Everything.

My deepest desire is that 2014 be a year of spiritual growth the likes of which I have never experienced. Which is bold/terrifying, because I've noticed that when you ask for stuff like that, God goes COOL BRO, and throws all kinds of crazytown curve balls at you. So, there's that. But, hey, bring it on. I'm not arrogant enough to say I'm ready for it, but I trust that asking for a heart-level revival will result in blessing. Papa God, let's do this.

(Blog post,  January 8, 2014)

I think one of the most quoted verses in the Bible is the one about considering everything a loss for the sake of gaining Christ. Everyone is very down with saying, "Yes, give up all worldly things so you can be just like Jesus and have peace and joy and a big fancy sash." More often than not, the "everything" becomes "the bad stuff you want to do but shouldn't", and we leave it there.

But that passage in Philippians 3 is about much more than trying to be good like Jesus. It is, maybe, the most powerful, bold statement about faith that exists in the Bible. Read it, for real:

'What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead."

Paul is a man desperate to be as closely linked to his Savior as he possibly can. To not just be like Him, but to know Him in a intimate way that can only come from sharing His joys and sufferings. Think about it: you and your best friend have been through a lot together, haven't you? There have been tears, laughter, trials, major heartbreak, huge success. And, if you're good best friends, you were on that journey together. You went through the ups and downs together, because that's what friends do. I think Paul is saying he wants to be Jesus' best friend. To know Him absolutely as much as he can. 

And he takes it a step further. Paul says that anything outside of Christ is worth losing, if losing that thing means a more intimate knowledge of Jesus. Read it again. Anything outside of Christ is worth losing, if losing that thing means a more intimate knowledge of Jesus.

I've always skimmed over Philippians 3. I didn't understand the weight of Paul's words until very recently. And when I finally did, it was the sweetest moment of joy. A few weeks ago, in the middle of a hard week, I was driving down Old Hickory praying. In the middle of what was probably a very self-centered prayer for comfort, Paul's words came to mind. "I consider everything a loss for the sake of gaining Christ," followed very quickly by the settled feeling in the pit of my stomach I'm beginning to recognize as God's presence (which is maybe the hippie dippiest thing I have ever written, but I'm tellin' ya it's true). And I burst into tears and started laughing all at once, because God is so good. I wrote in January that I wanted to be recreated. That I wanted to know Christ more. In essence, I wrote my own Philippians 3. Friends, THE LORD ANSWERED. He answered by taking away the things that were making me comfortable. He answered by asking me to give up the things I loved best at the time. He answered by asking me to step out in faith. He answered by letting me hit rock bottom, over and over again, so hard my teeth rattled. He answered by dragging me to the very end of my rope. He answered by letting me drown. Because to know Christ's suffering means we must also suffer. There is no way to grow in faith without going though the valley.

But He also answered by rescuing me out of my darkest places, over and over. He led me through the valley, never letting go of my hand. He taught my heart how to trust, and how to sing in every circumstance. He showed me what grace looks like, and what relentless love looks like. Yes, relentless was the word of 2014. On my bad days, I would have said 2014 was a year of relentless suffering. And it was. But I only have to zoom out a little to see that, ultimately, it was a year of Christ's relentless love for His girl. For me. No truth could be more evident.

So as this year ends, and a new one shines bright with promise and hope, I'm lifting up major praise hands. Grateful hands, and a heart that feels the beauty of life even more now that it has known suffering. The valleys of this year will always hold a tender place, because they were the fruit of a big prayer. A prayer I'm not sure I expected to be answered. But it was, and in the answer I was given the very best thing. An intimate knowledge of my Jesus, and His love. And if all of this year was to bring me to that  point, then it was worth it a thousand times over. Because nothing, nothing, surpasses the greatness of knowing Jesus Christ, my Lord.

Happy New Year.

Breath from Heaven.

There is this Amy Grant song that I look forward to hearing around Christmastime. I'm not an avid Amy Grant fan or anything, but I really do like her song "Breath of Heaven". Mostly because when I was in middle school, I liked to croon soulfully along with her and pretend I was on a stage with lots of lights and people sitting in awe of my tear-jerking performance (if only I were kidding). Truly, though, sometimes that song gives me chills. It humanizes a story that I think often gets put on a pedestal. 

The Christmas story is, clearly, the most miraculous, beautiful story out there. Christ coming down from heaven to be born in a manger, shepherds, stars, angels, and so on. But as it was happening, I have this idea it didn't feel all that miraculous or beautiful. At least, not at first (the angels probably brought some major glam points, but that was later).

Think about it. You're a teenager. You're engaged to a guy you might not even know very well (biblical times, guys. Weird marriage situations). An angel has told you the king of the freaking world is growing inside you, but like who's going to believe you when you share that around the circle at bible study? Then your husband to be is all, "ROAD TRIP," and you have to pack up and go to Bethlehem on a donkey literally days before you're about to pop.

This is where Mary is on the eve of Jesus' birth. Exhausted, probably sore, dealing with some combination of fear/shame/confusion/joy/anticipation. Definitely uncomfortable because donkey. And most likely very, very unsure about how this is all going to turn out. Now, I'm not trying to liken myself to the mother of Christ or anything, but I do know what it is to feel some combination of fear/shame/confusion etc. It doesn't feel good at all. 

I have to wonder, did Mary's parents support her? Or were they ashamed? Did they believe her? Did she have siblings, and how did they treat her? What about her community? I think we get it into our heads that Mary and Joseph were some kind of royal family, full of wisdom and trust, always calm. Basically perfect. And for that reason, God chose them to be Jesus' parents. 

But the rest of the Bible tells stories about God picking the most unlikely candidates to fulfill His plans. So Mary and Joseph weren't perfect. There's a really good chance they weren't straight A students and the prettiest people in town. There's a really good chance their lives were messy, and broken, and rough. There's a really good chance they kind of freaked out over the baby situation.

Which is why I love that Amy Grant song so much, because it humanizes Mary in such a tender way.

I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear
In a world as cold as stone
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now

Breath of Heaven, hold me together
Be forever near me, Breath of Heaven
Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness
Pour over me Your holiness for You are holy
Breath of Heaven

Do you wonder as you watch my face
If a wiser one should have had my place?
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of Your plan
Help me be strong, help me be, help me

This girl is struggling. She is real. She isn't on a pedestal, she is at the end of her rope. I love her for it. Mary's humanity is a reality I think slips through the cracks around Christmastime. But it makes the story even more beautiful. When we take away the flash and glam, what we are left with is a picture of what it looks like to trust in God's plan, no matter what our circumstances. The best thing is, we never trust in vain. Case in point: the stable. When Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem, with Mary IN ACTUAL LABOR, there was nowhere they could stay. You better believe Joseph did everything humanly possible to get a bed for his girl to give birth in, but nothing. Can you imagine the emotions of that situation? The worry, and fear?

