five days.

Instead of paying attention in class today, I wrote enough blog posts for five days. You think I may be exaggerating, but I'm not. I've decided to write a series of posts about where my heart and my head have been for the past week. Are you ready to enter into the madness? 

I have to say, I'm a little confused about where to go from here. I don't know where to start. What to share. Who is reading. How to talk not only about myself, but encourage you to be thinking and questioning and wondering how this could possibly apply to your own life. I want this blog to be a place of inspiration and encouragement for the people reading, but I also want it to be a place where I tell the truth. The truth about who I am - in all my brokenness and sinfulness. And the bigger and more salient truth that God is graceful, and through Jesus, we are rescued and redeemed.

So here I am, ready to tell you the very messy truth about the past week, with so many questions about how to begin telling the story. What do I say? How much do I tell? Is there such a thing as an over-share in the blogosphere? Do I have to tell everything - even if it makes me look broken?

These are the questions that have been filling my mind all day. During class. On the bus. Driving to Glenview. While I've been thinking about how to tell the story, the answer, shockingly, came through the words of Shauna Niequist. And while I don't have her book in front of me to pull a quote from, I know there's a chapter where she writes about stories. The chapter, I believe, is titled, "Your story must be told." Your story must be told.

In the most simple and real sense, that has been the answer to my questions. How do I begin? Your story must be told. Start at the beginning. How much do I tell? Your story must be told. Tell everything. What if it doesn't end up completely tied-together? Your story must be told. It won't be perfect, but it's real and raw. What if everyone knows the good, the bad, and the ugly after reading it? Your story must be told. It's not your story anyway, Erin.

My story, it must be told. The really, really good parts that I am bursting to write about and the parts I don't want to share, because they expose my broken, sinful parts. Why blog about my life if I'm not willing to lay it all on the table? Besides, if I really think about it, I'm not just telling my story. God's story is intimately woven into mine (and into yours), and that deserves to be told. The whole story.

Over the next five days, I'll tell the story. I'll tell you about how I spent the majority of last week feeling uneasy and disconnected, like the people close to me should have been loving me a certain way, and they weren't meeting my expectations. I realized, after taking some space, that the reason I felt uneasy was rooted in a deep desire at the core of my being: I want to be loved. We all want to be loved. My friends weren't loving me the way I wanted to be loved, and if I look close enough, I can see that I haven't felt grounded in the gospel lately. I haven't felt connected to God - through prayer or scripture or quite time - and haven't been seeking His love for fulfillment. That's where the disconnect came in - I was not feeling loved by God and took that out on the people in my life, expecting them to fill that void. This, I realize, is a breeding ground for pride. In not feeling grounded and centered in Christ, sin crept in and allowed me to justify my feelings toward the people in my life. They are wrong and I am right, and I treated them out of that thinking. This realization of sin has made me feel entirely human, entirely broken. Ultimately, this connects me back to the truth that I am sweetly broken, wholly surrendered. I am human. I am broken, and I am redeemed. I am both wretched and beautiful. At my core, I am a ragamuffin; a sinner saved by grace. This is who I am. Messy. Broken. Incomplete. Beautiful. Redeemed. Loved. This is who I am, and I am choosing to make no more apologies.

Five days. In all honesty, I don't want to write about all of this, but the story must be told. I don't want to share the things I've learned about myself over the past week, but my hope in doing that - in sharing the ugly parts of the story - is that they will speak to the bigger story being told in us and around us everyday; God's story.

full.

When I was driving home from dinner with my parents earlier this evening, I had one repeating thought in my head. All I have done today is eat. All I have done today is eat. All I have done today is eat.


I wanted to tweet about my gluttony, but then thought that this one sentence might actually be worthy of a blog post. Hear me out, it might be worth your time.

I've spent a decent amount of time this weekend consciously taking space from some areas of my life, intentionally trying to gain perspective and connect back with the way I want to be doing life. Somehow that translated into creating space in my stomach as well. I've done a lot of eating this weekend. Yesterday I shared a meal with some friends from my study abroad program, a delicious brunch where plates were shared and laughter was abundant. Today, I ate lunch with a dear friends from my summer staff experience, lingering in our booth long past the bill being paid. This evening, my parents drove into Chicago to drop off my winter coats, and we ended up sharing a meal together at one of my favorite restaurants, eating and talking about life in the next year.

All this to say that on the car ride home tonight, I realized that I am full. Both literally and figuratively. Realistically, I'm not going to eat anything until, oh, tomorrow at lunch, but I'm also feeling full in another way. I feel full in a deeper, richer sense. I feel filled up by the conversations and time spent with friends and family around the table this weekend.

