a season with myself.

This season of life is hard to sugar coat. I am a jobless fiance, who spends her time planning her wedding, kayaking, reading, sewing and learning to cook. I have gone from living in a dorm of thriving and busied college students to living in a house alone (with an occasional hi or hello from my mom) an hour away from the community I will be moving to in the fall. I almost feel as if I have been given a season of grieving... grieving four years of relationships I have moved away from. And here I am starting over from scratch relationally, yet that is difficult and hard to explain no matter how good I am at meeting new people. It's a season of being alone and feeling lonely. A season of getting all the time I ever wanted to rest or be creative or escape to my safe places.... and yet it is not a bright spot for me, because it misses community. It misses people that drive me crazy but I choose to love anyway. It misses discipleship. It misses mentorhsip. It misses meals that don't revolve around a television set. It misses communcation. It misses laughter. In a few weeks I am sure it will change (I know it will) but I know this will be a difficult season and adjustment for me. I strive to not pity myself, but to embrace where I am at.

I think it's okay to own up to the season we find ourselves in, even if it is one that seems dry. One filled with many blank stares. I've been reading a book about simplicity by Becky Freedman that has shed light on rest. If you ask me, I did not rest like I should have this past year. I rested, but not in ways that were reviving for my soul. Watching TV does not revive me. Even sewing, though I love it so much, does not revive me. Becky entertains the idea that women in the Bible were exiled while on their Woman Time because, in some way, it was their time to rest. Their time to stop going stir crazy, take a step back from kids, family, and parents.... I'd never thought of it as a rest time, but boy do I like the idea of it not being an exile or shunning of the female race... but a much needed escape. I wonder, in some divinely humorous way that I won't get perspective on until months from now, if this is my exile/escape. Do you hear that? It's God laughing.

 I think there are pieces of my heart that need to be changed during this season. I think I am being humbled by much (not just moving in with my parents post-graduation) (and not just not having a job either). I am learning what it is to be with myself again and to get int tune with who I am, what I want, what I think my purpose is, and if I am living to fulfill that purpose every day.

And if I learn anything from this season, I hope it's that I learn to cook better. Not becasue I'm getting married and "that's what a wife's suppose to do", cause I wouldn't believe that gender lie for a second....I honestly suck at cooking and have come to admire it since my days of watching Julie and Julia. I want to say, give me some food people, and so I can make it taste dang good.

coffee shops and pretty rocks.

After an adventurous and romantic friendship my devastatingly handsome He Friend decided to ask me to marry him. I kept wondering how he'd ask me when I got back from New York  (my bestie and I had left for a week in the big apple to celebrate our graduation)... but alas, he surprised me at my favorite coffee shop in Brooklyn on a sunny Saturday.

My bestie, because she knows how much look'n classy means to me, made sure I dressed pretty that day. The inward romantic and slightly vain Me has cared for years and years about what I'd look like when it'd finally happen, and, thanks to my bestie, I had on a revived polka-dot blouse tucked in to a high-waisted skirt. It was the ONLY good hair day I had while in Brooklyn. I even had make-up on. Hallelujah. My biggest fear for the past two months was getting asked right after I'd worked out in the 95 degree Texas weather. I still would have said "yes" as a sweaty mess, but I'd have had to dress all cute the whole month after to make up for it.

We had stopped in for some joe at Qathra, my favorite coffee shop in Brooklyn (where I had previously evaluated and prayed over my relationship with my Mr. a year before). We took our seats in the back garden, and, after a few minutes, I looked up to see that my man was bringing me the cupcake I had ordered, with a pretty ring sitting next to it. MY MISTER! Walking towards me. And I knew he was only there for one reason. I'm not sure if color drained from my face or flooded it, but inwardly I felt a surge of relief, love, and divine peace. Apparently I went into hysterics, but I honestly can't remember. I was overwhelmed with joy to see him. And after I said yes, he asked me to marry him (I know, it's my fault it went out of order.... adrenaline made me do it), and I didn't stop smiling at him the entire night.

