A Season of Waiting and Expectation.

Today is the first Sunday of Advent which prepares us for the coming of Christ. It is filled with the tension of joy and hope that Jesus brings, but also is filled with the waiting and anticipation of it having not yet come.

This, I think is the Christian life. It has a surprising similarity to the Lent/Easter season, but truly I think it is representative of the Christian life. The hope and joy we have living in the tension of a not yet redeemed world. Sometimes, it's hard to know what to do with it.

But, I was struck with the importance of it this morning. I woke up from a dream where my little sister offered me pot (wtf?) and was feeling horribly sorry for myself and generally wallowy when suddenly the tension caught me off guard. This tension we live in is real. And we can fight it and wallow and distract, but ultimately we have to live in it regardless.

I find the tension beaufitul on days I'm not so busy striving for distraction or anxiety that we miss that it can be kinda beautiful.

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability—and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you.Your ideas mature gradually–let them grow,
Let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on, as though you could be today what time(that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

That's all I got.

Gratitude.

My heart feels so warm as I sit here, smelling our fried turkey and I think of the pecan pie that still needs to be made. I am so blessed in this sticky, odd, beautiful part of life.

I think of God and his unending faithfulness. Through my disobiedence, laughs in his face, as well as, fears, insecurities, and complete insanity. I would be lost without him.

I think of my family and how they still laugh at my jokes (no matter how random they are). They still love all of my little absurdities. They still hold my hand through the dark and cheer me on in the life.

I think of my friends and how they still wrap me in love from far away. Through phone calls, texts, mail, emails, blog comments, FB, and visits. They support my crazy antics, nervous breakdowns, completely lost moments. And when I forget myself, they are still there with a look in their eyes like, "Come on, Whit" and remind me of that too.

And when you have that, you don't need much more, but I have much more still. I have more books than I can count, tivo, sweet fall days, food in my belly, smiles on my lips, and despite the occasional panic attack, quite a lot of joy in my heart.

I hope your Thanksgiving is beautiful, warm, and you take a nice, long nap.

Sadly Lacking.

I am sadly lacking some serious motivation to do any writing, and that's not good.

I have, thusly, employed creative skills in making little cloth flowers and crocheting scarves. I just finished and very large and very wide yellow scarf. 4 balls of yarn, kids.

Still, aside from crocheting, running errands, and going through some serious holiday missing my friends-ness, life is pretty mundane. I suppose it's all right. But, it doesn't make for interesting blogging.

At least we have The Hills/The City to look forward to, right?

The Hills, 1st edition.

I have made an executive decision that I hope will rekindle my blogging. I am going to start giving you my weekly take on The City and The Hills. Because nothing can produce an onslaught of delicious word vomit like unreality-reality-tv shows. Here it goes.

Disclaimer: All views expressed in the following post are completely supported and of the writer of this blog and probably some other people too, at least until we change our minds. But, for now, we stand by all the ridiculous truth we say because we feel it is our duty, here at whawhawhitney to comment on the horrifying, wonderful, sad, beautiful, plastic world of Mtv unreality. Thank you for reading.

The Hills:

This week on The Hills, we have Kristen and Brody "just having fun" after their totally coincidentally timed break ups, Spencer realizing the complexities of surgeries, Audrina and Justin Bobby mumbling in the same mess, and that cute little Enzo kid ratting out Spencer for a (gasp) nother Speidi fight. Oh, and a Jayde and Kristen battle.

First, let's address Speidi because, quite frankly, I'd rather just be rid of them. First of all, all the money in the world apparently couldn't buy Spencer a simple lesson in human anatomy, but then again, I think we were all shocked to find out a vasectomy involved thinks like needles and scissors and rather tame cartoon pictures of the scrotum, so Spencer, being the brave man he is, runs out of that doctor's office faster than you can say, "I'll be on the surreal life in a few years." All that's probably well and good, since his friend Douchey McGee recommends not telling Heidi (way to look out for scum bag bros everywhere) which all goes fine and well until little Enzo (the one redeeming character in Speidi world) spills the beans...or nuts, as it were. A fight ensues, further proving both they shouldn't be married and they should be in front of cameras.

