I've moved!

Sweet readers,

BIG NEWS!

My blog, now under the name Wild Laurel, has moved! Same thoughts, same journey, same me. Just a little bit fancier.

Follow me at:

wildlaurelblog.com

Cheers.

Feet on Dreams.

Sometimes we have a dream. You know, a heart dream that nestles down into us and flares up every so often like a shooting star.

Sometimes those dreams sit in an armchair in our brains until they become old and gray, unused. And some dreams put their feet on the ground and start running. Those are the kinds of dreams that make the world spin. The kind of dreams that lead to lightbulbs and bestsellers and discovering America. 

My boss Gracie has those kinds of dreams. A ton of them. They have led her to start a small business focused on crafting handmade jewelry and clothes, changing the lives of women in her community, and creating a brand that celebrates womanhood, community and beauty. All in under two years.

I think dreams are a love language, created by Jesus. He delights in planting something in our hearts that will take root and blossom and burn in us until we make it happen. It's how He changes the world. It's how He teaches us to trust. The biggest dreams, the ones most worth going after, are never going to come easily. 

And I really truly believe He puts such dreams in everyone. Maybe you haven't found yours yet, but I bet if you sit on it for a little bit, the dream would come to you.

In November I had an dream grab me by the hand and take off. 

Writing a book was one of those things I always assumed I would do. Eventually. Key word: eventually. Like, at the age of 45, after years of gathering wisdom and once I had become someone worth listening to. It never occurred to me to write a book now.

As last year drew to an end I took a moment to catch my breath and survey the damage. Sounds dramatic, I know, but a lot happened and it took some processing. One way I processed, season to season, was through writing. Obviously. If you followed this blog at all, you probably picked that up. But I also journaled through tears and in moments of fear-shattering joy. I word-vomited all over Moleskin notebooks and in iPhone notes. Without meaning to, I told a story. 

It's kind of impossible to recognize a story as it's happening. There is no rhyme or reason, no plot, no obvious inciting incident or climax, when you'e living it. But in November, I started to gain a little perspective and see the story. I had just lived through a pretty life-changing thing. Life changing not because of the circumstances (the circumstances were pretty ordinary, honestly, in the grand scheme of things), but life changing because of what I saw Jesus accomplish. He chased me and stole my heart and made it new.  And it occurred to me that the thing you do with stories, is tell them. 

I began to gather all my old blog posts, journals and letters and put them in chronological order. I edited and organized and added a little bit more to the end, and by the second week of January I had a book.

And I'll be self-publishing that book in about two weeks.

I don't expect it to blow up, or even to make a medium-sized splash. I'm mostly just doing it to know I can. Why wait until 45, when what I have gained at 24 is worth sharing? And I'm confident this story is worth sharing.

So, I'll keep you posted. I've given myself a deadline that (hopefully) I will stick to, and there is much to do before then. I am so excited. And scared. Blogging is one thing, putting a year's worth of heartbreak and learning and soul battles in print is downright terrifying. But it also feels good.

While I'm finishing this dream up, go find yours. And we'll drink some coffee and chat about it. And give praise to the biggest Dreamer of them all, who loves to see our dreams run wild.

No day but today: a study in contentment.

Contentedness is one of those ever-elusive, constantly discussed parts of "good Christianity", I think.

It's very trendy to be single but be all, "it's okay, I'm content in the Lord" or to say things like, "Man, you just need to learn to be content. Like Paul was in jail that one time." We always assume that only the super-Christians are actually content. Because it seems there is constantly something in the way of us being cool with where we are in life.

And, if you're anything like me, not being content feels like a big fat sin. And with that comes a lot of shame. "Why am I not content? What's wrong with me? Why can't I freakin' chill?"

Know what I'm talking about? We get this guilt complex about not being able to "rest in the Lord" (whatever that means), and spend way too much time focusing on how ungrateful we are and it can be very stressful.

In the past six months or so, when people have asked how I'm doing, I've told them very honestly that I'm taking life one day at a time. Usually with a little giggle, and a devil-may-care hair toss, but the root of that phrase goes deep. There was a time when it really did take every grace from God for me to make it from sunrise to sunset. And even though I've got my swag back now, I still focus on taking life just one day at a time. Each day has enough troubles of its own, am I right?

