Defining Success.

These last few weeks have been a roller coaster, emotionally and spiritually. I laughed out loud when, in the midst of a meltdown, I read my own words from January about wanting God to shake my life up. Well, shake it up He has. And, I can confidently say, praise Him for it!

I learned something big this week. It is a game changer. A lightbulb. An epiphany.

I won’t say it is profound—I’m sure I’m not the first one to come up with it. In fact, I know I’m not. But it certainly is having a profound impact on my simple little life.

Here’s the deal.

For a long time, I have had two definitions of success:
1)   Be married with lots of babies.
2)   Have a (very bohemian theatre major version of a) career job.

In short, my definition of success was to have life together. If you had asked me to define success, these are not the answers I would have given you, but upon much reflection and sorting things out, it is obvious this is how my mind was subconsciously working.

I wasn’t necessarily gunning for both of those things to happen for me, but I definitely needed one or the other to be true in order to feel I had succeeded at life. I would have been content to marry a cute boy and raise a family with him, and I would have been equally content to have a fabulous non-profit, creative, exciting artsy job that would make everyone around me ooooh and ahhhh.

In the last year, both of those life goals looked like they were beginning to unfold. I approached one with reckless abandon, and the other with much trepidation and a lot of baggage. As it became clear that one goal was not going to pan out the way I wanted it to, I began to cling all the more fiercely to the other. And then, quite suddenly, I was left empty handed. Both of my avenues for success were shut down. 

You can imagine the frustration, hurt and confusion my prideful, competitive heart was feeling. I was angry. But more than angry, I was heartbroken. In fact, it is safe to say the heartbreak was masked by the anger. I was sad, lonely, and hurt, feeling like a failure because I felt those things, and my reaction was to get mad about it. Geez, emotions are a vicious cycle.

Throughout all of this roller coaster, I kept crying out to God. Why, oh why, was He letting me feel this way? There was nowhere to run from the problem I was facing, it was literally in front of my face daily. Every confrontation dissolved me to tears. I hated feeling out of control and weak. I couldn’t fix the mess I found myself in. That, to me, was the pinnacle of failure.

It was in the middle of all that mess I realized how I had been defining success, and how that was feeding into my panic. So, mentally, I got to a point of recognizing that defining success by my marital or job status was probably wrong. And success wasn’t a lack of emotion and being a stone cold fox all the time, because that is totally unrealistic. But I still didn’t know what success was.

But then, oh but then, after many tears and many prayers and much wrestling, the question was answered. It came like a whisper, and stilled my soul.

Success is not the absence of fear or weakness. Rather, success is leaning hard into the unfailing power and love of Christ in the face of failure and weakness.

Each moment of struggle, the daily doubts and fears, are, every one of them, opportunities for me to cry out to the Lord and for Him to answer. It is not my job to fix anything. It is not my job to have an Instagram-perfect life. My success is measured in how readily and how fully I turn to Jesus in the midst of trouble and say “Help me!”

And help me He will.

So if I have learned anything, it is that I have been successful indeed. Successful in hitting rock bottom, and admitting it, and begging for grace. Which, of course, I am swiftly granted. Because that is how God works. His power is most evident when I am in my weakest moment.

___________________

"And He has said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.' Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong."

Springing forward.

My favorite thing about the arrival of spring is the sense of great adventure that it brings, riding in on a sweet breeze.

Do you know the feeling I'm talking about? The sun starts to shine longer (I see you, daylight savings time) and birds start chirping in the morning again. The earth awakens and begins to play. Spring has arrived every year for the entire near-quarter century I've been alive, yet it still feels like a miracle every. single. time. Coincidence? I really don't think so. I count it on the list of ways God satisfies our hearts and lets us marvel.

Spring is a season for doing. Not checking off a list or drudging along at work, but doing great and wonderful things. (Like, but not limited to, painting the house and watching tulips bloom.)

This particular spring also happens to coincide with a season of big change for me. Which, honestly, is perfect. That sense of adventure in the air parallels with and is encouraging my explorer's heart. It's reeeeally hard to feel defeated or afraid in the face of adjustment when the weather is so perfect. The options feel as infinite as the blue sky. And infinitely wonderful.

I've been roving around Nashville looking for inspiration, and have not been disappointed. Hands down, my favorite thing about this city is the way it fosters creative hearts. For whatever reason, passionate people are able to make their wildest ideas realities here. From vintage peach trucks to Nash-inspired t-shirts to music. People of Nashville get it done.

