dreams, be dreams

Blog Challenge #2: A List of Your Hopes and Dreams

I'm running slightly behind on this whole "blog challenge" thing. I hope you'll forgive me because, as we all know, you just can't rush a dream (or even a whole list of them).

Here it is. A non-exhaustive list of the longings of my heart at any given moment. Some have been with me a lifetime, some are just making themselves at home. I have dreams for other people and dreams about justice and dreams on a global scale, but this? This list is mine. My hopes for me, for the woman I am becoming, the story I hope to tell with my life.

May these dreams be so much more than dreams.



**Don't forget to check out my challenger's lists here and here.

leaving oceanside

The hardest part about leaving Oceanside was leaving Oceanside.  I cried every day of my last week and a double portion on my last day. I would not miss 10 hour days and 2 hour commutes and sharing a schedule with the sun; I would not miss complete and utter exhaustion and I would be happy to enjoy things like rest and the energy to call a friend and time for play. But oh, I would miss Oceanside.

My biggest fear in leaving Oceanside was the inevitable distance between the richness of that time and place, and the life I would surely settle into 30 miles away. Richness seems like such a strange word to use when considering how my time there was spent: addressing symptoms of poverty and hearing stories of struggle and pushing back against so much heartache. And yet, hardly twenty-four hours goes by without me remembering the richness of conversations in my classroom, of the honor of being trusted, the gospel preached to me in such a peculiar way, and by such foreign priests.

Father Greg, one of my heroes, says of his time in Bolivia:

"I can't explain how the poor in Bolivia evangelized me during that year of 1984-85, but they turned me inside out, and from that moment forward I only wanted to walk with them. I knew that the poor had some privileged delivery system for giving me access to the gospel.  Naturally, I wanted to be around this."

I guess Oceanside was my Bolivia. Giving me access to Jesus in a way that is out of reach when I settle into my busy life and avoid the streets where He would've walked. Something truly rich is added to my faith when I get the privilege of learning Jesus and His heart for justice, and (maybe possibly even) being opened up to see the world (and a few beautiful souls) with the Mind of Christ.
Still, I only want to walk with them.

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.  

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

when God made me (a lesson on patience)

when God made me
He shaped the cartilage in my kneecaps
and grew my fingers long enough to span entire octaves
He chose the specks in my eyes from an infinite color palette
He decided that I would prefer wildflowers
and told my hair how to respond to humidity

when He wrote my story
He captured every circumstance
every intention
every gaze
every sentence
every breath

when God made the animals
one by one by one
He perfected the shade of their fur
and the pace of their step
and in the trees
He put His breath and life

He watched it all begin to dance

a million years it could have taken Him
a million years of delicate workmanship
a million years of patience

patience/pay-shence:
the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble or suffering without getting angry or upset

I know so little of patience
less, even, of focusing our patience on Him
my heart is too busy focusing on my delays
my troubles, my suffering
every thing standing in the way of reaching the desires of my heart
even the desires of His heart


I rush them
maneuvering and manipulating
craving instant gratification and immediate answers
I turn away from the journey
I am no gardener, lovingly watching crops grow
I'm hardly an artist, aware of every detail of every project

I know so little of waiting for His timing
trusting in His good and right will
standing there, for as long as it takes
for eternal hopes to become present reality


even still, there is grace in every humbling lesson


[the Lord is wonderfully good to those who wait for Him and seek Him]
--lamentations 3:25

eternity in our hearts

he has made everything beautiful in its time. he has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

ecclesiastes 3:11

i had eternity in my heart before i had any idea what that meant

it was always easy to hope for

in my mind, it was renewal and restoration and the Lord's beautiful and intentional shaping of lives and hearts

in reality, it wasn't always easy to see and much less easy to grasp

sometimes all you get is a glimpse...

in a conversation

or Easter dinner with your family

or a story of tangible hope

[then you wait]

c.s. lewis calls them "stabs of joy" and that never quite left me

(lord knows i love that man...)

"stabs of joy:" the momentary satisfaction of an eternal heart-longing; glimpses into a sacred plan; opportunities to see even just a fleeting image of what should and will be

they're beautiful moments, really

reminding us of His heart and His hopes for us, if only we'd hope in Him

we get glimpses and wait for His perfect timing

(honestly, though? His timing, in our impatience or our hesitation or in light of our own hopes and plans, feels more painful than perfect)

but He has been dreaming from the beginning and letting us in on His vision

if we'd just have the courage to let Him dream it over us

imagine it for us and with us

then, walk in it confidently

{via}

sometimes, my confidence is shaky

yesterday, in a moment of doubt mixed with fear, i turned to my mentor and said:
"but i can't imagine anything better than this"

read: i'm not sure if that there could be anything else in store for me

her response was perfect (per usual) and much more eloquent and insightful than my paraphrased version:

"you don't need to. He is imagining it for you. this place where you are now is just a glimpse of what is to come."

all i have now is a glimpse

but i can expect good things, eternal things

things that satisfy the heart of God

made beautiful in His time

celebrate good times (come on!!)

march has been a big month

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





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


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


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

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

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

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



{via}

the madness of march

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

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


{via}

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

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


march is about celebrating
{even amidst the madness}

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.

a legacy of grace

it's not very often that i get to sit down and study my bible. reading is one thing. i'm talking three different versions of text, books of commentary, my beloved "dictionary of biblical imagery" (thank you, intervarsity press...) study. it helps that it's gloomy and rainy outside and that i'm sharing the table with my studying roomie. i love these moments, this space, this togetherness. it is far too infrequent and more beautiful than i remember.

i have a lot of reasons to love Jesus and a lot of reasons to be convinced of His goodness.

here's one:

i love to read stories of the example of beautiful, strong, holy women who have come before me: to see the tenderness in their worship, the risks that they take in their adoration of Jesus, their bravery and strength and the grace that covers their lives. i'm thinking of the woman with the alabaster jar (luke 7), the widow offering her livelihood in the temple (mark 12), Ruth, Naomi, Rachel, Sarah; even Rahab, a prostitute and Mary Magdalene, the woman from whom seven demons came out. (common misconception: mary magdalene was not a prostitute and the Church finally apologized for turning her into one...) then, i think, even more immediate: my grandma, my mama, my mentors, my (almost) sisters, my best friends...

we were once broken. we were once prostitutes and adulterers, divorcees and abusers. addicts. skeptics. possessed. selfish perfectionists. our hearts were cold. we were poor and afraid. that was the story we entered into--our legacy and our destiny.

and then, Jesus said, over and over again, "your faith has set you free. go in peace." in front of us is a new legacy. pieces of our hearts (our very feminine and sometimes feminist hearts) come to life as we are no longer prostitutes or adulterers, divorcees or abusers. we're no longer addicts; our hearts are whole and free and rich in love. that is the power of Jesus' grace in abundance and the legacy of strength and grace that we are living in: beautiful, strong and holy women teaching us to live.

p.s. i think this goes without saying, but just in case: men live in Jesus' abundant grace, too. but i'm a woman, and that's the way it goes! :)