more perfect weekends, please

I went to work this morning still feeling the joy, and the jetlag, of the rush of forty-eight hours. It was the perfect weekend, in so many ways. These weekends are rare; I guess that's what makes them so special when they come. It was a completely out-of-the-ordinary set of days, half a world away, in the kind of place that I dream about when I close my eyes and let only my heart speak. Brick buildings and horse pastures and summer thunder storms with liquid sunshine. We honored a love story and danced in the rain; I ate pancakes bigger than my head and slept in fluffy white sheets at a fancy-shmancy hotel where shoes are always required. I took it all in. It was the most beautiful sight you ever did see.

travel socks

a dream

high school weddings

Now, I'm searching for more perfect weekends. Saving for red-eye flights across the country, stealing moments with the dreams that California can't offer. 

On my list: 

Chicago, Boston (kicking myself for canceling last year's weekend get-away), Nashville, New Orleans, Charleston, and more.

america the beautiful

anam cara, my soul friend

I told myself that tonight was reserved for one episode of Arrested Development, writing one little letter, and sleeping early to get myself back to being rested and happy. But then I got to thinkin' about souls and friends and this crazy little concept of anam cara, a soul friend.

"In the Celtic tradition, there is a beautiful understanding of love and friendship...the old Gaelic term for this is anam cara. Anam is the Gaelic word for soul and cara is the word for friend: "soul friend." With the anam cara you could share your inner-most self, your mind and your heart. This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging, a joining in an ancient and eternal way with the "friend of your soul." In this love, you are understood as you are without mask or pretension. The superficial and functional lies and half-truths of social acquaintance fall away, you can be as you really are. The anam cara is God's gift."

Anam Cara, A Book of Celtic Wisdom//John O'Donohue

[Before continuing, I feel the need to share my joy that cara is pronounced Kara, which, yes, is my name. How sweet is that??]

The theory says that everybody has an anam cara, but not everybody knows it. My thought is that, regardless of haves or have nots, everybody needs a friend to their soul.

We throw around the term soulmate too easily--this is more than that. It's more, even, than a best friend. This is more than a list of things in common or shared music taste and it goes far beyond girl talk. This is a person who knows you at the deepest levels, who challenges you, disagrees with you, forces you to see a new and better perspective. She can debate you in politics or talk theology for hours. She can predict what you'll say, how you'll respond and she knows the meaning behind every facial expression. She knows the challenges you face, your moments of selfishness, your short-sightedness. She knows the fears that keep you from action, the things that keep you from loving freely. She can sense your anxiety and she can speak truth into it, only because she is trusted with your story. And she knows more stories than most: she knows the responsibility of holding your joys and your heartaches. She prays with you and for you; there is a humility, a deep gratitude and a mutuality to this relationship.
You attempt the same for her.

And there is so much laughter. So many moments that would be embarrassing if there was a fly on the wall. So much quirkiness, so much ridiculousness. So many sleepovers. This friend, this anam cara, is a treasure.

I am so lucky to have found mine.





I'm reminded on nights like tonight...
after detailed accounts of our days and descriptions of every person and place
after encouraging text messages and calming phone conversations
after reminiscing through pictures and talking in circles about the fears in my heart
after sharing wisdom and reflecting on the parallels of our lives
after cursing the 1,615 miles between San Diego and Omaha
...what a gift it is to have a soul friend.

A soul friend and an internet connection. I'm forever grateful.

*I'm no expert on this whole soul friend thing, but I'm reserving the right to add one more soul friend into my life at some point. Not just anybody--he'll have to come with a ring and some pretty serious vows. I'll choose wisely.

celebrate good times (come on!!)

march has been a big month

a strange and beautiful month
if i could describe it in one word, i would choose
full
{full: filled to satisfaction}
(thankfully, nobody asked me to describe it in one word and, since it's my blog, i will use as many words as necessary...)





it has been about feasting and discerning and pra(y)sing
in the midst of it:
i've been to concerts and conferences and birthday parties
i've had overwhelming nights and looming decisions
changes of heart and changes back again
moments of utter creativity
laughter and tears
anticipation
joy


march is the halfway point
between october and august
the start and the finish of life as i know it
how dramatic does that sound?
but seriously. that is crazy
five months ago i entered a post-college world outside of my predictions
and bigger, even, than my hopes
i've watched community built up and walls broken down and anxieties pushed aside
for the sake of something bigger


and now, there is something bigger still
the culmination of years of planning and studying and working and dreaming
came in six little words:
"congratulations, you have been accepted into..."

