Summer Night Nostalgia

Sometimes when I'm falling asleep at night, I think maybe I'll wake up in the morning and be a kid again. It's probably nothing short of normal, but I have, since, graduating college felt the sting of the reality of growing up. And there's something about a humid summer night, with only an oscillating fan for relief, that reminds me of childhood. Maybe it doesn't help that I gave up on the idea of holding onto my queen bed for being married some day and returned to a twin, for which I have one old pale pink fitted-sheet from when I was a kid. Laying there, sometimes I slip into thinking, what if I wake up tomorrow and I'm nine again? Nine was a good age, I think. You were still your own person, with reckless abandon.

Today at the beach, I failed to restrain a chuckle as this dad with two children, very close in age, struggled to calm them from the vicious, apparently contagious cry-cycle they were inflicting on one another. I watched his valiant effort to calm and re-dress them while whichever one he wasn't paying attention to burst into crocodile tears. I chuckled, but not out of a mean spirit; rather, I appreciated that this father dared to go it [to the beach] alone. Think me not insensitive, I assumed he was simply taking them on an outing and not forced by some tragic circumstance to parent alone this way all the time. I appreciated him.

My dad, and again not to slight him in any way, was not much of a kid person. I always say I think he likes us a lot better now that we're adults. His version of such an outing was to take us to the Y with him, while he got in a workout, we swam endlessly - and cheerfully - in the pool. On the way home was a Super A, and dad's treat was to stop and let us each get a can of Super America brand pop. There was something extra-good about that soda, even still I think nothing can quite compare. Oddly Shasta is the only thing that's ever quite come close. I think I drank a lot of grape soda back then, but there was also a strawberry-kiwi or watermelon-something...that was dad's excursion, albeit a relatively safe one.

I have what feel to be infinite memories of getting home in the summer time from a family vacation where we roadtripped somewhere. It was usually hot and sticky; it was usually July, sometimes to Duluth and back for Independence day. We always brought our own pillows with us, all piled into the car. Being Losiers, we left late and got home late, so I was almost always asleep when we finally arrived. I learned the feel of the car slowing down on our exit, and my body would wake just enough to sense that we were minutes from the comfort of home. I knew the right, then the hot-left, then the other right, and up into the driveway. I'd sit up and sleepily verify my inferences, looking through the windshield at the house number on the garage, lit by the floodlight above it. 1110.

We'd always unpack the car of at least the essentials. I remember that feeling of mellow-dramatically trekking the stairs to my room, and the sweet relief of plopping on my belly into my familiar, welcoming bed.

Sometimes, in the summer, I imagine that I will wake tomorrow in my white, four-post bed, in my bedroom with the blue wallpaper with little pink bows all over, and stumble downstairs to pour a bowl of Berry Kix.

Something Maybe Crazy

Is it weird that this [my blog] is my bear-all? I don't think so, then again I'm a huge fan of vulnerability and verbal processing. In a way, this feels like verbal processing. And being my personality type, I'm overly concerned with being understood...Anyway, let's really talk about my dating life (or, still, lack thereof).

I did something maybe a little crazy, recently. I had spent way too long wondering, instead of just asking. Somehow, I got the crazy nerve up to just ask; enough time not wanting to give up hope, I guess. Which brought the best rejection I could have ever hoped for, if that was what I had been hoping for. I'm too curious to leave these things up to my assumptions. I wasn't shocked, I wasn't sad -- if anything relieved. And the whole thing left me thinking, why in the heck didn't I do that sooner? I don't believe anything is a waste of time, (other than getting lost and just going home instead, which I have been known to do a time or two...) but I just could have saved myself a lot of...wondering.