But God is a God of provision. He is proving that to me right now. And He proved it to Mary and Joseph that night in Bethlehem, right before the biggest miracle the world ever saw. He gave them a little miracle, a stable, to let them know that He is capable of providing. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally and every other way we will ever need to be provided for. He provides actual breath in our lungs, and when we feel like we can't breathe on our own strength, He breathes life into our most dead places.

So Mary wasn't perfect. And she probably had her share of tearful conversations, and crying out to God, and panicking. But, ultimately, she knew that the only way to survive was to lean into her God of big promises, and big deliveries (no baby pun intended). This Christmas, I'm thankful for that picture. Not a sparkly manger scene, but a girl at her wits' end, asking for peace that passes understanding, and receiving it.

Fender Benders & Not Being Alone

Earlier this year, I learned how to change a car battery. On Thursday, I learned about the importance of having car insurance and a what a tie bar is. 

Long story short, a seemingly harmless fender bender has turned into $3,500 worth of repairs and one very sad looking Honda Civic. And I kind of feel like, of course this is happening. Of course 2014 is ending with one more calamity. Because why not? Let's just go ahead and hammer home the point that I have exactly zero pieces of my life together. There is no pride for me to cling to, no assets, no worldly accomplishments, no boyfriend, no career. I am, truly, at the end of every rope.

I have never been more at peace.

There is a new stillness at the very bottom of my heart. It's kind of under some fear, anxiousness and a little worry, but it is there. And it is solid. It is balancing. It is a peace born from the ultimate cry of "I give up", because that's where I'm at. I give up. There is not a thing in my life I can control or fix. Not a circumstance I can steer. This is not my game, it is bigger. And, yes, it has been an absolute mess lately. But what I'm guessing, given the evidence, is that the mess is all very purposeful. It has to be. If not, then it is a cruel cosmic joke from a deity that is clearly out to to get me. But that isn't possible. Because I know my God. He has shown me His heart this year. He has taken my hand and led me through the valley. No, it didn't feel good. It was awful. But He was there. So He must still be here, and still leading. Know how I know? 

The police who took my information when I wrecked didn't ticket me for having expired insurance. 

The other woman's car didn't even get scratched.

(^ actual Christmas miracles from above)

Jen offered her spare room while we figured out what to do.

Dave spent hours tinkering with my car to figure out what happened.

Everyone I know in Nashville has offered me a ride somewhere.

Darcy is letting me borrow her car.

Y'all. God has gifted this lonely little girl the most authentic, caring, beautiful community. And it took a car accident of epic proportions for Him to prove just how not alone I am. As this week has progressed, and people have been there every step of the way, I've been kind of speechless. And filled with nothing but gratefulness. This is the least ideal situation to be in, with no car, no money, and no idea how to fix either problem. But evidence of God's goodness has been everywhere in the last five days. When I say, "Oh, it's all going to be fine", I'm not saying it as a last-ditch effort to make myself feel better. I say it because I have never been more sure of its truth. A part of that comes from being surrounded by community. Which I think I always knew, but didn't quite understand. All those verses about the body and building each other up and share in sorrows and joys and whatever, THAT is the safety net created very specifically by a God who treasures community and understands its vital importance. After all, He is a triune God. Three in one. He gets the community thing. And He has gifted it to us, so we can have tangible evidence of His unending mercy. It is a gift most evident when we are at our most broken and unlovable. A gift for the moments we have absolutely nothing together. That, friends, is no accident. That is exactly how it's supposed to be. And the only way to reap the benefits of such a gift is to admit when shit hits the fan and you need help. Which can feel like the most shameful, horrifying thing to do in a world of Instagram filters and liposuction. Nobody wants to admit their imperfections, or their failures. 

But here's what I know: surrendering and receiving require the same posture. Arms out, palms up. Offering nothing but asking much. When we're there, the Lord is able to fill those empty hands. This week, He filled me up with community. And I could almost see Him winking, and saying, "See? They have always been there, just as I have. You are not alone, sweet one. And you never will be."

Kate Winslet.

It's Christmas. Usually, I love Christmas. I am the first person to start playing the Charlie Brown Christmas album, and to put up the tacky Christmas Cat. This season has always been a time tinged with just a little bit of very real magic.

This year, though, there is a part of me (the majority) that would be happy to skip over Christmas all together. Not because of the hustle and bustle, or the commercialism, or the merriment. But just because I cannot muster up the energy to pretend to be jolly. I'm not jolly this month. Here's the thing. I think I expected that, given how the rest of this year went, December would be some happy holiday fix to eleven months of learning, and growing, and big time challenge. What actually happened is that December started out like this: Me, completely alone in a two-bedroom apartment. I am Kate Winslet in that scene in "The Holiday", with the dog and the scarf and the stove.

Alone is a situation I hate. It's a personality type thing, a lifestyle thing, and just a me thing. The first time my college roommate wasn't home for a weekend and I had the apartment to myself, I couldn't sleep. I almost always ask someone to run errands with me, because it's just better that way. And, okay, I get it. Being alone is not a huge deal. People do it all the time. Some people, I've heard, actually enjoy it. Not me. Especially not at Christmas.

But here I am. And I don't think it's an accident. It's just another step. I can almost audibly hear Jesus saying, "Trust, my girl. That is what I am building in you. Hang in there." The snarky child in my heart wants to respond, "Really? For REAL, though?! We aren't done with this yet??" To which He gently answers, "No."

Which, you know, is actually the most incredibly beautiful gift. I think. Well, no, I know it is. I know that what God has shown me this year, and what He will continue to show me every day until Paradise,  is an unconditional and relentless love that will not allow for half-finished work. He is not going to let me get away with happiness, when what He wants for me is holiness. Not that the two cannot coincide. I genuinely believe they can (and will) be one and the same. But sometimes, the road to holiness means walking through decidedly unhappy things. Like being alone at Christmas.

The truth is, I am not actually Kate Winslet in "The Holiday". I'm not going to sniff the gas fumes off my stove (I am going to California over the holidays, though). There are moments of self-pity in which I convince myself that my life is the worst and how could anyone have luck this bad. I compare and speculate about everyone around me and how they all look so happy and why am I the only tragic person in this city and why am I at this wedding alone right now. Thankfully (and through no power of my own), those moments are becoming fewer. Well, not fewer. But more short-lived. Because what is real, what is beginning to outshine the fear and the self-pity, is peace. Peace that whispers this really is just a season, spring is coming, and that which has died will be reborn in the most glorious way.