I've decided I want to learn from the brilliant, creative minds I find myself surrounded by. I have no clue what I want to be when I grow up, so why not try a little bit of everything? Look at me, talking like I haven't a care in the world. Haaaaaaha. Don't get me wrong, it's a vaguely terrifying reality, having next to no direction. Sometimes I'm like JESUS TAKE THE WHEEEEEL. At the same time it's way fun. The door is wide open for every kind of shenanigan.

This is the plan:

1) Keep a running list of what I know makes my heart smile, for reference.
2) Find cool people who are doing cool things (even if they aren't on my list) and join them.
3) Learn how to make cool things happen from aforementioned cool people.
4) Do my own cool things.

 It's time to work hard, play hard, and figure life out. You're only twenty-three once, right? I have a grin on my face just daydreaming about it.

Spring is upon us, friends, and adventure is calling.

The Pursuit.

I have always been told that Jesus wants our hearts and will pursue us until He gets them. He is called the Great Romancer and He is supposed to be all we need. It has been drilled in my head since childhood. I know it, I believe it, blah blah blah blah.

OKAY BUT ACTUALLY. This week, it got real. My heart knows in a way it didn't before, that the Being I call my Savior is after me with a jealous love that I cannot ignore. This knowledge didn't come in a warm fuzzy quiet time or a heart-pounding worship service.

It came in the form of heartbreak.

I was asked, not commanded, but asked, to give up something that had become so incredibly dear to my heart. I was comfortable, pretty much content, setting myself up for what seemed like a really sweet time. And the Lord swept in and said, "That's cool, girl. You can go with that. Or you can come with Me. Your call."

I have never seen so clearly a choice placed before me by Jesus. There was a picture in my mind of a fork in the road, I at the crossroads. One avenue was picture-perfect, sweet, expected, and easy. The other was one of potential risk. Adventurous, scary, exciting, not clear. And my heart was torn. Because easy is comfortable, and I am a creature of comfort. But my heart longs for adventure. I crave it, though I do not always pursue it. God looked into my heart and said "Come with Me. Adventure awaits."

Oswald Chambers, who wrote one of my favorite devotional books ever, talks about fighting against despair in moments that, on the surface, look and feel like total failure:

"Let the past sleep, but let it sleep in the sweet embrace of Christ, and let us go into the invincible future with Him."

Brave words for a heart that is simultaneously breaking and pounding with anticipation of what is to come.

But there is peace, also. Peace that comes from the knowledge that I do not step blindly, but step into the will of a Father who desires me in my entirety. His wants only good things for me, and only He knows what those good things are.

I have a sneaking suspicion that His plans are bigger than I imagined.

21st Ave S

I'm sitting outside one of my favorite cafes in the city, braving a blustery wind because today is one of those rare winter days when the sun peeks out and the temperature is bearable and everyone rushes to be outside because they can't believe spring might actually be returning. There is even a saxophone player 100 feet away, providing an incredibly excellent soundtrack to this afternoon.

Joy always fills my heart when I sit here and take in the view of colorful shops all in a row, and colorful people bustling about their days. This is the first street in Nashville I fell in love with. I remember my first visit. I had just finished my junior year of college, and used some about-to-expire frequent flyer miles to come to Nashville. It was a perfect weekend. Summer had arrived in full force; the sun was out, not a cloud in the sky, and I was high on the feeling of accomplishment that only comes from leaving your textbooks behind for three months of freedom.

A friend invited me to spend the afternoon with him, exploring the city and catching up. We came to this street. I remember sitting on the brick sidewalk, eating frozen yogurt and thinking, "Oh yeah, this city is perfect. I want to be here."

While I have always been a big dreamer, I have not always been a big doer. My Nashville dream felt far away and unattainable for the next two years, as I toiled through senior year and the seemingly insurmountable goal of financial stability.

And yet, here I am. Sitting outside the very same cafe I walked past all that time ago. This is a place I come often. It is part of my life. The employees in the shops up and down this street have become friends. I am known. It was at this table, where I'm sitting now, I told a wonderful man that I would let him date me.

I have become one of the people I so envied the first time I came here.

This street is a reminder to me of God's grace, provision and goodness. A reminder that He has put desires in my heart that He WILL fulfill, in His own timing. Never, I've noticed, when I demand it, but when He deems me ready.