We'll see what it means for my future endeavors. At first it meant an impulsive return to dating websites -- and why? Who knows...but it will likely be short-lived, again as I am still basically under the impression it's not for me. Maybe it means taking the chance earlier on to just know, and be more carefree about this whole silly thing that I don't even really know how I feel about it. I mean I know how I feel about politics, coffee, and running, but how do I feel about dating? Who knows! Except that I want to worry about it less. I'm far better than I once was, but it's too easy to obsess, and even harder to not think there's more to everything than there is. Which is especially hard for me, because in life I don't think that anything is as simple as it seems.

It made me feel free. Why didn't I do that sooner? I am admittedly still quite ignorant in this area, but I feel like I grew up a little in that moment. I learned something. I can stand a little taller, even if it was the wimpiest attempt at...whatever it was, ever. If you don't take the risk, you'll never know.

The Art of Settling

As if life and relationship aren't complicated enough, there's this wily pressure to add marriage into the mix, or to be dating with it as an end-goal. I, like I'm sure many other girls, have my moments of pure panic, thinking what if I'm supposed to be doing something right now and I'm not, and then I'll be single forever! Fear of the unknown grabs hold and grips tightly. And while it's different now than the times where at my age I'd already be considered an old maid and a lost cause, there's still a function of society that strikes fear of singleness into our hearts; beyond the healthy desire for companionship.

It's a weird conversation to have, anything revolving around being single and the implication that you shouldn't be. Lately, I've come to terms with one thing about my love-life - or lack thereof: I'd rather be single than settle.

Most people can get behind that statement til they start asking questions. Well, what do you want? Which quickly can turn into, Well, good luck finding that! Exactly. Exactly. There's enough mess to this life and relationships in general, then to go adding in romance and quite possibly a family with someone that sort of meets what you need?

Now, believe me, I've read all the blogs and articles (and some pages of books before I got bored or annoyed), and I'm not saying I expect someone to be perfect! I'm so tired of that retort; I'm not nearly so naive. The people I love the very most in this life have all hurt me at some point, and I'd be surprised if I haven't hurt them. I'm not under some sort of illusion that I will find someone to match all my ideals, but I'm not about to throw them out the window, either!

I am also not naively referring to frivolous wants. I don't think having hobbies in common or even really shared interests is necessary; most of the good couples I know are vastly different in many ways. I like to think that's part of the excitement is learning about someone else's interests and expanding your horizons. But shouldn't certain things be immovable requirements? And can we please stop telling people that they need to leave those behind?! How desperately do we need to remove our singleness? If we weren't a society that held everyone to this unrealistic and unhealthy idea of incompleteness without a romantic relationship, maybe there'd be a little less pressure to take just anything.

This is all not to say that anyone isn't worth your while; that you're too good for anyone, but rather what is healthy for you and what do you need? Where are you at? Almost every time I've gotten frustrated and frankly bored of being single, I circle back to the conclusion that I'm actually okay with it because I still have a lot to figure out. No person is going to make me whole, or complete, or satisfy any unfulfilled part of my life. This is likely different in a secular mindset, so I guess if I even have any non-believing readers...disregard? Then again not, because the reality is that it is not healthy, no matter what your religious affiliations, for your identity to be revealed through the filter of one other person. But that's another rant for another time.

If anything, all I've ever seen from settling is heartache and identity crisis. I recently told a friend who was evaluating a dating relationship, if you have to say the words "we could make it work", it's probably not worth trying to. I think we have a tough time being honest enough with ourselves that we feel insecure being alone. That being alone requires us to walk into parties by ourselves, or have a Friday night with nothing to do, go stag to a wedding and risk sitting at the table while others dance. Rather, I think those moments build character; there's something to be said for learning that you have value for being yourself, without anyone else.

On Going On 24

With my next birthday rolling around, I thought to myself today, Ahh, finally I won't have to say I'm twenty-three.

As if being 24 is all that different. This has been a strange age; I feel like I've never had so many people speak to me in a derogatory nature of 23 year olds as the elite class of especially naive humans. I know not to take offense, as they likely don't mean anything by it -- more than likely they forgot that I am in fact lumped into whatever their ideas are about 23 year olds. The time it bothers me is when it's followed up by, "Ugh!...Wait, how old are you?" I might as well answer "I'm naive, overly self-confident, and stubborn years old." Or when I first meet people, and the age question comes up all-too quickly.