I think that peace is called hope. And, if I'm not mistaken, hope is the foundation of Christmas in the first place. So no, I'm not jolly this year. But I am hopeful. Persistently hopeful in present discomfort. Feeling very alone, but not truly alone at all. Because He is Immanuel, God with us. God with me.

Silence sucks, Jesus doesn't.

"Have we come to the point where God can withdraw His blessings from us without our trust in Him being affected? God will give you the very things you ask for if you refuse to go any further without them, but His silence is the sign that He is bringing you into an even more wonderful understanding of Himself." 

[Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest]

I read John 11 the other day, spurred by Oswald's talk about what real trust looks like. Do you know what John 11 is about? People who failed in fully trusting Jesus. It's not a power-hour story about how great Mary and Martha and the disciples are, and how they are rewarded for being so good at life. It's a perfect display of Jesus' love and power in his followers' darkest moments.

When Lazarus became ill, Mary and Martha sent word to Jesus, fully believing (I'm sure) he would rush to them and heal Lazarus is a hot second. But Jesus didn't. He waited where he was, and only when word came Lazarus had died did Jesus go back to Judea. I think Mary and Martha felt a little bit abandoned by their friend in that terribly dark hour. Both of them had expected Jesus to come when they asked, and he didn't. They accused him, with heavy hearts, "If you had just been there, this would not have happened. Jesus, where were you?!"

How often have I done the same? Have you? God's silence feels like the ultimate betrayal. When God refuses to show up when I want Him to, my gut reaction is to assume He isn't coming at all. That He really has just left me hanging, alone, to figure it out in whatever dark place I find myself. Whether it's a break up, or singleness, or loneliness, or finding someone to sublease my apartment, I'm noticing this horrible tendency to jump to the conclusion that God is not in control of my circumstances, and that He is letting me down. When I can't see tangible evidence of His presence, I panic faster than anything.

Back to John 11. The story ends in a straight-up miracle. A four-days-dead Lazarus gets up and walks out of the grave at the sound of Jesus' voice. LIKE WHAT. And here is the most beautiful thing: Jesus knew what everyone else didn't; that the fullness of the miracle could not have been experienced in any other way. Sure, Mary and Martha wanted Lazarus healed from illness. But Jesus saw the opportunity for a miracle far greater than the one that would have been had he rushed back to Judea when he was called. "For your sake, I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe." At the beginning of the story, those words seem harsh. But they are full of beauty, too. If Mary and Martha had gotten what they asked for when they asked for it, the result would have been a healed Lazarus and not much else. Because Jesus waited, the sisters saw life come from death. They saw even more fully the power of their Lord, and their faith was strengthened tenfold. They got to witness the impossible.

There was also room for Jesus to be in the midst of the suffering. He felt it, too. He was there, hugging his sisters, feeling their hurt. "He was deeply moved in spirit and troubled." He didn't just swoop in with a quick fix to the problem, he entered into the pain and said, "I get it. I miss him, too. I know how this feels, and I hate it with you." God is never far away when we hurt. He is right there, right in the middle of it, and He knows the feeling. No, listen. He actually knows the feeling. Jesus was human, too. But more than that, he created you. He knows how he knit you together and he knows how your heart aches. I think he did it on purpose.

If there is one thing I have learned in the last year, it's that God loves to bring glory to Himself by working in the lives of His most beloved ones. He asks us to cry out to Him, then sometimes He makes us wait. Not because He's mad, or because we messed up, or because He's doesn't care. God's silence is never an indicator that He doesn't care. Rather, it is a hint that something greater is at work, and it is still becoming its fullest expression. Can I handle that? Can I handle the silence, and trust it is a promise of something better than I could possibly fathom? Saying yes is the weightiest, scariest thing imaginable. But also maybe the greatest victory and joy.

If He is silent, just wait. Hang on. Be patient, friend. Trust me when I say I understand that patience is the hardest, stupidest, most gut-wrenching lesson to learn. I'm still learning it. I am still figuring out what it means to wait in the silence, without panicking. And I'm really, really bad at it. But I am the beloved of a God who doesn't treat me based on my performance or failures. And so, my friend, are you. We have assurance that allows us to stand firm on the promise that He has never, and will never, abandon those He loves the most dearly. And you know who He loves the most dearly? You.

To Emma, the almost-graduate.

You're in the home stretch, little one! One more semester of Wildcat life, and you will be a college graduate. It is crazy how time flies, isn't it? I remember moving you into your freshman dorm, watching you nest and organize and meticulously prepare your space. Your desire for perfection and attention to detail are probably the reasons you have excelled in the ID program. Those late nights in the studio are well worth the beautiful work you have created.

Speaking of late nights, I remember finals week sophomore year, my stage movement class snuck into the theatre building and had a sleepover the night before our 8 a.m. final, because we were so afraid we would be late. Yes, college is a time for every kind of shenanigan. And you have had no shortage of those! What a beautiful pile of memories you have to take with you after graduation. You have done an excellent job of creating community and living each season to the fullest.

I know right now it feels like the work will never end and you can't possibly get it all done. But before you rush off to your next class, or the studio, I want you to take a minute to reflect. Because while May seems far away, it will be here before you know it. My senior year of college was a blur, and you're busier than I ever was! So take a second. Breathe. Soak in all the lessons, beauty and growth of this season. Write it down. Trust me, you want to remember this stuff.

Enjoy little things. Like the Konza view, and walking to class in the rain. I remember the twenty-minute walk from my apartment senior year to campus as some of my best thinking time. Go get coffee with Heather Jo, even if it means losing some study hours. There will come a point when it will be a lot harder to schedule coffee dates with the people you love the most. Store up as much time with them as you can, now.

Slow down. Don't just book it to class. Stroll a little bit, and drink up what's around you. Take mental snapshots (and real ones) of your favorite places on campus, and the people you interact with now who you probably won't see again after May (my example: Cute Physics Boy). Take extra care to actually see what's going on in MHK, because it is the sweetest.

Stay in college. The other day, my friend, Blythe (who is also about to graduate), told me she has decided to put her career on hold until after graduation. She's going to focus on school. Not in the studying sense, but in the sense that she is going to enjoy being a student for the time she has left. Sis, adult life is coming, and you are more than ready for it. Be a college kid for a few more months. Wear Nike shorts and Kappa tees, and go to IHOP at 2 a.m. Trust me, it is amazing how much your ability to stay up late decreases in your mid-twenties.

