thoughts on summer ending.

This is real long, but bear with me. If you make it to the end, I'll give you a gold star.

Summer is winding down. Actually. It’s over. It’s Monday afternoon, and I’ve been up since 6:00 this morning. I’ve been to two classes and been assigned readings. I guess the start of another school year was inevitable – it couldn’t stay summer forever. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a huge part of me that is excited, hopeful, ready, and eager to start my senior year of college. I feel rejuvenated and ready to take on another year and learn how to be the best educator I can be. But there’s also a part of me that just isn’t ready to let this summer go. Saying goodbye to summer and hello to school is bittersweet. There’s so much to look forward to, but so much I’m not ready to let go of just yet.

A few years ago, I stopped making New Year’s Resolutions. I never thought it made sense to quit biting my nails or to get in shape or eat healthy. My New Year’s Resolutions inevitably fail, and after a long conversation with a dear friend, I decided to stop making them. Instead, I decided to choose one word (or a few words) and frame my year around that word. I would pray over the word and generally try to frame my decisions, my thoughts, and my actions around this word. My posture toward the year very much came from this word … or words.

I’ve been using this framework for a few years now, and it’s given me fresh perspective and rejuvenated my thinking toward New Year’s every year. I have a definite posture toward the year, and something to be challenging me throughout the entire year. I’ve even started to utilize this system in other areas of my life. Whenever I have a fresh start, I get out my post-its and make some words that I’d like to see lived out in the experience.

Only, I didn’t do it for this summer. And I’m not sure why, because this summer has been life-changing for me. I mean it, life-changing. I’ve had once-in-a-lifetime experiences packed on top of one another, without much time in between. I’ve gone from place to place and lived out of a suitcase. It’s been exhausting in the best possible way, entirely too much fun, and more challenging than I would have ever imagined. I’ve had my heart and my mind and my soul challenged and expanded and transformed in ways I didn’t think were possible. God has healed, transformed, comforted, redeemed, and strengthened my spirit. With every experience I’ve had this summer, I have become something more than I previously was; always growing, always learning, and always being made new by His grace and mercy. I knew this summer was going to be big before it even happened. How could it not be? Five weeks in Italy? A month spent working at a Young Life camp? Leading my first camp trip? How could it not be indescribably amazing?

But I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why I didn’t come up with some words to be praying on throughout my summer. Silly, Erin. Missing out. But, it’s okay, because I’m realizing that I have a list of words that were my summer. And even if I wasn’t praying over them specifically, they were still on my heart and a part of my life. Even though I couldn’t verbalize them while they were happening, I think God presented them to me through experiences and revealed Himself to me through that.

Not a coincidence, but a few of these words are on my ‘2011 Words’ list that I made in January. They are words that I have been praying on and hoping for, and God answers prayer. I have lived out these words, in addition to new words. They have shaped and grown me this summer.  I am so, so grateful for that.

BITTERSWEET. BECOMING. GRATITUDE. HEALING. STORY. SURRENDER. TRANSFORMATION.

BITTERSWEET. Bittersweet is an idea that I have become so attuned to after reading Shauna Niequist's  book Bittersweet. The idea that there is both something sweet and something bitter in every experience just rings so true. My summer has been defined by bittersweet. Every experience has had elements of both good and bad. Both light and dark. Both productive and challenging. Both exciting and scary. Both hopeful and weary. It's been a constant mix of bittersweet, and I'm realizing that in some capacity, that's just how life works. It's bittersweet and beautiful. And I've lived it everyday of this summer and continue to live it in my time at home.

BECOMING. I think I heard this phrase from a friend, but I also know Brennan Manning uses it in one of his books. It's one of those statements that has stuck with me ever since I heard it. It's the idea of  surrendering to the adventure of becoming. The idea that by surrendering our lives to Christ and choosing to follow Him, we're becoming something more than we have previously been. Which makes me think of one of my favorite verses, Mark 8:35. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it. When we lose our life for Christ, we gain completely new life. By His grace, we're made into something MORE. We become more of who are we in Him. I like the way Shauns Niequist talks about becoming in Bittersweet also:

I’m more certain than ever that prayer is at the heart of transformation. And also that God’s will has a lot more to do with inviting us to become more than we previously have been than about getting us to one very specific destination. God’s will, should we choose to engage in it, will generally feel like surgery, rooting out all the darkness and fear we’ve come to live with.