The pictures say it all. We have quite the adventure ahead of us as we enter into our season of being engaged...one I'm sure will be overwhelming, beautiful, filled with gratefulness as well as challenge, and, in my opinion, I hope it's good but short cause I certainly like getting to do life with this kid.

Standing Outisde With Your Mouth Open Wide

A few days ago my friend Michelle was visiting, so we whipped out the water-colors and made drippy masterpieces and colorful stationary. Water-coloring is one of my sweetest memories as a kid. Recently, it has become one of my favorite creative outlets.... I love inviting others into my nostalgic world of child-like imagination and giggles. Not pictured below is Michelle's Masterpiece: A high-heeled shoe with the word "SWAG" written underneath it. She's the next Pablo Picasso I'm sure.

Learned.

Back in high school I had absolutely no desire to go to college.

I even made a mental "Why Stacie doesn't need to go to college" list...
1. I don't want to learn anymore... algebra did me in, I can't fit anything else in my brain, the Pythagorean Theorem is taking up A LOT of space.
2. I have to leave my mom? Nope. Not gonna. You can't make me. She's too cool.
3. I just want to be a wife. Give me a man, I'll marry him. We'll live happily ever after...with no children. (At 17 my mind had made a cemented decision after a bad round of babysitting, that I didn't want children. My mom mourned my decision and told me I would change my mind later in life. I rolled my eyes at her. And 5 years later... I want children).
4. I don't want to learn any more. I just want to frollick.

I went to college because my mom researched universities for me and forced me to fill out every college application before I could go hang out with my friends. And I've always been an obedient perfect child, so I did. Obedient and perfect... the 'rents lucked out so much.

And somehow, here I am, 5 years later, almost graduated from college, loving it so much I have a list of daunting grad school possibilities sitting in front of me. When did I get like this? Wanting to learn all the time. Grieving the times I took my education for granted. How many hours did I waste on Myspace and Facebook when I could have been reading good books and discovering what I was passionate about?

So here I sit... not sure where to start. Research. Apply. Be super radtacular in interviews.

I'm a girl with a capacity to grow and learn. Wanting to take the next step in pursuing an education because I, Stacie, want to, not because my parents want me to.

I am learned. And learning. And pretty soon, soceity will call me a "grown up"... and then I get to figure out that I really know nothing at all.....

... and for the first time, I'm excited.

Acne-Shmacknee.

Today someone told me she admired my facial complexion. For most of my life "admired" might not have been the word of choice to describe my face thanks to my acne...

ACNE (ac-ne): the mountainous atrocity that tends to bubble and burst on the most prominent and visible places on a person's face.

Sometimes a definition just isn't enough so I create new words to give more meaning to things... ACNasty, I want to smACNE my face for looking so gross, I think my ACNEeds ProAvtive.

My acne came earlier than anyone elses, which was devestating as a ten year old.  My mom let me start my makeup journey in middle school but I never "painted the house" correctly and ended up looking like a vampire or a dead person most of the time. I gave up on makeup eventually, or at least discovered how to use it in moderation.

For some reason it left about three years ago. And I hope it never comes back. Cinderella was so concerned with getting to the ball and I didn't even care about the ball, I just wanted my face to clear up by the touch of some Fairy-god-mother wand wave. It's ironic because once I really stopped caring, it stopped intruding on my face.

 I get the occasional blemish, but I don't even remember what I looked like with a spotted face. And unfortunately I don't have a picture for you of my ghostly middle school years, but maybe someday I'll dig one up and embarrass myself by posting it here for all to see.

So whether you have it still, you bypassed it completely (and for that we all hate you), or you think you have finally stepped out of the "Acne Arena", here's to acne, and every time it has "ruined" our lives. And here's to focusing on putting a smile on our faces and genuineness in our hearts, because those things bypass all things pimples in the end.

Woman of the year.

This is my mom.... isn't she beautiful?

The first photoshoot.

I loved using two of my most wonderful friends for my photoshoot for a boutique close by.... this was my first photoshoot, and with the amount of fun I had... I hope it's not my last...

Want to know the hardest part about photoshoots? You don't get to keep the clothes...