That knowledge, in addition to this sunshine, is cause for great joy.

For the (super broke, twenty-something) lovebirds.

Blues on the record player: Check

Cozy blanket: Check

Coffee mug: Check

Let's talk about date night.

(I know, right?! Who would have ever guessed I would be blogging about something as couple-y as date night?)

My handsome gentleman caller (who will henceforth be referred to as "Boyfriend") and I had a conversation a few weeks ago about dates, and what to do about them. Because, frankly, we are just as easily pleased with pizza and fifteen episodes of "Chopped" as we are with putting on real pants and going out for a fancy dinner. I know, how typically twenty-something of us. But, hey, we are both strapped for cash most of the time and pants are just... hard.

Lounging around all the time is not exciting, we've noticed. Nor is it stimulating. Boyfriend and I decided we wanted to spice things up. So I said to him, "I HAVE AN EXCELLENT PLAN, MY SWEET."

Thus was born, Ten Dollar Date Night.

WHAT YOU WILL NEED:
Ten dollars
A boyfriend
Target, Wal-Mart or the Dollar Store

WHAT YOU WILL DO:
1) Take your boyfriend to Target/Wal-Mart/the Dollar Store and give him five of your ten dollars. Tell him to pick out whatever he wants. You take the other  five dollars and do the same. If desired, up the ante and give yourselves a time limit. 20 minutes maybe?

2) Let the games begin.

This is what Boyfriend and I ended up with after our trip to Target:

BOYFRIEND:

Disney Princess tattoos

Baby Animal valentines

ME:

Star Wars puzzle

Bubble bath

Mini Airheads

We began our evening by tatting ourselves up. And by that I mean, I ended up with 15 trillion Disney princesses all over my forearm, and they didn't wash off for two days. No. Really. Two days. (THE PRICE OF LOVE, Y'ALL.)

Then we moved to writing valentines for all our favorite people, including each other. My roommate ended up with many sweet little nothings, since she happened to be home and we could just throw valentines at her.

Next, we hunkered down for a THRILLING half hour of putting together an incredibly difficult Millennium Falcon puzzle, with Airheads for sustenance. Those cosmos are no joke. They all look the freaking same.

Finally, for the grand finale, we lit all the candles I own and filled up the bathtub with hot water and bubbles. Which obviously meant...

We soaked our tired, old people feet in a bubble bath and listened to Louis Armstrong. (The best part was, Boyfriend had to sit on the toilet since the bathroom is set up such that only one comfy chair could be pulled up beside the tub.) Okay, so it wasn't as relaxing as I was thinking, but we cracked ourselves up in the attempt, so that counts for something.


 All I'm saying is, Valentine's Day is later this week. You're welcome.

Adventuring, Part 3: The Happiest Place on Earth.

Irish culture, lore and music is my JAM, especially after a viewing of the first ever Celtic Thunder show on PBS my senior year of high school. Friends, watching classy public television will always pay off.

My fascination with Ireland ran parallel to my European fascination throughout my adolescence and has continued into the roaring twenties. If anything, Ireland held an even higher place in my estimation for exactly one reason: at the age of thirteen, I read a book about Elinor of Aquitaine and the knight she was (fictitiously, I'm sure) crushing on. The knight's name was Clotaire the Strong. He was Irish.

As I giddily prepared for our trip to Ireland, I simultaneously braced myself for disappointment. No way could Ireland be all that I imagined. At the end of the day it's just a city like any other, right?

The moment we stepped on our Aer Lingus flight from Toulouse to Dublin, though, I knew I was wrong. Ireland absolutely could (and would) live up to every expectation and dream I had. My first clue was the incredibly-kind-even-on-this-eleven-pm-flight flight attendant. My second clue was the beautiful man at the bus stop who, with his perfectly lilting accent, helped two very tired and travel-worn Americans find the right bus. Even at midnight, in the pitch black and after having talked to maybe two Irish people, I was in love.

Here is how the Irish give directions: "Well, you walk down that road for about twenty minutes, take a left, and there you are!" Because of this, my sister and I spent many MANY hours walking  the streets of Dublin somewhat aimlessly. Well, we had an aim, we were just never anywhere near it. The upside was, we saw corners of the city we would've bussed right by had we not been too cheap to just take the dang metro.

