on advent.

Did you ever have a chocolate Advent calendar as a child? Chocolate everyday in the month of December? What a way to countdown to Christmas! Count me in!

Secret confession? I didn't juuuuust have chocolate Advent countdown-to-Christmas calendars as a child. There's a chocolate advent calendar in my bedroom right now, thanks to my dear roommate's mom, Mrs. Gibbs, who makes sure the girls at Bethesda celebrate each holiday to the full. Not only do I countdown with chocolate, there's also the red and green paper chain that I make with my Dad every year. I love the satisfying feeling of ripping off one link each day in December; one less day to Christmas.

Anticipation, that's what this month is marked by, isn't is? During Advent, we count down and eagerly await the big moment: Christmas Day. I know for me, and for a lot of people in my life, it's easy to get lost in the hurrah of the next four weeks: the rush of shopping malls, perfectly wrapped gifts, the party planning, the sheer focus and determination of getting things done. And then what happens? We miss the entirety of Advent. We anticipate Christmas, and Advent slips right through out fingertips.

The older I get, the more I appreciate Advent. There are a lot of days during the month of December where the Christmas rush is so overwhelming, but Advent brings me back to the truth in this season. If you've spent any amount of time on this blog, or with me in person, you know it's about time to cue some Shauna Niequist, because she's going to explain advent better than I could. This excerpt comes from her book Bittersweet:

"Advent is about waiting, anticipating, yearning. Advent is the question, the pleading, and Christmas is the answer to that question, the response to the howl. There are moments in this season when I don't feel a lot like Christmas, but I do feel like Advent."

For the next four weeks, during the most precious time of Advent, I don't want to get lost in Christmas. I don't want to get lost in consumerism, in rushing, in mania and pressure. That's not to say I don't want to enjoy the Christmas season. I'm all about peppermint tea, looking at the windows downtown, decorating the tree, having as many Christmas related dance parties with my roommates as possible, and spending seriously quality time with people I love, not to mention wearing my ugly Christmas sweaters day in and day out. I want to enjoy Christmas, believe me, but what I desire the next four weeks to be marked by is Advent. I want to get lost in Advent. Right here. Right now. Lost in this season, in the ultimate and eager anticipation of what's to come, lost in the most tangible symbol of hope, yearning for something more, recognizing and living in the tension of here, but not yet. 

I want to strip down to the most basic and poignant truth I know: that Jesus came once, as a baby in a manger to rescue us, and that He will come again, bringing Heaven to Earth. There's a beautiful depiction of that coming in the book of Revelation:

"God's dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."  He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new." (Revelation 21: 3-5)

God will be with us, living with us. He will wipe away all pain, hurt, and brokenness. Everything will be new. Everything will be reconciled. It will be Heaven. On Earth. To me, that sounds like the most worthy place for our hope and anticipation; the promise of what's to come. Until then, we're living in tension. The tension of the Kingdom being right now, but not yet. In the book of Matthew, the last thing Jesus tells His disciples is that although he is leaving, He will be with them through the end of the age (it's in Matthew 28). In other words, the His Kingdom is with them. Always. Through the end of the age. Doesn't that mean it's with us, right now? The Kingdom is here. In each of us. Everyday. Everyday we live in it, but according to Scripture, this is only a glimpse of what's to come.

So what does that mean for Advent, for life right now as we're living it? It's walking in the hope and anticipation of what's to come. It's living in the reminder that something beautiful has been promised to us. Something more is coming. The season of Advent is the most searing and real reminder of that great hope. It's something worth joyfully anticipating. There is something more to come, and I want to marvel and relinquish and rest and find peace in that truth.

"Let yourself fall open to advent, to anticipation, to the belief that what is empty will be filled, what is broken will be repaired, and what is lost can always be found, no matter how many times it's been lost." - Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet

That is my prayer and my hope and my earnest desire for the next four weeks: to lay myself fully open to Advent; clinging to the promise that there's something more to come. 

change vs. transformation

Right now, I am in the shuffle of packing up and getting ready to head back to school. In the midst of getting organized and figuring out what's staying here (movies and books and dirty laundry) and what's going back to Bethesda (homemade Christmas tree ornaments and ugly Christmas sweaters), I came across a journal from earlier this year.

