waterproof shoes (though the hair I forgot to pin into submission before hitting the wind), and there's always Febreeze to alter the stench of past anxieties. 

My circumstances last semester suffocated me into such venomous, claustrophobic state that I had come to believe I hated Belfast, but coming back into it now, how could I ever have believed that? Sure, I could stay bitter with Belfast, but that wouldn't get me anywhere positive and I am definitely here for another four plus months, so I am prepped to be pleased. 

You know, with how little I actually did venture out of my home last semester, Belfast and I really do have the opportunity to start over almost completely with one another.

There's a happy bustle in the wet streets, rich history and culture, and "genuoinley" lovely people.

Time to fall in love again, NI. I believe we can make it now. We'll be rocking till the sungoes down. 

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.

Love is Not a Feeling

I'm a really big fan of Myers-Briggs personality types. It's actually one of my hobbies to watch people and try to guess their letters.

I am an ISTJ. A sensing, thinking, judging, introvert. It suits me pretty well. Famous ISTJs include a whole host of military leaders such as George Washington, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and Stonewall Jackson. If you're not picking up on this, I'm not exactly a gushy gushy feeler. I'm logical.

Feelings are important, but feelings (and feelers) are also often mislead and driven by their emotions.

Love is not a feeling. Love is a decision.

Sometimes, it can be both, and that is really lovely, but being dependent upon some will of the wisp emotionalism to decide important relationships in your life is not okay.

I bring this up to (once again) talk about the Lord.

He and I are taking life one single day at a time right now, and to be honest, I'm having a pretty difficult time here in NI. Learning a lot, not mourning my losses, but just ready to go home and feel like I fit and belong somewhere.

I've written about that a lot, the concept of "home." I don't know where mine is. The home of my childhood will always be my point of reference, but my friends have moved on from there; Arkansas was my college home, so it's already altered from what it was when I was there; Here is home in location and home in practice.

For me, give us this day, our daily bread is give me an exact measure of fortitude to stand up under this day.

If my love for God were feeling-based, we would be on the outs right now.
But it's not.
It's an accumulation of decisions: chosen actions, chosen thoughts, chosen views of his character. I trust him.

I trust that being here is exactly the right place for me and all the consequences of being here what I need to be drawn closer to him.

At the same time, the moments he gives me a break from this taffy-pull growth are delicious.

Last evening, sort of by accident, we had living room snuggle/worship time.

For I don't even know how long (a couple hours at least), one of the guys played the guitar and we worshiped together. The room was dark-ish, the fake fire glowing, and we were all set at ease to spend time individually, communally with God.

It reminded me of NLR Unplugged nights back when I worked at camp. Friday nights, we would pack into the chapel, light candles all over and a fire (even though it was 1000 degrees), and sing together. There is something powerful and awesome about cutting out the electric (lights and instruments) and lifting up your praise together with fellow believers.

For me, there were no chills of holiness nor a feeling of staunch resistance. There were no ping-ponging thoughts or self-consciousness about my singing. No feelings of any kind. For some, this would be discouraging. Not for me.

Still. 

For those two hours or so, I wasn't wrangling my own psyche into the straight and narrow path. I just got to sit on dry ground and sing while the Lord held back the walls of the Red Sea of my mind. And I realize I've mixed some metaphors there, but I'm also okay with that.

I want to go home. That is my feeling. If I followed my feelings, I would be on the next plane to Tulsa.
I am a follower of Jesus. That is my action and decision and statement of devotion. That is love.

In Memoriam

I want to tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, I was a very small sort of person, and I had two very best friends: Sarah and Shelby. I actually don’t have any memories pre-SS. We were inseparable. Sarah and I were inseparable.

These two girls had two great-grandparents, named Nolan and  Ilene or, more affectionately, Papa and Momo. The three of us spent lots of time with them. Even after I didn’t anymore, I knew of how much time the girls spent with them from talks after church with Papa and Momo.

You see, life took some nasty turns and left Sarah, Shelby, and I in very different places. At Woodlake, every single week before I’d leave, I’d find Nolan and Ilene to hug them, tell them I loved them, and ask about the girls. Every week, Ilene would respond the same way by taking my hands in hers, looking at me with her deep, blue eyes, and telling me to pray for “our girls.” It undid me every time.