See, being my age doesn't actually bother me, just that anyone would ever assume anything about me based on it, especially that it might automatically make me simultaneously naive and a know-it-all. If anything, that's where the adolescent yearning to age comes from, but the sick and twisted part is that we can never quite comprehend the part about getting older. That part is important. Yet, no matter how much anyone forewarns that getting older is also hard and that you probably don't want to actually get older, you want to because then maybe you'll feel less defined by however young you are.

And in one moment of looking at myself in the mirror, washing my hands and thinking how I will finally answer that question with "I'm 24," -- never mind that oh my gosh I AM getting older -- I realized it does not matter. Chasing after the next mile marker of time only wastes the in-between; the now.

Anyway, those who know me don't write me off based on my age, and those who do [write me off], just don't know me well enough to know better. Another lesson in grace, this one wherein I swallow my pride and listen to running mouths.

What Does Being Christian Even Mean?

I find it interesting that there are so many definitions of what it means to be Christian. There are definitions from the inside, which tend to vary widely between denominations or doctrines, and then there are the perceptions of non-Christians. I often think that being a Christian is a bizarre thing, that if I wasn't one, I myself would probably find quite strange.

However, having been raised Christian, I grew up with some ideas of what being one meant by the things that were rote. We went to church every Sunday like clockwork, my siblings and I went to private grade school, and as a family we rarely ate dinner without praying a simple prayer before hand. Thankfully, in my adolescence, in the midst of some of the great hardship of my thus far young life, God got a hold of me in a way that broke through my misconception. So while I would say I was raised Christian, there is a specific time I'd say I became one. Unfortunately that's not necessarily what I'm writing about here, now.

Growing up in it long before I understood it on a personal level, there were periods of time where I felt like I saw through a lot of things; like there were parts of being a Christian that I didn't like. I took a break from church for a while when I felt like it didn't fit what I was feeling like God is about. Looking back on that time, my faith was by no means on the rocks, but on the contrary there were many moments of deeper intimacy with God than I even feel like I've had in a while, and I'm really thankful for it. I learned a bit about how faith isn't dependent on church, which began what I think is a long journey of figuring out that being a Christian doesn't mean what so many of us think.

Admittedly, I often struggle to tell someone I'm a christian, not at all because of what it means to me, but because of whatever connotation or stigma the word may have to them.

Being a Christian doesn't mean voting republican. It isn't defined by my stance on gay marriage. It's not in my tattoos, or nullified by them. It's also not nullified by swearing, or proved by withstanding. My faith is not upheld by listening solely to Christian music. Being Christian isn't dependent on your ability to abstain from sex outside of marriage. It's not by ritually reading the Bible. It's not in evangelizing from a ladder on a street. It's definitely not holding signs on the street condemning people; it's not condemning people. It's not judging. It's not segregating. It's not obligatory. It's not hinged on saying "Grace" before a meal. It's not hinged on using the right lingo.

To be a Christian means [to me] that you have had a personal revelation of the merit and reality of the death of Christ, as it pertains to your life, and have acknowledged God as giving that gift. There are so many facets and pieces that come after that, but they do not define one's adherence to the identity of being saved by Jesus. The etymology of the word "Christian" even implies a belonging; as in slave ownership. That might sound scary to some, but I think that with the understanding of what that personal realization of the cross is, there is a feeling of indebtedness, of service which is born from thankfulness. It is wanting to serve the One who you know saved you. That is a better definition of "Christian".

No doubt, from this Christian life should come fruit; good things, but those look much different than the many stereotypes would have us believe. It means a selflessness. It is a countenance of grace. It is a life lived with and seeking wisdom. It is self-control. It's showing mercy, and not judgment. A Christian life should display love. A Christian life should display hope. It should display a relationship with God in which He allows you to partner with Him in heavenly works, not because you are doing what a Christian should do, but you have acknowledged your need for Him in your life and are open to following the example of Christ.