Want to know the hardest part about dreaming about having a new wardrobe? You wake up and you don't have a new wardrobe....

On that note, here are some pretty pictures.....

The Fashion Future Train.

I've purchased my ticket and am jumping aboard the Fashion Future Train. Well, I'm trying to dabble in the fashion world by doing a little bit of Marketing/Public Relations for a classy fashion boutique that's cozied up next to one of my favorite coffee shops, Classic Coffee.

I'm excited to dive into this creative PR wardrobe and hope that it can dress up my resume a little bit, while clothing me in one of life's many opportunities to learn and grow.

Here's a savvy video for those of you who love fashion, hate fashion, or need a little reminder of how glad you are you didn't live in the early 1900's, wearing floor length dresses on a daily basis.

To live.

“To live would be an awfully big adventure”. -Peter, from J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan

There are some days I walk through my front door, sit down on my floral couch and stare at my old coffee table... wishing I could be at any other place in life than the place I'm in. Deep down I either long for what was or what could be... while trying to cope with what is. Some days I wish I could have my child-like innocence bestowed upon me again... to live in a care-free world, with dreams as big as the church pews on Sunday and as attainable as a piece of grass in a giant meadow.

There are days when all I want is to have years of experience on my sleeve, instead of an uncertain and somewhat daunting future staring me in the face, refusing to let me see what is beyond. It is an odd thought to know that my formal education is ending and real life is waiting around the corner... am I the only one who thought Jesus was going to come back before I had to face such a drastic uncertain part of life?

This summer I read Luci Swindoll's I Married Adventure. She's seventy something and has seen the back of her hand so often she not only remembers what it looks like, but knows when each wrinkle and crevis arrived. She said that when we are young we want nothing but to be older. And when we are older we desire nothing but to be younger. And in my early twenties, I want so much... I want my dream job, I want a non-profit that sells re-stitched vintage clothes. I want to be a successful writer. I want to roadtrip the entire West Coast. I want to read books for a whole week straight. I want to be married. I want to be laughing around a dining room table with too many friends squeezed around it, dreaming up creative ideas and new ways to take community out of the cliche box it has been put into... and on days when life is tiring and seemingly overwhelming, I'm tempted to think I want nothing but retirement.

But those "sit and stare" thoughts linger for a time and then, with an understanding wink and a kind wave, they leave. I am here. In the present. I cannot go back. And I cannot move forward as nimbly as I think I can. I cannot skip over living life. What's the fun in living out dreams if I haven't reached for them? And when I look back on the small part of life I have lived, I ask why I would ever want to fast forward or rewind... even through the difficult chapters.

I used to read the last few pages of every book before starting it.... but, after awhile, I decided knowing the end never made the book any better. I never really understood the weight of that last page anyway...at least until I had the feeling and momentum of the entire book to back it up. I think life is a lot like that. Skipping ahead isn't realistic and, even if it was, it wouldn't be grand or appreciated. To appreciate the here and now, means living fully in the moments it took to get here.

Living in the present isn't so hard when I see life as an adventure worth living. By the grace of God it is an adventure... an everlasting one. And apparently this “blink of an eye” life I'm living is only the beginning. That's what I've come to believe and stake my life on. Here's to living a great adventure.

The Haven.

One of my favorite words in the Bible is the word "Abide". I love that we are called to make our home and resting place in God alone. To take life in, by Abiding in God. We all need life and sustenance. Tonight I went to a place that would be one small piece to "abide" if it were a word that was crafted into a beautiful mosaic.

I've never been to a housewarming party, but it seems like something right up my avenue. I enjoyed going to my first this evening and hope to host one soon... maybe (because my "home" realistically is a dorm) I could call it a "Dwarming Party". ---I've had a ridiculous obsession with combining words lately... I think two words combined has a stronger meaning---- My hosts went above and beyond warming and really made us, their guests, feel as if we were at home. And if there is anything I love, "feeling at home" is one that warms my heart... it's is right up there with chocolate, cheese, crafting, writing, and people watching.

