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

thank you, mr. president

This week, I was given a very wonderful gift by the State of California.

President's Week.

President's Week is a beautiful gift that the state gives to exacerbated teachers and mentors everywhere when they just happen to run out of money. While I would usually protest budget cuts for public schools and have a mouthful to say about the priorities of the state, this week I'm keeping my mouth shut. 

Because it's President's Week.

So, in honor of the 44 of them, I have taken a week for myself. 

Now it's time to say "thank you."

Mr. President(s): Thank you for allowing me to sleep in, five days in a row, no questions asked. Thank you for not judging me when I stay in bed reading for the better part of the morning. I appreciate you creating space in my schedule for yoga. And nutrition. I'll give you the credit for the time I was able to spend reconnecting with friends and old coworkers. Thank you for the space to sit outside and enjoy the perfect San Diego weather, to consider a million different things, to hold babies, to be lazy, to play way too many games of Scramble with Friends, to do what I wanted to do, to slow down and just be.

I've never been more thankful for democracy. 

found here

found here

found here 

roots, indefinitely

Today was the day that I was supposed to move to Boston. Boston had it's own category in my Google Calendar and I'd been planning on it for months:

August 30: Fly to Boston

August 31: Move in Day

September 1-5: Orientation

September 6: Classes begin

[Essentially: August 30, a new life begins]

It feels a bit strange to be approaching this day with an entirely new set of plans, and stranger still to feel so much contentment and joy in all of it. I expected a stronger desire to grieve the loss of this graduate school dream--a new city and open doors and every opportunity under the sun. I expected to feel suffocated by a closed door, fearful of my inability to freely pack up and change my life. But there is a strange freedom that comes from committing to put down roots. 

 

I grew up between two different homes, switching weekly, packing bags and visiting parents and whatnot. I guess I grew accustomed to movement. I thought it defined me. There may be some truth in that: I am an explorer, I am curious, I crave adventure. If I'm being honest, there is an element of escapism trapped in there. Constant movement means I never have to do the hard work of long-term relationships, vulnerability, depth, despite my desire for that type of connectedness. Of course, all of this is relative. I've been in San Diego for almost six years now and there is so much depth to my existence here. But something changes when you decide to make a place home. 

There is no threat of moving boxes or looming goodbyes. There is no need to self-protect, only the freedom to grow deeply here. To put roots into the earth (or, even better, the San Diego sand)--to nurture and learn and invest in difficult but beautiful things. And that is what this summer has been for me. An invitation to put down roots.  To make this my real life: not just college, not just my transition years, but my reality. There's a lot wrapped up in this new(ish) life.

It started with a little form required by the DMV. Change of permanent address. For the first time in my life, "permanent address" does not mean the place where my mom or my dad live. Home is San Diego, and the State of California knows it. For the first time in my life, everything is in one place. All of my clothes, all of my books, everything that makes my space mine. No more split time or doubles of everything. [This is a joy unique to a kid who had shared custody...and it's a beautiful, beautiful thing and I am celebrating.] I can hardly believe it: I am settling, in the best possible way. 

Beyond that, there are a billion little plans to make this place my home, and I am genuinely happy about all of them. Painted walls. Fire pits. The sharing of spare keys. Theodyssey. A new job. Hopes for intentional relationships that are edifying and encouraging and prayerful. Women Mondays. And on and on and on.  

Have you heard that common phrase, "I will go wherever the wind carries me." It sounds ever-so romantic, and once upon a time, my idealism would've clung to it. For now, though, the wind has calmed and roots are growing deep--indefinitely.  

the thing about malawi...

Malawi is beautiful.

The landscape was quieter than expected--everything seemed so still and peaceful. The image that you have of villagers in colorful skirts walking with buckets of water on their heads? It's reality. People walk out of the woodworks, down every street, at all hours of the day and night. The majority of the population are unemployed (86%...yikes!) and spend their days playing soccer, setting up makeshift food stands or simply sitting, enjoying each other's company.