The beautiful thing was, though, that no matter what was going on in Sarah and Shelby’s lives, no matter how hard and hurt they were, they were still sweet and soft with their great-grandparents. They inspire gentleness.

They were also the kind of couple who still held hands to walk to the car together. It’s a little thing, but it’s a big thing. After more than fifty years of marriage, they still held hands to walk to the car.

When I left Woodlake and when I moved to Arkansas, I worried constantly that due to my desertion of my church and my estrangement from my friends, I wouldn’t ever know if Nolan and Ilene had died.

This past Christmas break, I felt it all through me that I needed to find them and visit. I made some calls, found the nursing home they’d been moved to, and didn’t go for days. I couldn’t do it. At the very last day possible (honestly, I think it could have even been the day I went back; I don’t remember), I went. I think I spent the whole time crying. My heart burned with every sort of emotion. Missing my friends, wanting them to come back to Jesus, seeing Nolan and Ilene reduced to nursing home state, everything.

Nolan was pleased as punch that I’d come, and he remembered me. Ilene was so near death that she couldn’t speak or move. We just looked at one another, and I held her hand and told her how much I loved her. She died a month later. My ma saw it in the paper.

Her funeral was a most redemptive experience. Jesus has done incredible work in Sarah and Shelby and, for a few moments, it was as if nothing had changed between us at all.

This summer, I felt the same sort of pull to go back and see Nolan. Again, I couldn’t make myself go. The day before I left for Ireland, I finally did it.

It was downright fun. When I came in, he was struggling to get energy enough for shoes, so  I sat on the ground, took up his feet, and slid them into socks and shoes. After, he tapped his feet like a jig and started “yippie-kay-ay”ing. Ready to run the Boston Marathon, I’d say.

We looked up at the picture of him and Ilene on his wall, the one that looks so much like Sarah, and he told me how they’d skipped church right after they got married to have that photo taken. He told me how much he missed his sweetheart.

We talked about a lot of things and laughed together and I could not get over how totally sharp his mind was. As a former counselor/professor, he was thrilled I was headed in the same direction. “But of course that makes sense! You’re one of my girls. You got it from me.”

When I kissed his cheek on my way out, I told him he better wait for me to come back. He said he had no intention of waiting that long for his heavenly reunion.

Just before I woke up this morning, I had a dream that I was in my mama’s bed, and she came in to tell me Nolan had died. I woke up instantly and checked my phone. I had a FaceBook message from Sarah. Nolan hit his head yesterday and went to go be with his sweetheart and his sweet Lord.

God is so good. He orchestrates the patterns of life so perfectly and with so much grace. I was able to say goodbye to both my adoptive grandparents before they left and have closure and redemption with Sarah and Shelby.

But, more and better, Nolan and Ilene lived to see their great-granddaughters come back to Jesus. That, is the very best. 

The Girlfriend Goodbye Post.

In May of Last year, I wrote about goodbyes without promise. 

It is now the time for me to reiterate my thoughts in a more concrete way. Beware, there be sappiness. 

My boyfriend Noah defines sappiness as: "The quality of being, at the same time, both very sad and very happy." 

I leave for Ireland in around 40 hours. I will be gone for a year. This may not seem like a very long time for you all who are adept at change and leaving, but I have never been more than an hour and a half away long-term from my family. 

I also hate change. 

This change, however, I think my soul is ready for. The pain of leaving, though, is unbelievable. I say goodbye without knowing when or how or in what context I will see my closest circle again. 

Sappiness has characterized the past month for me as I've said goodbye to my three best friends, mentors, and family members. We are all off to live and live fully, but we will do so without the direct involvement of one another. 

This past weekend, I brought the boyfriend home. It was an absolute blast. We baked together, sang loudly in my kitchen, went on a walk to one of my favorite places, and spent time with my family. 

There was a lot of laughter. But in the times the room got still, we'd remember why he was there and how the weekend would end. 

I've known for the last year that I would leave my family and my friends this September. I did not anticipate Noah. I don't know how I could have. 

God thinks it's funny to mess with me. I, who loathe and avoid committing to anything more than a few days in advance, have agreed to attempt what looks to me as being impossible. It makes me squirm and shiver and want to escape just thinking about it, but I have given a promise with my goodbye and have entrusted it to God. 