These ladies call their house The Haven, and I love that word almost as much as I love the word "Abide". A safe place. A place without tension. A place without baggage. Or, grace to meet baggage if it is there. A place of service and love. A place to be creative. A place to be free. A place to know one's self and think. A place for honesty.

It's deeply breath-taking that our God, the dearest Friend we could ever encounter, offers such a place to us every day. He is safe. He brings loving discipline. He takes away the suitcases of baggage we tend to carry around with us when we set them down at His feet...or He kindly lets us know that the suitcases of baggage we carry are someone elses. He offers grace from the second we think our first thought to when we are in bed acknowledging that our day was what it was because of His grace. He served us with death for life. his death, for our life. He loved us fiercely and still does every second of every day. He is the author of creativity. He is freedom and offers it to us. He wants us to become more of who He created us to be. He wants to know what we think. He desires for us to sit, be still, and listen. He is honest with us. And we can be honest with Him.

He is my Haven. And how I desire to abide in Him Alone.

I need to read books.....

...because they make me think. Sometimes I surprise myself when I realize I've been living each day in an absent minded fog. I notice my unfortunate ability to turn on some sort of "Stacie Default" that gets me by, but doesn't really make me think or live well. Reading usually takes me out of that funk. It offers newness, and sometimes thats exactly what we need in order to think.. a few pages of newness.

....because I must keep learning. Today someone told me that if we didn't read classic literature we would be reduced to something like mush and mayhem. Some businessman with the last name of Freeman said, we should "live forward, and think backward". Thinking backward, of course, involves gleaning from classics like Crime and Punishment, Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, and War and Peace.... those are some of my favorites. I thought to myself... have I really taken time lately to look back to make sure I'm living my full potential forward?

...because it is important to know what my mentor's mentors believed. Most of the people I look up to in this world were and are avid readers... am I looking to the sources they are influenced by? I probablys should be.

...because any perspective is a good one to attemp to understand. Some people refer to a person who reads a wide capacity of books and genres as "well rounded". Don't we all wish we read more.... and probably more or less for that reason, to become all the more well-rounded?

....because to read is to persevere. Something I learned about reading a long time ago is that I must persevere through certain books, poems, or articles. If I have to read slower than I'd like to understand a text or if the beginning of a book seems stale at first, I must persevere.

Read to enjoy.

Read to dream. Or learn how to dream.

Read to esscape, so when you enter back into reality you might be challenged to live more fully.

Read that your conversations may be full and driven.

Read so you may lead well.

Read so you may follow well.

Read to be challeneged.

Read because you are able.

Read, and see the wonder in every page.

A Place to Be.

The past few years of typical busy college-ness (academic work, a social schedule, event nights and weekends, group this's, and group that's) have taught me about the importance of finding places of freedom... places where I can simply be. Places where over-crowded schedules are restricted and busy personalities aren't allowed. Places I find rest. Places that allow me to reflect, think, be still, sit, walk around, watch people, smile, cry, stare....

I love to give you a peak of some of my favorite places to be.....

1. On or near a lake, ocean, or river.  Growing up I lived next to a lake and often walked down to our neighborhood beach to sit on the dock and think. I've watched a million sunsets on that dock and even woken up for a few sunrises. I've gone there to cry throughout the years... because I was adolescent... because I was alone... because I felt misunderstood... because I didn't want to grow up... because I wasn't sure where God fit into my life... because I was frustrated with God... because I was selfishly not getting my way....and because I was so grateful and overwhelmed with peace at how immensely beautiful and full life is. There's something mezmorizing about watching the water roll by as the sun shines across each tide. Today I went kayaking on the Pacific Ocean, so far from my familiar dock... but I loved every second of it, especially the times I just sat back, closed my eyes, and listened to my kayak move through the water. Here's to the water... a place I can be.