We spent our first day at Flood Malawi, Flood San Diego's sister church. Flood Malawi is alive--it's vibrant and diverse and such an awesome source of fellowship in Lilongwe. I've been so spoiled by Flood San Diego and having people around me who are truly committed to the challenging and abundant life of the gospel. To see other faith communities flourishing too is an encouragement. To hear the story of how Flood Malawi came to be, the investment that our pastor made in significant places--it makes me proud to call Flood my church and excited to be able to partner with Flood Malawi, even if just for a short term trip. Plus, singing songs in Chichewa was awesome!

I was most excited to go into Kudoko Village. After plenty of meetings and preparation days, I needed to meet the people who this conference was for; I needed to know their names and see their smiles (knowing their stories was much more difficult because of the language barrier), to know that this work was meaningful. It should come as no surprise that I was completely taken by the village children. Even with dirt covering their faces and too-big clothes falling off their shoulders, there was so much hope in their eyes. I fumbled through Chichewa phrases attempting to learn about these beautiful kids:

Muli bwanji? Hello, how are you?
Dzina lanu ndani? What is your name?

Most of the time, I ended up repeating what they had asked me. I would smile and wonder why they used so many consonants and envy the way that words rolled off their tongues, while getting jumbled on mine. I quickly turned to the next person to try again; they'd giggle when we tried new sentences or tried to teach them something in English. To Chimwemwe and Victoria, I'd try to communicate how pretty their eyes were. I'd have them repeat after me: "I have pretty eyes. I have pretty eyes. I have pretty eyes." I'm not 100% sure that they understood, but it was still true--their eyes were so kind and full of the hope of the future. Somebody needed to tell them how beautiful they are, no matter how often they heard it! I was glad that even for one day, it could be me. By the end of the day, we resorted to simply making the silliest noises we could--turns out we don't need a universal language, just sound in general.

It was heartbreaking, though, touring the village, seeing the place where the school should be, where the government promised classrooms but then misused the money, leaving the village with just a foundation. Thousands of kids are missing out on an education, the one thing that promises them a future and allows them to dream. The challenge was knowing the reality of the systems surrounding Kudoko Village. There are so many systems in place to keep change from happening. The conference got the community energized around issues of poverty, education and gender violence, but despite the energy, there is a lack of resources that creates real barriers. They want education, but there's still no classrooms and no teachers. Their kids have a right to food, but there is no food to share. Sometimes it is an issue of individuals needing to change themselves; sometimes it is far more complex--systems larger than this community making certain forms of justice an impossibility. The conference was effective in opening the door to justice, but there is still a long way to go, with many tangible needs still yet to be met.

Our team (Americans and Malawians) with the Village Chiefs

This is where our prayers for Kudoko Village become, in some ways, the best thing that we can offer.

There is little that we can do from our American homes, though we are committed to trying. Our team now feels the burdens of this village and is invested in its future. Our trip became sustainable when the Malawian volunteers stepped in. They are now invested in Kudoko and are prepared to go every Friday to help with tutoring and mentoring and encouraging the community to take positive steps toward change. And we are holding onto the truth that God's extension of justice, the wholeness and restoration that He has in mind, reaches even to a village in the warm heart of Africa.

While the conference was in session, small groups of us would sneak out to pray. We'd walk around the village, stopping at fields to pray for agriculture, stopping in front of homes to pray for families--for parents to dream for their kids, for the resources to build up the village, for peace and security in the homes. As we'd walk, kids were curious, surrounding us, holding our hands, sitting on our laps, singing songs in Chichewa. I was in heaven. I scooped the smallest girl onto my lap as we sang "Mwambamo;" she was covered in dust, wearing nothing more than a little blue slip. Her face had sores on it and there was snot running out of her nose. Her belly was distended in hunger. I just sat there with my hand on her stomach, my fingers held so tightly by hers, wanting to weep. Poverty so close to me, literally in my lap, and there is so little that I can do.