in march, doors opened
...more than doors...
[entire cities, entire worlds]
and in rushed a billion emotions:

excitement, gratitude, pride (quickly followed by humility), humility (quickly followed by pride), fear, more excitement, disbelief, confusion, surprise, sadness, pieces of early-onset grief, euphoria, anxiety, hope, awe, curiosity, happiness...

and somehow, at the end of it, after all of it
there is peace and satisfaction
and it's time to celebrate



{via}

the madness of march

i've never been great at sports.
i played pickup soccer games on summer days at the local park
and went to school basketball games with paint on my face
i played tennis and learned to ski black-diamonds and had a brief stint with surfing
and of course, i was on the all-star softball team in 1993.
(and i looked good in my oversized purple jersey)
but mostly, with these few exceptions aside, i'm slightly uncoordinated and awkward so i took piano lessons and art classes instead.

the problem is that i'm competitive and empathetic.
a friend took me to a basketball game a few weeks ago
i half-jokingly promised: i will get emotionally invested in this team.
turns out: i keep my promises.


{via}

now, it's march madness and i've dedicated many hours of precious time
to bracket research and (friendly) trash talk and streaming live games on my work computer (shh, don't tell...)
i've found myself cheering loudly with friends and running around my house in excitement
you can call me a fair-weather fan and tell me that i've jumped on the bandwagon
and you wouldn't be completely wrong

but here's the thing(s):
it takes me approximately .42 seconds to get emotionally attached
(yes, even to basketball)
it doesn't help that 87% of my friends bleed red and black
it doesn't help that i want to see that 87% excited and celebrating
yes, i celebrate because i enjoy competition and a good game
i love bragging that i am part of the 4.5% who predicted a morehead state win
more than that, i love to celebrate alongside of the people that have come to mean so much to me, in the place that has come to mean so much to me
i love these joyful celebrations with friends
i love to see them celebrate their passions
because it brings me joy, too


march is about celebrating
{even amidst the madness}

why my shirt said "love"

"If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do that...but love your enemies, and do good, expecting nothing in return..."

(Luke 6:32ish)

i wore my "love" shirt yesterday, specifically and intentionally. because i woke up frustrated. i woke up thinking about this verse, thinking about my heart, and remembering the ease of love in jamaica. it is easy to love in jamaica, and i fall quickly into it. it is not so easy here. here is where real life happens. here is where the longevity of my love is tested--where i see if i am truly patient and kind; if i truly turn my heart against envy and pride and any sort of selfishness [hint: i'm not and i don't, but i'm working on it]. and this is the place where i see and overthink and analyze and attempt to discern the "love" around me.

i wore my "love" shirt yesterday, specifically and intentionally. the one with the flowers and the dove and the word "love" spelled out, front and center, to hold myself to some sort of higher standard. because i have decided to be about love. i have decided to be about Jesus, who embodies all that love is: patience, kindness, goodness, humility, selflessness, gentleness, forgiveness, grace, meekness, reconciliation, and on and on and on. i have a different standard to live by. and so does anybody who claims to be about Jesus. we are not called to get there apart from Him, but we are called to a new and different standard:

one that asks that i open myself to a world besides my own. it asks that i engage in conversation, that i listen, that i respond selflessly, patiently, with humility and kindness
(and for more than ten days in jamaica)
(and for more than two weeks in africa)
(and for more than the twenty minute difficult phone conversation each month)
(or the visit to difficult family members).

it's a life lived toward a new standard, worked out in day-to-day life, when friends annoy you, or conversations wound you, when you want to scream and cry and punch somebody in the face, but you choose to love instead.

i wore my "love" shirt, specifically and intentionally, because i'm not quite there and i just needed a little reminder.

{in love, there is freedom}

these days

is it really already Halloween?!?

holy cow.

my life these days revolves around planning events and playing with kids and using pumpkins and scarecrows as my creative outlet...take a peek :)

happy halloween

from the linda vista fall festival and the not-so-blue-door!!!