Get sentimental. There will be some cute Kappa senior thing, and you will go to your last football game, and basketball game, and last classes with your favorite professors. Tell Professor Honey how much she has meant to you. Make a big deal about your last Wildcat sporting event, even if you don't care about the sport. Hug everyone. Write letters. If there is a senior toast (TCU had one, we got purple margaritas) go to it. Let your school president tell you what a great student you were, and believe him. Have the most Wildcat pride, and go to all the stupid college events. You'll be glad you did.

Introspect. Take some time alone to process this season. Four years is a long time, and you have grown so much. What have you learned? How did the Lord reveal Himself to you, and how has that changed you? What life lessons do you know now that you didn't at 18? Write it down, because you'll forget two years from now. You'll learn new lessons in the next season, but gather up the ones you have so far. They are valuable and life-shaping and real. I remember the semester I learned how to go to church alone. It seems lame now, but it was huge then. When you're having your quarter-life crisis at the ripe old age of 24 (hi, that's me), your college self will be able to remind you how far you've come and what you actually know. You're on top of the world right now, big senior girl, but in a year or two you might will get scared. Write with confidence about your plans and lightbulb truths and heart lessons now, so you will have them to refer to later.

Be in the moment. Do not worry about tomorrow (or May), because each day has enough problems of its own. If Alex and John plan a bonfire, go to it. If the Beehive wants to build a fort under the living room stars, make it happen. Don't stress about next summer, don't worry about your projects. Take every opportunity (within reason) that you can to really enjoy these next few months. Immerse yourself fully, and be present.

Seize the day. If there is ANYTHING you want to do that you haven't done yet, now is the time. If there is a dreamy boy in your physics class, ask him out. If you want to sneak into the botanical gardens in the middle of the night, I say yes. (I only did one of those two things, but I should have done both). Remember when you and Jonathan and Michael made me jump into Frog Fountain, then tried to break into the football field? And I freaked out? Girl, BREAK INTO THE FOOTBALL FIELD.

Finish strong. Because of course you will. Seriously, you are so close. Keep going! Plan carefully, try not to wear yourself out, and finish this four-year marathon with a bang. You are so capable, girl. Eye on the prize.

I am so, so proud of you, Emma. As you close out this chapter, remember: you have done well. You have built community, strengthened your program, and learned so many things. You can't slow time down, but you can make a point to grab little moments as they fly by. Do that. Happy last semester.

For the Love of Coffee.

This past weekend, I went home for a friend's wedding. Monica is the kind of person who befriends everyone (and I do mean EVERYONE) she encounters. I met her two years ago, when I was working my first barista job in Kansas City. Monica was one of the dozens of people I saw five or more times a week, because America pretty much runs on caffeine and pastry items (and that is not an exaggeration). And here is the thing. From a barista's standpoint, those customers, most of whom I only spoke to about  lattes or scones, became a second family. I looked forward to seeing Americano Terry every afternoon around three. I noticed when Jim and Jenny didn't bring their daughter Isla in for hot chocolate on a Saturday morning.  

The heartbeat of coffee shop culture is community. Even the guy on his laptop with his earmuff-sized headphones on wants community. If he didn't, he would be at home. I think the appeal stems from a desire to be known. Our sensitive little human hearts want nothing more than to be treasured and noticed and recognized. It's why we pursue relationships, why we network, why we spend hours on social media. It's why coffee shops are a thing. Because we need a place to cuddle up to a cup of Ethiopia Yirgacheffe and share about life with friends. Beyond that, though, coffee shops are also places where community is built almost accidentally. It's a weird combination of routine and smiling and the smell of coffee, and entering into a space with an expectation for the unexpected. There is a possibility you will sit in your favorite chair for two hours and no one will speak to you. But, there is also the chance of an encounter that will enhance your day/week/life in a completely surprising way.   

I've worked at three different shops now, and the only consistency across the board is that community. Friends who become customers and customers who become friends. Coworkers who become the people you make breakfast with on Mondays, or with whom you fall in love. So many layers of friendship and community and life, ya know? The best way to describe it, I think, is to break it down. Study each combination, both behind the bar and in front it, that makes a coffee shop community special. Even that won't do it justice, but it might start to.

Barista-Barista: Nothing bonds a group of people faster than working behind a bar together, 40 hours a week. I am almost 100% sure I'm am not over-stating that fact. There is a special kind of camaraderie that is built on hours spent washing dishes, and dialing in espresso, and dealing with "Can I get a six-shot decaf latte, please?" And the walls of social normality are never less fragile than at 5:30 in the morning, when everyone is still half-asleep and absolutely filter-less. Maybe I'm just lucky, but some of my dearest friends were coworkers first. And even the coworkers with whom I never became #BFFs still felt like family. Because that's kind of just how it is, when you're steaming milk and waking up way too early together.

Customer-Customer: Coffee shops run on people who want to hang out with each other. Meet someone at a concert? Let's go get coffee. Need to tell your best friend about your ex? Let's go get coffee. I spend the vast majority of my social hours drinking coffee with people. And you probably do, too. It feels good, to get out of the house and be with humanity. But it's also kind of like sitting in your living room because sometimes there's a comfy couch. If a coffee shop is a good one, there is a cozy feeling that makes conversation happen in the best way. And, sometimes, not just with a person you know. Sometimes you stumble into a life chat with a total stranger. It's not even awkward, it's just a really good thing.

Barista-Customer: Every barista knows the root of their job is service. And not just "do you want fries with that?" service, but the kind of service that is synonymous with hospitality. I have yet to meet a barista who doesn't genuinely love people. Even the surliest punk I ever worked with, secretly liked the people he complained about daily. I could tell because one time he gave this kid free hot chocolate because the little dude miscounted the meager change he thought he had. 75% of the fun of my job is customer interaction. I love having conversations at the register that would never happen otherwise. It is a special thing to know what Johnny thinks about the new Colombia, and that he painted his master bath steel gray last weekend. Or that Glen met a lady on the internet and they went to the symphony together. 

Customer-Barista: Not, in fact, the same as Barista-Customer. The dynamic is different from the other side of the bar, because you as the customer are being welcomed into something. It's cozy to walk into a coffee shop and have someone behind the counter smile not because they have to, but because they know you (Like, seriously, the sweetest thing in the world to experience). I babysat my barista's baby last Saturday afternoon, because we're on that level. Because she took time to connect and do more than the bare bones of her job. And also because I told her I was obsessed with her baby, and she didn't think it was weird. Bless her. And then there are the Monicas. People who love on their baristas, and make them cookies, and make an 8-hour shift a little bit easier just by showing up. If you are a regular at a coffee shop, chances are you are talked about and adored by the staff. Because you feel like our family, too.

