ooh, when the sun comes up

I’ve become an old woman. You know, one of those old women who take time to reflect on the old year before the new one begins--the comings and goings, the things that God taught me, and hesitantly project my wishes and dreams for next year; one of those old women who wants to go around the table and talk about the same things with the people I love. In my heart it feels as if, when the ball drops tonight, 2008 will in so many ways, come to a close. The confetti will fall and we will welcome 2009 joyfully. I’m ready for 2009. I’m excited for it, I’m anxiously awaiting midnight, when we’ll bang pots and pans and dance around in our party hats, celebrating the new year and all of the potential that it holds.

At this exact moment, one year ago, I was cleaning up somebody else’s vomit, and was in the midst of the very worst, the darkest, period of my struggle with anxiety. 2008 began with fear and insecurity, not just in myself, but in relationships and circumstances and life. It feels so good to know that, one year and a long journey later, I will be celebrating with my very best friends, eating Chili dogs, and that, throughout the course of the year, things have changed so dramatically that I sometimes can’t even believe it.

I learned a lot this year. I had to. I learned a lot about myself and about God and about relationships; I learned a lot about prayer and about grace; I faltered and fell many, many times, and, this year, I was reminded time and time again of my humanity, of my imperfections. I made plans, only to have them radically altered or fall apart completely; I made some great decisions, and I made some weird ones; I had things figured out, and then, it became so clear that I didn’t. I learned my strengths and I really learned my weaknesses. People came in and out of my life, like a rotating door. The people in my life twelve, nine, six, even three months ago, have come and gone, some leaving deep ruts in my heart and imprints on my life, some gone without a trace. This year was a rollercoaster, a toss-up. It feels a bit like 2008 was a year of constant change, in the strangest ways. Physical location changed multiple times, people changed, relationships changed, I changed. To be completely honest, it was an exhausting year, with very little time for rest. It was a year filled with beautiful struggle, with anxiety and heartbreak and fear that led me straight into the heart of God. And it altered my heart along the way. I wouldn’t change it one bit. I am left at the end of 2008 with the feeling that tomorrow, I am starting fresh.

I know that when I wake up tomorrow morning, things will be the same. I’ll still wake up at 11:00 and go downstairs for my usual bowl of Fruit Loops. I don’t concern myself with silly New Year’s Resolutions like “eat healthy” or “exercise more,” which I am sure to break. But I do have hope for the new things, the fun things, the wonderful things that are on the horizon. I can peer a ways into the future and tell you that 2009 absolutely, without a doubt, holds the wedding of my best friend, holds applications for graduate school, and holds an old school that feels new. Our family will have a series of very significant birthday parties, and I will have some sort of a summer adventure. Those things are marked in the calendar. But what excites me more than solidified dates are the little things, peppered here and there, that make my life, and my year truly exciting, truly blessed.

I constantly wonder what 2009 will hold. I wonder, and hold out hope for the people I will meet and the things I will do, the places I will go and the adventures that await me. I wonder if 2009 will be the year that I finally decide my major, of if it will be the year that I meet my husband (and then throw up because this is simultaneously the most exciting and scariest thing imaginable), or if this will be the year that I fall crazily in love, and I wonder how God will surprise me with Himself next year. I already feel the excitement bubbling up inside me.
If I could, I would predict a year of community and growth and laughter and wonder. I predict a year filled with wide-eyed wonder at the goodness of Jesus, and an even bigger movement for social justice. I predict a year filled with dinner parties turned into worship nights and a year filled with provision and restoration and intimacy with Jesus. I predict rest and an ever-growing sense of family and security. I predict a year where I wear my “special occasion” perfume for more than special occasions. I predict a year filled with creativity and energy, beauty and inspiration. I predict experiences and circumstances that push us further and further into God Himself, in the best way. I predict joy and praise and love. I predict that this year, God will become our reality, and that we will accept nothing less.

I predict these hopes and dreams for my life, my family, my community, my world.
Maybe this will be the year that we come awake.

on Christmas and a home that has come to life

There is something wonderful about family. There is something wonderful about the people that you share blood, experience, genes, home videos, and all that other stuff with. I’m sitting next to Gram on the couch. She’s resting, and I’m using every opportunity to cuddle. The room is being quietly lit with the bursts of color on the tree, Christmas music is playing lightly in the background, and the house is full of life, it seems for the first time. The smell of sugar cookies is lingering and I get up for “just one more cookie” a few times an hour, while my mom and grandpa laugh and work on Christmas dinner together. My brother lit a huge fire in the fireplace, while I set the dinner table—our respective “pride and joys.” Christmas.

Christmas is different this year. I keep stealing glances at the tree, standing tall, and beautifully decorated with decades worth of ornaments, poinsettia leaves and pine cones tucked inside as well. It’s just pretty. There are eight people, and lots of love, in the house today, double what I’m used to. Stories are being told, and mostly, there is laughter and ease. We’re taking pictures just to make sure that this isn’t a dream. It is a dream.

Christmas is different this year. Family is different this year. I sat in church today, the Christmas Eve Candlelight Service, and stifled my teary eyes as I sat, mom on my right and dad on my left, singing “Oh, Come Let Us Adore Him.” Yes, let’s. I’m twenty years old, and this is the first time in my life that I sat next to my mom and my dad during a church service, and it feels doubly appropriate that this message happened to be about Jesus bringing light into the darkest areas. So yes, let us adore him.

I love my family, and I love the holidays, but to put the two together has never been easy. Or, I guess, it has never been “whole.” Family holidays, to me, has always meant halves, or portions, split time, awkward negotiations, tension. Divorce tends to do that. They laughed when I talked of spending holidays together. It’s crazy, Kara—I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to accept it. We all love you, but there is too much history, too many complications. No doubt, there is history and complications and it’s messy. But for seventeen years, I have longed for togetherness and I truly truly believed in the very deepest part of me that it was not only possible, but that maybe, just maybe, God wanted to do a miracle.

Today, I was sandwiched between two people who, for years, have spoken to each other only out of necessity, about alimony and child support and health insurance for the kids, two people between whom there was so much hurt and unforgiveness that really, reconciliation seemed, understandably so, impossible. So when the worship team sang “Oh, Come Let Us Adore Him” this afternoon, I acknowledged that the God to whom I sing is capable of the impossible. Let me tell you about reconciliation, let me tell you about redemption.

Tonight, eight of us will sit around the table and pray over the meal, thanking God for His gift of Jesus, thanking God that we can all be together. I will try to hold back tears so as not to make anybody, mostly my brother, uncomfortable. They won’t see it, but in my heart, I will be singing to my Jesus because this holiday season, He has given me the one lasting desire of my heart. Christmas is about giving Him praise, and worshiping my Savior who came as a baby, and even still, His grace is astounding. We’ll squeeze onto two couches and open gifts, fewer than last year because we’ve certainly all learned a bit about money, and a bit about Christmas. We’ll all be proud of the dinner that grandpa made, and the crafty gifts that my brother welded for each person; Mom and Gram will whisper “grown up woman” things back and forth to each other, mom and dad will joke about Christmases long since forgotten, things that happened prior to my memory; grandpa will take pictures, and Tyler will sit with his wonderful girlfriend, whom he really adores. Gerald will fall asleep half way through, and hopefully dad will like his remote control airplane. Even if he doesn’t, Tyler and I will be acting like four year olds, giddily shaking boxes and ripping off wrapping paper as if the very meaning of life (or something...) is inside. Tonight, eight lives that were once separated by bitterness and fear and all things dark will weave together and bring restoration and love and peace and joy. Talk about Christmas.