(and now, back to a shred of normalcy...maybe?)

branches

i am blessed to be surrounded constantly by incredibly talented musicians

i'd need an infinite amount of fingers to count the sing-a-longs and nights spent listening with closed eyes and open hearts and the way that their music has changed things

so, in honor of music and all these friends (and one friend in particular)

do yourself a favor and check out branches

it's a group of best friends (and lots of hair)

and we, at the not-so-blue-door, have been listening to their songs on repeat

(specifically maps of wars because it's seriously seriously seriously good...)

you can too:

http://www.myspace.com/soundslikebranches

and, in the words of tyler (vocals and guitar and longer hair than me):

"add us as a friend, spread the word, sing along, and if you'll be in LA the first week of September, buy a ticket for our show with Tyrone Wells here"

introducing my new friend

this is my new friend:

sir oliver hathaway
he's old and heavy and sometimes his keys get stuck,
but i love him just the same

i expect to have some wonderful times with sir ollie
writing letters, making lists, having fun
because he's a typewriter
and that makes him awesome

his new ribbons are coming soon
i can't wait to play.

boo finals

effective use of study time...
free pizza and photobooth

finals...who needs 'em??

because i'm on the topic of childhood...

there's a long-standing joke, where we laugh at the fact that i can't remember much of my childhood

"do you remember....?!?!?!"
"no. i didn't have a childhood."
hahahaha!?

or the like. half-joke.

i have this friend
a boy
who, after a conversation that somehow mixed
relationships and this "joke"
had the most beautiful, surprising idea i've ever heard

i couldn't believe that a boy would think of something so great
so rich

a day in which some wonderful boy who i don't think exists
would plan event after event
a whole day filled with childhood activities
and all sorts of fun things
to create the memories that my brain can no longer find

what?!?
who comes up with this stuff...?

love you, bye

we made a promise tonight, sitting on my couch, that our time together would never end without a
"do you guys want to pray?"

sweet sweet time in prayer lifting up
new relationships
broken hearts
anxious minds
hopeful futures

four of us, in completely different places in life, together on a couch
praying to a God in whom we've placed our whole lives
and all of our faith
and hope and trust

believing that His word is true and His promises are real and good and soon-coming

moments where our prayers echo our realities
and finish with an honest "love you, bye"

toussaint academy

Today was my community service day. I wasn't going to go because technically it's Spring Break and I was feeling like I just wanted to be alone to think and process through some pretty big things on my plate. I think, though, that maybe God wanted me there. I wasn't planning on going but I did have the brilliant idea to walk up to campus and check my mail, maybe go to Founders, maybe spend some time in prayer. That was the plan. No community service, not today.

But, as I was walking up the final stretch of the hill, the van that drives our group each week just happened to pull out in front of me. Rolling down the window, they yelled "Are you coming??" Shoot. Umm..."Ya!" And I got in the car because I couldn't, in good conscience, say no. The students at Toussaint are much more important than my mail, which would be waiting for me when we got back.

Thank goodness I went. They expected us. There were only three of us today, as opposed to the regular 10, and I'm so glad that I was one of them. We're building relationships and it's frustrating and hard and I'm so glad that I was able to be there today to spend as much time with them as possible, to help them begin to see us as trustworthy and stable and dependable. They need a little bit more of that in their lives.

Toussaint is a school for homeless kids in downtown San Diego. Some of them have been homeless for years, some for weeks; all have been through something incredibly traumatic, something that you can only understand if you've been there yourself. We go each week to do a mural project with them, to build solid relationships with them, to encourage them, as college students, to keep dreaming and keep working towards their futures.

We've been going for a few weeks now, and it has been so much harder than I expected. I'm still in the process of figuring out the role that we're supposed to play in their lives. Are we their friends? Are we their mentors? Do they value us at all, or are we just another thing that they have to do as part of their program? Do they want to talk to us about all of the things going on in their lives, all of the things that they've been through, their daily heartbreak? Do they know that we care? There's no black and white answer.

There's no black and white answer, no manual for what we're doing, and it's frustrating. I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated for them--that what they've experienced is so unfair, that they don't know what we're talking about when we say things like "community" and "home" and "family." It breaks my heart that when I talk about my parents being supportive and loving and nurturing, they don't get it. I feel guilty. And I'm frustrated with them--that some of them seem so anti what we're doing, so disengaged. I'm frustrated with myself that I'm frustrated with them--that I have this idea that they should value their time with us because we come once a week just to do this really cool art project with them. Then I realize, of course, that they have every right to be frustrated too. They have every right to distrust us, to wonder about our intentions, to judge our dependence and whether or not we'll follow through. They have every right to be frustrated about the injustice that they face every single day.