And that is the beauty of coffee shops. Little moments of connection that make a day brighter. Sure, coffee is the thing that draws this community together. But then it becomes Denim Dress Twin Tuesday with Ashley, or talking for hours about music or "I see you all the time in here, my name is Rachel". And suddenly, somehow, a coffee shop feels like coming home. 

On my drive back to Nashville, I stopped at my favorite Kansas City spot and saw Jim and Jenny and little Isla. We all knew we recognized each other, but it took a minute to figure out why. Then there was this mutual moment of "OHHH, The Roasterie!" And we spent a few minutes catching up on life. I drove away with the warmest feeling, because that is the reason I love what I do. Because being a barista is an opportunity to build and sustain community in the most beautiful way: by loving on people in the act of serving them, and being a part of their daily life, even if just for the time it takes to steam a pitcher of milk.

(In case anyone was wondering, yes I did write this post at my favorite coffee shop. Cheers.)

Beer Analogies

One of my favorite hangs in Nashville is the deck of a craft beer establishment on 12th Avenue. It is a porch that has heard some of the best, and also some of the silliest, conversations. A deck that I have sat on with the dearest people I know. Beer, like coffee, brings people together in a powerful way, ya know?

The other night, my friend Kate and I were sitting with our Stiegl Radlers (seriously the greatest grapefruit explosion of your life) in the setting sun, talking life. Specifically, talking about what it looks like to let go of something. And the reality of a situation versus false hypotheses about a situation. Because, let's be real, how easy is it to act, react, and make decisions based off unfounded notions rather than actuality? I know I spend far too much time in a world of reality I have concocted largely out of nothing. It is safer and more comfortable to assume we are right; to put on blinders rather than to take a hard look at the facts. Because some facts are hard to swallow. Some facts make us look bad. Some facts don't just make us look bad, they reveal harsh truth about what we have done. Some facts hurt.

Somewhere in the middle of a Radler and potato wedges, we came up with the kind of analogy that can really only come from a beer hang. It's two boats, floating side by side. On the one hand is the boat with all the reality. The boat that isn't loaded down with fantasies and assumptions and biases. It's just a boat of facts. A boat of truth, if you will. A boat that moves quickly and confidently through the water.  The other boat rides a little lower in the water, because it carries a lot of baggage. A lot of what ifs, and but maybes, and lies and accusations and pain. It's also got a big armchair, for sitting and mulling over old wounds. This boat feels safe, but is actually dangerously close to capsizing all together.

Imagine, then, that the reality-boat floats alongside the other, and a rope is thrown and the two are connected. You, the passenger, jump from the dangerous armchair and the clutter onto the clean, pristine deck of reality. Phew. But the danger-boat is still attached. And you kind of want it that way. Because what happens if you lose all that baggage? All the things you've told yourself, false or partly true or all true (but twisted in a bitter light), that acted as a band-aid are on that other boat. To let it go completely feels impossible.

Here's what Kate and I decided. Ya gotta let that other boat loose. Full healing doesn't come until the baggage is set to sail. Forgiveness can't happen if you're still sitting on old wounds. There is just literally actually 100% nothing good that can come from hanging onto that sinking boat. I don't know if you've ever felt this way, but sometimes I think forgiveness will hurt worse than holding on to bitterness. I know cognitively that isn't the case, but my mind comes to that conclusion anyway and will not budge. It feels more dangerous to let go than it does to hang on to the baggage of the past.

But here's what I know now: Forgiveness and healing happen when you look at the situation, acknowledge is for what it is (reality and all), accept whatever hurt it brings, find the joy, and choose to move forward. Like my pal Oswald Chambers says, "Let the past sleep, but let it sleep in the sweet embrace of Christ, and let us go into the invincible future with Him."

I'm reminded of the song "Come Sail Away" by Styx.

Beer bonding is a beautiful thing.

Puzzle Pieces and Planning.

One time I had a crush on a coworker and it was the most ridiculous thing. I was legitimately head over heels for a guy that, sweet as he was, was not boyfriend or marriage or anything material for me. I say for me, because I'm sure he's someone's husband/boyfriend/anything material, but I am not that someone. Still, for about five months of my life I was CONVINCED this dude was potentially it. That some magical thing was going to happen and we would be 2gether 4ever. And I was so frustrated with myself, and with God, and with the unfairness of life in general, because the puzzle pieces that I saw fitting together, weren't. They were very much not fitting together. Like, we weren't even putting together the same puzzle.

It took about two weeks of me not living in the same city as him for the fog to be lifted, at which point I had a great laugh about that most ridiculous crush. And then I felt bad for roller coaster I put my friends on moaning about him for five months, when clearly everything they said about how wrong he was for me was one hundred percent correct. Outside perspective is a valuable commodity in the love game.

Coworker dude is one example. I have more. More examples of me trying to jam a round peg into a square hole, a triangular hole, a freakin' hexagon hole, whatever. (I don't wanna TALK about the summer after my freshman year of college.) Lots of times I saw potential and was sorely disappointed. And, in the midst of it, it was so hard (ie: impossible) to hear that outside perspective which, incidentally, is only a valuable commodity if you make use of it.

Fast forward a couple years. I'm there again. I saw great potential for a beautiful story to unfold, and it didn't. The puzzle pieces ended up not fitting. Round peg, not a round hole. This time hurt worse than the rest, for a thousand reasons that maybe won't matter five years from now. But the story is the same. I'm frustrated, and wounded, and wondering why the plan I made didn't pan out. Why something that theoretically looked so good turned out so badly.

My first reaction is to blame myself. I love to heap coals on my own head, always have. It's a terrible habit. My next reaction is to blame the guy who (dammit) won't adore me like I want him to. As if it's his fault he doesn't find me totally irresistible (?!). Then, after a while, I tend to blame God. I get really bent out of shape about the unfairness of the world and ask questions like, "Well, why does he get to find someone and I don't?! Will I be single foreverrrr?!" Which sounds silly, but I know every woman asks the same thing at some point in her life. Unrequited love is the worst, and being single is hard. There's no other way to spin it.