There's something very biblical about sharing a long meal with the people in our lives; losing track of time and getting carried away in true and honest conversation. Isn't that how Jesus did it? He was always eating with many different types of people. In biblical times, sharing a meal with someone meant sharing in that person's identity. Even in other cultures, as I learned in Italy this summer, sharing a meal together is so meaningful. In America, we view eating as fueling up; a get in, get out system. In Italy, meals span over hours. It's common to lose track of time and get caught up in conversation.

This weekend, this space in my life, has connected me back to the importance of gathering around the table. Making time to share a meal with the people I love can be powerful and meaningful and bring a feeling of fullness beyond the unbutton-my-pants-because-I'm-about-to-explode fullness. Gathering and sharing life around the table has connected me back to community, reminding me that we're never in this alone, and that sometimes the most beautiful thing we can create is as simple as sitting down and breaking bread. Sharing a meal sustains us, not because of what we're eating, but because of what we're creating around the table. 

If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, or if you've ever been to my Facebook page, or if you're ever had a serious conversation with me, I've no doubt that you heard me talk about Shauna Niequist. In her book Bittersweet, she talks about the importance of gathering around the table, sharing food and sharing life.

"The table matters to me because of what happens around it. Nothing heals me or gives me life the way having people I love around our table does. We've spent thousands of hours at that table. In the midst of what felt like a raging storm, we always came back to the table. The people we love met us there, and those moments were the ones that sustained us." 

Thank you Kelly, thank you Megan, thank you Keturah, thank you Stu and Jme, thank you Heather, and thank you Mom and Dad for gathering around the table this weekend. I hope our time together was as filling for you as it was for me.

Who have you sat around the table with this weekend? How has it been filling? 

space and perspective.

It’s Saturday night of Halloween weekend, and what am I doing? Watching a rerun of Hocus Pocus while two sweet girls are upstairs sleeping. I have to say, I don’t hate it. Halloween, in all its candy-consuming, costume-wearing, spooky-scariness, doesn’t do much for me. There’s not a whole lot of excitement surrounding this holiday, so babysitting is an appealing alternative to facing the madness of Halloween on a college campus. 

Not to mention, more than anything else right now, I need space. That word has been rolling around on my tongue all day. My friend Sam is the biggest supporter of the word space, and earlier today wrote about taking space to listen.

I wrote last week about taking a break from technology, but I wasn’t intentional with that time. Our Internet began working shortly after I wrote that post, and I got caught up last week in the craziness of school and friendships and phone calls and assignments and then all of a sudden it was Thursday night at 10:00pm and I hadn’t really taken space to figure out what was going on in my heart and in my head. In reality, I’ve been feeling uneasy and discontent and disconnected from people in my life and, at that point in time, couldn’t figure out where it was coming from or what to do with it. The only things I knew on Thursday night were that I needed space and I needed to surrender. Dependence. 

Since Thursday, I’ve tried to be intentional and conscious of my need for space. Last night, I turned off my phone and had honest conversations with my roommates. This morning, I kept my phone off and spent a few hours in bed with my journal and bible. This afternoon, I got together with friends who I haven’t been with since Rome; friends who share in my passions for food, exploration, and conversations full of laughter. I went for a long run past my favorite spot on the lake. And now here I am, on a couch in a quiet and unfamiliar house with Hocus Pocus humming in the background.

Space. I am pleased to write that taking just a small amount of space has been beneficial. In the past twenty-four hours, I feel that I’ve gained ample perspective. There are definitely more specific blog-posts coming in regards to what’s been on my heart this week, but for now, I’m heading back to the quiet of an unfamiliar house, enjoying the space.

What are you doing to create space in your life right now? Is there anything you need to step away from to gain perspective? 

green pastures.

I haven't written a blog post since Sunday. For awhile there, I was on a roll; whipping out new posts almost daily. But this week, I haven't had much desire to share anything on here. My lack of desire, coupled with our lack of internet earlier this week, gave me a much needed break.


Even with the break, I'm still stumped. I've been a mix of thoughts all week long, and I'm still not making much sense of the mess in my head. I've been pensive and thoughtful and uneasy all week, and I'm having a hard time putting the exact words to how I'm feeling. There are no neatly-tied together blog posts or profound thoughts working there way out of my head right now.


The word I keep coming back to this week is dependence. One of my words for the year, I've desired and prayed for opportunities to grow in dependence. I want to be wholly, unreservedly dependent on Jesus. But you know, God doesn't just give us those things, does He? Why did I ask for dependence thinking that it would come to be a part of me without any effort? Instead of granting me a spirit of dependence, I feel like God's putting me in situations, over and over and over again, that require me to give up my control and lean into Him.