All season long, we talk and talk and talk about how Jesus is the light of the world, lighting up the darkest areas, bringing light into our desperate and dampened lives. My family has become His playground. Today, I celebrate Jesus in a way that I have never celebrated. Today, I celebrate my God who conquers the impossible and explodes my family into life, together.

plenty of paper

I turned twenty this year. Twenty, I’ve decided, is an awkward birthday year--not a teenager but not quite twenty-one—and it is kind of weird to figure out how to celebrate, besides for eating inappropriate amounts of chocolate cake, which is always mandatory. Apart from turning twenty, this birthday was different than any other birthday that I’ve ever had for a whole bunch of reasons, mostly that I feel older, and I feel like I've grown. And how much I’ve grown is marked, in my life at least, by birthdays and journals.

A lot happens in twenty years. That’s two hundred and forty months. Seven thousand three hundred days. That’s enough time to make some serious headway on laugh lines and worry wrinkles, and I’m sure I’ve got both. Twenty years is a long time. And my twenty-three journals can tell you, in detail, what I was feeling and when, how it’s affected me, and how much has changed in my soul. My twenty-three journals over the past seven years are a testament that twenty years of life has been wonderful and hectic and fun and spontaneous and anxious and sad and happy and awkward and uncomfortable and challenging and exciting and all of the above, times fifty.

Some journals are more special than others. One begins in a particularly hard time and documents, over the course of seven months, a journey from paralyzing anxiety and self-doubt to noticeable joy and confidence. I love that journal. That journal has within its pages the excitement of a new relationship and my constant freak outs that accompanied it, some of my biggest fears coming to the very forefront of my mind, impossible to ignore; that journal traveled the world with me, and documents every eye-opening experience, every intimate moment spent with Jesus, every creative burst of energy. It’s amazing to look back and remember, and to look forward with hope, knowing that if that was possible, then really, anything is.

Some, many, were gifts, and anybody who has given me a journal has done me a great service, more so than I even understood when I began writing in them. Writing in journals used to just be a way to write my history as it was happening, a cool gift that I could give my children in the future, and a way to look back on how I’ve grown and transformed, and I really have. These journals, though, have become so much more because as I’ve grown up, I’ve discovered a love, a passion, for writing, with journals being my outlet, my blank canvas.

I turned twenty this year. The fourth of August. For my birthday, I was given what was, at the time, the most beautiful and thoughtful gift I’d ever been given. A journal that was so much more than a journal. A hand-made, hand-painted, hand-sewn journal with a hand-written note; truly, it was an incredible gift, and I felt that this gift meant that I, with my passions and my quirks and my daily routines, was truly known. I was nervous to write in it, hesitant that my words would destroy it. It was so special, I thought that it should be saved for something equally as beautiful, equally as inspiring. I wanted to fill its pages with the best I had to offer, just like I wanted to give the gift-giver the very best of me, too. I just wanted to read and reread that letter, over and over again, letting its words sink into my heart. I never did and never will write in that journal, regardless of the empty pages that I see staring back at me. In the short period of time where writing in this journal was acceptable, no inspiration came. And I had angst over what to do with it once that window of time closed—I couldn’t throw it away and waste the creativity and affection that went into making it, just for me. I couldn’t write in it, and I certainly couldn’t leave it on my nightstand, waiting in vain to be filled with inspiration. My hopeful and scrambled thoughts would need to find their home elsewhere. I packed it away at the bottom of my hope chest, and moved onto the next journal.

It was just a journal. I guess.

I’ve written in three since then, which, given the four short months since August, makes me wonder what else I did with my time. The answer: a lot. These months have been the most wonderful months, filled to the brim with people, laughter and spontaneity, sleepless nights and life. I wrote about it all. I especially wrote about the big changes on the horizon, where I see my life headed and what is next, constantly peering into the past, trying to learn from mistakes, gathering as much insight from my experiences as was humanly possible.

At the semester's end, when my two best friends at school drove me to the airport to say goodbye, not just for break, but in a way, for good (we’ll never cuddle in my bed until four in the morning and tell stories and take pictures on Photobooth, and we’ll never yell for each other from the room next door, and things are certainly about to change), they pulled out a journal. It wasn’t hand-made, or hand-painted, or hand-sewn. It was mass-produced and I could find hundreds, if not thousands, of people with an identical journal. The handwriting was barely legible, but when I read the words, and felt the thought behind them, I discovered that though they had hardly known me for three months, they knew me. The thoughtfulness of this gift proved it. No person, they said, should have a monopoly on giving journals with nice letters in them, regardless of who that person was. They knew how much I loved that journal, and how hard it was to put it away for good. They knew about my passions and my flaws, they saw it all--they saw me when smiles and laughter were bubbling out of me and they saw me when I couldn’t stop the tears; they saw me when I was too nervous to say how I felt, and they saw me when I spoke with boldness; they saw me at 3 in the morning, after the delirium had set in and they saw me, cranky and edgy and stressed, after writing three papers. They knew the real me. Crazy study habits, ridiculous bursts of energy, awkward interactions, talkative, quiet, and everything in between. With such knowledge of me, they gave me this journal, with two of the most beautiful letters, the most heartfelt and thoughtful things that anybody could ever say to me. I sat in the airport and cried, looking like the biggest weirdo in the Southwest Airlines waiting area, reading what they wrote me, acknowledging that this gift, this journal, was by far the best gift I’d ever been given.

I wasn’t filled with hesitation about filling its pages with my life, as messy and complicated as it sometimes is, or as hopeful and passionate as it can be, too. In fact, knowing the people who gave it to me, the only way to even do this gift justice was to fill it up with the most honest expressions of my heart, with every frustration and every passionate whim, every logistically planned out detail, every fear, every revelation about the greatness of God, every single dream about where my life is going.

When I got home, I pulled that other journal out of my trunk, and I opened it. I remembered how I felt when I looked at it for the first time, when I read the letter and hugged the gift-giver, feeling so special that this journal was for me and was created with me in mind; I remembered the value that I had once placed on this book and the words inside. I traced the cover with my finger, traced the picture that had been delicately painted on, traced the used binding, traced the words, reflecting on the creativity and, I daresay, love that went into making it. I reread the letter, wondering what kind of feelings it would evoke, because that letter once made me feel like the most beautiful, special girl in the entire world.

It paled in comparison. Because with time, I’ve changed. Things have changed. The girl who got that journal so many months ago is hardly around anymore. I’m the same, and yet, I’m incredibly different. I’m part old but mostly new. This new journal marked a new moment in my life. I didn’t celebrate it with balloons or a fancy dinner or cake, but, in my heart, and in journal world, I celebrated just how far I’ve come, and I celebrated the people and the deep love that I do have in my life, as unexpected as it was.

I’ll still keep that old journal, and remember affectionately what it used to mean to me, with no hard feelings. I’ll look at it and remember how perfect it was way back then. And when I write in my new journal, I’ll remember who I am now, a new creation, a better, more creative, inspired, laughy, joyful, passionate, confident, still anxious, still awkward, still indecisive, version of myself.

a beautiful mess

I'm supposed to be writing a paper for my Jesus class about Jairus' daughter and the hemorrhaging woman. It's my favorite story in the Bible...maybe of all time...and the fact that I get to write about it makes it so clear that I absolutely chose the best major. But I can't get past even just reading the story without weeping.

