when six months flies by...

This is the third time in the last six months I've drafted this post.

Aside from a second baby being born into the family I nanny for, getting engaged (!!!), beginning wedding planning, and just overall chaos, the truth is that I totally burnt out on this space. 

There was mega-inspiration and motivation for a couple months (as the last post will reveal), but after a few conversations I realized I was only riding the blogging train as fast as I was because I had nowhere else to go. 

That may sound silly, or trite, or wildly inconsistent, but the a-ha moment came and I just backed. up. completely. 

I've been a writer as long as I can remember, I've loved food both consciously and subconsciously just as long. And six months ago, the only tangible trajectory I had for post-nanny life was blogging. The irony, however, is that blogging might be the most intangible trajectory of all, and I realized I didn't want that.

Crunching numbers, weird schedules, instability, creating original content and doing it consistently...it was all causing me more stress and guilt than joy. It was as though I forgot how I like structure, and expectations, and being somewhere at the start of the day. I had envisioned this life for myself that wasn't on par with who I was, but I wanted that life because what else could I do? 

Not to say that bloggers don't have structure, or expectations, or consistent starts to their days...but cultivating that is what I was forcing on a part of myself that didn't exist, and that didn't exist within the reality of where I currently am. 

All I have ever wanted from blogging, really truly, is a space to share and connect. If I share about food, it's not because I consider myself a food blogger. I am not. It's just because I love it and it's how I tangibly make space to create.

If I write, it's not because I consider myself a full-time writer with incredible things to say. I don't. It's just because I love it and it's how I tangibly make space to create. 

And really, that new perspective it all I need. Waiting to blog for 6 months isn't ideal, but I no longer feel like I'm doing a disservice to myself as a "blogger" (because I'm not) by only posting when it fits the best within my crazy, real-life schedule. The pressure to share isn't as high because I'm not trying to be a blogger.

Which is one of the more empowering conclusions I've come to about this space in a very, very long time.  Bloggers always say you have to ultimately blog for YOU, and that's where I went wrong. I was blogging for the "me" I wanted and not the "me" I am. 

So, all that to say, I've been paying for a Squarespace since September and it's just been sitting there, collecting dust. That was the news I wanted to share last post, and I have no problem sharing that now. This site will stick around, but for the future, I'll be at plaingrainblog.squarespace.com 

For anyone who's ever encouraged me throughout the roller-coaster of writing and creativity, thank you. I'm truly grateful for you. 

conversations and communities

"Perhaps the best conversationalist in the world is the man who helps others to talk." --Lee from East of Eden

My soul has been so tired recently (gratitude to my friend Destiny for unintentionally giving words to feelings I couldn't compile).

Aside from what I've already written about in this space, there are also these wicked things called hormones that cause all sorts of confusion, without any regard to the timing of life's other atrocities.

It's rude, I know.

Weird moods haven't been and will never be an uncommon occurrence for me, unfortunately, but 2014 has definitely been the most growing and progressive and ultimately hopeful year by far.

As I reflect on where I started this week—a mess of emotions and selfishness and general confusion—and where I sit now—peaceful, resting, and bruised but clarified—I'm realizing the change I've experienced is a direct result of the conversations and community surrounding me.

It shouldn't surprise me as much as it still does, but over and over again I'm reminded how powerful words are, and even more so, how powerful a listening ear is.

My dear friend Michelle (happy birthday!) sent me Stitches by Anne Lamott earlier this week. She told me how comforting it was during her time of grieving, so she put it in the mail with a little note and prayed it would do the same for me.

It's only 96 pages, but I already finished it and soaked up every word. Knowing the intention it was sent with, too, and seeing all the pages Michelle had already doggy-eared, made it so much more than some book I bought at Barnes and Noble—it became a thread, a connection, a stitch if you will, that made something about this human experience a little clearer. A little more cohesive.

The same feeling occurred during a conversation with my roommate, a conversation where me saying 'I'm sorry' was more important than anything else. It was important because sometimes I forget that we are all connected, and that me acting a certain way or saying a certain thing, good or bad, can and will affect those around me.

It happened yet again with a friend/neighbor of the family I nanny for, when she came over with her son to simply hang out and we ended up talking about...everything. God, the world, and our place in it. Christian culture and church culture and do we have a place in it? We talked about differences in relationships and how those can be so difficult, but so beautiful. It was an unexpected morning that led to an unexpected conversation that completely changed the perspective for my day.