My life this summer, and this year really, and my whole life if I'm being honest, is about becoming. Every experience and every opportunity is a chance for me to follow God's will and become something more. In so many ways, this summer has been about becoming. About rooting out and dealing with darkness in my heart and surrendering it to Jesus and finding healing and being challenged and being dependent and becoming through that. 

GRATITUDE. Extreme thankfulness. My heart has been in a state of gratitude for everything I have had the opportunity to experience this summer. I'm beyond grateful for the people I know and have come to know through this summer. I am thankful for my family. For the experiences that God has allowed me to have and for the ways that He has revealed Himself to me and grown me through them. I am grateful for His provision - which is so much more timely than anything I could want or need. I am grateful for how BIG and yet how PERSONAL He is and for how He works in our lives and through our lives to tell His love story. Every experience this summer has left my heart feeling so full of gratitude and so full of praise for the ways that God is good.

HEALING. He brought healing. Healing from bitter old resentments and from pent up anger over old friendships. God heals. Through prayer and conversations and spending time in scripture, God heals. My summer, in so many ways, has been marked by healing, by finally letting go of the past and being open to the ways that He wants to heal and work in my heart.

SURRENDER.  One of my words for this year is surrender, and it's been particularly salient this summer. I've been invited to surrender who I am on my own, my own shortcomings, and brokenness.Through that, God has shown up and done an amazing work. He redeems, restores, and rejuvenates our souls if we surrender. If we lose our lives for His sake, we'll find new life.

STORY. Every experience I have had this summer has become a part of my story. The challenges, the relationships, the ups and downs, and the highs and lows, the changes and new beginnings, it's all become a part of who I am. This summer is a part of a story that continues to be written. Our stories are so powerful. And when we tell them - when we tell the stories of brokenness and weakness and defeat and despair - and when we tell the stories of redemption and healing and light and strength - we're actually telling God's story. His story is about light overcoming darkness and about life coming out of death. And it's happening in every one of our lives. And doesn't that deserve to be told? Over and over and over again until we're blue in the face?

TRANSFORMATION. This is definitely the most accurate word to describe my summer. Through every experience, every packed and unpacked suitcase, every plane ride and road-trip, every tear and every belly laugh, every big cookie and every plate of pasta, He has made me new. He has transformed my heart, my spirit, my soul, my being ... into something more than it previously was. And I by no means have my life figured out in any way ... but I am clinging to the truth that He has made me new and continues to make me new. He is with me now, in a classroom in downtown Chicago, just as much as he was on the shores of Italy and the craft cart at Castaway.

That’s my summer. I couldn’t let it go without writing about how truly, truly amazing it was and how indescribably grateful I am for how it has become a part of my story. I've learned things and grown in ways that I will continue to see lived out in my life in Chicago.

Summer is ending, that's for sure. I'm sitting in a classroom now, waiting for class to start. Thinking about life in the past three months and life in the months to come. And inevitably, brainstorming a list of words to be lived out this fall.

If you made it through all that, thank you. And just because I promised:

lifestyle.

So many thoughts have been swirling around in my head this week. Thoughts about summer ending and school starting. Thoughts about looking ahead to another year of leading young life. Thoughts about being a senior in college. Thoughts about where I'm focusing my time and energy. Thoughts about balance. And thoughts about being intentional. 

Through all that swirling, there's one word that's stuck: lifestyle. It's been stuck in my head this week after a few things I've heard and a few things I've read.  

I am continuing to learn that being a Young Life leader is a lifestyle. It's not something I can turn off and on. It's not something I go to when I'm free and skip when I'm busy. It's a way of doing life. It's opening up, sharing, and inviting high schoolers into my life. It's being present, listening, and hanging out in theirs. 

This reminds me a little bit of when Jesus calls His first disciples. Matthew 4:18-22

18 As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. 19 "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men." 20 At once they left their nets and followed him. 21 Going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John. They were in a boat with their father Zebedee, preparing their nets. Jesus called them, 22 and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him.

There's a lot to pick out from these few verses. I could write about it for quite some time, but for now, I'm going to focus on one part. When Jesus calls His disciples, they drop what they are doing and immediately follow Him. For them, it was a total identity shift. They went from being fisherman to being  disciples. That's a HUGE change, considering that in biblical times, only the best of the best of the best most educated men were chosen to follow a rabbi (more about that here). He chose average people to follow Him. Which is HUGE and means so much for us and how we follow Jesus, but not the point I'm making right now.