It's the journal where, for a few months time this spring, I wrote detailed notes of church services at MissioDei. I began flipping through the pages and pages of notes and questions and prayers scribbled throughout the journal. There's a short phrase that stuck out as I began skimming. It's bolded, underlined, and has arrows pointing to it. I wonder why it stuck out to me.

CHANGE VS. TRANSFORMATION

Clear. Explicit. Salient. True. Thought provoking. Change. Versus. Transformation. There must be a reason I made such a distinct note of the phrase. A few lines down in my journal are a few questions. 

Don't ask what am I going to do, ask who am I becoming? 

Who am I becoming in light of the gospel of Jesus? 

Did you know that, according to my Google research, one of the first synonyms for the word transformation is the word change? I looked it up. I checked a few sources, actually, and they all confirmed that change is somewhere on the list of synonyms for transformation. My notes, as I look them over again, tell me otherwise. When I hear the word versus, I think of opposing sides. I was watching college football earlier with my Dad. Alabama vs. Auburn. Notre Dame vs. Stanford. Clemson vs. South Carolina. Those people are not playing on the same team. Quite the opposite. Although Google tells that me that change and transformation are on the same team, I have a hard time believe that's what Josh Taylor was saying back in January. The way I wrote those words in my notes and the way I look at them now and the way I believe them to be true in my life, tells me that change and transformation are not the same. 

If we're talking about change, there are certain questions and thoughts that come to my mind. What am I doing? How can I fix it? How can I make it better? What do I need to do differently in order to be better? What do I need to do differently to please you? What do I need to do differently, period? Change lies and makes us believe that we are in control, telling us that we have the power to fix our lives. Such an easy trap to fall into, allowing us to believe that with a little bit of work ... with a little weight loss or with newer clothes or with a boyfriend or girlfriend or with more stuff or less chocolate or with better listening ... we will be fulfilled in this life. None of those things will bring us fulfillment in this life. And if we're suck in this mindset of change, we're asking for trouble.

If we're talking about transformation, there's an entirely different set of questions and thoughts and conversations we need to be having with ourselves. In every circumstance and opportunity and choice and experience ... ask who am I becoming? Am I becoming more of my authentic self? Am I becoming something more or something less? Am I becoming more like Jesus? Am I really the one in control here?  Transformation allows us to see and feel and believe that God has a plan so much bigger and greater than anything we could come up with on our own. Transformation frees us to surrender control, gently reminding us of a God who desires, in every circumstance, to make us into something beautiful. 

At my core, I don't believe there is anything I can do, anything I can change on my own power and strength, to make me more. Becoming something more can only come when we surrender, ultimately and truthfully and wholly, to the God who desires our hearts and souls and minds. Transformation comes when we let go of trying to make change happen.

Which do you choose? Do change and transformation mean different things for your life? Are they always mutually exclusive? Can change ever bring transformation? Can transformation ever bring change? 

keep your fork.

after dinner fork - Siena, Italy 

There's a moment that happens, without fail, at dinner parties. It happened last night at my family's Thanksgiving, and maybe you've encountered it, too. It is a moment, in this season of my life, that is true and real and has a weighted significance. After the main course is finished, when bellies are full and wine glasses near empty, when laughter and stories are louder than when the meal first began, that's when it happens. When the dishes are being cleared and lingering utensils and glasses litter the table, there's always the question, do we keep our forks for dessert? Or will we get a new fork with the next course? The answer, in my opinion, should always be yes. Yes, keep your fork, because that means less to clean up later. Not to mention, keeping your fork makes sense. Something more is coming, usually something sweet and delicious and worth the wait. Keeping your fork means immediately digging into the next course.

Keep your fork, there's more to come. 

I love the idea of keeping your fork. The first time I heard about it, I was a sophomore in high school. It was maybe one of the four times I attended a church service while I was in high school, and the pastor was talking about this idea of keeping your fork, that there's more to come in this life. The idea has stayed with me for years.