Buskers on Grafton Street

We walked the same streets over and over again, to the point that Dublin, unlike Paris, began to feel like home. It also REALLY helped that there was no longer a language barrier. On our first afternoon in town, I dragged my legal-because-we-were-in-Ireland sister into a pub and made her share a Guinness with me. I may have been drawn in by the wink of the curly-haired musician strumming Irish folk songs on his guitar, but that is neither here nor there. (He did, however, sing a super excellent rendition of "Wagonwheel", "For the girl from Tennessee." Be still, my heart.)

We walked up and down Grafton Street, one of the main drags in the city, over and over again. Mostly because it was on our way to just about everything, but also because I truly loved being a part of all the bustle of humanity. It felt good in a way that I don't think I could explain, but I'm sure has something to do with all people being products of the same Creator. Right across from Grafton in St. Stephen's Green, a park that, on a good day, is full of joggers, strollers, nappers, and everything in between. Like a shirtless guy drawing in his sketchpad as if it wasn't weird at all.

Three of our five afternoons, we hopped on a bus or train and chugged an hour or so out of the city for little day trips. In Kilkenny, home of the best ice cream cone I have ever consumed, we tramped up winding streets and toured an actual Irish castle (bringing to fruition ALL my childhood hopes and dreams).We spent an afternoon on the pebbly beach of Killarney, and watched two wet-suited Irishmen teach their tiny wet-suited pupils how to surf.

Ireland, in short, felt like home. The most pressing question of the trip became, "So how can I get back here? Who doI have to talk to, who do I have to kill, how do I make myself a part of this place?"

On particularly adventurous days, a little bit of my heart soars over the pond and I want to follow it. Back to Dublin and adventure and whimsy. Hopefully, someday I will.

Someday feels a lot more tangible now that I've already done it once.

To create.

I am bad at resolutions. This is probably due to the lack of self-discipline that is (unfortunately) prominent in a lot of areas in my life (Oops. Thank God I have a naturally fast metabolism, because I can't stick to a diet for anything). Maybe it's just because I never write my resolutions down, and they are promptly forgotten. Either way. I am bad at resolutions.

A family friend has my same trouble, so she and her family have abandoned New Year's resolutions completely. Instead, each family member picks a word for the new year. Any word. A word that illustrates what they want to see happen over the next 365 days. A word that will inspire.

BRILLIANT.
(No, that's not my word, that's how I felt about picking a word)

This year will be a year of adventure. Of new things. Of learning and growing and change. So I picked the word create.

cre·ate

verb (used with object), cre·at·ed, cre·at·ing.

1.

to cause to come into being, as something unique that would not 
naturally evolve or that is not made by ordinary processes.

2.

to evolve from one's own thought or imagination, as a work of art or an invention.

3.

Theater. to perform (a role) for the first time or in the first production of a play.

4.

to make by investing with new rank or by designating; constitute; 
appoint.

5.

to be the cause or occasion of; give rise to.

Here's why:

I want to create community. If there is one thing I've learned since graduating, it is that community is much harder to come by in the drowsy, workaday real world. We're all tired, we all work hard, we're all broke. It's easier to sit at home and watch reruns of Barefoot Contessa and drink tea. But what is life without real, vibrant, close-knit community? It's boring, mostly, but it's also a little sad. And it's dangerous. We are created to be social beings. When our day-to-days lack consistent community and accountability, it is easy to lose sight of truth. If no one is there to be your wingman, it's way easier to be foolish. Also, going to Target alone is not nearly as fun as going with your bosom buddy. (Here's looking at you, Brittney).

I want to create art. There was a moment (such a brief moment) when I was all, "naaah, I don't need theatre. That's not steady, or lucrative, or grown-up." OH HOW WRONG WAS I. I hit (yet another) quarter life crisis recently, during which I realized I am living for my paycheck. I'm not doing what I love. My work is enjoyable, but it's not anything I'm passionate about. I sat back, after this horrifying realization, and was all, "Oh, great. Now what?!" Then I Googled every theatre and arts organization in Nashville. Because, frankly, what I love is the fantastical, imaginative, beautiful world of artists and dreamers. I believe wholeheartedly that art can, and will, change the world. And I want to be a part of it.

Finally, I want to be recreated. The last year and a half has been a challange spiritually. I went to some dark places, and made silly choices. My little heart is not much worse for the wear (if anything I just learned from experience), but I am beat. 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.

So, here it goes. A creative year that will challenge my heart, mind, body and soul. 

I'll keep you posted.