On a side note, this stint did burden me with a new cause. I'm officially starting a charity called FSP...or Faux-lebrities Shouldn't Procreate. At the top of our hit list? Spencer Pratt.

Then there was the Kristen/Brody love rekindled. Or at least, they had a lot of fun going on dates paid by Mtv. First, let me say I like Kristen. I have pretty much the whole way (save Laguna Beach season 1, but we weren't supposed to like her yet). I like that she's direct and has a little touch of bitch crazy in her. It makes both want to be her friend and watch the drama that follows in her life. Brody on this other hand, I'm not so convinced on him. I mean, the dude used to be BFF with Spencer Pratt...how reliable can he be? And he wears to many baseball hats with button up shirts, and if that's not a flaming dude bro alert, I don't know what is. Still, we watched them go to dinner and talk about Jayde and we watched them go to his mom's house (WOAH...no words there) and drink and talk about how cute they were and all in all it seems rather suspect to me. But, hey, if Mtv is footing my bill, I guess I'd hang out with a dude bro too. Boring filler!

Then there was the big fight! You could feeling it be prepped with cue cards every time Kristen spoke! And then it happened...and then 10 seconds later it was over. The biggest disappointment of the show. Mtv, please don't be cheap. If you're going to go to all the trouble of getting two people who will fight in the same room, could you buy them so more alcohol first? Jayde is crazy though. So, maybe she had pre-funked, but Brody diffused the situation entirely too quickly for someone who is that shady. I was hoping for a slap or a punch or something.

Audrina. Justin Bobby. Mumble, mumble. Illogical ramblings. Justin never making eye contact. Audrina crawling back for more punishment from a guy in combat boots and slicked back hair (ew) whose name makes him seem less rock and roll and more white trash. I know this show doesn't have writers [ ;) ] but maybe we could get a new story line there. Still, one of them is done. Finally forever. Yeah, we'll see.

So, here's the scoring for this weeks episode. On a scale of 1-10, unless otherwise applicable.

Clever editing: 8 (I had to use the rewind on tivo to see whose hands shot out first...don't worry, it was Jayde's).

Speidi's marriage believability: -56. (Seriously, how much is Mtv paying them to be married?)

Enzo's Cuteness: 10.

Level of Crazy Bitch: 7 (Jayde always ups it, but to be honest, I was just disappointed with the whole thing. Audrina's a disappointment to the crazy bitch in us all. Seriously, egg Justin Bobby's house or key his car or steal his combat boots).

Level of Douche Bag: 14 (Too much Spencer, Brody owns too many hats, and no matter what Douchey McGee's real name is, he needs a hair cut, shave, and vasectomy).

Overall Entertainment: 6 (After Audrina and Kristen's fight last week, this week was just lack luster).

Look for The City review in the next few days. Until then...

Adios, Bitches.

Bag and Tag.

Not even close, really. I was tagged by Sarah to do this little survey, and I couldn't think of a title that had to do with being tagged that wasn't just so obvious. Ha.
Here are the rules:
Use only one word, pass along to six favorite bloggers, and tell 'em you did so.
1. Where is your cell phone? Bookshelf.
2. Your hair? Unwashedgreasefest.
5. Your favorite food? Chipotle.
6. Your dream last night? VampireOKChouseAshleyCliffDivingDoozy.
7. Your favorite drink? Water.
8. Your dream/goal? Live.
9. What room are you in? Living.
10. Your hobby? Writing.
11. Your fear? Many.
12. Where do you want to be in six years? GraduateSchool.
13. Where were you last night? Home.
14. Something that you aren't? Man.
15. Muffins? LemonPoppySeed.
16. Wish list item? Phonograph.
17. Where did you grow up? Ooooooolathe.
18. Last thing you did? Crochet.
19. What are you wearing? Nightie.
20. Your TV? Off.
21. Your pets? Nonexistent.
22. Friends? Love.
23. Your life? StrangeBeautiful.
24. Your mood? Sleepy.
25. Missing someone? Always.
26. Vehicle? Dead.
27. Something you're not wearing? Shoes.
28. Your favorite store? Target.
29. Your favorite color? Cobalt.
30. When was the last time you laughed? Yesterday.
31. Last time you cried? Night.
32. Your best friend? Heart.
33. One place that I could go over and over? Portland.
34. One person who emails you regularly? Fbook.
35. Favorite place to eat? Couch.