My backpack-messenger bag-purse thing is exploding with books about miracles and healing...a research paper...I don't know how I'm going to write a historical paper about an event that, 2,000 years later, changed my life....I don't know how I'm going to write it without it being infused with words that make it so clear that this story has reached into the deepest parts of my soul...that Jesus has reached into the deepest parts of my soul.

I love this story. To me, this story is Jesus. Throw away the rest of the Gospels, the letters of the epistles, get rid of Acts and Revelation...get rid of it all (though I never would...), this story is enough to show me who Jesus is. This story alone forced me into a love that I can't explain or escape. Intimacy, inclusion, grace, power, understanding, compassion. And I've been soul searching...going deeper than I ever have before, being met by a God of grace, by a great Love that leaves me restored, that leaves me in awe.

There are no words to describe it. He thought of everything. Everything. And I can't think of anything, certainly not enough to describe this...but it puts me in a state of awe, of wonder, enough to forget my beating heart and my racing thoughts and remember that God is God. And I am...not. Less than God, greater than a sparrow. His eyes are above me, surrounding me, holding my gaze; my breathing slows, and the pounding stops, and He is God.

It's a love that has been present since time itself, that wove me together with needle and thread...this love created me with all of my quirks and idiosyncrasies; it's a love that can't be ignored, that He forces me to see, that wakes me up in the morning and lulls me to sleep at night; it's a love that requires more of me than I ever thought I could give, that is not satisfied with my comfort, that expects more of me, and, in turn, leaves me craving more more more. It's a love that I don't deserve. That is the beauty of it.

And I don't always know how to let Him love me; to receive it into my soul sometimes requires vulnerability that I don't always feel comfortable with...to let down my guard and give into His heart. To love Him back sometimes feels like a journey that will never be complete. To love Him, sometimes, happens with ease; other times, He digs it out of me. To love Him sometimes means that He takes a metaphorical jackhammer to my heart and breaks through walls of distrust, walls of fear, walls built in response to humans and heartbreak. And after rereading what I just wrote, I'm not sure if I'm talking about God or about a human.

The walls do come down though. I sing and shout and praise, and they come down. Like in Jericho, they crumble. And my heart lays, tenderly beating, in His hands, my pulse getting stronger and stronger, empowered by the transfusion of Love that is constantly occurring.

And now, I'm feeling antsy. I know who I am, and I know what I want, and I'm waiting, waiting, waiting, for what feels like forever. It's taken a year to get me to this place, and I'm arriving, albeit not always gracefully. Old things are reaching their conclusion, and new things are beginning, and I'm anxiously awaiting my next adventure. I want to shout it out and tell everybody about my big plans, the dreams that keep me awake at night, hoping and praying, but, maybe by the grace of God, I hesitate. I'm afraid He'll change my mind and, once again, redirect my course, and I don't want to explain that to the masses.

And it's been quite a year. It's been a year that, had you shown it to me in advance, I would've laughed. Looking back back back, there are things that I never thought I would survive...and there are joys that I never thought I would experience. It's been transformational and difficult and fun and wonderful and, in a word, beautiful. Beautiful in its twists and turns, and in its ability to keep me guessing, keep me seeking, keep me in a state of perpetual wonder. Even now, beautiful. Always, beautiful.

grammar

if only there were a way to write that didn’t feel so insanely vulnerable
like the naked dream on replay
which i’ve never had
but i feel like it would feel somewhat like writing
like bearing your soul for the world to read and stand all over
with their response hidden from my eyes

i know that i don’t have to write
but sometimes it feels like words are all that I have to offer
and i’m not using punctuation because i don’t like the finality of periods
commas are okay
because there is still more to come

i’m not good at talking unless i really know what to say
or have it planned out
i stumble over my words and get too excited
i’m awkward and unprepared
sometimes for important conversations, i write it out first so that it’s
perfect
because i don’t want to screw it up
i usually do anyways

but when i write, my mind and my soul come together and everything is
clear
and even if you don’t, i get it
for me,
writing is cathartic
writing is worship
i love music
a lot
a lot a lot
but words
connect me with my Jesus

everything is a story
i hope that my story points to Him
i hope that my words point to Him

writing is scary
because i want to shout from the rooftops about
His goodness
but how do i do that without letting you into a part of me
that is reserved for very few
that is reserved for One
or two, someday

how do i tell you about His mercy without telling you that
i need mercy
how do i tell you about His strength without telling you that
i am weak
how do i tell you that He bound up my broken heart without telling you that
i am broken
how do i tell you that He is peace without telling you that
i know anxiety
and i don’t particularly feel comfortable having my
life on display
it felt safer when i knew that my mom was the only one reading
anything that i wrote
but if it is what He wants, then
here it is

right now, i don’t like the finality of periods
maybe it’s not just with periods
i don’t like finality
period
(haha)

except in some cases
like love
and marriage
and that a ring means forever
and ever
you can put a billion periods after my wedding day
i like that

but sometimes i don't like finality
that something is over, forever
it feels like giving up
walking away, without hope
and i have hope

maybe it isn’t giving up
maybe it’s letting something new begin with the excitement of
Capitalization
and i love that newness

still, i am an idealist
i don’t want to give up on anything that
He still has plans for

except there are somethings
i wish would just end
with 8,000 periods behind it
………………
because it just needs to be done

but life is a run-on sentence
or maybe thirty
with commas and semi-colons and parentheses
and i don't know where it will go
and i don't know where to put the periods
because i'm not writing this story

i wanna call it love

I am currently 20 years old, single, no prospects of marriage on the horizon, and, I am a hopeless romantic. I believe deeply in the power of love, in its redeeming nature; I see love in everything, I live for a good love story, weddings, love songs. I can hardly contain my excitement when the topic of love appears.

I love Love, and everybody knows it. Even though this is such a big part of me, this is such a defining characteristic, I have always thought that me being so utterly romantic was a semi-negative trait...that the idea of romance was so prevalent in my mind that it gave me false hope or lofty expectations; it was unrealistic and planted dreams in my mind that were practically unattainable. In the back of my mind came the "reminder" that this obsession with love can only bring heartache, that this love cannot be mine.

But I have a new idea, I've just had a revelation. I was made for romance. I was made to love, and I love to be loved. And I am constantly reminded that there is a Love story bigger than man and woman, bigger than stories of first kisses and falling in love. And it is my story. I was made romantic because the God of Creation chases after me with an unfailing love. This story is worthy of awe. The intricate details of our salvation, from our conception to eternity, points to the love that follows us, that we cannot escape. The Blood of Jesus has become the mark of romance in our lives.

Even in the midst of pain, it is a love story. Jesus is constantly calling us to Him, as the Bridegroom waits for his bride, so too does Jesus wait for us, He desires us, He longs for us. Even as we come out of the darkness, there He waits to renew our hearts, to give us a robe dipped in His precious blood. It's all done out of love.

Nothing has ever sounded so sweet. Nothing compares. No love letter, no flowers, no song, no vows. Nothing can compare to this love. He is the Rider on the White Horse, the bringer of justice, strong and mighty, the Ruler of Heaven and Earth. Through him we have life, through Him we overcome. His love is the purpose of salvation, the joy of eternity. It was His love that brought us into existence, that we might know and love Him in return.