That's where I am this week. Perplexed. Unsure. Uneasy. Confused. Lost in thought. Not myself. Without answers. Asking questions. Challenged to surrender and depend. When we do the hard work of surrendering our fears and worries and anxieties and hurts, God gives us rest and green pastures. He refreshes us with His promises. 

The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever. [Psalm 23]

break.

Bethesda has been without internet for a few days now. Although it is a huge annoyance that when I need to check my email it requires a trek to campus or Starbucks, I'm oddly thankful for the break. Being without internet at our apartment has not only reminded me how technology-dependent we all are, but also challenged me to be present with my roommates and spend my time more productively than surfing the web.

I'm also finding that for the past few days, my heart and my head have been heavy and filled with a mess of thoughts about self-doubt and insecurity and why everyone struggles with it and no one talks about it. And I'm completely incapable of making any sense of my thoughts. Let's be honest, though, that's nothing out of the ordinary. With the break in internet at our apartment, I'm going to take the next few days to process outside of the blogosphere.

Currently it's raining, it's late, and it seems like the perfect time to crawl into bed with my journal and my bible for some quiet time. No music. No phone. No computer. No technology.

A much needed break.

real.

Wednesday was the most real birthday I have experienced in recent years. It was raw and uninhibited and full of emotion, the good kind and the not so good kind. It was rich and deep and nuanced and full of life. In insurmountable and countless ways, people in my life made me feel known, loved, valued, cared for, thought of, and celebrated on my birthday. And for that, I am so thankful. In the same day that I felt an outpouring of love, I also felt hurt, disappointment, and frustration. And for that, I am also thankful.

My birthday was a true representation and reminder that life is never all of one thing. My birthday was both exciting and uneventful. It was both uniquely special and normal everyday life. It was both full of hope and full of fear for the next year of life. It was both happy and hard. It was both fun and frustrating. It was both beautiful and broken. Wednesday made me feel both loved and also hurt.

No one is exempt from pain. Even on your birthday. Even when you’re on vacation. Even when you’re at the office. Or walking to class. Or on the phone with your grandma. Even if you’re smack-dab in the middle of the happiest, most colorful and lovely season of life, pain creeps in. We can’t escape it. Brokenness is a part of our condition, and we always have been and always will be affected by it. So, should I be surprised that I experienced hurt feelings on my birthday? No, because that is life. It is real. At some point, we will be hurt by the people we love. And we will also hurt people who love us.

Now, I want to be clear about something. I am not saying that my birthday was plagued by horrible, awful brokenness. I am not saying that what happened to me is so big that I’ll never get over it. I am not intending to point fingers. I am not trying to take my hurt and make it bigger than it is. There are many people in my life who are and have been experiencing hurt that is much more searing and profound than mine, and I in know way intend to put myself in the same category.

I am, however, thinking through what happened Wednesday and realizing that this one experience points to something bigger. This post is not about one person or one event or one experience of hurt. If that’s what you’re getting, go back to the beginning and start over. Or put on your reading glasses. This post is not about that. This post is about how that one event has gotten me thinking about hurt on a bigger scale. This post is about life and pain and how we’re all affected by it and what I think we should do in the face of it.

Was that clear? I sure hope so.  I have something else that I need to clarify. My birthday was beautiful. It was good. It was full of depth and complexity and raw emotion and real conversation and everything it means to be living and breathing and growing in life. It was a good day. It also contained things that were hard. But hard, I’m learning, is good; the two are not mutually exclusive.

I am whole-heartedly, without a doubt, absolutely jumping on the bandwagon of thankfulness for my twenty-second birthday. I am THANKFUL for the ways I felt so deeply loved, considered, cared for, and known by family and friends. I am THANKFUL for experiencing hurt feelings and frustration, because they are real. I am THANKFUL that on my birthday, I experienced what it means to be fully alive. I am THANKFUL for the reminder that life is both joyful and painful, and that’s what makes it beautiful. I am THANKFUL for a birthday that allowed me to experience a small taste of the depth and complexity and richness this life has to offer.

And you know what I want do to in that? I want to celebrate. Now, it’s appropriate to let Shauna Niequist take the reigns for a moment.  