 Here are the perks of taking life on a day-to-day basis:

1) Is some looming future event stressing me the H out? Yes. Has that event arrived as of today? No. Can I live with the knowledge of that event today? Totally. So I don't have to worry about three months from now. Great.

2) A bad day is just that-- a bad day. A singular 24-hour period. Then I'll go to bed and wake up and get to start all over on a clean slate.

3) It's a lot easier to spot and appreciate little goodies in a day, when you treat that day like your first and last. Like my favorite customer coming to say hi, or frosted heart cookies at Provence.

Also, this: My very favorite phrase, It is what it is, has secret powers. By that I mean, I've been saying it to myself and out loud a whole lot. Sometimes flippantly, sometimes as a lifeline, but a whole lot regardless. And I think the words have somehow sunk into my soul and are actually starting to shape my responses. I am learning to shake it off, shake it off (to borrow a phrase). Acceptance brings an amazing amount of freedom.

The other day, I was talking to my friend Aaron about our dailys, and he asked how life was. "Great," I said. "It's beautiful. I'm not where I want to be, exactly, but I'm okay with where I'm at."

He nodded his head, "Man, being content is such a huge blessing. What a cool place to be."

And I was like, WAIT. WHAT. I'm content?? This is what being content is? I DID IT?!

Yes. Praise and hallelujah, yes. The best part is, I did exactly nothing. Jesus, in all His grace and kindness, snuck into my fear and discontent and antsy itches and taught my soul to breathe deeply. He gave me lots of dreams, while at the same time training me to be present, one day at a time.

The circumstances that were freaking me out one, three, and six months ago haven't changed. Life is marching forward and I'm still very much trying to figure it all out. But I am, for the first time in a long time, settled. Not settled in a trapped way. I have a ton of plans and a ton of dreams and my feet are bouncing with anticipation. The horizon is glowing with promise. But it's not here yet, and I'm okay to wait. There is much to learn and grow in right in front of me, and buckets of goodness to enjoy. No need to study the future forecast with a furrowed brow, right?

By the grace of God, I have stumbled into true contentment. It won't last forever, because life comes in seasons and lessons have to be relearned always. But I'm soaking it up now, and reveling in the sweetness. And it feels GOOD, you guys.

All You Need Is

Have you ever gotten to the place of asking, "What's the point?"

Like, on a grand, existential scale. What is the actual point of anything, of life. I've gotten there a few times, as I try to sort out one thing or another. As I try to make sense of this life and the patterns of humanity and my own puzzling brain. What is the point?

My roommate, Chelsea, asked the question out loud this week. She asked in great earnest, coming from that place of just wanting to throw in the towel, because there's only so many times you can circle around the same ideas and canned answers before they start to seem worthless.

I didn't have a response. What I ended up saying sounded a little hollow, even as I said it. And after that I spent a lot of time thinking about the point of everything, and how that relates to my purpose and, ultimately, my identity. Because purpose and identity, I think, walk hand in hand. Part of knowing who I am is knowing what I'm meant to do. And here's where the "what is the point" question comes into play:

Say I'm good at making coffee. And I travel to cool places. And I make crafts. And I write a book, and it somehow gets wildly popular and I make some money. Say I'm known all across my city, I'm a person others recognize. Say I cross a bunch of things off a bucket list and people call me successful. Say all of that is true about me. On the other side of heaven, will it matter?

Not particularly.

So what is the point of it being true now, if this earth is temporary?

There is the existential crisis. I don't want my life to be pointless. I want to do big things and dream big dreams and make stuff happen.  But our time on earth is fleeting, and will not last. The things we do, say, create, and dream, will all vanish to nothingness in the grand scheme of eternity. That doesn't mean we shouldn't dream and create and do, but none of that is our ultimate purpose. So if all the doing fades away to nothing at the end of it all, then what is the point of even trying? 

What in the world is my purpose, actually? What will last into eternity?

I've been sitting on this all week, and have come up with only one answer. It's so simple, it doesn't seem right. But, the more I learn about the way God works, the more I'm understanding He is all about simplicity. So maybe this is getting close. 

In John 15, Jesus tells his disciples that in order to remain in his love, they must follow his commands. 

 “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete."