Keep your fork. It happens at dinner parties, yes, but it's so true of life as it's unfolding around me right now, in this moment and this season. Anticipation. In-between. Wondering what's to come. I feel full in the best possible ways, like I've just consumed a hearty meal at a dinner party. In the last season, I've taken in, consumed, listened, learned, watched, helped myself to first and second and sometimes third helpings of certain challenges and struggles and lessons. There's a newly made space inside of me for all of the experiences, people, and places that have been meaningful and powerful and will stay with me for the next course. Meanwhile, I am surrounded by amazing people, laughing and sharing stories and life with me. Around the table, I envision the people I've leaned on, who have poured into me, who have helped and sometimes hindered and in some way shaped the person I've become through the last season.

All the while, I am holding tightly to my fork, anticipating what's to come. What will the next season look like? What's the next course? Will it be sweet? Bitter? Delicious? Worth the wait? Worth the hype? Is it worth keeping my fork? What even is my fork?

Right now, I am trying to figure out my fork. What am I really taking with me from this season into the next? And how am I going to use it once the next course arrives? Am I holding my fork like a dagger- on the defense and ready to attack whatever comes my way? Am I laying my fork on the table, only to be picked up and used timidly after the course arrives? Or maybe I'm holding it upright, ready to dig in and jump in when the next course is barely set on the table?

Tonight, I am a lot of questions and not a lot of answers. I am thinking, but not yet finished with my thought. I am pondering, and I am okay with that. I know that the next season, the next course, the next part of my story ... is approaching quickly. I don't feel ready for the dishes and the utensils and the glasses from this course to be cleared, but they are surely being removed from the table, leaving me in nervous and joyful and excited anticipation of what's to come.  During this time, I want to hold tight to the truth I have learned about God's character and the way He loves each of us. During this time, I want to enjoy the company of the people around the table, laughing and sharing old stories and anticipating the ones to come. During this time, I want to acknowledge transformation, that in struggle, the only way out is in and through. During this time, I want to hold onto the idea of bittersweet, that life is never all of one thing, and that the bitter and hard and challenging moments have just as much weight in our lives as the very sweet moments. During this season of anticipation, I want to experience and know life to the full; full emotion, fully alive, fully present. I want to reminisce and remember and make new memories right here and right now and look ahead at the changes quickly approaching with joyful anticipation.

I find it ironic, as I finish up the last few sentences of this post, that dinner is being set on the table right now, and I will be reminded once again that keeping your fork is not only the best moment of the meal, but at the very core of this season of my life.

What's the meal you've just eaten? Who is around the table with you? What's your fork? What are you keeping as you move into the next season of your life? 

all in.

This fall, there's no time of the week I love more than Wednesday mornings. An obvious perk? Late class and no clinical work means that I can sleep in past 7:00. An unplanned perk? Coffee dates. It's become somewhat routine this semester to gather with friends - new friends and old friends and very dear friends - to talk about life and get to know one another with a hot beverage in hand. There's some part of my soul that believes a decent number of the world's problems could be solved if people made time for coffee dates. Coffee dates are life-giving, allowing me time and space to better understand the person across the table. Time and time again, Wednesday morning coffee dates (or rather, any coffee dates) bring real and honest conversation, leaving me with lingering questions and thoughts to explore.

This morning was no exception. I was fortunate enough to share coffee and conversation with my dear friend Sam. We parted ways and I went about my day, continually coming back to ideas that came up in conversation this morning. I came to realize, over coffee and conversation and homemade bagels, that I am in a season of anticipating, wondering what life will look like in the next year. What's the next part of my story. Where I will live. Where I will work. Who I will live with. Where I will seek out community. How I will grow. Who I will become. Certainly, these are the normal questions that come with graduating college.

To a certain extent, it's good to wonder what's next, to ask and question and think about life in the next season, especially when you're on the brink of transition. It's normal, and necessary even, for me to be thinking about life in the next year; planning for the logistics of getting a job and a place to live. It's easy for me, though, to lose the ground beneath me. I can easily get caught daydreaming and wondering about my future apartment and how cute I'll look in my teacher clothes. And somedays I get serious, asking questions like, how do I make a resume? Apply for jobs? Look for an apartment? Things I definitely need to get serious about, but my mind swirls in circles of the unknown, getting me nowhere.


I don't want to get so lost in the anticipation that I miss the place where I am right now. Briefly, Sam and I talked about the idea of being all in; about fully immersing yourself in the life that's right in front of you, present to every emotion and feeling and experience that's happening as it's happening. There will come a time when this season will no longer be this season, it will change and transition and I will start living a new part of my story. This season will pass, and when it does, I don't want to look back and realized I missed something. I want to be all in.