“When what you see in front of you is so far outside of what you dreamed, but you have the belief, the boldness, the courage to call it beautiful instead of calling it wrong, that’s celebration.” – Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines

That’s where I was on Wednesday morning. When I woke up in the morning, I was anticipating a day of laughter, bubbles, and lighthearted joyfulness with people I love. My day did include those things, but it also carried unanticipated hurt and disappointment. I don’t want to sit here and say that it was wrong, because it was not wrong. It was beautiful. I want to be a person who believes that truth always. I want to hang up after the frustrating phone call and say, “Yes, I’ll eat some pizza and have a dance party and celebrate, because now is as good a time as any.” I want to look my hurt feelings in the face and say, “Want a cupcake?” I want to offer this life the best celebration I can give it. I want to at look pain, brokenness, and hurt and see the beauty that lies just beyond the harshness. That is life. It is real. Wednesday gave me the very best and most precious type of birthday celebration, and I am thankful for that.



What do you think? What are you doing with your hurt feelings? Do you think pain is really something we should celebrate? 

at 22.

What I thought I would know about life at 22 years of age: everything

What I actually know about life at 22 years of age: nothing

(my favorite song, worthy of a birthday blog post)

At 22, I know far less about life and the ways it works than I ever anticipated. I thought, for sure, I'd know things like who I'm marrying and where I'll be living and what my job will be. I know none of those things. What I do know about life though, isn't nothing, it was just catchy to write that. It hooked you, didn't it? At 22, I know truth about God and the ways that He created and loves me. I am learning, everyday, new things and I know that God is constant through everything. God is provider. And God is healer. He gives and takes away. He loves us. He loves me. He created me, knows me, and treasures me, just as I am. He has a plan. These days, the only truth I can hold onto with unwavering faith is the truth that God is above all, in all, and through all. That's really all I've got.

Armed with that truth, I'm placing one foot in front of the other; one baby step at a time into the next year of life. Who knows what 22 will bring? I certainly couldn't have predicted where I'd be today or the trail of life and people and experiences that have gotten me to this place, and I have no way of knowing where the next year will take me, either. Does anyone want to join me in the journey of finding out? 

retrospect.

It's the eve of my birthday. I am hours away from saying goodbye to 21 and hello to the double deuces. It's been a whirlwind of a year. 21 has been uncomfortable, real, redemptive, joyful, transformative, and pure. I've experienced pure joy, uninterrupted laughter, and freedom. Pure. Unlike any other year of my life, it's brought about more transformation and growth than I've ever experienced. Who I am today, on the eve of my twenty-second birthday, is a completely different person than who I was a year ago. This year, more than any other, I've become. I've become more of the woman I was created to be. I've become more of myself. I've become more free. I leaned in close to my Father, and I think He's used the past year to grow me in significant and monumental ways. I am so grateful for that; for the fact that He is always working, always comforting, and always providing. I am slightly sad to be saying goodbye to such a crazy and wonderful year, but hopeful and excited for the things to come at 22.

At dinner the other night, my roommate and dear friend Johanna asked, "So, what's been the best moment of the past year?" In thinking about all that's happened over the past year, there's no way I could pick one amazing moment. I've had closer to 365 unforgettable moments, but I've narrowed down to 21.


21 most influential and unforgettable moments of 21


1. Turning 21 - On my 21st birthday, I walked home from class to footie pajamas hanging on the front door of our apartment, a decorated apartment, loving roommates and friends, and a taco dinner. I felt so loved, so cared about, and so known
2. Mal turning 21 - the dance party at this girl's birthday party, to this day, is the most pure definition of joy I've ever experienced
3. Becoming a Young Life leader - unexpected and overwhelming, and in hindsight, one of the best decisions I've ever made
4. Fall Weekend 2010 - my debut as a leader and my first time ever being in the position to love on high school girls and show them Jesus
5. NEEDTOBREATHE Concert at the House of Blues - dancing, roommates, and the soundtrack for our house
6. Decorating stockings at Bethesda - hot chocolate, roommates, cramped spaces, sharing art supplies, and holiday joy; togetherness and community
7. No money Christmas gift-exchange at Bethesda - hilarious, creative, and unforgettable
8. New Year's Day leggings as pants party - unashamed about spending New Year's Day wearing leggings as pants and laying on a couch with Heidi and Heather
9. SNOWPOCALYPSE - February 1, 2011 ... cancelled classes, cancelled clinicals, Starbucks adventures with roommates, snowed-in
10. Sometime around March, I started enjoying and feeling comfortable in my role as a Young Life leader 
11. Two weeks of nannying my sweet baby cousin - a little baby lovin' is good for the soul, ya know?
12. Studying Abroad - my third ever plane ride, incredible sights and food, and the realization that I'm not going to get along with everyone
13. Seeing my family for the first time, together, in Rome - we were at the Trevi Fountain, nearly a year after my mom broke her leg in Italy, together, a family, priceless and tear-provoking
14. Johanna DeLong coming to Florence - moments that make friendships lasting, staying up until 4 in the morning talking, and endless hours of time exploring a new place together
15. Sleeping outside on the balcony of our hotel in Monterosso, Italy, feeling the breeze from the Mediterranean Sea with Johanna in the chair next to me 
16. Hiking through the mountains of Cinque Terre with my siblings 
17. Percorino and pear stuffed pasta - easily the best meal I've ever eaten, ever in Siena, Italy
18. CASTAWAY - SUMMER STAFF and getting locked in a closet with the rest of summer staff on fourth of july, after watching heat lightening and fireworks
19. CASTAWAY - CAMP with kids, incredible
20. NEEDTOBREATHE secret concert with Heather - the best $20 dollars I've ever spent, a private concert and a night with one of my closest friends
21. The Get Slea$y for Jee$y tour - moving into Bethesda for another year of craziness and memories, feeling more connected than ever to the girls I live with