But we're trying to build relationships; we're trying to tell them that we do care--about their pasts, and their present, and their future. We're trying to tell them that what they've experienced is not right and it's not fair and they didn't deserve it. It's hard. I want to sit down with each of them, or maybe give them a punching bag, and just tell them that it's okay to cry, it's okay to be pissed off, that I don't know who wouldn't be. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. I want to make sure that they know that they are valued, that they have so much potential, that they are talented and creative and funny and smart. I want to tell them that I have no explanation for them, I have no idea what to say or how to help them cope or grieve their losses; I want to tell them that I admire their strength.

But right now, it feels forced and awkward and there is obvious tension between the role we're currently in and the one that we want to be in. So next week, we'll paint and listen to music and eat together, and hopefully, that will be the beginning of a beautiful community, one that they understand and can come to love. We'll see.

heaven breaks

It’s 8:30 p.m. and it is definitely a lazy Monday. It feels a bit like my day has consisted mostly of cuddling on the couch and eating cookies and frozen waffles—the best kind of day. I’ve been trying, and failing, to talk myself into doing my history reading; it’s all very interesting, but other things seem to be capturing my attention.

My apartment is perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect. We have a whole shelf full of games, and wicker baskets and lots of colorful mugs and vases and pillows; there are little trinkets here and there, including mason jars and a cute little set of giraffes. I love giraffes. We have coffee table books and tea-a-plenty. It’s home. It’s home and I love it. My bedroom is even better, with my card collection pinned up and constantly inspiring me, and my do-it-yourself stained shelf with flowers, and all the other little things that make a room a home. By the end of the week, my roommate and I will have matching forts under our beds. We also both wore blue colored contacts and make weird sound effects, often. It’s going to be a good semester.

We’ve been back for only a few days now and have already shared so many laughs, played our newly invented card game and eaten lots and lots of food together. We have bedtime talk and it feels so good being back in the same city, the same school as some of the greatest people I know. I am so excited for what the next weeks and months hold. Classes and game nights and dinners and friends that are so much like family. It’s been so good for my soul.

And I need it to be good for my soul. I need it because making a new home, starting over, resettling and rebuilding, can be exhausting; change is not my strong suit. Change makes me anxious and nervous and weird. It’s these times of big change where God seems to do a ton of work, where He seems to bring up things that I had lodged in the deepest crevices of my heart. And I feel like I’m learning Him all over again and maybe even, in some ways, for the first time. Cool, but exhausting. The kind of exhausting that makes me want to cuddle up on the couch with hot chocolate and listen to “Needle and Thread” on repeat and watch the fan blades spin. In my cozy apartment. Just because I can.

It’s days like today, when I come home from class and wrap myself in a blanket and listen to the wind outside that I want to pick up the phone and call someone. To tell him to come over and watch the fan blades spin with me; to sip hot chocolate and enjoy the cozy ambiance; to sit in silence and just listen to Sleeping at Last bring that song directly to my soul; I want to invite him to hear about my crazy heart that beats four times as fast as it should and makes me feel like a phony human being, instead of the real me, made of flesh and blood. I want him to just listen, or pretend to listen, to my word vomit, and somehow, be the kind of contagious calm that I need. And then I wouldn’t need to say another word. Maybe we could play team solitaire or war or Scrabble. It’s days like today when I wish I could just call and invite him over for dinner. I could make spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread, or Mac 'n Cheese with hot dogs, or maybe I could try my grandma’s pancakes with chocolate milk or orange juice. It’s a breakfast for dinner kind of night. We could sit on the couch and tell stories and talk about history and politics, or not, because I hate politics, or we could talk about our favorite spots in the whole wide world. We could make plans. We could share life together as our lives weave around each other. Life is always better when it's shared.