I imagine that the first time I say "I love you" to somebody, and genuinely mean it with all of my heart, I'll cry. Love is that big, love is that important to me. And, in the same way, every time that I feel the love of God wash over me, my world stops, my heart swells and I cannot stop the tears that come to my eyes. I am a part of this beautiful love; this beautiful love is mine.

I don't have a clear picture of what love between a man and a woman truly looks like. I've seen glimpses, and have hope for what it will look like in my life. I dream about my wedding, and falling in love, and growing old with my husband by my side after a lifetime of adventure. For now, it stays in my imagination, as I wait for earthly love to find me. But, I know what the love of Jesus looks like in my life, now and forever. It's not just amazing--it's fantastic and dazzling. It's unbelievable. It is the reason that my heart beats, my hope for tomorrow, the goal of my life on earth.

Now I know why I love love, why I love weddings, why my heart longs for love. It has never been more clear to me that I dream about love on earth as a reflection of the love of my Jesus. I have been created as a creature who clings to a good love story so that I can learn to cling to Jesus...my obsession has a purpose, a solid and beautiful purpose. And I love it.

till kingdom come

Everything that I have read lately tells me that the message of Jesus is to bring the kingdom of heaven to earth, that we might have life to the fullest. It tells me that, above anything, life is important, that life is sacred. So sacred, in fact, that we are to intentionally, purposefully seek it out. We are to live our lives in a way that truly brings abundant life to not just ourselves, but to those around us as well. Matthew 10 tells us to heal the sick, to raise up the dead, to give freely, to keep ourselves from greed and excessive consumerism (paraphrase...)...to continually live on the narrow road that leads to Jesus, forsaking all others.

We are to seek His kingdom. We are to seek His life, life through the Spirit.

God is love. That word wholly and completely describes Him. Everything in our lives should be motivated by the love of God--the God who raises the sun each morning so that His people can carry on. The God who paints the stars in the sky, and reminds us that our lives are but a breath. The God who counts every hair on our heads and knows every quirk and tick to our beings. The God who brings the rain, and who calms to storm.

He cares about life. He cares about suffering, and brokeness. He sees families torn apart and destroyed by bombs, nations ruined by war. He sees little babies with their stomachs distended in hunger. He sees a discontented western culture seeking life at the bottom of a bottle, marriages reduced to nothing more than bitterness, life summed up by the word "struggle."

And in this, He tells us, seek the Kingdom of Heaven, and there you will find life. Seek first His name, leaving behind all others in the name of Jesus, for the sake of life. Seek His Kingdom--do what He says. Love others more than yourself. Give up your own comfort so that others may find rest. Do not destroy your soul and reduce yourselves to beings seeking pleasure in unhealthy ways.

Seek His Kingdom. Seek His life. Seek Him.

Seek Him in a way that restores your soul, that brings your laughter back, and that lets your song be heard. Seek Him in a way that brings color back into your life, and in a way that marks your story victorious. Seek Him in a way that brings out the child in you, that makes you want to dance, that brings your imagination to life and brings you to a place of adventure.

I have a confession. I have done life without Jesus, attempting by my own strength to succeed. I failed. I have done life proclaiming the name of Jesus while still substantially trusting only myself, forgetting even to pray. I have failed at that, too. And I have done life with Jesus, seeking His face, and His heart of love for six billion people created uniquely, but all intertwined, oddly similar in the desires of our heats. That is where life is found. The fulfillment of life--and the joy, love and peace that accompany it--comes by the name of Jesus.

So now, I attempt to daily seek His kingdom, and ask that others would keep me accountable to that. And I ask that He would bring His Kingdom into my life with force, that He would revolutionize my world, shock me into the reality of His power, that He would overwhelm me with His greatness and that He would blow my mind with His love for people, and His love for life.

clockwatching

i am just a person--a soul in a body.
i breathe in, i breathe out; my heart pumps blood.
i love, i think, i imagine, i dream.
i am just a person.
and this Life is
mine.

at any moment, my breathing could slow,
and my beating heart could falter.
my mind could fail me, and my organs could admit defeat.
my body could surrender to the grave.
at any moment.

life is precious. time is precious.
a billion pictures captured, they fit together
the puzzle pieces of your existence
slowly coming together, telling a story.

how does it go?

inspiration comes. it says "live."
don't waste this precious gift.
use wisdom, have compassion, seek justice
find Life.

reality, though.
do not accept a fake.
we aren't talking about street vendors in the big city selling knock-off prada bags.
a phony will not do. a phony will never do.
pass it by, just keep walking. keep walking.
keep walking.

------

the sun is shining on me, i can feel its warmth.
its rays hit me, energy and renewal within its reach.
the darkness has claimed enough--enough time.
enough wandering, enough recklessness, enough of the soul-suckers.
enough.
the light is here, that we may have life and have it to the full.

the clock is ticking.
get it back:
beautiful, precious life.

i cannot waste it.
i cannot watch it pass before my eyes.
do not follow the herd to the slaughter.
do not be the cattle that is led astray.
choose wisely.
one choice, one chance to live.
don't waste it.
choose wisely.

before the sand runs out
turn your back on the faulty substitute.
turn your back on the stupid, life-stealing, self-destructive substitute.
follow the light, it leads to Life.

"Hold your own, know your name, and go your own way and everything will be fine."

**Details in the Fabric, Jason Mraz

life in technicolor

Life is beautiful.

That is not to say that life is perfect, that life is easy, or that life is always good. There is pain in the fabric of our lives. We enter the world with the groans of childbirth, we face challenges that seem insurmountable. Loved ones pass away, families crumble, friends betray, dreams don't always come to pass. Life is confusing and painful and unfair. Everyday, it seems, we move further from perfection, deeper into a pit of devastation, ignoring the intentions of God for our lives. Good people suffer, hearts break, chaos surrounds us, people are hungry, people are sick, people are lost.

Tonight I sleep in my bed, but tomorrow, I could be swallowed by the earth, left as skin and bones, my soul flying to a new world. There is no promise--life is but a breath, a fleeting moment.

And still, it is beautiful.

The heartache that we feel when a loved one dies proves that life is precious, that life is sacred. The devastation caused by a broken family shows that relationships are important, that love is important. Dreams prove that our lives have meaning, that what we do matters, that we have a purpose. Our heart aches for those in suffering because we have an intrinsic understanding, a deep knowledge that life is beautiful, life is valuable, life matters.

A leper suffers in silence, stigma attached to his very being. No one will touch him, no one will hold him, no one will care for him. And yet, he smiles, and he laughs. Would laughter exist were life not beautiful?

Would color exist if not to show us the beauty of our surroundings, of art, the beauty of expression, the beauty of our souls? And don't sprinkles just make you happy?? Would humans connect so deeply to music and art, would so many have the gift of creativity if life were not, ultimately, beautiful? Would travel and adventure be so exciting if life were not to be explored and enjoyed? Would good company and good conversation bring us so much comfort and hope if life was insignificant, if people were an afterthought?

Would I have ten fingers and ten toes if this life were not made for me? Would I have eyes to see and ears to hear the majesty of the earth, the compassion in others, the love offered to me?

"Be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love, to work, to play, and to look up at the stars." -Henry Van Dyke

Life is beautiful. If life were not so, flowers would wilt, music would cease; laughter would turn to tears. If life were not beautiful, the sun would cease to rise and set, the waves would cease to crash; the hope of a new morning would disappear. Food would lose its flavor, hugs would make us cringe, conversation would turn to silence; babies would no longer smile, the sky would turn black, love would lose its power.