The thing I want to focus on is that the fishermen drop their nets and follow Jesus. I think we could argue that being a disciples begins with an identity shift, or at the very least, a priority shift. And, I think that's not only true for when we decide to follow Jesus, but while we're following Him. There are multiple times in our lives when God invites us into something and we're asked to drop what we're doing to follow Him.

But when we say yes to something, we inevitably say no to something else. I've felt the weight of that in my own life this past week. I want to be everywhere, with everyone, doing everything. I can't be. I can't be in Chicago and Glenview. I can't be with teacher friends and Young Life friends. I can't be in two places at once. Heck, sometimes I struggle to just be in one place. I can't do it all. 

I have said yes to some things and therefore have to say no to others. And I'm learning to be okay with that. Because God's placed it on my heart to be a Young Life leader and I've grown into that this year. I've said yes, and as a result, He's grown me and transformed me in ways I didn't know I needed and I didn't know were possible. He deserves so much praise for that - when we answer His call and choose to follow Him, He rewards us beyond measure. I want to continue to be open to His guidance as I enter into the next year; making my lifestyle more about following Him and less about myself.

Where's Waldo?

Do you remember 'Where's Waldo?' books? I do. They drove me nuts. I would rent them from the Book-Mobile when I was younger and spend my time with those precious Waldo books completely frustrated. I rarely found Waldo; searching the pages of the book required too much attention and focus and it was easier to just close the book and move on to more exciting activities... like playing with my American Girl Dolls or making potions out of things in the bathroom. 

I feel like lately, I've been playing 'Where's Waldo?' in my own life, except without the goofy stripes and glasses. In the process of packing to move back to Bethesda, I've discovered that some of my stuff is missing. I'm missing clothes and chargers and some semi-important papers, and I have no clue where they are. They could be at school, they could be shoved somewhere in my closet, or heck, they could be somewhere in Italy. I have no clue, and that's frustrating. I'm sick of searching and coming up with no answers. 

And if I'm being honest, I feel like I'm playing 'Where's Waldo?' with God at the moment. 

Right after coming back from our camp trip, Heather and I gave a campaigners lesson to high schoolers about the Transfiguration and coming off of a mountaintop experience with God (see Matthew 17:1-9). We talked about the idea of a thin place - that in some places God can feel so present, so close, and so tangible ... but in other places He doesn't seem that way. We talked about camp as a thin place, and what coming off of the camp experience looks like ... how sometimes God doesn't seem as present in the routine of daily life as He does at a place like camp ... but at the same time, how we're not doing life alone and how coming off the mountain and into the valley can be a rich place of good growth, where we do life together and pour into one another. 

You know what continues to blow my mind about Young Life? I think that we're preparing talks for high schoolers, giving them things to think through and work through. I forget that I need to hear it just as much as they do. The things we talk about are so salient, and the lesson about coming off the mountain has been on my mind since we talked about it. 

As summer is winding down, I am realizing with each passing moment that this summer has been one big mountaintop experience for me. From studying abroad and traveling throughout Italy to the challenge of summer staff to the experience of leading my first camp trip - all of it has been a mountaintop experience. God has been so close, so tangible, so present. I've been living in a state of true dependence all summer - relying on Jesus for healing in my heart, relying on Him for energy and strength to make it through the tough, long days at Castaway, trusting in Him to use me as a vessel and to be His light, and relying on the truth of scripture that I am loved and known and treasured by my King. This has been, without a doubt, the most spiritually rich and transformative summer of my life. 

But it's ending. I can't help but ask, how do I come down from that mountain? I can't stay on it forever - although I would love to plop my bootie in a hammock at Castaway or in the middle of Villa Borghese in Rome and never leave... I can't. There's life to be lived in the valley, there are classes and a running schedule and and errands and coffee dates and babysitting and late nights and early morning wake-ups and Bethesda and leadership and so many other parts of life that will become routine this fall. 

Already I feel like I'm living in the frustration of coming off the mountain. It's hard for me to see God at work in my life and in my heart right now. It's hard for me to see Him at work in my errands to Target and the bank, when I've seen Him at work in much bigger ways this summer. It was easy for me to see Him in the mountains of Cinque Terre. It was easy for me to see Him on the faces of kids in the club room at Castaway. But seeing Him in line at the grocery store or getting my oil changed? How is He there, too?

I am holding tight to the truth that God is BIG. He is mighty and powerful and bigger than anything I could imagine Him to be. His divinity is threaded through the mundane just as much as it is the marvelous.