Now it's time for a little math. 7 x 3 = 21. Remember that.

7 influential people and groups of 21

1. Bethesda
2. North Shore Young Life
3. MissioDei
4. Heather
5. Sam
6. Johanna
7. Ben


7 influential and unforgettable places of 21

1. Bethesda
2. The route from Bethesda to Glenview : Ridge to Green Bay to Lake, driven at minimum 100 times
3. The bead cart at Castaway
4. The Cutter
5. Cinque Terre, Italy
6. Rome, Italy
7. Running, anywhere, anytime


7 words that make the most sense for 21

1. uncomfortable
2. transforming
3. free
4. dependence
5. becoming
6. something
7. beautiful


That's it. My twenty-first year in retrospect. Pretty incredible. Pretty transformative. Looking back at it all, I am so thankful. For everything; for the people, the places, the experiences, the hard times and the good times; for every single emotion and moment in the past year. I am so, so thankful. Thankful to the point of there-are-tears-in-my-eyes-right-now. Who knows what year 22 will hold, but when it's all said and done, if I can look back a year from now and say, 'I've become something more than I previously was,' I'll be happy.

time.

From my journal, written approximately twenty-three minutes ago:

"God, thank you. Just thank you. Thank you for a laughter and crazy games. Thank you for families that offer their home and food. Thank you for a leadership community that leaves me feeling filled up at the end of every meeting. Thank you for the crisp air of fall pulling into the driveway on Friday night. Thank you for leaves rustling and for hugs with Johanna. Thank you for cups of tea and long talks about three years of friendship; the good, the bad, and the ugly. Thank you for the joy and memories that 90's VHS tapes brought into our lives this weekend. Thank you for pancake breakfasts, two days in a row. Thank you for country roads and trips to Caribou. Thank you for the sunshine on our faces Saturday afternoon and for good girl time. Thank you for good food and for a full belly Saturday night. Thank you for family, hilarious moments, and my stubborn grandma. Thank you for real conversations. Thank you for rainy mornings and more road trips. Thank you for Missiodei; for the message about being justified by grace through faith alone. Thank you for accepting me as I am in this moment. Thank you for friends that feel like family gathering around a table. Thank you for chaos and loud moments and laughter. Thank you for moments where we can come together as a house and reflect on the past year, the years ahead, and the moments we're living right now. Thank you for Bethesda; a place of healing. Thank you for the most real prayers - the kind involving both endless praise and tears of thankfulness. Thank you allowing us to demonstrate our theology by dancing crazy with the people we love. Thank you for your presence in all things. Thank you for this night, this weekend, these people, the past year, and the years to come. In every way, thank you."

(scroll down to my playlist, press pause, and listen to this instead)

There's a common theme through everything that happened this weekend: time. We didn't have to hang out after Leadership on Friday. My mom didn't have to bring me lunch on the deck Saturday afternoon. My dad didn't have to make my favorite meal Saturday night. They didn't have to buy me birthday gifts. We didn't have to sit in the hot tub or go out to breakfast. My roommates didn't have to label our family dinner as my birthday celebration. We didn't have to eat my favorite foods, we could have eaten peanut butter and jelly for all I care. This weekend didn't have to be anything extraordinary, but it was, because we gave one another the gift of time. Unstructured, unplanned, and a little bit of unorganized time to be together. Time to laugh and time to cry and time to talk about the realness and complexities of life. 

Thank you for time with the people I love. 