This post, then, serves as a slight amendment to its predecessor. All goodbyes are promiseless. All goodbyes, that is, except for the kind of promise you make to a person you can't imagine your life without. Even then it isn't stone, but it's a bond of faithfulness that, if planted in a foundation of the Lord, just might have a chance. 

Learning to Love

When I first started my job, I felt this overwhelming realization of just how much darkness and lostness there is in the world. People don't realize it, but we see how you interact with one another, we hear your conversations. We know you're lonely, fighting, joyous, on that  first date, on that 1635th date, hate your kid, hate your husband, can't get over how much you love your husband, are cheating on your wife, are hiding an office relationship. We know.

And my coworkers. Before I started, I decided to find something good about each one of them. And I have. I truly love each one of my coworkers and managers. I think they're wonderful people and good at what they do. But you all just don't see how much your chirpy servers drink and smoke and cry about when they leave or how much yelling and attitude happens back in the kitchen on your behalf. You just don't.

Gentlemen, ladies, your words have power over us. Regardless of how your day is going, we are going to treat you the best that we know how. In return, though, we are often treated a little better than dogs by you. You cut us off, you snap your fingers at us, you poke us with your forks, you are quick to tear into us if we make the slightest mistake.

Which brings me to my point. At every moment in every situation and location, there is someone who could use encouragement. It sounds cliche, but you just never know what's going on in someone's life, so treat each person as though they were Christ. It doesn't matter if we will never see one another again, did I behave toward you as though you were someone worthy of love? Did you treat me as though I had any value in your eyes?

I'm not attempting to change the world through waitressing at a mexican food place. That doesn't mean that I can't pray my way through each interaction and hope I leave in my wake the aroma of Christ, without giving you a card or even telling you that I'm a Christian.

5/8/12-Irish Adventures: Stories of Love

Today I met a very lovely gentleman named Hadden. He drove us very safely on the wrong side of the road (to me) from the airport to our garden manor on Finaghy Road South. 

While we drove, he told me of his life, how he’s seen poverty beyond compare. But a proud poverty. A poverty in which the people are excellent and generous stewards of the little they are given. He told me of the workshops he teaches on sexuality. Of the pastor in Ukraine who asked the question of what it looks like to love your wife just as you did in your youth. 

Then he told me of the first time he saw his wife. How he saw her at church, wrote to her to meet him, was afraid she wouldn't show, and how ravishing she was in her fitted royal blue coat when she did show. Though she has aged, that is the woman he still sees. 

Then we departed and our group went to a park. And I was struck with the overwhelming recognition of the beauty and creativity and coolness of the God we serve. There were trees three times the length of my arms that moved like slides, like elephant trunks along the ground and up. A rabbit-sized opening led to a cavern made of trees, with the ground sprinkled with pink petals. To quote one of my favorite books, it was "lovely beyond any singing of it". There are reasons that Europeans love Europe so much. The earth is enriched with culture and history. You feel the ages under your feet. In those large, respectable trees I can’t help but imagine all the years of couples picnicking underneath, carving their names, children climbing, growing older. There are stories upon stories of love, of loss, of life.

This is a land of impossibilities and adventure. 

change. not the type that jingles.

today was my brother Jon's graduation. we had pictures of him when he was younger all over. there was this little basket of pictures i was looking through and there were a lot of the two of us together when we were really little. they were just the cutest things in the world and they made me get very mixed emotions. they made me remember happy memories and they also made my heart hurt. you see, this coming year marks a new phase in my life. i'm becomming an aunt in less than a month. i'm gaining a sister in june. the group of friends that i made this year are all moving away to college and such. and then in august probably the biggest change in my life thus far will occur. my brother is one of my best friends. i mean we fought and argued for the first well sixteen years of my life, but all the while i loved it. i love being playful and having fun with my brother. playing basketball, wrestling, watching him play hours of zelda, i loved it all, just being around him makes me happy. he used to drive me to school in teh mornings and he'd have me read a Psalm every morning, point out the sunrise. if i was ever grumpy riding to or from school that year, he'd make me sing "dr. worm" to make me smile. he always knows just how to be my friend, to love me, to annoy and anger me. in august, one of my best friends is leaving the country for a year. we'll still talk it's not like he's dying but it's just gonna be so weird not being able to see him every week or have that kind of closeness anymore.


i really don't have anything else to say.