My Dad always says, "This too shall pass." More often than not, we use that in my family to talk about hard and difficult situations. Oh, you're stressed? This too shall pass. There's an argument? This too shall pass. There's hardship? This too shall pass. What we don't realize, though, is that everything will pass. The bad and hard things pass, yes, but the very good and very precious things about each season will pass as well.

Being a Young Life leader? This too shall pass. Bethesda? This too shall pass. After dinner dance parties with my roommates? This too shall pass. Late night drives on Lake Shore Drive? This too shall pass. Being a student? This too shall pass.

Everything will pass in its time. I realized today that life and change and transition is normal, a vital part of life even. We're all in for a little while, and then life and transition and change happen, we pull away, and start living a new chapter. So often, I get stuck, thinking, this is it. This is my story. Loyola. Bethesda. Young Life. Single. But this is not my whole story. My time at Loyola and my time living at Bethesda and my time as a Young Life leader and my time as a single lady, those are parts of my story, but they are not my whole story. There are entire chapters yet to be written, and while I am anticipating what's to come in the next year, I also want to be all in. Right here. Right now. Present. I want to be all in as a roommate. All in as a Young Life leader. All in as a friend. All in as a future teacher. I want to be in, present, fully aware of the people and places and feelings happening right now. In time, transition and change will be inevitable. I'll say goodbye and jump, head first and all in to a new part of my story. I want to know when that happens that I didn't put too much energy and into thinking about what's next, missing out on being all in right now. This too shall pass, and when it does, I won't be able to get it back. So, here's to being all in. Anyone want to join me?

statements of belief.

Read this first.

Reading Natalie's post yesterday challenged me to think to myself, what do I believe in? What's my statement of belief? I share in Natalie's obvious beliefs, including Jesus and gravity. So, assuming those are understood and that this list is by no means not complete, here is my statement of belief:

I believe in bubbles.

I believe that running is free therapy.

I believe each morning is a fresh start for something beautiful.

I believe in celebrating little moments of everyday life.

I believe that everyone has a story worth telling. 

I believe in silly. 

I believe in the power of words to bring life, and

I believe in becoming.

What do you believe?

limits and potentials.

"Each of us arrives here with a nature, which means both limits and potentials. We can learn as much about  our nature by running into our limits as by experiencing our potentials. The God I know does not ask us to conform to some abstract norm for the ideal self. God asks us only to honor our created nature, which means our limits as well as our potentials. One dwells with God by being faithful to one's nature. One crosses God by trying to be something one is not." - Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

give & take.

"Be a giver, not a taker" - That phrase is scribbled throughout the many pages of journals I kept this summer, both while I was in Italy and while I was a Castaway.

It's a simple phrase, really. Easy to understand at a basic level. To me, it makes sense relationally; giving and pouring into people without taking much in return. I read or heard somewhere that in every relationship, there's a giver and a taker. A person who gives more into the relationship and a person who takes more away from it. At the core of my being, I want to be a giver and not a taker. 

That's why I wrote about it so much this summer. I was in new places with new people and desperately desiring to be made into a person who gives and doesn't take. There are so many complexities and tangents and questions with that way of thinking.

Can you give independently of taking? Are they mutually exclusive? Is it possible to have a relationship where you're only giving and never taking? Isn't that life-sucking and probably seriously unhealthy for your well-being? Can you take and never give? Can you recognize it? Isn't is selfish? Do giving and taking occur congruently, even if we're not conscious of it? Do we all give and take in all of our relationships, but maybe we're only aware of the giving or the taking, even thought both are happening?  Is it healthy to have one without the other? Where does giving end and taking begin? Do giving and taking need to happen within the same relationship? Can you give into some people but take from others, letting those people take yet again from others - like a domino effect? 

I've been thinking a lot the past few days about giving and taking; about relationships and friendships and how people are messy and there's no how-to guide for doing life together. There's no step-by-step, one-size-fits-all, this-is-what-it's-like-to-love-people guide. Wouldn't it be nice if there were? I continue to come back to the truth that there are as many ways to do life - to be and do and think - as there are people in the world. No two people or relationships function the same, so giving and taking is different for every relationship, every friendship, every interaction, and every person. 