The Good & Perfect Giver

If you have ever been burned in a situation you know the feeling of being, as they say, gun-shy. Once it's happened in a big way, it's easier to recognize an arguably justifiable hesitancy in other areas or seasons of life. I have had it happen in my expectations. One particular instance became a mark on my life, even if only to myself.

See, I had a grand plan and expectations from the bottom of my heart to the top: to go to Paris. It might seem frivolous, but it was a life dream of mine and as Audrey Hepburn famously said, "Paris is always a good idea." She wouldn't lie, not with those big glistening eyes! I set my heart right on my own plans that I crafted. I even did all steps to get myself there, save for one thing on which I hesitated...buying my plane ticket.

I had just begun attending my church, and returning to a life immersed in a community of believers after a year and a half of solitary faith. In hindsight, of course, it is so clear to me now - knowing all that I have learned in the just over five years I've spent at Mercy Vineyard - that I didn't even think to really see if I was supposed to go. Thankfully, God steered me in my conscience, and I could not manage to buy that plane ticket. The date edged closer, and though I constantly talked as if I was going, I never bought it. At a point of no particular consequence or significance in my memory, I came to the conclusion it would be irresponsible for me to go, and quite frankly a terrible decision. And again, in retrospect, I was trying to force something that just wasn't.

I didn't really express the disappointment I felt to anyone. In August, shortly following my decision to stay stateside, I went to a Vineyard conference in Duluth with some friends. Again, though insignificant in memory, something in the teaching or singing prompted me to go up to the front to get prayer (in my early months of Mercy every call to receive prayer was for me; I lived up front of the church getting prayer!) Despite what I asked for prayer for being completely unrelated, the woman who prayed for me, Amy (the older sister of my now best friend) having never met me or knowing anything of my life, she spoke right to the part of my heart that broke for my crushed dream. Even her words are lost in my memory, but the sentiment is absolutely not. I was rocked that a perfect stranger not only knew exactly what was on my heart, but took the risk to speak to it what she heard God saying.

Part of it was, God knows the huge disappointment on your heart, but He wants you to know He has something even greater in store. I didn't know the full weight of what that would look like, but in that instant the big dream broken into pieces and the unknown of the immediate future were peripheral. God just spoke to my heart, what I really needed to hear. And He wasn't lying.

To this day, I will say Paris was the best thing I've done in my life. It was far beyond what I could have imagined...just like God had told me through Amy. That time was not only a huge blessing for all it encompassed, but a great lesson in patience, trust, discernment, and wisdom. For me, it is one of the things in my life that exemplifies a characteristic of God that I firmly believe in: He is a good and perfect giver. Often, the reality of having been given such a great gift hits me, and it makes me cry. It's already come and gone, and I still can't believe it was given to me. My heart bobs at the thought; both sad that it's gone, and joyful that it was mine.

Now, when faced circumstances that go against the grain of my wants - though I may have to remind myself - this is the lens I view it through. I find peace in knowing that, whatever comes, He doesn't disappoint, rather He surpasses, and is lavish.

"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways...declares the LORD." Isaiah 55:9

Re: Dateless

I find it laughable that such an absurd, circular, and slightly nonsensical post such as this ("Dateless") gained so much traffic...and a little sad. See, I've written so much more! I write so many more important things (or so I think). Should I assume that all of my readers (and facebook friends) are highly invested in my romantic status? Do me a favor, go pick another title and read it til the end! Read a freaking poem or two! (Here's a favorite) Have a laugh, take on a challenge...read this weird monologue-y thing.

Well, for whatever reason that is now my most popular post in all the seven plus year history of my blog! Thanks for reading and...I'll keep you updated?

For now, enjoy:
Click here for an awesome song!