Here's who I tag. (Don't worry, I won't bag you).

Olivia: Even though she has currently made a disappearance from the blogging world, I think I can convince her to come back and fill this out. Besides, she's one of my dearest friends. And those are so important in these strange days.

Heather: My long time Internet friend who shares my heart in my favorite place.

LP: My sweet, high school friend who loves life and has an infectious laugh.

Nevan: My dear friend who is going to be leaving for the Peace Corps soon! I'm so excited for her and proud of her!

Jola: Sweet, beautiful Jola.

Alee: I have a dear spot deep in my heart for Alee. We also are really good and making up analogies for any aspect of life and taking long walks in the snow.

Happy Tuesday friends!

Trashy TV Goodness.

I just finished Bird by Bird by the lovely Anne Lamott and I find myself wrapped in her wisdom and beautiful and hilarious words. I feel the way you should feel when you finish a good book. Warm, peaceful, and a little sad.

In other news, I have a new, secret addiction. Gossip Girl. I first watched it over a week ago when I was having a "I just want to be alone" sort of Friday night. So, I got some Chinese food and some white wine, and popped in disc one.

To say, I was hooked would be incorrect. I was annoyed by Serena's constant whimpering and whining. And she seemed to be the focus. Yet, I couldn't get it out of my head. So, a couple of days later I got disc 2.

BOOM.

Then, I was hooked. But, I still find Serena annoying as hell. And the characters which became my favorites, well, I think they're the misunderstood ones. Blair? Love her in all her bitchy Queen B goodness. Chuck Bass? I mean, the guy's catch phrase is "I'm Chuck Bass." Which is totally narcissistic and genius. I like season 2 Nate. Dan is all right when he's not oogling over Serena. And everyone else is mostly boring. Eh.

Seriously, though. Does anyone else watch this trashy tv goodness?

I'm a G(l)eek.

This is why I love Glee, and I think I'm in love with Matthew Morrison.

Need more proof, you say...

Believe me now?

A Quiet Little Place

I have always been the sort of girl who has liked her alone time. I could get lost in aloneness like a child can get lost in a large mall in the holiday seasons. Where suddenly minutes and hours are no different because though your mother will be frantic when she finds you, you are not lost, no, you are perfectly cocooned in your quiet thoughts which don't register the fears of a mother. They just nestle you with familiar characters and the promise of adventure.

And so now, as an adult, I find myself often unlost in quiet place with familiar characters. I become engrossed in my aloneness which is both quiet and doesn't seem very alone either. But, that quiet, not the incessant ticker of anxieties, paranoias, and insecurities, that brings me comfort these odd days.

And though it's tempting to get lost in the crowd of thoughts, the characters who are familiar and a little insane, I trust the quiet little place, tucked like a precious child in between grace and faith. And even when I wake up, sweating and terrified of my dark, that is the place I always tucked into again.

Utterly Human.

For one, I love LOVE Glee. And whenever I start to feel a little down, I pop in the soundtrack, and my day feels turned around for that time. It's a beautiful thing. And I will always belt out, "Don't Stop Believin'" "Take a Bow" "Bust Your Windows" and "Golddigger" because you kind of have to. In fact, hold on a second, because "Don't Stop Believin'" just started.

Well, anyway, I've been so whiney lately. I think my most frequently used it expression this week is, "Annoyed." I just say it, much in the same way Rachel Zoe says, "Unclear," in all situations where I'm the least bit annoyed. Which, is really rather frequently.

I'm tired of the whole shabang of wait, pray, trust. I don't think that means much expect that I'm utterly human. I doesn't mean I won't keep doing it, it just means, I've hit that wall where my very human expectations of God come out and I want to demand action. I want to scream that I've had enough of this season. That I'm ready for the next. Now, deep down, I know God is still good and at work. But, sometimes, I feel more annoyed and weary than I do adventurous and...well, faithful.

I don't know that feeling this way does much except calls me back into commune with God in some strange way. I pray just as much, I just say some different things. I trust but with a little less grace. And I still shrug a lot of days and sigh at the end. I still squeeze my eyes and say, "Really?" It's just a little different place. It's just after so many days in the desert, us humans can't help but say, "Uh, I don't really get what the point of this was. Were we that bad off back there? At least we knew where we were going?"