The only thing I know to be true is that in order for me to give in any capacity, I need to take from somewhere. If I want to pour into the people in my life, I need to be poured into. I fully recognize that above anything else, that fulfillment comes from Christ. My groundedness and centeredness and ability to care for and love the people in my life comes from a God who is much bigger and much stronger and much more able than I. Certainly by my own strength, I cannot give. On my own, I am a taker. Through and through, I am a taker. I can think of numerous friendships, both in the past and present, where it seems like the only thing I do is take.

But, I am starting to see and think that maybe my desire to be a giver isn't the best thing, either. Giving and giving and giving and never taking or never being poured into isn't healthy. Certainly, my ability and strength to give comes from connectedness with God. In order to pour out, I need to have something in me to give. But isn't it healthy to have friendships that are life giving? That build you up? Not only healthy I'd say, but also necessary. Essential. That's what community is. 

There's definitely a tension to giving and taking in relationships. Who is giving and taking and how much they are giving and taking - all things that I don't believe are static, but are very, very fluid. And I don't have it figured out by any means. I'm still very much figuring out how to live in the tension of give & take, doing what I can to find a healthy amount of each. 

What are your thoughts about giving and taking? Are there friendships where you're only giving? Or only taking? Is either option healthy? What are you doing to create space in your life to give? What are you doing to create space to take? 

ebenezer.

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

I've listened to and sang "Come Thou Fount" a handful of times in church services and have a rockin' Sufjan Stevens version on my iPod, but I never made the connection with the word ebenezer. Did you catch the line? Here I raise my ebenezer. On a basic level, I think I understood that an ebenezer was something- some sort of offering - that you're supposed to give to God. But I never really got it until last week. 

"Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, "Thus far the Lord has helped us." (1 Samuel 7:12) 

Last week at MissioDei, we reflected on this passage (1 Samuel 7:3-13). An ebenezer, as the passage says, is a stone of help. It's symbol that Samuel uses in this story to remind the Israelites that God was with them. He was their help. He was the one who brought them to that place, providing what they needed exactly as they needed it along the way. 

That's not unlike us, either. Until this day, the Lord has brought us here. He has given us exactly what we need, good, hard, bad, fun, painful, joyful, and anything and everything in between. He has brought us to the exact place we're at. He has given us RENEWAL. He has made us new and continues to make us new. If we're not aware of that, if we're not aware of the goodness that God's brought in our lives, it's easy to turn away. Easily, we get blind-sighted by our idols - by image and helping and work and materialism and ideology and comfort and approval and control and power. If we're not aware of the work that God's done and is doing and will continue to do in our hearts and in our lives, we fall apart.

I want to live with eyes wide open to the ebenezer in my life; to the renewal God's given and will continue to give. I want to pick out and celebrate with thanksgiving the reminders of His goodness and help. Bethesda. Redemption. Young Life. Transformation. Friendships. Freedom. Worth. Identity. Reminders of God's goodness. 

I want to be a person who lives with a spirit of thanksgiving. Last week at church, we were challenged to think of thanksgiving as an act of worship. A lifestyle. A posture, not a gesture. Not a one time event. Not one day of the year or one holiday, but rather, a way of living and doing and being and thinking. I want to be so consumed with thanksgiving that it's bursting forth my soul. The way that we remember our past shapes the way that we think about our future. I want to remember and live my whole story with thanksgiving, lifting up praises to the God who gives and provides exactly what we need exactly when we need it. 

That's where I sit tonight. Thanksgiving. Ebenezer. Renewal. 

What's your ebenezer? What's the renewal that God has brought unto this day? Are you living with a posture of thanksgiving? 

moving on, then.

I wrote earlier this week about needing to tell a story; about sharing the parts of who I am that I'm not proud of.

 Can I get a re-do on that?

I mean, don't get me wrong, I still think that my story must be told. The good and the bad. Your story must be told, too. But with each passing day, I've felt a pull not to share (explicitly anyway) what's been going on. Although there could be benefit in walking you through every last emotion and thought in my head the past two weeks, I don't think it would be the best thing.

I want my story to be told in other ways. I don't think I need to explain everything that's happened, but instead, I want the changes in my heart to be shown through the way I approach and write about life as it's unfolding around me. 

Moving on, then.