But here's the silver lining: The Lord has yet to abandon me in my hilariously tragic quest for love. In fact, He keeps showing up just in time to save me from some pretty big mistakes. He has this way of yanking me out of danger, of making it impossible for my plan to succeed, so that my eyes will open and I will see His footprints in the sand. And, okay, it hurts like freakin' hell sometimes. But I'm learning how to see it like this: "The kinder and more conscientious [the surgeon] is, the more inexorably he will go on cutting. If he yielded to your entreaties, if he stopped before the operation was complete, all the pain up to that point would have been useless." Wise words from my main dude, C.S. Lewis, from his book, A Grief Observed. I keep thinking God doesn't know what He's doing, or that He's out to get me. But then I look behind me and see the landmarks of grace; of times heartbreak turned out to be His version of a rescue mission. Given the evidence, it's probably safe to guess He has my back today just like he did when I was 15, and 18, and 22.

Big picture, the Lord continually pours out love and grace in quantities I will never deserve and cannot fathom. And He is orchestrating something I will not understand until it's right under my nose. He's putting together the puzzle, and He is the only one who knows where the pieces go. His promise is this, "I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out-- plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for." (Jeremiah 29:11, The Message). It's a promise He has been whispering every day for my whole life, and there are days I totally miss it. Those days, it feels like everything is crashing down and the world is ending. But it's not. Because He is good.

Which means that it is ALL good.

Free Fall

There was a point in my life, pretty recently actually, that I didn't feel anything. Seriously. It sounds pretty nuts, but I didn't. I was empty and dry and there was an emotional wall no one could break down. One person in particular tried very, very hard to crack me. But nothing.

I couldn't for the world tell you what the problem was. There was no defining moment, no catastrophe, that caused the emptiness. I think it might have been gradual. An unintentional building up of a wall I didn't know was there, until all of the sudden I tried to walk past it. Regardless, I spent about a year unable to dig out an emotional response to anything other than the final scene of "Love Actually". I was very stuck. And I could feel, somewhere deep down, that it wasn't good.

Now, all I have are feelings that go so deep it seems like they are coming from the center of the earth. From the center of my soul. Maybe from the center of God. I don't even know what that means, but it sounds about right. I have been awakened to my heart's capacity to feel. I am stunned by that capacity, and more than a little afraid. There is a lot going on in there that I don't know what to do with. The scope of my insides is vast. It's like an emotional ocean that I am never going to get to the bottom of, but I feel like there is some pretty important information about the way I've been wired somewhere on the ocean floor.

So, what, I'm doomed to fail because I'm so deep? 

That doesn't seem fair.

At the same time, I'd rather be here than in the place that was so blank. I remember sitting in the dark with my best friend, unable to speak because there was literally nothing in my head. Now there's so much in there, it seems impossible to sort through it. 

I don't want to be blank.

I want to be full. To feel.

I just wish it didn't hurt so bad sometimes.

But I guess pain is proof that we are alive. That we are breathing and blood is pumping through our veins. That we are human. And that's good. God gave us souls, and souls feel things. That's how it works. That's why we're set apart from the rest of creation, and why eternity exists. I definitely don't feel stuck anymore. I feel very much like an out-of-control cart rolling down a mountain. Or a toddler taking her first wobbly, tottering run. Or like I'm free-falling. 

Maybe, potentially, that is the feeling I'm supposed to have. The more out of control I feel, the more control God can take. The deeper my soul goes, the further He can reveal Himself, which I think might reveal some things about me. That seems scary. But good. Scary good.

I'll take it.

Car Batteries

A few weeks ago, I ran into an ex and my car wouldn't start. Normally, those two situations wouldn't coincide, but in my case they did. He showed up at a moment I was not expecting to have to see him, just as I was getting in my car. Instead of being able to make a quick exit, my car wouldn't start. I panicked. Because I couldn't figuratively (and literally) escape the moment, and because, oh hey, I had a dead car.

I borrowed cables from a coworker, jumped the battery and drove off; furious at the ex, furious at my car, and furious at myself. At him because he didn't offer to help, at my car for not having my back when I needed an out (dumb car), and at myself for the way my heart was pounding. I hate, hate, feeling inadequate. And in that moment, a thousand things were making me feel inadequate.

Multiple phone calls later, all my options for cheap car repairmen (ie: friends who knew things about cars) were tapped out and I still had a dead battery. Fact: when I am emotionally worn out, every situation takes on a much bigger scope than it probably actually deserves. So my inner monologue went something like this:

My car won't start. I can't fix it myself. This is bad. I'm a failure. If I still had a boyfriend he would be fixing it for me and everything would be okay. Why isn't he here??? What did I do wrong, and why am I alone? It must be my fault. Everything is my fault. Why was I so dependent on him, anyway?! I'm fine. I don't need anyone else because I'm fine. Yeah okay I AM NOT FINE. AND MY CAR WON'T START.

So, okay, not exactly a sane reaction to a dead car battery. But that's life. Sometimes a dead battery carries a lot of baggage. Especially when you're already feeling like a failure. But then I thought to myself... Hey. I can change a damn battery. And this tiny little spark of something like independence, with a splash of sass, ignited.

I ended up calling a friend who took me to Auto Zone, where I bought a new battery and something to rub on the battery and asked the salesman just how hard it was to change a battery. Turns out, the instructions are right there on the internet and you only have to use one tool. I can handle one tool. I don't happen to own a wrench, so I went over to my married friend Kyle's house to borrow his wrench. But I didn't let him do it for me. He helped, because wrenches are tough, and also I didn't want to blow up my car, but I lifted the super heavy old battery out and put the super heavy new battery in, and rubbed the battery stuff on there. And my hands got really dirty and I felt really good.

I am not inadequate. I have spent a lot of time feeling like I am. But I'm not.
I am adequate.
I am capable.
I am okay.

Sure, I don't like being single and I want to know someone loves me enough to change my battery for me. But the fact is that I can change my own damn battery. There's a lot of freedom in the knowledge that I can change a car battery, and also that I now own my own set of jumper cables and can use those without blowing anything up. I'm still wrestling with inadequacy, and fear, and singleness. But I'm going to be just fine.

And so will my car.

Vision in the Valley, Part II

The other thing I learned about vision came from the July 6 devotion from My Utmost for His Highest.

Sometimes, God gives us the vision, promises His protection, and lets us dance on the mountaintop, basking in the joy of knowing He has something big and special for us to do. Oswald wrote, "We always have a vision of something before it actually becomes real to us." 

Aha. That's the kicker. It has to become real. C.S. Lewis illustrated the journey to Christ as a walk down a mountain. You can stand at the top of the mountain and see your destination... that sweet little cottage that has a fresh cup of tea waiting for you. It feels so close. But, in order to get there, you have to hike down the mountain, out of sight of the house. So far out of sight, it may seem impossible that you will ever find it again. When your eye is on the prize, any task seems doable. As soon as the dark trees cover the view and your bug spray starts wearing off, it's like WHAT THE ACTUAL HECK IS HAPPENING.