Again, prayer was the best thing that I could offer;
I have to trust that God is good--that He has a deep love for this little girl and that He is fighting on her behalf.

That was the reality of village life. So much joy, so much singing, so much vibrancy, so much energy for change, all in the face of so little. I wish I could say that I was horribly surprised by this reality, but I've seen it before. It's never any easier to see, but at least it's easier to process; less paralyzing and more motivating to action. It became my goal, beyond helping with the conference, to affirm their worth, despite what their poverty says. That goal, with only two weeks in the country and a language barrier and a lack of foundational relationship, was a bit difficult to reach, but it was my goal nonetheless. It was probably the most important thing that we could attempt as a team and will be one of the most important things that the Malawian students will continue to do. Affirming their worth, their dignity, their value in the eyes of God and in the eyes of the law, as men, women and children, as leaders and mothers and students with potential and dreams worth fighting for--that will be what brings transformation. That will inspire action and we will be able to see the change that we are hoping for.

So what now?

I'm excited to say that my trip to Malawi was really encouraging in terms of the work that I'll be doing now. Because I've put off my move to Boston (yes, I've put off my move to Boston) and will be staying in San Diego indefinitely, I'm excited to get to work. I'll be working with AmeriCorps at a local junior high, coordinating a mentoring/intervention program for at-risk youth. I'll have about 30 students as my own and will be responsible for a whole host of activities and lessons as part of the program. I'm most excited to build relationships with the kids, to dream with and for them, and to encourage education as the force that will allow them to fulfill those dreams. I start in August and will carry the lessons from Kudoko Village into my classroom and beyond!

And yes, I got my giraffe :)

a roadtrip, an escape

There is something so perfectly American (and yes, perfectly symbolic and cliche) about a summer road trip with my iPod on shuffle through 372 country songs. Summer was made for country music. The open road is in front of me (metaphorically speaking: in reality, we're driving through Los Angeles traffic, which is actually the opposite of "open road.") I somehow feel content with my sudden lack of plans, with uncharted territory.

A road trip seems made for escaping. For itching-to-go-adventure. For packing up and leaving it all behind. It's romantic and dramatic and exactly my plan: a new city, a fresh start, with only a dream to live by.

But this road trip is different. This road trip is my goodbye to that dream, a coming-home road trip, a drive that will let me settle fully into this place, where I already have roots. Where I already have hopes and people and all things life-giving. And it just might feel new, too. That other dream was a child's and it was fueled by impatience, like only a child's would be. And many, many other things. (Ask me about it some time, I'd live to share.)



So this road trip is an escape, yes, but of a different kind. An escape into something, if that's possible. And that something is beautiful and promising, if that's possible. That something looks a little like the open road: no street signs and no way to know exactly where I'm going. But here I am, ready for the journey.


"...right now I'm right where I wanna be...
Never felt so loved, so peaceful and so free...
There ain't no doubt that God's been good to me"

God's Been Good To Me//Keith Urban

today

there are days that my only dream is adventure
of sailing a ship across the globe
of climbing giant mountains and camping under the stars
jumping off of things and into things and out of things
days of roaming and wandering and exploring with a paper map
of one-way plane tickets and train rides and shady, cheap hostels
filling my journal with the stories of strangers


{via}

even adventure at my doorstep:
i would like to feed a giraffe
visit salvation mountain
sleep in a treehouse
find the perfect wildflower field and lay in it for hours



and then there is today
when a book and a blanket and the quiet company of my favorite people
is all i really want

{via}

dear favorite people:
please help me make that dream a reality

hold it lightly

mantra [man-tras]

-noun

1. a holy word in meditation

2. an often repeated expression or idea

synonyms: song, hymn, tune

-------------------------------------------------------------------
i currently have a mantra--a simple phrase that has come to hold much meaning;
something that the Lord continues to whisper into my busy ears and anxious heart during the chaos of the last few weeks, and surely, the weeks to come:


{hold it lightly in your hands}

let it roll off like dust at the slightest breeze
or
let it rest peacefully where it lands

let it come or let it go

it=many, many things, big and little
because apparently, i'm at the age where the necessity of making important life decisions comes far too frequently
and the feeling of the want to grasp onto anything with potential is ever-present [hello, developer...]

somewhere in the back of my mind, always, is Jamaica, and now, Africa...acceptance letters to graduate programs, road trips to Boston, relationships and community and the home that He has built so intentionally around me

potential moves and forward motion

even still, He whispers: [hold it lightly in your hands]

be malleable according to His heart

He, the God of hold and release:
takes desires and gives opportunity
takes opportunity and gives courage
takes courage and gives paths-worth-walking

He gives dreams and visions and hopes and plans
that He asks me to hold lightly,
to trust that He will fulfill.

i'm so glad that things exist that are

mysterious beyond explanation

and beautiful beyond description

sunrise at the grand canyon

(even the rocks cry out)

i'm so glad that i have friends who

laugh a lot

drive a lot

explore a lot

photograph a lot

crave adventure a lot

but don't sleep a lot

roomies hiking in sedona

thank you: mommy, ed, kenny, tay, and julien

this weekend could not have been any more amazing

:)

...

it's a new year, a big year, and i think i'm ready.

open open open

i keep repeating to myself, reminding myself
"stay open, stay open, stay open"

because i'm not good at transitions
home is home :)
san diego is san diego :)
and my heart is so totally in both places

if only there were a way that i could apparate back and forth
home to san diego to home and back again
then transitions wouldn't be transitions
and my heart wouldn't be at risk for shutting down

but before me, on my ever-growing plate
are many many opportunities
that i absolutely must give credit to the Lord for
and within my heart, for each one, is a growing sense of excitement
mixed (inseparable) with nerves and anxiety and fear

the Lord is calling me to be open
because only with openness can i be
vulnerable, truly love, give selflessly, learn, experience, grow, enjoy, laugh, etc etc etc
all the things that the Lord is calling me to
all the things that i want
because i've tasted their sweetness, i know their goodness

and along with every transition
comes the feeling that, should i just shut down, close off, go into "work mode,"
things would be easier
i would be safer

but what would i learn?
what could i experience?
what would i become, living as the shell of a person,
keeping my heart hidden, locked away from life?

yes, yes, my plate is full
and the things that will be asked of me
will certainly challenge me and force me into roles and positions where i have never been
it is going to be difficult
chances are, i will fail (at least once...)
chances are, i will let somebody down
i will let myself down
i will offend somebody
i will step on somebody's idea
i will focus more on getting things done than the experience, the journey itself
i will offer only fragments of my heart
i will try to keep myself at a safe distance

i know this about myself
i am so human, striving towards heaven
but i am not there yet

so now, before the transition period ends
and the rush towards real life actually begins
i keep telling myself
"stay open, stay open, stay open"
knowing that the Lord has pushed me to these positions
and that He will meet me there

holding on the the hope that with openness will come a year filled with
laughter, joy, happiness, conversation, depth, love, discernment, wisdom, and growth
which, ultimately, is the goal
my goal, at least :)

i have a dream

that one day, i will live in the urban-country
with rolling hills
and mountains in the near distance

i'll live in a cozy little house
with a loft
and a bookshelf
and a view of some body of water
(lake, river, ocean, pond...it's not that important)

i'll go on bike rides
and read books on a blanket under the clouds
and have people over for dinner
friends, family, neighbors, people who want/need food and/or company

we'll form our own little community
and share our possessions
and encourage/challenge/support one another

then we'll leave our little country home
we'll ride our bikes into the real world
and say and say again,
"Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in Heaven."

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.

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.