And God will always respond with, "Let me fight for you. Just rest. Just trust."

And I'll feel a little annoyed, because I knew that. I was just hoping for, "Oh, Whit. How careless of me. Let me attend to all of what you think is most important and relevant."

Ha. Annoyed.

It's just a day full of Glee soundtracks for sanity, deep breaths, dancing, and screaming when no one is paying attention.

True Confession...

Sometimes...I lie. What I mean by this is I just sort of think it's funny to tell people untrue things about me and see if I can weave a convincing story. This, I understand, is probably not an admirable quality. I'm not trying to toot it as such, but I just have a knack for it. And the more ridiculous, the better.

Ok, I suppose I am trying to make it sound a little edgy and awesome. But, I just think it's funny. We can discuss the morality of it some other time.

I mean, I've been doing this for a long time. Like when I was in 7th grade, I convinced a girl I had gone to school with for 6 years and lived like 5 minutes away from that I had 5 older brothers she had never met.

When I went camping with friends this past Memorial Day weekend, we all took on alter egos and had elaborate back stories. I was Talon...an East Coast transplant to the West Coast Art School drop out who lived in Seattle and was a faux hippie. I mean, being one of those indie kids with rich parents who is always soul searching and hippie playing was actually a part of my back story. The stories we made up that weekend were nothing short of legendary. And we didn't drop it for two full days. We even sat around a camp fire with strangers telling stories from our boarding school days in Boston. I've never even been to Boston.

And then, there was one time I was at a bar for a friend's 21st birthday party. I knew all of 3 people there. And so, I convinced this guy (who, albeit, had been drinking a bit) that I was in the process of becoming a nun, all with a beer in one hand and a cig in another hand.

Anyway, I was just thinking about it today whilst running. And I still think each of those are priceless and endlessly humorous, if not a little amoral.

But, Jay-Z and Journey make me run with the hugest smile on my face. Because, ladies is pimps too. Go on brust yo shoulder off.

Cricks, but Not Crickets.

Here is another blog of not much. But, let's go with it. We hit it hard a few weeks ago, but some fluff might not be so bad.

I have a crick in my neck. It is really inconvienent and all I can think about is the episode of Sex and the City were Miranda got one so bad she ended up naked on the floor of her bathroom and Aidan had to rescue her. I sure hope it doesn't get to that point. Unless Aidan is around.

I feel like, due to my title, I should mention crickets. But, all I can say is I really hate crickets. Jumping insects are really...well, we just don't get on. It seems that they are just tricky little bastards. Jumping is an unfair advantage in regards to insects. And then there was one time in which my dorm room was infested by crickets. (I even made a Facebook group called "Get These Motha F-ing Crickets Out of My Motha F-ing Room).

On the other hand, there is always lots of really great reality tv to watch. Like any Real Housewives and Project Runway and Top Chef and The City. I could go on and on.

Didn't The Office just make you want a Jim?

Not Much, but Something

I don't have much to say right in this moment. Except, something.

1. I think my computer is angry with me because I always try to do about 324 things at once on it. I mean, I'd get angry too if someone was that unfocused with me. And that's what it is. I'm devilishly unfocused lately.

2. My mom's birthday was yesterday. I made her chocolate and chocolate and walnut covered strawberries. They are so good. And so hard to say no to.

3. I am in the process of making a work out mix! I love making mixes. Maybe too much. Any suggestions?

4. I am starting, tomorrow, the Couch to 5k runner in 6 weeks thing. There is probably a more svelte title, but I can't think of it. Wish me luck.

5. Have y'all been watching Glee? It's freaking fantastic. AND it's on tonight. So, how about that?

6. I love grey, rainy days.

Reconcilitation, Part 2

Sometimes, as much as I want what I want, when I want it, I'll get a moment of clarity. It usually happens much after the fact. Like, I'll look back on a situation and think, "Yes, that was right; I didn't need that. This was much better after all." But, very rarely, maybe once or twice, it happens amidst something. Before the clear evidence that something is indeed better really takes root.