But it is not so. Regardless of circumstance, life is beautiful. There is suffering and injustice that we were never intended to experience, that we cannot understand, that we are desperate to change. Left to our own devices, we have chosen death. And yet life is beautiful, and Beauty is redemptive, Beauty is healing.

Our God, and our hope, is found in the beauty of life; our God is found in the midst of suffering, rising the sun every morning, filling our hearts with joy, bringing beauty forth from ashes.

and the walls come tumblin' down

I have a piece of the Berlin Wall sitting on the bookshelf in my bedroom.
A piece of this wall, a wall that stood for oppression and isolation, is sitting in my bedroom, as a reminder that walls can come down.

But forty years ago, nobody would have ever imagined that this wall could come down. Nobody would have ever dreamed of seeing the other side of this dreadful wall, ever again. Nobody believed that the wall that had been so present for a lifetime, containing them, trapping them, could ever come down.

Can you imagine being born into a world, living a lifetime suffocated by the presence of such oppression? Can you imagine believing that this was normal, that this was how life was intended to be?

Can you even imagine the emotions as the wall fell? Can you imagine what it felt like to be released from the bounds of this wall, from the authority of the guards telling you that freedom was not possible? Imagine the relief as you took a sledgehamer to this wall, this prison, and watched as it crumbled before you, and freedom was, once again, yours. It's powerful, right?

History is full of reasons to hope. I keep a piece of this wall on my bookshelf, in my bedroom, as a reminder that walls can come down, that freedom belongs to those who seek it, that God is a God of liberation. He does it for nations, for people groups, and He does it for individuals, for you and me.

Everyone, I think it's fair to say, has their own wall. It's usually the one thing that keeps you from truly living, the one thing that keeps you from wholeheartedly trusting in the name of Jesus. And, it's usually monstrous and scary.

It starts when we're young and it's full--of our insecurities, our failures, our fears; full of defense mechanisms and distrust; full of bad memories and every negative thing that we've been trained to believe, about ourselves and our world. Our response to the world is conditioned by the presence of this huge, ugly thing in our lives. It's dark, it's constricting, it's awful, and yet we've never lived without it.

And God says from the very beginning that He will knock it down, as soon as we are ready to take the first swing. Our reaction is very rarely to run to the shed and get the sledgehamer; we've become so comfortable with this life, regardless of the frustration and sadness over the presence of this wall, that we cannot even understand the freedom that comes on the other side. We've never lived without this wall--so much of our identity is decided by this stupid wall.

At what point do you decide that the pain of living with this wall is less than the pain you might experience while you knock it down? When have you had enough of letting this wall dictate how you respond to the people and the circumstances in your life? When do you finally realize that the freedom that Jesus offers us is better than life?

When do you finally decide that it's time to tear down this wall and let freedom be yours?

new soul

Something new is beginning. I can feel it in my soul. Something big, something unexpected, something so necessary for my life. I think you have to let God deal with your heart, dispense of the old, before He can bring you the new.

About six months ago, something began, and continues, in part, to this day. We all have our own trials....and this is my biggest, toughest, meanest trial thus far. It sank its sharp teeth into my skin and hasn't quite let go, leaving me bleeding, leaving me feeling messy. I did not foresee it--it hit me like a train, completely out of left field, altering everything I thought I knew about myself, about others, about life, about my God. The clarity of my human weakness was, and remains, evident. Questions, doubts, intense fears came to the surface, none of which I had the answer to.

And God reveals Himself through it, slowly, painfully dealing with the mess that is my life, that is our lives. It comes in waves; like so much of life, it ebbs and flows. Some days, I wake up, sure of the hope that I have in Jesus, feeling His deep love, aware that His mercies are new every morning, confident in His strength, and His promise for redemption and restoration, not just for me, for us all. Some days, though, to put it simply, suck. Some days, I feel off, I feel distant, I feel sure that this will bury me, that there is no light at the end of this tunnel, that my lantern is about to run out of oil. I know, for certain, that my strength, my desires, my intellect, are too weak to carry me through. And I lack patience.

I lack the strength or endurance to wait for God's timing, for His will to be revealed in this, for His glory to shine through my life. I lack the ability to see the bigger picture. I want it, yes, I believe in it, but I am tired. I am exhausted of it, completely drained. I want myself back. I need something new.

Do you ever just have a moment? A moment, maybe a song, maybe a few seconds where the chaos of life fades and you feel complete Peace, and you know, His Love is real, and it offers hope, and it is strong enough to pull us out of whatever grave we've dug for ourselves. It's a moment that reminds us that there is something more, something bigger, and it's coming for us.

I had one.

I was taking a shower, iPod playing my "worship playlist" in the background. I was about ready to get out, because technically I was done. Fresh and clean. But this song came on. Rescue is Coming, by David Crowder. I sat down in the shower and let the water hit my face, wash over me. I closed my eyes and listened to the words, just listening, needing to hear from God. Needing God to speak to my heart.

And there's nothing wrong with you
And nothing left to do
But believe something bigger
And there's nothing wrong with love
I know it's just enough to believe

Don't give up now
A break in the clouds
We will be found
Rescue is coming now

God is here. And when He comes, He brings renewal, and that's what I feel. A certain newness, which, unfortunately, doesn't mean that all my troubles are gone. But Our God is faithful, and Our God promises to make us new, to put a new song in our mouth, to give us a new spirit, to wash away the old, to restore us, to give us purpose and passion.

Ezekial 36:26 "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws."

2 Corinthians 5:17 "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"

What exactly this means for my life right now, I couldn't even try to guess...God continually blows my mind, I don't even want to try and guess what is going on in His heart, because I'm usually wrong. But I can feel it stirring deep within my soul. I can feel it bubbling up within me, ready to explode out of every pore. I can feel it deep inside me, itching to come out.

I just want to get up, take my anxious energy and run until I find it. I want to run, shedding every piece of my former self until I have nothing, and from there, I will find it, this thing, whatever it is, that God has prepared for me, that I have been waiting for, that I need. I want to run until I find the heart of God, until my heart is beating in perfect unison with His. Then, I will be new.

stop this train

Take a moment to imagine me seven years ago, in my prime awkward years: huge glasses, braces color coordinated to upcoming holidays, crimped hair, Winnie the Pooh overalls, pooka shell necklace (pooka? puka? pookah???), platform shoes, book in hand.

This period of my life is known best for my crush on, we'll call him Dustin Dones, and for my geekiness. I was really into reading history books, and writing in my journal about daycare, the 12 billion guys who like me (I was oddly cocky...and surprisingly insecure...) and how prepared I was for a boyfriend. I was a wedding-loving, crush-having, science fair project-doing weirdo.

Now, I've gotten rid of the pooka shells, but not the bridal magazines; no more super-geek glasses, but I still have retainers (and a sweet lisp); I still do really dorky things, often, and I'm still absolutely a hopeless romantic. I still have insecurities that are rooted in far more than my junior high years, but insecurities seem to fade as Love comes in. I'm pretty confident that some of the desires of my heart at age twelve will remain there for eternity--they're rooted in more than junior high, too.