2. My new couch. I'm pretty sure my parents could have owned this couch their first year of marriage (that's quite a few decades ago). It has a very Stacie-esc '70's print. I love it. My friend Matt was at the thrift store as I was buying it and he (in all seriousness) assured me that I could put a slip cover over it... I then smarted off to him, wondering how I could ever possibly cover up such a rich vintage pattern? I placed my couch by my window and made sure my parents' old '70's lamp could sit right next to it. Couch and lamp perfectly matched to turn a dorm room into a family room, a life giving space. Perfect for a homebody like me. And here I sit, on my couch, with the window open and a quiet sunset peaking through the giant tree outside my window. And a mug of milk (one of my favorite resting drinks) sitting on the coffee table next to me. My '70's lamp would be on but the bulb blinked out today. It's getting old. No matter... this is a place I can be. And I love it.

3. The Huntington Library, Pasadena, California. This is one of those places you see in movies a lot but you might not know it unless you've been there. The first time I visited I went home immediately and looked up what movies had been filmed there because it's too beautiful of a place to not put in a movie (for those wondering, some movies it has appeared in: The Wedding Planner, Charlies Angles, Memoirs of a Geisha, etc.) With gardens, an old manor, a library, museums, art, and tea rooms galore, this place is a dream come true. Freshmen year I got the Palm Tree Blues and found myself missing real trees that didn't look like giant pipe or tiolet cleaners. The Huntington Library cured me of my chemical imbalance and had me believing I'd stepped into a Jane Austen novel or some foreign country with beautiful trees and gardens everywhere. It's a place to admire in one day's time... a place to bring a good book to... a place to bring a friend to moreso for looking than talking.... and maybe even a place to fall in love. It's a place I love and a place I can be.

Crafternooning with Stacie Lynne

Today has been a crafternoon in and of itself. I've loved every second of it. I'm one of those people who could be alone the entire day working on creative projects and ideas without realizing I haven't talked with anyone since yesterday. Tomorrow, I'll be ready for conversations up and down the social board, but today, I feel as if I'm hybernating as I squeeze the creative juices out of every nook and cranny of my brain. A human being even stopped by to say hi earlier and some sort of awkward personality of mine answered them. I had forgotten how to be pleasant and friendly.... which is why I grin and embrace Stacie Crafternoons... and limit them to once a week.. for the sake of myself and everyone else.

Today's project? "Hipster-ifying", "Vintage-ifying",  and "Unique-ifying" every picture frame, pillow, and canvas in my room. Lately I've been enthralled with material, patterns, and color schemes. It's the beginning of a beautiful obsession I believe. So here's to the material I found life-giving and even some of the words I scattered throughout my room in hopes of bringing hope to others when they take a peak in my room.

Stacie Decorating Tip #1: Decorate to give life to others. Or to yourself. And... have fun.



She put the best in friend.

I love having best friends in different places. I love that this life permits me to have more than one best friend, and, even if it didn't, I'd probably try to break the rules with at least 3 or 4. From first grade to highschool to summer jobs to college, I've found some faithful, kind, and loving best and dear friends. They rejoice with me. Cry with me. Laugh with me. Challenge me. Pray for me...I love them because they give and love even when I can't.

Meet Amber. She's been my long-time best friend. She really is the best. Getting together with her always reminds me of how far we have come. We've known each other since first grade, which means our friendship has survived some very precious and terrifying years. We experienced extreme feelings of ecstasy, jealousy, nuttiness, happiness, and hurt in junior high. AND braces and vicious acne. We went through those exact same things in high school, but found that each feeling came quite a bit deeper the older we became. Together we came to terms with who we were. We've watched each other discover God, individual passions, and the beauty of life itself. And today, we have survived almost four years of being best friends half way across the country.Though we don't see each other much, each time we get together I am reminded of how precious and sacred our long-lasting friendship is.

But a friendship is always growing isn't it? That might be one of the most frustrating and beautiful aspects of friendship. Amber and I are still learning how to be honest and vulnerable with each other. When we were little, I was jealous of the big bows her mom decorated her hair with and I thought she was one of the prettiest little girls I had ever seen. I was jealous of her when the guy I liked in middle school had feelings for her. And now I'm jealous of anyone who gets to spend time with her on a daily basis, because she's wonderful to spend time with.