But, I'm thankful for those moments, present and retrospective. They're why when I'm babysitting and I say, "You can't a bag of marshmellows because it isn't good for you," that I smile to myself and think, ah, this is why those gross injustices we feel as a child take place. Because often my parents were acting out of knowledge I didn't have. And I'm thankful for that.

Reconciliation is the same way, I think. I think it looks like God saying, "Ah, but that isn't good for you." Unfortunately, God also gives us the option of saying, "I just am going to take the bag of marshmellows anyway, but thanks for the concern."

I say that because, marshmellows taste better than vegtables.

If for no other reason that we were told to put them away.

Still, God creates this thing for us, this possibility, and he breathes it everywhere. In trees, in sunsets, in old friends' smiles. He is constantly urging us, pursuing us with it. "Be reconciled," I imagine he wispers many nights. "Come back."

And when we do. When we are. He says, "Now reconcile with each other. With the trees. With the sunsets. And most of all with your old friends."

Oh, were it so easy.

Because, we don't always come back. To God. Or to each other.

I am reminded of my friend's words, that not all things are reconciled on this side of heaven. I ache for that hope tonight. I believe in reconciliation. It gives me hope. I am rooted in it. I work at it. Sometimes, I am foolish, stubborn, prideful, but it is apart of me.

Reconciliation is beautiful when we take apart of it.

And life is just so damn hard without it.

Reconciliation.

I remember a few years ago talking to a then new, now old friend. We were talking about our lives and what we wanted to do with them. A conversation filled with purpose, that in the coming year, when the world hit me hard, I would forget in more ways than one. But, as we pulled out of the Wal-Mart parking lot, the conversation was alive.

I told said friend that I didn't know practically what my future would look like, but I knew one thing it would involve. Reconciliation/redemption. I said, "I know you aren't supposed to have favorite things about God, but if I were to, that would be it. The fact that God doesn't just save, but restores, redeems, and reconciles."

And, years of life have past, but I still feel the same way. Just awed that God would go further than saving us.

Still, when it comes to reconciling with other people, I run into a hiccup. I find myself confused as to act in friendships with grace and love and forgiveness, always hoping for reconciliation when I am being hurt. I have struggled with this through many friendships. Sometimes, the result was sticking it out in a place I shouldn't have. Sometimes it was cutting and run when I shouldn't have. But, each time, by the grace of God, I learn a little more. Get a little closer to the promise of reconciliation.

Yet, I stand at these crossroads again. I wish I felt confident and wise in action. But, my stomach feels sour and I'm at a bit of a loss. I groan in prayer. Or sometimes I just take to anger.

"You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you will never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But, this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't scale back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly - that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp."

Somehow, those words of Ms. Lamott, make strong sense to my heart in this time.

Grace (Eventually)

I love Anne Lamott. I love her because even though sometimes, theologically, I kinda raise my eyebrow, she always, always is honest and true. She struggles and whines and is delightfully human. And she has dreads, so really, how could you not love her?

And in her book Grace Eventually she says some really great and beautiful things. And it makes me remember that things like grace and healing, they're a part of that slow, hard work of life. The kind that easily gets traded into routine, or cast aside because it's not as exciting as the life we think we are supposed to be leading.

Truthfully, I'd have to say this is a sin of mine. This fantasizing about my life. Making it more glamorous than it really is. And all the while forgetting who and whose I am.

It's just, why does no one tell you life isn't as romantic as it sounds? That there is this whole huge middle part of your life that's filled with pretty much the same thing everyday. And that doesn't have to be bad. There's a lot to be learned from it. Like contentment. Commitment. Faithfulness. But, none of those words drudge up images of Fabio with Kristen Stewart hair, a Rico Swauvey open shirt, kissing your next as your bosom spills out a too small corset.

But, then again, no one writes the sequels to those Fabio stories. Ones that would read like Fabio goes to the doctor and finds out he has crabs. Or Fabio fathers another illegitimate child whom he has no more to do with than a check once a month. Or even, the illustrious, Fabio settles down, gets a job where he wears suits with the buttons, buttoned to the top, and marries the girl he got pregnant.

Now, there is a best seller waiting to happen.