That sounds entirely corny writing it out. Maybe I like corny, so I'll embrace it just this once, because it's true. This weekend, I spent hours that felt like an eternity with the people I love. In the spirit of birthday week and birthday gifts, the best gift that anyone could give me is time. And that's a gift that I want to give to the people in my life. I want to steal time; hours and minutes and days with the people I love. If you're in any way a part of my life, let's give one another the gift of time this week.


What do you think?

why exactly.

I'm currently camped out in my parent's backyard, sitting on the deck, basking in the fall sunshine, enjoying a late lunch, the fall breeze, and the company of a best friend. It's been a perfect fall day and a perfect day at home, and it's only 2 in the afternoon. Certainly there's more fall-y goodness, birthday celebrating, and quality time to come.

Earlier this morning, Johanna and I made a trip to Caribou for some delicious fall drinks, and blasting music with the windows down on the way home was one of those moments that I'd love to seal away and remember forever. It was a quintessential fall moment, reminding me of why exactly I love this season.

Driving down Washington was a rich and intense, even breathtaking, display of color in the trees. Reds, yellows, oranges, and countless variations were wooing me with their beauty. The trees changing, for me, is a great reminder of what it means to be human.

I had a friend a few years ago challenge and drill me about this season. 'How can you love it so much?' he said, 'It's the ultimate sign of death and dying; a warning that the long winter is on its way.' True. The fullness of fall means that winter is on its way. The trees are in fact dying, and we're preparing for a long and dreary season of cold.

But I don't just want to leave it there. The trees, yes, they are dying, but they don't have to turn vibrant shades of color before they do. They could just turn brown and fall off. Instead, they turn the most intense and richly beautiful set of colors, like a fire burning or a smoldering sunset. That's why I love fall, because in the midst of death and dying, something beautiful is happening. God paints a beautiful scene for us to look at. In dying, His creation is on display in its full beauty.

I love this season, because it reminds of what it means to be human. We're all dying, in our own way. We're lost, broken, and headed for destruction, but God's beauty is on display at its finest in that. I really believe that God wants to use us in our death and dying and turn us into something beautiful. He rescues us from brokenness and dying and makes us a new, beautiful creation. And ultimately, He is glorified through that.

That's why exactly I love this season. It is the ultimate symbol of death, but at the same time, the most deep and rich beauty is revealed.

What do you love about this season? What does fall mean for you and for your story? 

rethinking balance.

Libra - The Scales

There's a very small percentage of me that buys into astrology. However, in the spirit of my birthday being next week, I did a little research about my astrological sign. I'll be honest, I was also bored in class and had exhausted both Pinterest and my bookmarked blogs. What else is a girl to do besides research astrology? My research came up with less than promising results. Apparently, libras are outgoing and charming and the peacemakers of the zodiac, along with a whole host of other general characteristics. While I think these things are true of myself, I know a decent number of people who embody those characteristics but aren't libras, which is why I don't buy into astrology.

However, the symbol of being a Libra is the scales, representing a desire to live in harmony, balance, and symmetry. That, I think is true. I'll go with that. I think it's fitting, especially considering the words I've been praying over for this school year. One of the main words I've been desiring is balance. 


Through conversations with friends in the past month, I've started rethinking balance. It's easy for me, I'm realizing, to look at balance as everything being equal. I can get so zone-focused on dividing my time and my energy into equal parts. Young Life should get the same amount of time as school. Friends should get the same attention as family. Running should happen as often as I do homework. Prayer should be equal with how much time I spend on Facebook. I want everything to be equal all the time. Equal time for friendships. Equal time for school. Equal time for fun. Equal time for reading. Isn't that what being balanced is? According to a quick Google search, it's an even distribution of something. An even distribution of time and energy? If I divide my day evenly between tasks, is it successful? If I check everything off of my to-do list and somehow attend to all of the things that need to happen, it's balanced? Even if I've only given a portion of the time and energy that they deserve?

Here's what I'm realizing and working through: that's not right. Something is wrong with the way I've been thinking about balance. Lots of things, actually. I've fallen way off track with how I've been praying for balance and how it's been lived out in my life so far this school year. And this isn't how I intended it to be, nor how I want it to stay.

I want to seek out balance in my life, first through God. Everything I've been given is a gift from Him, and I want to live like it is. I do not want to live my story thinking it's about me. When I think about balance in the way that I have been, it makes the story about me: what do I need to do, where does my energy need to be, how can I efficiently plow through everything all the time. But the story is not about me at all. It's all about Him. It's all for His glory. I want to hold tight to that and remind myself of it daily (sometimes hourly). I want my prayers to center on this: that my time, my energy, and my talents be used to bring Him glory. I feel like that's going to be the best way for me to find balance. If I'm seeking first His Kingdom and His glory, I think the balance part will fall into place, right?