Like a lot of girls our age, we get together to talk about what's important. And then we get down to what's really important... men. We rant, we confess, we scowl, we laugh, we obsess, we question, and we pray about the males who have made their way into our lives. We've gone from being obsessively giddy and overly romantic, to liking the same guy and hating each other, to seeking pure and Godly relationships, to talking about the ins-and-outs of relationships and how incredibly more complicated they are than we ever anticipated, to wondering whether or not testosterone fits into our future at all. I hope your thoughts on relationships have progressed as ours have, one way or another.

As I've been writing I've been thinking that this particular best friend really doesn't get as much thanks as she deserves. For putting up with a lot through the years. For always being willing to go on an adventure with me. Or be hurt by me. She's meeting me at Starbucks in a few minutes to waterpaint and drink tea. I think I'll thank her. Have you thanked someone who's a "best" in your life? Maybe you should thank them too. And then waterpaint and drink tea with them.

Never Fully Dressed.

Playing on iTunes: "I'm writing to bare my soul to the world, that the world might be able to relate to my issues" music. Because I have a confession:

I have a downfall. A worldly nemesis who occasionally makes a visit every few times a year... mainly when the seasons change or when I take a trip to the mall. His name is Fashion. He lurks in my closet, watches me put on my outfit for the day, and then, just as I ready myself to step out of the closet and tackle my daily To-Do list, He tells me to glance in the mirrror once more before I leave my closet, and, as I do, he whispers in my ear "That style won't do. The vibe you're giving off screams 'yesterday' when it should scream 'tomorrow'." I hear that and after a long linger in the mirror, I think to myself... He's right. So I change... over and over again, caught in a cycle of deception and vanity and before I know it, I'm staring at a monster-made-messy closet with "clean my closet" added to my already lingering To-Do list. And one defeated thought flashes through my mind like a billboard in Time Square: Fashion's right, nothing will do.

In my frustration with my "I-must-show-all-the-other-fashion-gurus-in-my-city-I-can-rock-the fashion-vibe-of-a-lifetime" addiction, I can't help but wonder if there is a remedy for me and those like me who sit on the floor of our closets, surrounded by piles of too many clothes. Clothes we are addicted to. And yet we are sick of vanity. Sick of "caring too much". Sick of not being able to find the "classy, but moreso indie, not too dressed up or down, no one else has thought of this" look. We sit there, sometimes in tears, other times with an empty blank stare on our faces, in awe that we just spent so long in our closet we missed the church service we were getting ready for. We even sing a Fashion-revised version of Christina Perri's "Jar of Hearts", belting her mournful lyrics, applying them, of course, to our relationship with Fashion: "I know I can't take one more step towards you, cause all thats waiting is regret...Fashion, who do you think you are, running round leaving scars? And now your back for me" I think its beyond okay to remind myself that Jesus once compared those clothing mounds with "moths and rust" ie. death and destruction.

In a year or two you might hear of a girl who suffocated in her closet, smothered by her own piles of clothes, wearing a blouse and scarf that didn't even match her shoes and pants. But that girl won't be me. I have decided it is time to start putting in ear plugs when Fashion bugs me about what I'm wearing. And when he wants me to take that final critical glance in the mirror, I'll tell him what Christina Perri told her deceitful and lousy beau, "Don't come back for me, don't come back at all".

For lent this year, clothes were my focus. I didn't subtract from life. I added to it. I added a small but but critical rule. I'll admit I've been defeated more than a few times this lent season, it has never been so difficult for me... but I am determined to not let Fashion control me. I'm determined to have my inwardness outshine my outwardness. To care about what I wear, but to care more about the inner workings of me, which, in all honesty, need much more time spent on them than my outward appearance.

 So what's my rule? Start from the left to the right and each day wear the blouse that comes next. No skipping around. No changing or trying on something different cause I'm not "feeling" a certain top. I can still keep creativity by pairing whatever bottom I want with whatever top I choose, but the top must stay the same. Time saver? Yes. Room for creativity? Yes. Time to inwardly delve into how I can clothe myself with patience, kindness, compassion, and forgiveness? Yes. Freedom? Yes.