I'm a girl, to the core. My favorite color is purple and I have multiple playlists called "Love Songs." I talk, a lot. I love flowers and hugs and love stories. I read Redeeming Love and Captivating annually. Also, so that I can be a really good wife, I've read Wild at Heart and The Five Love Languages (I have all of them...). I still want the ultimate love story, but my idea of what that is changes almost daily. My understanding of love is changing almost daily. I think I'm changing daily, too. Weird how that happens.

Growing up is the weirdest thing that's happened to me so far. It's this completely beautiful thing mixed with so many fears, so many expectations, so many new things coming and so many old things going. Twelve year old Kara is long gone, and twenty year old Kara is just around the corner (oh my gosh). So many crushes have come and gone, and more, I'm sure, are just out there waiting for me. So many ideas, hopes and dreams have ended, many have yet to begin; some are being fulfilled right now. The past few years have been filled with so much--pain, joy, love, laughter, fear, excitement, challenges, growth. A constant, ever changing, sometimes awesome, sometimes awful, journey. My life has already been filled with so much, it's hard to even fathom what the future holds.

And now, I realize that I spend a large majority of the time thinking about my future (apparently, it's one of my strengths...), dreaming about and planning what is to come, neglecting today. I have to ask myself, why wait for the future, or spend too much time reminiscing about the past? This moment is happening, right here, right now. As for me, dorky, girly me, I intend to live it, still holding onto memories (and embarrasing humor) of the past, awaiting with hope the future, fully alive now. In the good, the bad, the painful, in the moments of frustration and in moments of joy, I'm going to live.

I'm not going to stop dreaming. The ability to dream, to hope, even in the midst of times of trial and pain is a gift that I'm not letting go of. But I'm not going to let my plans, or hopes, for the future get in the way of what God would intend for me to do today. I have faith that everything else will fall into place in God's timing.

catastrophe and the cure

I'm sitting on the couch right now. In my headphones, Explosions in the Sky is playing. Inside, It All Feels The Same.

I have this Garden State-esque feeling, the one where Zach Braff's character is sitting in the plane, with mass chaos surrounding him, as his world crashes down around him, and he just sits, numb, immobile. Except I don't feel numb, and I don't feel immobile. But I'm sitting on this couch and I feel as if it's just me and this song, which, by now, has changed. Home.

These songs are so mellow, I'm surprised it doesn't put me to sleep. But it never does. It never has, and probably never will. There's something in these songs--they excite me, they motivate me, they make me want to do something. It's like, when I picture my life, this is the soundtrack.

At first, it's just the guitar, some light picking. Then, strings. I have no idea how they do it, what instruments they're actually using...With no real pattern, except they are there, it's beautiful, and here I am, thinking about my life, thinking that this song completely describes how I'm feeling at this moment, except with no words, just the guitar, the bass, and a few strings.

Maybe there's something wrong with me, but my heart starts to go....it's beating fast, I swear, the whole couch is shaking because my heart is beating so hard. It's beating, and pumping blood, and it is exactly in tune with this song. It's beating along with the guitar and the strings and the wordless melody is playing in my head. And I'm thinking, this song doesn't need words because it's the soundtrack to my life. Every part of my life.

This song is when I'm bursting with passion, exploding with excitement, ready to face anything. I want to get up and run, or dance, or sing, or just go.
This song must be what it's like to fall in love.
This song is when I feel so close to God.
This song is pain; this song is insecurity; this song is fear.
This song is joy; this song is trust; this song is taking the next step.
This song is when I'm exhausted, ready to collapse, ready to give up.
This song is peace.

This song is my life. And it doesn't need words, because somehow all the parts come together, all the instruments join together, and it speaks for itself.

my body is a cage

If I could just touch your cloak, and be freed from my sorrow;
if I had faith enough to reach out and be set free.
My mind and my body may ever fail me, yet you call me into you, saying,
"Daughter, come in Love," and, "Child, Go in peace."

Twelve years of suffering released in one moment.
One moment of fear, one moment of redemption,
following in the train of your glory.

"Who touched my clothes," you asked as your mercy fell upon me.
"Who touched me?," again, and I could feel your deep love.

How could I not fall at your feet, shaking in awe...?

One word you spoke and I knew that I was yours:
"Daughter" you called me, and I was white as snow.

One sentence in the midst of thousands, and my life is forever changed.
You looked for me in the midst of a crowd.
You spoke to me though the work was already done.
You felt it in Your body, in Your hands and in Your feet;
the weight of Your glory, now I feel it in mine.

Now I go, I go in peace.

If I could just touch your cloak and be freed of my sorrow;
if I had faith enough to reach out and be set free.

**Mark 5:25-34

what's in store

I have this list, and it keeps growing. Mostly it grows at night, when I can't sleep. As I lie awake thinking, my mind, and my heart think up dreams I never knew I actually had, and suddenly, they become a priority. So I have this list, and I’m convinced that it’s not just for fun, but this list is a necessity for my life.

It's a list of "I wants..." I don't know if they'll ever be fulfilled, but they're fun to think about, and hope for as I try to figure out what I'm actually going to do with my life...

write a book I really like books. I'm convinced that I'll use every last dime that I have at Barnes & Noble. About a month ago, this one popped into my head. Ever since I could read, I've loved it, but I'd never dreamed of writing, until one day, I just wanted to...I have no idea where it came from and I have no topic in mind, just this desire…

own my own bookstore I already have all the plans drawn up in my head. It will be a bookstore/coffee shop with big lush couches that you sink into, curl up with a cup of tea and a blanket and lose yourself in a book. It will have beautiful bookshelves with ladders like in "Beauty and the Beast" and only the best books--new and used; it will have book clubs and meeting places, live music and art...maybe even art shows. And, in my imagination, it has brick walls...I don't know why, it just does. I know I have a lot of friends that don't necessarily like to read, but it's okay, you're invited too.

write a song my friends do this all the time and make it look so easy, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet. Maybe eventually.

fall in love and I want to remember every single detail from the first awkward moments to the cute things that are ridiculous to remember, but that I've absolutely freaked out about. Maybe this is too girly, or too old fashioned, but I want to be pursued; I want to scrapbook about it and write letters and get really excited about things that are so trivial, but so fun.

get a new last name shocking, I know…I want to be married.

get married well, yes, there’s a difference. I want to be married, but I also want to get married…I want to have the tents and the lanterns; it has to be outdoors, in the countryside or on top of some beautiful rolling hills. I can't give away too many details because I'm actually afraid that somebody will steal my ideas...

learn I want to major and minor in a billion things because I can't make up my mind. I don't want people to ask me what my plans are because, to be completely honest, I don't have any. I'm learning to embrace the uncertainty...I just want to keep learning...

teach I want to Teach for America. Or I want to Teach for any country, really.

babies I want to take care of babies. I want to go abroad with no return ticket; I want to love people. And I don't know what that means, but in my mind, it means hugs and laughter and holding babies and talking with young girls, and reminding people of their inherent worth and dignity.

find adventures I want to be adventurous, all the time. I want to stay up late and get up early, and learn to not be tired. I want to go sailing, and scuba diving, kayaking and river rafting, rock climbing and skydiving. I never want my life to be mundane--I want it to be spontaneous and ridiculous. I want to go whale watching and backpacking; I want to go to the opera, learn how to cook, take salsa lessons, make art, create stuff, explore different cultures and experience every facet of life.