It’s days like today, when I make myself comfortable on this couch and leave the phone in the other room; days like today make me thankful for my new home. It’s days like today where I watch the fan blades spin and dream about this guy who will sit with me and hold my hand on days where I just need to watch the fan blades spin. It’s days like today when I find myself wandering the campus, ending up in the breathtaking chapel, on my knees, praying for Heaven to break. And even if today was a “watch the fan blades spin” kind of day, I’m eternally grateful that my fan is in this room, at this school, with these people, and that God speaks while the fan spins.

lullaby

Bedtime is, by far, my favorite time of the day. Living at school with my three roommates, we usually hang out and watch tv, eat and talk about our days, then we retreat in pairs into our own bedrooms. We just recently rearranged our room, so it feels even more like home than ever. We get all cozied up and crawl into bed, like we're going to sleep, but that's never really how it happens.

My roommate is a science major, so she usually has a physics book or a biology lab manual in bed with her--she is actually taking classes towards a major (like hard classes), so she really has to work. I, on the other hand, have no major and no intent to declare anytime soon. I'm also surprisingly talkative at night, so I slowly coerce her into talking with me about any and everything.

We talk about boys like we're in the 7th grade--which is great because we weren't friends in 7th grade, so we're really just making up for lost time. We laugh so much and tell the ridiculous stories of our daily lives--the creepo guys who sit next to us in class...our crazy professors...how good lunch at the caf was today....what major I'm thinking about today...

But it always comes back to the same thing--we talk about our futures, our dreams, our fears, what excites us and what scares the crap out of us...we've laughed together (so much), we've cried together, we've missed home together, we've talked about God, challenged each other, prayed together, we have and continue to experience the best, and worst parts of life together. We've annoyed each other, though we'd never admit it. We've lived together and we even still like each other. It's amazing.

She even just told me that if my husband left me at Big Bear because he thought I was a lesbian, she would totally come get me. (My Fair Brady reference...) Now that is friendship.

The best thing is that we're never fake with each other because this is real and life is real and everything we're feeling is real, so we have to be real, too.

signing off, karagirl.

cold tangerines

I'm reading this book right now called "Cold Tangerines," by Shauna Niequist. It's one of those books that I just found while I was strolling through the bookstore. I was having a rough day, to say the least, and I came across this book. "Cold Tangerines: Celebrating the extraordinary nature of everyday life." Well, I'd been having a hard time doing exactly that, and I can't lie....the cover of the book was bright orange, and the title just connected with me (See Post: Mangoes)...I desperately needed a pick-me-up, so I bought it. And then I left it on the shelf. It's this weird thing I do.

Anyways, I found other forms of pick-me-ups--conversations with my dad, playing cards with my mom, laughing hysterically with my best friends, late night drives to donut wheel--and forgot about the book until I got back down to school. Yesterday, I was utterly exhausted from the week, from studying, from working out, from everything, so I took this book with me and I got into the bathtub. That's the best. Reading a book in the bath while listening to music is up there on my "all time favorite things to do list." Last night was no exception.

So this book is a collection of short stories from her life, and the one that really hit me was called "Swimming," and it was about friendship. I don't know if you are blessed with really incredible friends, but I am. I really am. The story talked about the importance of friendship, how friendship takes risk and how it is such a pure form of love.

"Maybe some of what we're doing here is representing the goodness and love of God in tangible ways. You're showing that love to the people in your life and then sometimes they're showing it to you, and when your friend isn't going to make it to the edge of the pool, you jump in with your clothes on and swim next to her."

I mean, wow. How beautiful is that. I was so excited and so touched by this story, I got out of the bathtub and ran to my beautiful roommate and forced her to let me read it to her. I don't know if she loved it as much as I did, but I had to read it to her. I had to read it to her because, and this is absolutely undebatable, we have wonderful friends. Friends who would forget their own plans and jump in with their most expensive clothes on to swim with us, to make sure we don't drown; friends who hug and love and are some of the more affectionate and loving people you'll ever meet; friends who let you come over just to get some encouragement and a hug; friends who you laugh with for literally hours and hours; friends who make you funnier, make you better; friends who forget their sleep schedule just to make sure you're okay; friends who get you even when you don't say anything; friends who pray instead of talk; friends who uplift and challenge us.

I don't know how many friends I've swam with...I'd like to think I've gotten wet a few times, but I know that my friends have swam with me countless times, and I think we've been doing a lot of swimming recently. Apparently the swimming is good for you...and it's really great to swim together.....together makes all the difference. Probably without even realizing it, these friends of mine have swam with me, and then they've dragged me out of the pool, given me a towel and a change of clothes and the encouragement and motivation to keep going.