But, those books, those stories, those fantasies, they all bank on magic to change us. And I, for one, watched Cinderella enough times to know that nothing is wrong with me, I am just not accessorizing correctly. Were it as simple as buying glass slippers, I'd be all over that.

Instead, it's the patience and the screaming and the scooting closer and closer and sometimes drastically in the other direction towards God. It's shrugging shoulders, raising hands. And when you think about it, it still is magic, but it's just a little more than the change of shoe. It's the transformation of heart.

And even though most days, I stomp might feet and want grace now.

I'm learning about the beauty in grace eventually.

Hopelessly Flawed

I have been a very bad blogger lately. And for that, I apologize.

The truth is, I've been in a bit of a shell. I've been hopelessly cranky and unmotivated. All I seem to want to do is lie around and watch movies. And once you start doing that, it's really easy to get caught up in other stories, one's that have nice endings or at least endings at all, and kind of stop living your own for a while.

But, this weekend has been good. Because, I woke up a little bit. I decided to take deep breaths again because nothing was getting done watching Weeds. Except for me laughing.

Still, all this means, I don't have much to say as of right now. I was just feeling like a bad blogger. And a little bit like Jo who once had a conversation like this.

Jo - It's just with all this transcendence comes much emphasis on perfecting oneself.
Friedrich - And this troubles you?
Jo - I am hopelessly flawed.

Little Women, I'll always love you.

Silly Heart.

My heart feels off. Odd. A little bit silly. But, I found this video of a video that some friends and I did for our Shakespear class. It is based on our small Christian college where people get married fast and there's some sort of division between ministry majors and athletes. It's kind of brilliant. But, I'm certainly no great actress. And Romeo and I yelled at each other a lot during the filming of this. [Don't worry, we're still friends]

Still, it makes me laugh. And I need it on a day like today when my heart feels all tangled.

Since, I'm not smart enough to embed it. Go here.

Wait, Pray, Trust.

A few months ago I was about to graduate college. I was about to have a degree that I loved, but no earthly idea what to do with it. So, I waited. I prayed. I trusted.

I didn't do this things unfailing. Often, I'd get antsy and take control. I'd forget to pray and worry instead. And I'd anxiously agonize and doubt. But, the idea, the constant replay in my life was the same. Wait, pray, trust.

But a month or so from graduating, my roommate made a hard, brave decision to move back home, which derailed my plans. I needed a job, roommate, or place to live. So, I waited. I prayed. I trusted.

I didn't do these things well. I oftened whined. Too often I took to unfaithfulness. I tried to micromanage. All of these things fell away, though, I continued to wait, pray, and trust, and my prayers were answered. Though, not at all like I expected.

So, then I moved home. I needed a job. I waited. I prayed. And I trusted.

I'm getting better at this. I still falter.

And now? Life is shifting. I feel it. I'm terrified of the things before me, and yet, three words continue in my head.

Wait.
Pray.
Trust.

Hope on a Sleepless Night

Often, when I'm laying in bed on a sleepless night, I can recall with perfect memory what those first few nights after my grandma died felt like. I rememeber lying in bed with my eyes opened wided and trying to squeeze them shut hard and feeling nothing at all. But, not the kind of nothing that a blank page might feel, no that holds too much creative, birthing possibility. It's the kind of nothing that an empty room feels after a fight. It's the kind of nothing hands feel after something has been snatched from them. It's the kind of nothing that is anything but. It's heavy like Texas summer air and it's nothingness is what makes it so full. My eyes would lose focus while staring at my wall, ceiling, window, door. There was a certain dread, expectancy. My heart would skip a beat everytime I'd pass her name scrolling through my phone book. It was like life went on, but I had ear muffs and walked half as fast as everyone else. Everything was muffled. Slowed.

The last days at the hospital, the wake, the funeral, those weren't the bad days. Something like sheer nerve that only comes out when you have nothing else in you got me through those days. Hell, I even laughed, a crude Jones woman trademark...to laugh when all else fails. It was the days that followed, as I came back to college, walked the same path I had walked for a year and a half from my dorm to class, to the student center, to the library, those were the moments that felt impossible. The hugs, the words of comfort, the somber smiles that greeted me on those treks seemed to fall beside me, and then, in my sleepless nights weigh against me. I seemed to always feel either pressing at the edge of my skin or suffocating, and usually both.