I'll tell ya what's happening. You're on the right track.

In order for the vision to become reality, "God takes us down to the valley to batter us into the shape of that vision." (Thanks, Oswald.) He will reveal the vision, the promise of what is coming, then He says, "Okay, kid, let's get ready for it." And forward we walk. But Satan is quick to jump in with temptation. Fear, discouragement, lies. Suddenly, the vision disappears and we feel abandoned. What happened to the vision?! WHEN DID THIS FOREST GET SO SCARY. In the moment, the time spent coming down the mountain feels endless. The goal is nowhere to be seen. Honestly, you forgot what you were moving towards in the first place.  

Have you ever been in that spot? Did you see the vision, only to have it disappear behind a bend in the road? It is a terrifying place to be. It's hard, and uncomfortable, and exhausting. But, "Every God-given vision will become real if we will only have the patience...ever since God gave us the vision, He has been at work." I will be the first one to tell you patience is one of my biggest struggles. I want the problem fixed yesterday. I want the circumstances to change immediately. I like to take the reins and make stuff happen. But good things? Those take time. And God? God's got all the time in the world. He's not hurrying. He is taking His time to make sure I am in shape for the goal. There is literally nothing I can do to speed up the process. And that is okay. The process doesn't need speeding up. The process is what it is, and walking (trudging, slogging, stumbling... you pick) through it is precisely what God has in mind. The only way to get from point A to point B is to make the journey, however long it takes. No rushing. Hard as it is, there is great peace in that reality. It means I don't have to make things happen. What will be, will be. I only have to trust the vision, and press on.

I think the most important truth to hang on to is that the valley is a place we are brought. God takes us down on purpose, in order to bring us back up infinitely better prepared for Kingdom work. It doesn't make sense, but there it is. I don't think we ever recognize the valley as part of the plan until we come out on the other side. Or maybe we recognize it when we take our eyes off the ground and look up. Ah, that's it. There is joy in the valley if we look heavenward, and choose to see Jesus. A dear friend sent me this prayer, from a collection of Puritan prayers called "The Valley of Vision".  

Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,

where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights; 

hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory.

Let me learn by paradox that the way down is the way up, 

that to be low is to be high, 

that the broken heart is the healed heart, 

that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit, 

that the repenting soul is the victorious soul, 

that to have nothing is to possess all, 

that to bear the cross is to wear the crown, that to give is to receive, 

that the valley is the place of vision.

Vision in the Valley, Part I

When I was in college, I found my grandpa's daily devotional book. It was My Utmost for His Highest, by Oswald Chambers. Each dated page has a short verse, and a few paragraphs of reflection (sometimes rebuke), and wisdom. I know he's not God, but Oswald knows what's up. I bought myself a copy of My Utmost, and have been using it on and off for about six years. It's interesting (and hilarious, perfect, etc.) how timely certain entries have been. I can forget to read for a week, then pick it up and BAM, my world is rocked by some soul-revealing truth. The Lord works in mysterious ways, am I right?

For the past week or so, Oswald's theme has been about vision. Or, more accurately, what to do when God gives us a vision, and we lose sight of it when the waves start rolling. To say that theme is applicable to my heart is an understatement. So, here is my unpacking of Oswald, Jesus, and vision, part one.

On June 27, Oswald's verse of choice was from Jeremiah. "'...I am with you to deliver you,' says the Lord." 

Jeremiah 1 is the story of Jeremiah's calling. God says, "Hey, dude, it's Me. It's time to do what I made you to do." 

Okay, first off, that is huge. Huge. I am reminded of the scene in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, when Aslan crowns the four Pevensie kids kings and queens of Narnia. They were clueless, ill-prepared and afraid. They were children. But Aslan made them royalty, and prepared them to fulfill their roles. He bestowed upon them dignity, power, and identity, even though they didn't deserve it or earn it. God works the same way, I think. He delights in using us, though we are broken people. He has a vision specific to you, and He shares it with you and promises to prepare you for it.

Initially, Jeremiah's all like, "Umm, I can't do all that. It sounds hard and I'm scared. Everyone will be mean to me."

Because humans get scared real quick. We see the vision, or part of the vision, and we're like UM NO THANK YOU I CAN'T EVEN. Maybe because we imagine trying to handle it in our own strength. I've noticed that more often than not, God's plan for a person's life is far grander than anything they would have concocted alone. Not grand in the sense of pearls and velvet and fame. But He knows that, by His power, we are capable of more than we think.

God responds to Jeremiah, "I will protect you. Do what I'm asking of you, and I will protect you. Don't worry about defending yourself, protecting yourself, or seeking justice for yourself. Just carry on in what I tell you to do, and I will handle the rest." 

I am a huge proponent of seeking justice. I do it selfishly all the time. If I feel I have been wronged, I have the hardest (hhhaaarrrdddeeessst) time letting it go. On the outside, that seems totally normal, even okay. Of course I'm allowed to be mad at the man who broke my heart. Of course I can be frustrated by a friend who has treated me poorly. There is every kind of justification in the world for holding on to hurt feelings. It's righteous anger, right? It's okay to be mad at a situation that is bad. 

But... "I am with you to deliver you." 

Wait. What? You mean it's not up to me to seek justice? It's not my job to fight for myself? Nope. Nope it's not.  Oswald wrote, "Wherever God sends us, He will guard our lives...looking for justice is actually a sign that we have been diverted from our devotion to Him." Y'all. That right there is the BIGGEST relief. Know what it means? It means I don't have to hold on to grudges in an attempt to rectify injustice. If a situation needs to be dealt with, God will make it happen. He is in the ring for me; I don't have to fight my own battles. I can focus on the vision. If I follow the Lord, and listen for His voice, and carry on in the work He has put before me, He will handle the hard stuff.

It's maybe the most freeing lesson I've ever learned. If God is fighting for me, two things become true:

1) There's no way I'm going to lose. If God is for me, who (seriously who?!) can be against me? Courage comes from the bone-deep knowledge that, ultimately, God wins. And if He wins, I win.

2) I can focus outward, and quit worrying about myself so much. Self-pity and self-seeking justice are unnecessary in light of God's promise to deliver. There is freedom to get out there and try, freedom to fail, and freedom to love big. There is freedom to forgive, too.

When God reveals the vision, step one is to agree to follow Him. To give up the need for control, and wholeheartedly walk into whatever He asks. The great thing is, we don't have to walk forward without the assurance that He is walking with us. 

"I am with you to deliver you." 

Written from the trenches.

Something big came up this week.