I just want to live the best life that I can and I think that the ever-growing list is helping me get there.

the curse of being in love

Love is a funny thing. There are so many facets to love, so many qualities to it that we could just never understand. I feel like God has been teaching me about how to love forever. I don't know if I'll ever truly get it. On the opposite end of the spectrum, fear is a funny thing, too. I mean, it's really not that funny...it's more obnoxious than anything. And yet, even being fully aware of this, how often do we allow fear to control our lives, to dictate our relationships, to decide how we feel and how we act, to keep us from being open, from being vulnerable, from taking risks?

"Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life."
Proverbs 4:23

How much guarding have we been doing? How many walls have we put up around our hearts, our source of life, our one source of true connection with others, with God?

I get nervous about this, because I am continually learning about how important our hearts are, how much God cares about my heart, and how God is going to use my heart in His Kingdom; I get nervous because there is a difference between being careful with your heart, and being closed with your heart; I get nervous because I've put up so many walls to keep the bad out, which is important, but without even knowing it, these same protective walls have kept so much else out--so many potentially great things, so many people, and I think, sadly, that I've even locked God out of my heart on occasion.

And I think that if our guarding, our protective barriers, have the ability to keep things out, they also have the ability to turn on us, and destroy our ability to let our hearts do their jobs: to give life.

If we are so busy fearing and avoiding the unknown, the risky, the things that have the potential to hurt, we can't see that these same things, these scary things, are the same things that God would ask us to grab onto, and to run towards with our entire lives, with all of our hearts. God's greatest commandment to the world is simple, and terrifying: love. everyone.

Love is this incredible gift, this wonderfully beautiful ideal, that we are to share with everybody- friends, family, neighbors, spouses, even the people that we've barely just met. But I'm just going to be honest, it is scary. It is so vulnerable, and so naked. But it is so necessary. When we offer our hearts, hearts that have been redeemed and refined by Jesus, we offer life, and, I'm slowly learning, it's worth the risk. And when I say slowly, I really really mean it. I'm talking like a turtle's pace...

It's scary like the feeling when you move from having a crush on somebody to actually liking them and it moves from just being fun to being real; it's scary like when you actually start caring about a friend or a particular situation--your heart breaks when their heart breaks, you are burdened for them, you can no longer separate yourself from them...it's no longer just about you.

With all of this guarding, all of this closed-off-ness, it is so easy to confuse our fear with God's voice, or God's will. Where God would say, "Yes, open your heart to love and be loved," we interpret our fears and doubts as God saying, "No, not now, not yet..." or as God saying that we are no longer responsible for His greatest commandment, which, after writing it, just seems ridiculous.

Sometimes the risk is minimal, and that's awesome because it's not really that scary and it's really no biggie--maybe you just make a phone call or send a little text message. Sometimes the risk is far from minimal, and it's painful, and hard, and it's the best expression of love that we can muster up, and it gives life, and hope. But if nobody can see your heart, can feel your love, and experience the life that you have to give, then what is the point?

I'm going to steal a quote from "To Write Love on Her Arms:"

"Love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding...Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter...I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless...We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home."

You know those people in your life that are just really really great at loving people, and you just don't really even understand? It just doesn't make sense because they seem so courageous and brave and still so whole, not broken, which is what I think we all fear. I think when you're seeking God and loving how He says to love and living in His will, then He takes care of the rest. If you can believe it (sometimes I can't), He cares more about your heart than you do. And, even better, perfect Love drives out all fear. whoa.

dance me to the end of love

It's weird that Valentine's Day makes us think so much about love. Not so much about love, more like love in it's Hallmark form: Who loves me enough to send me chocolate and flowers? Because that is obviously the epitome of love.

But it's almost Valentine's Day, and thus, every girl's mind is spinning, wondering if the newest crush will bear any fruit this year, if finally this year is the year that we have a Valentine. I'm guilty of this--and please don't pretend like you aren't also. It's okay--crushes are fun, flowers are great, chocolate is the best. We want to feel that spark, those butterflies, that feeling of being loved.

It's not that I want love just for the sake of having a Valentine or whatever cliche things come along with "love," it's just this love thing, not even romantic love--if you really experience it--it's amazing; it's redemptive and powerful; listening to stories about true love gives me chills and inspires me; it's God's greatest gift, and it's all that He is. No wonder we are all searching for it. No wonder we all long for it so badly. The amazing thing is that when we find love with one another, we find a piece of the heart of God. And that is Truth, even if you don't believe in God. But it's not a Valentine's Day thing. It's not even a boyfriend/girlfriend thing. It's just a life thing. What if we really understood what love was? That it wasn't about making ourselves feel good or about getting presents and fancy jewelry and dates...it's about so much more than that--it's about the heart of the Father.

Am I the only one that feels more lovey-dovey on Valentine's Day, even in my singledom? It's like the whole world, for one day, wants, if not to be in love, then, to BE love. If only every day could be Valentine's Day.

The ability to love is such a gift from God...if only that's where we sought to find love, if only that were where we found our identity. If only we acted out of His love and His heart every day, not just one day of the year (well, two, counting Christmas).

I vote that we reclaim Valentine's Day--Let's not glorify St. Valentine--he didn't invent love...it's not about getting chocolates or Harry Potter Valentines (even though I kind of want those....)...it's about Love. I mean, Love as God Loves kind of love. It might be so much easier to send a bouquet of roses, but Love, I mean real Love is waaaaaaay better than a bouquet...but it's also way harder. Love, I'm learning, means taking risks, being vulnerable, being open and honest; it means stepping outside of ourselves into something bigger and something greater--it's eternally satisfying, and it doesn't just come around once a year.

Eventually, there will be a person that gives you the sparks and the butterflies, but you don't have to wait for Valentine's Day or for that one person to find Love. It's already there...it's just waiting for you.

you got growin' up to do

My new favorite thing to do is watch the look on my friends' faces as their phones ring and light up, saying "Incoming Call: Home." In junior high and even high school, that was a dreaded phone call, a sure sign of conflict, of missed curfews, of expressed anger over uncleaned rooms or unhad family dinners.

Now, that phone call brings the opposite reaction. My favorite, most treasured calls are with my parents, either of them, both of them. After a long, trying day, I love to hear a familiar, encouraging voice, full of wisdom and always, always, always, love. After a great day, I love to tell them my stories, my dreams, my newest plan; I love to bounce ideas off of them; I love to talk to them like I would talk to a friend, because that's what my parents are. We've crossed that line between parent and friend, and for the most part, we're staying there.

I don't know exactly when it happened that I send more text messages to my parents than anyone else, even my best friends. I'm not really sure when I figured out that staying home at night to hang out with my parents could be more fun than going out with my friends. I'm not quite sure when I stopped talking to my friends about my latest crush, and instead, told my mom. I don't know when it changed from me barely making my 12:00 curfew to me being home at 10:45, just because...

I can't figure out how it happened, it just sort of did. And I don't think it's just me...believe me, I've noticed it in my friends, too, at school and at home. I've noticed how my friends look forward to conversations with their parents, to being picked up at the airport by their parents; I've noticed that I'm not the only one with a text message inbox full of messages from "Mom" and "Dad;" I've noticed the love and appreciation with which guys address their moms, the same love and respect that girls give their dads. I've noticed that even on some perfectly good hang out nights, sometimes, we'd rather be with our parents. I've noticed that it's now hard to discern whether people are talking to their parents on the phone, or their best friend.