Of course all of that was just a silent prelude to when I would learn to speak again. That was terrifying, but when I said it out loud...that was something else entirely. I remember sitting in one of my best friends car. Driving down 119th street until it ended as I would continue to do many, many times. I looked straight ahead and came out with my confession, the words I had been thinking of for days.

"I don't think I'm a Christian anymore."

My friend just waited, knowing there was more to it than just that. I continued on, explaining that I hadn't stopped believing in God, but being a Christian was more than that. I had been a Christian since I was five, and just now in these weeks of losing my grandma did I suddenly find something missing. I just simply figured there must be more, I, however, didn't have it. And I didn't feel strong enough to find it.

No earth shattering revelation was made to me in that moment. I simply said something out loud and was met with a sort of deep understanding that there was something very wrong, but neither of us could really place it. In face, from there, I had no way of knowing how much longer that journey would last. How many more times I would find myself in the throes of confessions that were really just saying, something is very wrong and I feel too weak to stand up? How many times would I find myself crying and curled up in my bed with only the bunny my grandma gave me and the blanket my grammie made me for comfort? How many more times would I walk into church smiling and leave red hot angry and want to give up again? Countless. In fact, I still do sometimes. But, I've found that thing that was missing, the thing that comes out after sheer nerve is gone and keeps you still going.

So many brilliant minds have put it so many ways. Shane Koyczan said, "I've been through enought wretchedness to know some flowers still grow through the garabage."

My friend, Eric, says, "In a world that promises rocks and dust, live like diamonds exsist."

Mary Oliver paints it as a red bird who comes even in the winter, firing up the landscape.

The rest of us, just call it hope.

And as I find myself in this strange new place, where I sometimes have a good attitude, but often don't, I cling to it. I choose not to just see myself as a 22 year old jobless college graduate living at home, but an obedient daughter of God who is gripping on to God's goodness tightly as I sit waiting.

And when I can't sleep at night and my mind wanders back to that time and I think, Oh God, I can't live through that heartache again. Or as I curl up in a ball thinking of how my blanket and bunny are packed in storage still and so many relationships I'm in feel so broken, I hope. Because if anything, I've been through wretchedness. I've been in darkness. My heart's been shattered. My soul has been shaken. I have fallen completely apart. But, great, beautiful flowers now grow in the cracks of myself that once seemed lost forever to me.

And that, dear ones, is the simple, deep, beautiful truth of hope.

www.incourage.me

On Disappearing, then Coming Back Again.

As the weather here in Texas changes from "so hot I contemplate peeling my skin off" to "thank God for AC," I too change from "if I don't interact with the world, it can't possibly keep spinning" to "oh, hello, world, you still there?" And it's all in good stride because sometimes we all need to shut off the world for a few days (erm, 2 weeks).

But, as I open my eyes and stretch my limbs, I find something unexpected. A cocoon, of sorts, which allows me to keep on growing, processing, but maybe in a better way. Because no matter how good and delicious Burn Notice is, it isn't really doing anything in the way of this crazy journey I'm on. Except, I do know that a cell phone plugged into a USB outlet on a computer makes for a perfect bug.

And so here I am. In the one city I had so vehemently sworn off with a new humility that God is indeed the point, not my affinity for a city (among other things I'd like to think are more important). And this place I am in feels nearly indescrible to everyone else, except for these few who just know without me saying. And who somehow hear, "I just got to process all this fear and heal and rest a little, so I can do that thing I need to do," when I say, "Oh, you know. I'll get to save money. Spend time with my family. Figure out what to do."

And the thing that woke me up today, that made me literally stop dead in my tracks, take a deep breath, and look a little crazy by speaking out loud to seemingly nothing was God. I just stopped and said, "Ok, let's have this conversation, I've been putting off." And so we did, and I cried a little, but it was a good cry that you have with God and when it's over you take a deep breath and think, "So this is it. This is what has to happen." And then you just trust with your whole being and when you can't trust anymore, you trust that God will fill in the rest.

So, that being said, I'm back. But, I'm dancing a little slower, listening a little harder, and trying to write a lot more.