Instead of using my energy to cross things off a to-do list and stress myself out about making everything perfectly equal, I want to use my energy to seek His balance for my life. I want to seek Him for how to distribute my time and energy, glorifying Him in the process, and ultimately, finding the best balance: a balance that He's chosen. A balance that may not consist of equal parts everything, but is much more real and much more God-centered. That sounds much better than the way I have been living.

This is obviously a train of thought that's still in progress. My thinking is continuing to evolve, and I want you to be a part of the journey with me. Because I don't have all the answers.

What do you think about balance? How do you find balance in your life? Does being balanced mean that everything has to be equal for it to be right?

good morning.

It's possible that I've listened to this song thirty-seven times since downloading it yesterday .... but only maybe.

Words for today: free, delivered, & thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Happy Wednesday! 

How will you celebrate today?

thanks for the reminder.

This weekend, my amazing roommate Kelly ran in the Chicago Marathon. Here's a little taste of what our Sunday looked like.

Who looks that cute after running 26.2 miles? Apparently, Kelly does. How she's still smiling, I'm not sure. Finishing a marathon is a freaking accomplishment in and of itself, but what's even crazier to me is that this girl ran 15 miles with a dislocated hip. And she's still smiling after. At mile 11, her hip came out of its socket, and she pushed through 15 miles of pain to finish the race. Seriously?! Who does that?! Being a part of Kelly's marathon experience has reminded me of a profound truth that I often lose sight of.

Everything is a gift. 

I talked to Kelly after she finished the race on Sunday, and I was moved to tears by her gratitude. Believe it or not, Kelly was thankful for every single thing that happened during the race. Thankful for the first 11 miles pain-free and thankful for the last 15 with a dislocated hip. She viewed that injury as a gift from God; as an opportunity to slow down, soak up the fans cheering, and savor the experience.

I've been crying a lot lately. If you've spent any stretch of time with me in the past week, you've probably witnessed it. It's been driving me a little nuts, because I'm not usually that girl. I usually hold back tears until I'm alone or with a close friend. I don't typically let my tears make appearances in public. But lately, just about anything will turn me into a misty-eyed mess, and I can't do anything to stop it. I cried at Leadership on Friday, and again on Saturday morning about the same topic. I cried multiple times watching Kelly on Sunday, and again talking to her later that night. I've cried reading blogs the past few days, and I almost cried driving down Ridge yesterday. For the better part of the past week, I haven't been able to figure out why so many things have moved me to tears.

Talking with Kelly finally helped me put words on it. Kelly reminded me that everything is a gift. Everything. Is. A. Gift. EVERYTHING. Just saying that out loud makes me want to fall to my knees in thankfulness. Everything we have is a gift from God. My abilities? Gift. My personality? Gift. My family? Gift. My friends? Gift. Sunshine? Gift. Trees changing? Gift. Ability to run? Gift. Injuries? Gift. Pain? Gift. If you've spent any amount of time reading Libby Ryder's blog, you'll know that she views her cancer as a gift. 

In so many different capacities over the past week, I've been reminded that everything is a gift. I think that's where the tears are coming from. This truth makes me want to fall to my knees in gratitude; humbled and full of thankfulness and praise for our God. Tugging at my heart strings, however, is this question. How will you use those gifts, Erin? What are you going to do with that information? I know that everything is a gift, but I don't want to just stop there. Everything is a gift, and the way we use those gifts should glorify God. The story I am living is not my own. It's not about me, and I don't want to live like it is. I want to live in the truth that everything I have - the good, the bad, and the ugly - is a gift from God, but I also want to recognize that those gifts should be used for His glory, not mine. 

Thanks for the reminder, Kelly. 

the red tree.

This post is entirely inspired by this book. I read it for the first time a year ago, and I'm in the middle of round two right now. I'm sort of always reading Cold Tangerines; going over my favorite passages like they're bedtime stories. If you haven't read it, you seriously should consider it.

In lieu of the fall weather settling in, I read through a chapter this week titled "The Red Tree." It's possible that there's a series of posts coming up about the significance of trees - about how their changing is so symbolic of life. About how that has affected my story and increased my affection toward the 'bers.

albion avenue - fall 2011

All I want to do today is share some of "The Red Tree." I have a strong affinity for the 'bers, and with that comes a deep desire to experience the depth and bredth of this season. "The Red Tree" helped me connect back to that this week.