Honestly, "something big" has been coming up every week for most of 2014. I realized the other day that this year is nearly half over. And the thought bounced through my mind: "Well thank God it's almost done," as if a change of date will bring a change of circumstance. (Incidentally, it probably won't.) And the very next thought that popped up was, "Sweetheart, you asked for this. I'm working."

And that stopped me in my tracks.

This year-- this ridiculously hard, painful, confusing year-- is a direct answer to the prayer I whispered so many months ago. A prayer for the revival of my heart. A prayer for the recreation of the lukewarm life I was living. He answered, and my heart rebelled.

I have spent a lot of time wrestling with God and crying out to Him because of my circumstances. I have been discontent, impatient, afraid, and panicked. I have been convinced, at times, that God had surely turned His back to me. I have begged and begged for understanding, for clarity, and for closure. I have fought for acceptance, I have fought for love, and I have fought to be desired. Mostly, I think, the desire part. My heart longs to be desired, to be wanted. I feel it so deep in my gut, it hurts most of the time. Literally.

Well, all that effort has been 100% fruitless. All the fighting, all the trying, all the begging. Nothing has worked. Frankly, y'all, it's hella exhausting.

Two days ago, I sat in church. I love church, but I also hate it because I always end up crying. That's what happens when God does open heart surgery. There's not a lot to hold back the floodgates. I sat there, thinking about how undesirable I am and how alone I feel and how royally I seem to have screwed everything up. And then, we read this:

Some went out on the sea in ships;
    they were merchants on the mighty waters.
²⁴ They saw the works of the Lord,
    his wonderful deeds in the deep.
²⁵ For he spoke and stirred up a tempest
    that lifted high the waves.
²⁶ They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths;
    in their peril their courage melted away.
²⁷ They reeled and staggered like drunkards;
    they were at their wits’ end.
²⁸ Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
    and he brought them out of their distress.
²⁹ He stilled the storm to a whisper;
    the waves of the sea were hushed.
³⁰ They were glad when it grew calm,
    and he guided them to their desired haven.
³¹ Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love
    and his wonderful deeds for mankind.

Psalm 107. A picture of how, sometimes, God puts you through hell to bring you even closer to Him. 

And somewhere in the middle of Psalm 107, I heard this whisper:

"Precious girl, I want you. I desire you. Believe me, please."

And, okay, I burst into tears. Because God was telling me He wanted me. He actually really wants my heart so fiercely, He will push me to my limits, to the places where I feel I will absolutely not survive, in order that I will collapse into Him. I prayed for a heart-level recreation, and He is in the process of answering. He is stirring up that dang tempest for one reason: He wants me.

Let's take that in for a second. Because it applies to everyone, not just me.

God. Wants. Us. He wants me. He wants you. His desire is so great, the Being sitting at His right hand at this moment has holes in His hands and feet. And somehow I still sometimes don't believe it. But, y'all, there's even grace for that. God is relentlessly pursuing me, and actively showing me grace when I don't respond well to His pursuit. He does the same for you.

It is actually the most mind-blowing reality imaginable. And, the more I've thought about it, the more I realized God has actually spent a lot of time answering my prayers this year. Some of them in the exact way I wanted, some not so much. But He is most certainly listening.

Because He wants me.

So, listen, it's a process. I still feel like a certifiable lunatic 99.5% of the time. I still can't see where this is going or what the point is. But I am starting to see God's hand moving. I can trace where He has been, and marvel at the plan as it has unfolded thus far. Undeniably, He is gettin' shit done. (Is it okay to say shit in reference to God??) 

2014 is half over. If I had it my way, the second half would be wildly different. Maybe it will be. Also maybe not. Regardless, 
Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind.

Why I'll probably visit Stockholm.

Today, I met Josephine.

Josephine left the coffee shop at the same time I did, and she asked me what there was to do and if I knew the number for the cab company. She had really cool high-waisted red pants and an accent. It was Swedish, which I never would have guessed, but she filled me in.

I offered to drive her to another coffee shop, since the one we were sitting outside of was about to close, and she agreed. More power to her, for consenting to get in the car with a total stranger. Although, let's face it, I'm not intimidating.

A quick ride turned into a beer and talking about style, travel, Stockholm, Nashville, siblings, and our life plans. We talked about Swedish aristocracy and American politicians (personally, I'd trade the politicians for the aristocracy). I learned that the only reason Sweden has a royal family is because Napoleon gifted Sweden to one of his generals. Like, "Oh, you won that battle for me? Take this country. Thanks a mil." Josephine commented that young people in Stockholm spend a lot of time achieving a style that the young people of Nashville just kind of let happen naturally. And, apparently, within the last two years everyone in Stockholm has grown a beard. We talked about immigration and how Sweden really does have the best healthcare and education programs ever. Because they're free.
She told me about the parties that happen at Midsummer, the longest day of the year. Which, in Sweden, is actually a huge deal because the sun only sets for about two hours. All the girls dress in white and wear flower crowns, and everyone goes to the country for a picnic and games and dancing around a decorated pole. Then they lay out on the grass and watch the sun set, and rise again. It sounds magical, and I want to go someday.
We traded travel stories, and talked about the places we've been. She told me about the time her mom made her stay in Italy for two years. Forgotten memories of European adventures with my sister came vividly to mind and brought joy to my heart all over again. And I remembered the sweet contentment that comes only from being somewhere you don't belong.
Then we went to a symphony concert in the park, because why not? and talked about dance, music, and Mozart. In Canada, I now know, they make you practice an instrument while you're in school and you don't even get to pick which one. And Josephine's dad used to own a restaurant that played only Mozart in the background.

Josephine has a lot of knowledge, which she very generously shared with me. She shared some knowledge with me unconsciously, too. But I took notes. For instance, boldness (ie: talking to that ombre-haired girl with the iPhone) is almost always a good idea, because it can lead to a night at the symphony with a new friend. And traveling stretches the mind and makes it bigger, wiser, and more interesting. There is such richness to be discovered, if we will get outside of ourselves for a moment and look.
Yeah, that was the big one. Getting outside of myself. I have become very inwardly focused, very narrow-minded lately. It has caused great anxiety and fear and unnecessary angst. Tonight I was reminded how big the world is, and how small I am in it. Which could be depressing, except that it's not.

My troubles, which seem so big, are so very small on a global scale. There is much to enjoy, much to discover, much to make happen. And the beauty is that I can be a part of the enjoyment, the discovery and the doing by simply being, and seizing opportunity as it comes.

Josephine taught me a lot, but what she taught me mostly was to look up and out. Not in. To focus on my surroundings, not my circumstances.

And, hey, now I have a friend in Sweden.