Here's to freedom. If this is something you struggle with, let me be the first to offer to buy you some ear plugs or help you chunk your full-length mirror in the nearest dumpster.

Chelsea

Someone once told me the most important word I should ever remember is someone's name. A person's name truely is a powerful word.

We are called by our names. Remembered by our names. When someone knows my name or remembers it from long ago, my innate "desire to belong" gets fulfilled. When someone mentions my name in a story, I feel a sense of significance settle within me. Someone knew my name. They thought I was important. I was worth remembering.

I love people that are worth remembering. I think a lot of people really are worth remembering. I love taking note of those individuals. People who have remembered my name and even gone farther than that... they have given me life by being a part of my life. Investing in me. Going beyond my name to my heart.

One of those life-givers, investors, and go-er beyond-ers is my friend, Chelsea.

Chelsea has held many roles in my life, and she might even giggle that I referred to her as my "friend" since she is also my boss.... but I am so thankful for this one year of working with her. We've had the chance to take some beautiful walks down the avenue together. And now, after pouring so much of her life into myself and others... she physically gets to bring life into the world.

Today I went to Chelsea's baby shower. My first baby shower ever in fact. There were at least 5-6 others there who had no idea what to expect or that it is okay to have a soda chugging contest using baby bottles. Those wonderful "others" I so gratefully love to call my co-workers, but more importantly, my family. I've never felt so comfortable and out of place at one time. Moments like those are beautiful and rare though, and, looking back, they never really seem out of place but, moreso, just right.

I loved celebrating Chelsea's life and the fact that she has something inside of her that is going to change her life forever in less than two months. She has given so much life to my family of friends and I, and yet it was beautiful to turn around and speak truth into her life.

I also love seeing Chelsea enjoy life. She has a genuine smile and uses it often (I've cried so much in her apartment because I've been laughing too hard). How I wish I could see her face when she sets her eyes on Baby for the first time. To see her enjoy life in such a new way. Thinking of  her joy when she finally gets to see Baby... the little life she has been waiting to hold for so long.

And Chelsea will give Baby a name.  Baby will be called by that name. Remembered by that name. And when people say Baby's name, they will bring life, significance, worth, and a sense of importance into Baby's life....

To my "he"...

Some people call it a long-distance relationship. Lately I've found a few new names for it... Too Much Fun, Ridiculous, Difficult, and "wait, what?"

Both long distance and short distance (any distance really) are similar to culture shock. At the beginning there's a euphoria and honeymoon-ish cluster of emotions that bubble and burst.... and then real life hits and there's confusion, frustration, and one too many blank stares. When the he or she on the other end of the phone (or for short distance, the he or she sitting across the table from you at Starbucks), suddenly loses the glow that seemed to radiate from their ever perfect and presentable person. They lose their splendor and it becomes harder to love them. Loving all of a sudden becomes a choice, not an action motivated by shallow romance and euphoric feelings. And the most reality biting thought throughout all of this is that you, the one they call their other... YOU have lost your angelic glow and have been exposed as a flawed and maybe even selfish human being that is just as difficult (or maybe even more difficult) to love.

Yet choosing to love them, even when it is the last thing I want to do, is something I've decided is a lot more fun and much more beautiful. It's a little something that holds true with everyone we interact with, and yet here it is to a different and deeper degree than I've ever experienced it.

In the midst of finding myself "back from my honeymoon", I enjoy our time together still. Good conversations, honest thoughts, coffee shops, reading, movies, roadtripping, singing together, being still, taking pictures, and laughing. It's the simple things we do that i really love most.

To my he, thanks for looking past my selfishness and choosing to serve me through your actions and hope-filled words.

When Christmas Isn't Merry.

Today Texas was visited by a blanket of snow. My emotions that only tend to get stirred by the beauty of snow and ice are pouting because they find themselves dormant yet another year. I'm sitting in my usual coffee shop in California staring out at unwelcoming gray skies and ugly palm trees. Christmas break is over and I've missed winter by only a few days (I'm reading A Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis... and can't help but think if Narnians could read this they would be baffled that I'm wishing for snow). No matter the weather, I am more than grateful to be back in California and am ready to begin another season of "furthering my education".