The author opens the narrative discussing how, in the midst of this particular fall, she was busy and stressed. Long to-do lists, events to plan, and talks to write. She is caught off guard one morning heading out to the store.


"I stomped out the door, back into the car, still in my pajamas, and as I opened the garage door again, I stopped in my tracks. In the park across the street, one of the tallest trees, twice as high as a two-story house, was the brightest, most insane, lit-from-within red I have ever seen. And it took my breath away, for two reasons. 


First, because it was so beyond beautiful, and second, because I had not noticed one step of its turning. I had been in and out of my driveway a zillion times in the last two weeks and could not have told you if the tree was even still standing or not. As I stood there in the driveway, I realized that I had stopped seeing the most important things to see. 


I wasn't seeing the people or the celebrations. I wasn't seeing anything beyond the chaos of my life and my home and my calendar. We were hosting a baby shower, and I saw the shopping list and the favor ideas and the bookcases to be dusted, but underneath all those things, waiting for me like the red tree, was the real sight to behold. Waiting under the things to do was a story to be told."

She continues a little later in the chapter:

"It looked like a full calendar, a whirl of events and to-do lists and grocery lists. But underneath it all, the month was a greatest hits album, a collection of stories, one after another, of the rich and gorgeous was that God tells His stories through our lives. What looked like a shower or a dinner or one more night to clean up after [or one more project or one more coffee date or one more early-morning wake up] was actually one of God's best gifts, worth celebrating, worth seeing. What looks like a plain old city street is just that until you lift up your eyes and see the red tree, and then you realize that this is no plain city street. This is a masterpiece just here for the week, our very own wonder of the world, and I just about missed it." 

I don't know where your heart is, but this passage struck me this week. I don't want to be so caught up in the myriad of things to do or the busyness of life as a college student that I miss the gifts God's given me right now in this week and this day. I don't want to wake up one day and realized I've missed this season because I was too zone-focused on checking things off my to-do list. I don't want to miss the story that God's telling through the people and experiences around me. I want to see and experience and explore the masterpiece of the present. Be it people or places or little moments of everyday life - I don't want to miss any of this season.

 apple picking 2011 

What about you? What's your red tree? What have you been looking at, but not really seeing? What have you been missing in this season? 

these days.

I have a running list of things I'd like to blog about in the coming weeks, including my excitement about the trees changing and why I want to celebrate every single day in the month of October and why I'm rethinking balance. I haven't been able to write anything, because these days, I have a heavy heart. 


My heart has been weighed down by the grave reality of what it means to teach in urban schools. With each passing day at my school site, I am smacked in the face with the reality of my students. They live in the reality of poverty and gang-crossfire. They live in survival mode with empty stomachs.

Going into this experience, I knew there was a high percentage of students living in poverty, but until I heard students complain of having nothing to eat, I didn't get it. I knew about gang violence at my school, but until I saw a gang fight and realized that my students' lives are in danger, I didn't get it. I knew there was an issue with drugs, but until I saw a drug deal during passing period, I didn't get it. I knew ACT scores were well below the CPS average, but until I worked with a student who has a fourth grade reading level, I didn't get it. 


There's one question I continually come back to. I keep asking myself 'why?' Why? Just why? Why did I get born into an affluent, supportive family? Why didn't my students? Why do they face horrible life situations? Why do I get to go home after school and they don't? Why is this their reality? Why do they have to be faced with gang violence daily? Why don't they have supportive families? Why does the world have to be a certain way? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why? Why? Just why?

My heart is heavy these days. I'm weighed down with sadness for my students' circumstances. Life has handed them more heartache and hardship than I'll probably ever experience. It's disheartening to be in urban schools, and I fully understand why the burnout rate is so high. It's not for everyone. And I can't, for the life of me, figure out why it's for me.

It's a constant paradox that I'm living in. It makes no sense for me to work in urban schools, considering my past and my education and my personality. But yet, when I'm there on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it feels right. I feel like I'm doing something right; I'm putting my skills and abilities to use in an environment where they are needed.

I had a student run to my class today. He came in out of breath, excited to be there. I had another student find me after school and ask if I would be back to teach on Thursday, because he really liked my lesson today. I had another student raise his hand every single time I asked a question, eager to learn and proud of his work. Even though there are a lot of difficult and discouraging things about working in urban schools, there are glimpses when I can see my students' benefitting from quality teaching. I want to be one of those teachers.

So these days, my heart is heavy. I don't have a neatly tied bow for the end of this post. I'm not sure if I'm in a good place or a bad place, and I know that I most certainly don't have all the answers. I am just continuing to put one foot in front of the other, taking life and teaching one step at a time.