I think being apart, going away to school, made me realize how great my parents are, how much I love and appreciate them, and how much they must love and care for me, especially for putting up with all of my crap, my emotional days, my constantly changing plans, my inability to make decisions, my days of multiple phone calls, my days of no phone calls at all. The thing is, I'm growing up, and I don't need the authority figure as much as I need the supportive wisdom of a friend....and that's what I'm getting, and I'm loving it.

So, thanks, parents. I mean, I'll probably text, call, email you, or all three, before you read this, but I'm glad you're my parents, and now I can say, I'm glad you're my friend.

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.

transparent

Can I be transparent with you? I just want you to know--I'm really good at faking it. I'm really good at pretending that I have it all together, that I am strong, that I have it all figured out. Even in the hard stuff, I was, or so I thought, strong enough to face it, strong enough to deal with it on my own. In my mind, weakness is not an option. I want Jesus to be Lord of my life, so long as I can still maintain control, as long as my strength is enough.

I think God laughs at my idea of strength. Or maybe He doesn't laugh--maybe He is so deeply saddened by it. Maybe He is so saddened that I think so often that I don't need Him, or that I don't deserve His strength, or that His strength isn't enough. I think He's even more sad when He tries and tries to make me understand the easy way, and I just don't get it. And then sometimes, you have to learn things the hard way. Sometimes your world crashes down around you; everything that you thought you'd figured out falls apart; everything that you thought you knew about yourself somehow just doesn't work anymore. And the only thing that works is Jesus, as if that is a surprise.

The only thing that works is Jesus.

Always. That is always true. Other things may work for a while, other things might hold up for a short period of time, but Jesus is eternal, and Jesus is a rock. The only thing that works is Jesus. Period.

2nd corinthians 12:9&10 "'my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. that is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. for when I am weak, then I am strong."

that is so freeing. things can be hard, and it's okay to say that. and it's okay to rejoice that Jesus is strong enough for our every need. for our EVERY need. He wants to be healer, provider, rescuer, redeemer, the God of our past, present, and future. He wants us to be free.

what am i to you?

I've come to a point in my life where I have realized, and maybe nobody else has, that I am not who I was, and that I am not yet who I want to be. It didn't happen overnight--it's been happening for awhile now, I just put it into words.

This feeling--unreality, lack of identity, yet itching to become this woman of my dreams, of your dreams, of God's dreams--is, unfortunately, months old. It must feel like the Israelites felt as they wandered through the desert for 40 years, waiting for the promise of God, which always comes, because He is always faithful. But it's been months filled with questions and anxiety:

"Where did I go?"; "Am I making this up?"; "Am I actually just crazy?"; "Where do I go from here?", and more pressing..."What do I do with my life?"

It's the question that forms our identity, our silly, earthly idea of an identity. It's like my whole identity, in my eyes, was based off of what I did or did not do. Going to school, I was either defined by my major or my weekend plans--and I don't have either, so I'm kind of screwed there.

I think mostly I wanted to look like a winner. I wanted to be perceived as someone who was going places, who was passionate and loving (someone who didn't just say that, but actually lived that), who had it all figured out--everyone loves those kind of people--I love those kind of people. I surround myself with those kind of people--those people are inspiring and demand my respect and admiration. Those people have awesome conversations about their plans and their goals. My conversations are a bit more boring:
"What is your major?"- I don't know.
"What do you want to do?" -I don't know.
"What do you care about?" -People.

Wow. Inspiring.

The thing is, I used to have it all figured out. I was comfortable with who I was--I knew God had plenty of work to do on me, but I liked who I was and where I was taking me. That's who I was, and am not anymore. I think God had to take it all away. I think He had to take away any false notion of who I was or who I thought He wanted me to be. He had to take away my plans, and even some of my dreams. He had to put me in this little cocoon, and I had to wait it out. He had to do all that, and then honestly, really just replace it with Him. He had to do it. I would have never, ever, ever in a million years done that on my own.

And then when you find out that you have nothing defining you, except that you are a Daughter of the King, you eventually realize that that's a pretty cool identity; that's a pretty cool foundation--it's promising--more promising than anything I would've come up with on my own.

I do have dreams, and goals, and ideas--sometimes they are overwhelming. And they don't really fit into the "college plan." So I'm in this place, and I'm sucking every piece of knowledge that I can out of it, I'm volunteering, I'm trying my best to love people like Jesus would, and to regain a sense of identity.

And I'm itching. I'm itching because I know that thing that makes us, any of us, good, is Jesus. And that's the one thing that I know for certain I have. And I'm itching because these dreams or wishes or ideas that I have (I can't tell you what they are--that would ruin the surprise), I have to believe are a gift from Jesus, and will eventually be fulfilled by Him.

It's just this waiting time, where I'm wondering what defines me, what is taking me from who I am into who I am going to be.
And it's God. And I'm getting there.

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.

mango tango

It's really hard to find the perfect mango. Like really hard. I would know, I'm a mango enthusiast. I love mangoes. "A mango a day keeps the doctor away," right? I mean, they're so good. A lot of people don't really like mangoes, which is sad to me...I totally feel like they're missing out. But I really love them. And let me just tell you, it's hard to find a good one.

Sometimes you pick it up cause it looks ripe, and it feels ripe, and it smells ripe, and then the anticipation of eating the mango builds because you just know, if this mango is ripe, man, it's gonna be good. And then it's not. It's too tart, or too hard. But you suck it up and eat it anyways.

Sometimes you pick it up, and it doesn't look ripe at all. It's still green, and hard, and doesn't smell anything like Hawaii, but it's the last thing in the apartment to eat, and you're hungry and don't want to walk to the caf, so you eat it. And it's okay. It's juicy enough and sweet enough...it's enjoyable, though you know it's not the best mango in the bunch.

Sometimes you pick it up. You really don't know what to expect. With all these mango mishaps, it's easy to become weary. But you start peeling, and you can just tell. This is it. This is THE mango. You peel faster and faster cause you just can't wait. It's juicy and lush, the perfect shade of orangeish-yellow...you've seen this before...it's the perfect mango. It kind of just melts in your mouth. It's fruit, so there is absolutely no guilt involved with eating something so sweet. (Some days I even eat two!) So it's good....and if you eat it first thing in the morning, like I like to do, it kind of sets the stage for your whole day. Weird that a fruit has so much influence over my day.

Some days are hard though, and I think God knows that we just need the perfect mango. That's what I like to think of mangoes as. You might start thinking I'm a freak right now, but seriously. It's like God is giving me a little gift...a little reminder of His love. He uses the weirdest things in my life. Sometimes it's people, sometimes it's circumstance, sometimes it's fruit. And I love that. I love that I never know what to expect. I love that when I pray, "God, I really need to feel Your love for me today," I know I will, I just have no idea how It's going to come. And I love that today, it came in the form of a perfect mango.

Also, could the mango be a metaphor for something else :) Yes, I think so....and believe me, I have a lot to say about that, too. We'll get there eventually.

the first song

Well, I actually can't believe I'm making a blog. I always love reading other people's blogs, and here I am, finally making my own. Is that weird? I kind of think it is. I actually really think it is, but, oh well, here I am, nonetheless.

This is more for me than anybody else. If you happen to get some great insight about life from my blog, yay! But really, it just seems like a really fun, easy way to say what I want to say. And I have a lot to say. So, for the next week, there's probably going to be at least...i don't know...30 or so posts...(not true) then I'll probably get bored and stop this whole "blogging" thing, partly cause I have nothing more to say, partly cause I'm really afraid of internet stalkers.

Anyways, here goes :)