There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope

when you were called, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God

and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. [Ephesians 4:4-6]

He's there, in everything. Over all and through all and in all. I'm learning that it's a discipline to see Him in the valley of the mundane and routine, but He is definitely there. He's in the sweetness of a baby's giggle, He's in the sunset, and He's on the hot pavement of a long run. He's in the little moments just as much as the big moments. His divinity is just as much a part of my cereal in the morning as it was on my hike through the mountains in Italy.

It's just taking me some time, energy, focus, and concentration to really see Him right now. But He's there, and I don't want to miss it. I don't want to move on to the next thing without being aware of the ways that He is present in all of my days. So, I'll search for the goofy glasses and stripes until my eyes are strained and my heart is full of gratitude.

suitcase.

I have spent the better part of this summer living out of a suitcase. Three weeks here, five days there, three more days over there, and six days back here. I think total, combined throughout the whole summer, I have spend six days at home. Six. Not to mention, those six days were spent in transition - unpacking from one excursion, doing laundry, cleaning, making trips to Target, and repacking to head to the next adventure. No relaxing has been on the agenda for this girl.

I've been busy lifting and carrying around the weight of a suitcase from place to place. From Chicago to Grayslake to cobblestones in Italy and back to Chicago to Minnesota and back to Grayslake only to bring it back to Minnesota and back to Grayslake one last time. Which is where I am now, for a few days anyway. I have one more looming experience with my suitcase this summer, and that's to pack it up and move back it to Chicago, where I will officially give it a stern talking to about being annoying.

There came a point in Italy - sometime in the middle of the trip - where I wanted to pack whatever I could in my purse and ditch my suitcase. The cobblestones, uphill battle and heavy lifting were killing me (but doing wonders for my calfs and biceps, believe it or not). I was so tired of hauling around this huge suitcase, full of stuff I needed (six pairs of shoes? absolutely) and a whole bunch of stuff I absolutely did not (oh hey, raincoat that I never used the whole trip).

But I continued to carry around the suitcase. Every few days, packing up and moving on - adding new treasures to my suitcase and not really willing to ever take anything out of it. The entire time I was in Italy my suitcase got heavier, and heavier, and heavier. I was adding new scarves, new clothes, wine corks, and an assortment of other treasures. Inevitably, this made for more weight and a tougher battle every time I approached a bump in the cobblestone (which was often). The last night of the trip, I frantically threw a bunch of stuff away, worried that my suitcase wasn't going to meet the weight requirement of our airline. I was carrying around so much unnecessary crap  - freebies from the hotels, papers from study abroad, a package of q-tips, three umbrellas (how, I'm not quite sure), shampoo and conditioner, and a host of other ridiculous things that were weighing down my baggage. When I finally threw that stuff away, my suitcase was much lighter.

Everyone has baggage. I don't remember the first time I heard this expression, but I've heard it a lot. Everyone has baggage. Don't we, though? I know I do. This summer, I've been carrying around my literal baggage, but there's other baggage that we carry around too. We carry around past regrets and bitterness and mistakes and resentment and anger and hurt feelings and so many other things that weigh down our hearts and our heads.

This has my brain going in two directions. First being, why wouldn't I do what I did in Italy to the baggage in my heart? Throw out the crap I don't need. And then, how do I make sure it's not going to creep back into my suitcase later on? Where do I find true healing for the things that are weighing down my suitcase? Where do I surrender that hurt, that bitterness, that anger, that shame, and ask for healing? Why wouldn't I entrust the deepest, heaviest, most horrible things from my past to My Savior, the Healer of all things? The Psalms are FULL of crying out to God in brokenness and Him healing iniquities, destruction, brokenness... He heals baggage.

Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am faint; heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in deep anguish. How long, Lord, how long? Turn, Lord, and deliver me, save me because of your unfailing love. [psalm 6:2-4]

The psalmist is in despair, weary and in anguish, calling out for someone to lighten his burdens. I get the vibe that this psalmist is at the end of his rope - reading to give up and let go and ditch the suitcase at any moment. How much longer, Lord, do I need to hang on? But in that despair, he's calling out to God as healer, seeking deliverance and safety in the Lord. Isn't this true with my own baggage? Maybe not to the extreme of the psalmist, but certainly there have been times where I just want to freaking let go of the suitcase, to stop bearing the weight of brokenness. How much longer, Lord, do I need to be carrying around this bitterness, this shame, this regret? How much longer until I can just let it go? Not only in this psalm, but in my own life, I'm tasting and seeing that GOD IS HEALER. I'm coming to learn that truly, God is the only one who can take my suitcase and eliminate the heavy weight that brings me down. And He not only carries our burdens, He picks us up and carries us, too. He walks right alongside us during every step of the healing process, gently and effortlessly carrying our burdens for us. Every single day. 