This year Christmas was frustrating, mournful, blank, and sad. Far from Merry. I've heard this happens to everyone at some point...having a Christmas that lacks the "happy factor". Or a vacation that only seems to highten exhaustion rather than exstinguish it. I gave myself time specifically to write. I clickity-chipped my computer keys till my thoughts came no more and my fingers were tired; yet, I found myself distracted, irked that i couldn't remember how to semi-colons in a sentence anymore, and too frustrated with my cliche imagery to finish anything. One thing I know, writing is not a simple task.

But I sit here desiring to write because these words are important for someone to hear. Because they have had a Merriless Christmas before too. They've had a Christmas filled with good and bad. A Christmas filled with beautiful moments. A shattered Christmas.Agrateful Christmas. And Christmases filled with deep hope amidst gloomy circumstances.

And this year I've decided it was okay that it was just... Christmas.

 

A warm breeze.

It seems the season of life I find myself in is dry, sad, and frustrating.

Even writing or celebrating anything feels empty and strained.

I know there are times in life that will simply be gray. But I love the few rays of light that bring warmth into the seemingly overwhelming and deep darkness. I have a hope that is greater than any darkness I find myself in. I hope you do too. And, my sweet but quiet confession, is that lately the light has been small but present, bursting forth in the simple things.

Today I found light. Or maybe it found me. I walked outside and found myself enveloped by a warm breeze. I took time to sit and quietly welcomed the warmth in. The soft rays of sunlight were even strong enough to reach in and warm my heart. It was as if the sun had compassion on me.

My hair gently brushed against my face. My eyes closed themselves. My shoes were disguarded. My hands lay loose in my lap. I didn't even know someone was taking a picture of me in such a beautiful moment.

Here's to the other "warm breezes" I graciously encountered the past few weeks... a sweet acoustic serenade of "Stand By Me", truly enjoying each sip of hot chocolate, reading words I needed for that particular moment while bundled up in a soft blanket on the floor of my laundry room, accepting failure then taking a step to move on.

Let's celebrate the kind warm breezes. Simple, temporary, and so gentle.

Our "Family Thing"

It's December 22, and Christmas is ever before me. Christmas is the only time of year my parents, siblings, and I get together anymore... Our family feels so mature and grown since none of us live at home. I having older siblings whose lives have been in full swing for years (that means they're big kids, with real jobs and rent to pay). We grew up about as fast as it takes my dad to assemble our phony Christmas tree (i mourn the year we reverted to a fake tree... and still hold some bitterness in my heart when I can't smell the fresh pine). With one in The Netherlands, another in New York, myself in California, and our parents in Texas, we just don't get to "bump into each other" all that often.

I love "family things".. It seems like every family has its own quirks and quibbles, but I love seeing a family have that one thing that is unique to them. The thing that sets them apart. Ours is cookie decorating.

We keep a few holiday traditions, but the one that stands out to me the most is our annual Christmas cookie decorating extravaganza, which could more appropriately be named "I can 'decorate' at least 20 cookies in globs of icing and eat them ALL without barfing before the night is over" extravaganza. My brother has probably never decorated as many cookies as he has eaten... but, between you and me, I'm pretty sure I come in a close second to him. And since Christmas is so wisely and strategically celebrated right before everyone's new years "no sugar" resolution begins, I have no remorse for the amount of sugar I intake.

I call it a homemade heartattack. I'm not a chef or baker. I don't know a food recipe from a grocery receipt, but I appreciate my mom's homemade brilliance when it comes to this tradition. Homemade red and green icing. Homemade cookies. Way too much butter and powdered sugar. We would be at a loss if one year she decided not to make them.

So here's to my families cookie craze. Even though the red icing looks pink. Even though I've never figured out why our Christmas cookie cutouts include a sheep, a plane, and a windmill. Even though my sister wins "most creative cookie" every year... I can't help but celebrate our "family thing" and those deliciously deadly sugar packed treats.

What's your "family thing"? And don't you think it's about time to celebrate it?