As I read, I kept glancing back up the chapter to see what exactly his commands were. Because, yes, obviously, I want to remain in Jesus' love, so, OKAY DUDE, tell me how to do that. But prior to verse nine, there is no mention of the commands that will, apparently, keep one in Christ's good graces. So I sped down the chapter, searching. 

And there it was, in verse 12. So simply put I was floored.

"My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you."

The only command. All Jesus asks of me. My sole purpose. Because there is one thing that will not disappear when this world is done, and that is my soul. Your soul. The soul of every human that has ever existed. The soul is the one part of us that will go on forever, either with God or away from Him. Which, I think, is why Jesus commands us to love each other.

At the end of all my days, it won't matter if I had a great career or saw the Eiffel Tower or made myself known. What will matter is the condition of my soul. What will matter is whether or not I am in Christ's love. And, according to John, the only way to stay in his love is to follow his commands. And his command is to love. 

So in the search for identity, the question of purpose is simple: Love. Love big, and love well. As Jesus loves me. That's the whole point.

I'm not dainty.

A new movement is taking shape in my life. It keeps cropping up in conversation, and in thought. It is starting to confuse me, intrigue me, and drive me freakin' crazy.

Who am I? More specifically, who did God create me to be, and where did that creation get lost?

Do you ever ask yourself that question? I realize I am introspective to a fault, and probably spend way too much time in my own head, but I also think this question of identity is one every human has or will struggle with, if they are willing to do so. My friend Tim has this theory that the qualities God put within us as our greatest strengths are the things Satan attacks the hardest. Which can mean the things I hate most about myself, the things I most want to change, are the very things that could be my greatest weapon and gift for the Kingdom.

It's pretty mind-blowing to think about.

And here's why I think there is some truth to it: Yesterday morning, I had a brand meeting for the blog (see how I slipped that info in there? More on that soon) with my friend Callie, who instructed me to create two mood boards on Pinterest so she could get an idea of what my brand should be. I ended up putting together two very different boards. One, labeled "dreamy", was monochromatic, delicate, dainty and light. The other I called "boho", and it was blazing with color, very adventurous and earthy and loud. Truth be told, I was leaning toward the first one. When I showed it to Callie, she liked it just fine, and even cooed over some of the pictures I used. But when I showed her the boho board, she said "Oh, Rachel, this one is you."

I felt a little let down when she said it. Because I knew it to be true, but I didn't want it to be. I didn't say anything out loud, but I chewed over my reaction for the rest of the day. It would seem that I am trying to change something about myself. The bold, brassy, bright part of me. I would rather be labeled as the dainty, delicate minimalist. Why?

I"m asking the question very genuinely. I don't know why yet. But I think it's about time to find out. I think it will unlock some big stuff. Tim agreed with me. When I told him about the boards, and about how I don't want to be the loud, bright, emotional, bold version of myself, he asked why. "None of those things seem bad to me, Rachel," he said. "Why do you think they are?"

I don't know. I don't know, but I'm ready to start digging.

Slow down, you crazy child.

Do you rest well? I do not. I am an on-the-go gal, thoroughly. My planner is full of coffee dates, and events, and if there is an inch of blank space, I am quick to call someone to fill it. My weeks are, more often than not, scheduled to the last second by Sunday night.

For a long time, I kept my calendar full because I was on the run from my fears about being alone and missing out. Then it just became habit to always, always have someplace to go. Only recently have I started to feel this little tug to just, like, chill. It's a very new sensation. But there are times when what I really do want is to just be at home.

The habit of always being busy is a hard one to kick. Even as I feel myself getting mentally exhausted, I still schedule one more coffee hang. Something in me feels the need to move, always. What is that? Why can I not rest?

So, yesterday was a Saturday. My morning was stacked high with plans for the farmer's market and monthly flea market, all with dear friends. Which is great. But Friday evening, one after the other, the plans fell through. My brain immediately jumped into hyperdrive. Gotta make new plans, who might be free? Who have I not seen in a bit? My fingers were literally hovering over my contacts list, when I felt the tug again. The tug to just. rest.

Oh. You mean I don't need to be busy tomorrow morning? It's okay to wake up to no plans?