And after spending so much time with my actual suitcase this summer, I'm itching to ask myself, what am I carrying around in my imaginary suitcase? What am I still bringing with me from place to place, from experience to experience, from relationship to relationship? What can I get rid of? What needs to be refolded and tucked back inside? My marathon finish last year? Abso-freaking-lutely that's staying in my suitcase. Those 26.2 miles deserve to be carried around. The buried bitterness I have over old friendships? It's probably time for that to go. It's been too heavy for too long. There are a dozen other things that I carry around in my suitcase, some that I need and some that I absolutely do not. And I've spent so much time this summer bonding with my actual suitcase that maybe it's time to spend some time with my imaginary suitcase - refolding the things that are going to stay for awhile, surrendering the rest to Jesus, and beginning the road toward healing.

ramblings of a ragamuffin.

Ah, the blogging world. Hello out there. I'm Erin. I'm going to skip introductions and just get right into it. That's how I do things. You know how everyone has a bucket list? I would say, without a doubt, writing a blog is on my bucket list. And for the sake of gaining life experience and checking things off my bucket list, here I am. Writing a blog.

I read a book last summer, and I'm in the middle of round two right now (because it's just that good). It's The Ragamuffin Gospel. If you haven't read it, I would highly suggest it. I would say, without a doubt, it has challenged and changed the way I think about myself and my life and the ways God is working in both of those things. It's given me ideas to wrestle through and sit in awe of, things to think through and pray through, and things that have seriously flipped my thinking upside down.

It's also given me inspiration and motivation to get my fingertips moving and start this bucket list adventure of a blog. It also, coincidentally, gave me a great alliteration of a title. Am I a ragamuffin? Yep. Do I ramble? You betcha. Time to start a blog, Erin! But in all seriousness, I love the word ragamuffin. I like how it rolls around on my tongue and feels heavy and full and like nothing I've ever heard before. The first time I heard the word (which was before I read the book) I thought it was some sort of an oat bran, whole grain, filled with dried prunes healthy muffin. Then, my dear friend at the time Maggie gave me the book as a gift and told me it would change my life. It did, so thanks for that Maggie.

And sorry to report, but ragamuffins aren't food (although I know your mouth was watering at the description). Ragamuffins are beat-up, burnt out, weary, downtrodden, broken, lowly, and outcast people. Ragamuffins are the people Jesus came to minister to. They were the beggars, women, children, sick, lame, tax collectors, prostitutes, and sinners. Jesus shares life with these people who are so on the outskirts of society.  He came for broken, sinful, beat-up, weary people. In some way or another, aren't we all ragamuffins?

And Jesus comes to rescue us from that. He comes to pick us up in our brokenness and make us whole. To take a peek into The Ragamuffin Gospel, Jesus' "grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness. It strikes us when we walk through the dark valley of a meaningless and empty life... It strikes us when year after year, the longed-for perfection does not appear, when the old compulsions reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage. At that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness" (27). Jesus comes into our broken, sinful, beat-up lives and brings us grace, hope, redemption, and life to the full; the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.

That's God's story. And it's living in each of us. It's true in my own life. On my own, I am a sinful, broken, far-from-perfect, mess of a person. But Jesus has come in and brought hope when I felt like I was headed nowhere, redemption in the messiest of situations, and unconditional, unwavering grace when I absolutely do nothing to deserve it. It's so true that "the men and women who are truly filled with light are those who have gazed deeply into the darkness of their imperfect existence" (23). It's only when we realize how seriously broken, how deeply dark and unfulfilled our lives are that we can be given (and appreciate) the gift of true light and true life from Jesus. Holler. Doesn't that just make you want to dance up and down with excitement?

So, that's where I write from. A sinner who has been saved by grace. A broken, incomplete person who has been filled with life from the Giver of Life. A girl who has experienced ultimate freedom in the arms of her Savior. A girl who by absolutely no means has her life figured out, but who is leaning into Jesus, letting Him lead the way. And I get it wrong a lot of the time, but over and over again I am shown grace by my Father in Heaven. Through and through, I am a ragamuffin. Welcome to my life.