So I did. Saturday morning, I slept in and awoke to bright winter sunshine bouncing off a fluffy dusting of snow. I stayed in my pajamas until noon. I made coffee. I started a new book, and got pretty far into it. I painted. Then I got a little antsy, so I called my mom. Which felt really good, because if I go too long at the start of a day without talking to someone I get stir crazy. Two of my roommates came back mid-morning and we shared big thoughts and also sat in quietness. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't doing. I was just being. And there was this light, airy sense of freedom around that whole beautiful morning that I realized was the spirit of restfulness.

I didn't leave my house until late afternoon. But the day didn't feel wasted, like I kind of thought it would. It had been a full day. A day of good talking, good thinking, and sweet rest. Instead of feeling spent, I felt full. Instead of needing to make plans happen, I felt content to let plans happen.

Starting now, I'm going to be a lot more intentional about taking time to rest. Because what yesterday taught me is that rest is joyful. And very, very necessary. If I can learn to rest, I will be better for it. For so long I relied on my community to fill me up. It got to the point where I literally needed them to survive. And, while community is great, if we treat community as a lifeline we will wear ourselves and everyone else out. If I don't know how to rest, and to be filled up in the stillness of solitude, I will become a taker instead of a giver. Which is not what I want at all. I want to be able to pour out as much as I'm being poured into, and not have to hang on to people for dear life. And I'm starting to think the key to being able to pour out is to know when to rest.

Who are you?

I read a lot of articles on BuzzFeed. Probably too much. I use it for dumb entertainment, sometimes for valid information, but mostly to take personality quizzes. I love personality quizzes. Please, World Wide Web, tell me which celebrity I should marry, or what my style is, or which Hogwarts house I should be sorted into (Hufflepuff, every time). Which, you know, is totally fine. Maybe.

It's been coming up a lot in my head, lately, the question of why I'm so into letting the internet tell me more about myself. Because, if we're being transparent, here, those quiz results carry way more weight than they should. Something about answering a series of completely absurd questions (What is your favorite meal? Where would you like to live?) and getting a certain description of myself at the end has become a sort of validation about who I am.

Yes, you read that right. I've gotten into this very bad habit of letting BuzzFeed quizzes define something about who I am.

WHAT?!

Now, listen, I'm not saying personality quizzes are bad. Mostly, they're hilarious and sometimes weirdly on point. But I kind of think this carries over into things like Myers-Briggs results, and aptitude tests, and the like. There is a part of me that clings to the results of these tests like a lifeline, because I've gotten in this habit of letting others name me. But at what point did it become okay for an outside source, especially one that knows my heart not at all, to speak into my identity?

Is this resonating with you? Do you know yourself? Are you completely confident in your identity, or is there a part of you that is unsure about who you are? And, if that's the case, do you let outside sources name the parts of you you can't identify? I think we all do, at some point or another. Probably far more often than we think. Here's a conclusion I've come to: our true selves are very hard for us to find, because they are buried under our expectations, our desires, outside opinions, and everything we are trying to make ourselves become. Am I right? Which is why there are times I turn to things like BuzzFeed, and my friends, and people who aren't friends at all, and I latch on to what they say about me because I don't know myself. Some of the things I latch onto are downright false. More often than not, the lies are things spoken innocently, but twisted by the Deceiver to feed my spirit poison. How easily he makes that happen! And how quick am I to believe it.

I think God wires into us the desire to be understood, and to understand ourselves. More than that, I think He very intentionally made it so the only way for us to truly begin to know ourselves is to first know Him. Our true selves, that identity hidden beneath layers of self-doubt, fear, expectation, opinions and culture, will never see the light until we are given the confidence to be freely who we are. And that confidence comes from exactly one place. The heart of God. He knows me, in a way no one else ever will. He understands how I am wired better than I do. The days that I feel like a crazy lunatic, God is not phased. He knows I like boys in plaid, but that boys with strong hands make me melt. He knows Myers-Briggs classifies me as ENFP, but there's a lot more to me than that. He knows. So why is it that it never occurs to me to ask Him about my identity? Why do I let everyone but God name me?

So I think maybe, for a bit, I'm going to take a break from BuzzFeed quizzes. Not because they're evil, but because my heart needs to learn where to seek its identity. Not on the internet, not in friends, not anywhere but in the heart of my Savior, who created me and knows me better than anyone, even Isabel Briggs Myers.