To be cared for and understood by someone, to talk open and honestly, to really click with someone...these are some of the greatest joys in life, I'm convinced.

I am beginning to feel peace because I am beginning to see the stitches. The little pieces of life that come together, one at a time, to create something you wouldn't have expected and couldn't have dreamed of.

Two of my favorite paragraphs from the book are these:

"The American way is to not need help, but to help. One of the hardest lessons I had to learn was that I was going to need a LOT of help, and for a long time. (Even this morning). What saved me is that I found gentle, loyal and hilarious companions, which is at the heart of meaning; maybe we don't find a lot of answers to life's tougher questions, but if we find a few true friends, that's even better. They help you see who you truly are, which is not always the loveliest possible version of yourself, but then comes the greatest miracle of all—they still love you. They keep you company as perhaps you become less of a whiny baby, if you accept their help." p.34

"Alone, we are doomed, but by the same token, we've learned people are impossible, even the ones we love most—especially the ones we love most: they're damaged, prickly, and set in their ways. Also, they've gotten old and a little funny, which can be draining. It is most comfortable to be invisible, to observe life from a distance, at one with our own intoxicating superior thoughts. But comfort and isolation are not where the surprises are. They are not where the hope is. Hope tends to appear when we see that all sorts of disparate personalities can come together, no matter how different and jarring they may seem at first." p.55

I hope we all ask for help a little bit more, and I hope we find the courage to have more honest conversations instead of the I'm good how are you? ones. They just don't create as much space for the stitches to be sewn, and if stitches are what hold us together, then I think we owe it to each other to make some more room. I know I do.

a morning prayer

God, all any of us want is to make sense of things. To make sense of the world around us and know that somewhere there's a place for our existence and a place for it to matter.

But the world doesn't oblige so easily. It's really hard to make sense of everything going on in Iraq while I'm here, sitting on my couch and typing on my iphone.

It's hard to make sense of cancer and death and suicides, like Robin Williams' yesterday.

It's hard to make sense of people working and dreaming for something only to have it end in a "no."

And I suppose, Lord, that's where we need you. We need you to help us make sense of things. And if making sense of things isn't important, then really we need help knowing you. We need help making sense of you in a world where overwhelmingly bad things happen a LOT. 

I'm praying because I miss you and I want to know you, I want to know that your promise of never leaving us as orphans is true. 

You know the place I'm coming from, and you know it's wound up in fear right now. Fear of NOT knowing you and what that means for my soul. 

How vulnerable it is to admit that, but how important it is to let you change me from my starting point. To let you meet me where I'm at because that's kinda what you do best.

Don't let me block you out Lord. Don't let me fight so hard and analyze so much. Teach me about faith and trust and hope. Show me that it IS possible to know you, and know you well. And give me grace when I stop remembering that I don't have to do this on my own. 

I love you as much as I know you, but I as I know you more I'm confident I will love you more, and I'm confident you'll help me make sense of some things some of the time. And everything else I'll learn to trust You in, learn to trust that those things are not mine to make sense of. 

That will be hardest for me, hands down.

Thanks for your grace and your long-suffering love. I'm grateful for those above all else.

because cancer sucks

There is obviously a huge pain that comes with death. 

I'm not the first to experience it and I won't be the last, but this is the first death in the family that has actually affected me personally.

My uncle battled colon cancer for two years and passed away just a couple of days ago.

Cancer really sucks. It takes a whole life and slowly chips away—chips away until the life no longer resembles itself, until the life adapts to a new normal and this new normal is decay.

It's hard for me to reconcile this, and to reconcile this alongside the battle my uncle also had with schizophrenia. His life was a struggle. It was a puzzle he constantly strived to assemble, but assembly wasn't possible because there were simply too many pieces.

He was only 46 and his parents, both in their 80's, had to say goodbye to their son in the very room he grew up.They had to say goodbye to a son who was so wrecked with the physical consequences of cancer that he didn't even look like himself.

Yellowed-skin and body so thin it would make anyone rethink their definitions of skinny. And yet he was pregnant with tumors—tumors that took residency throughout his stomach and protruded from here and there, causing pain that I can't begin to imagine.

There are pictures of him I can't get out of my mind and images from his last moments that I wish I could. His death wasn't glorified, but there is peace in his ability to say goodbye hours before passing, and knowing he passed in his sleep, even if his sleep was a drug-seduced one.

This post is heavier than any I've written and it's hard to write without words of hope dispersed throughout. But cancer doesn't leave a lot of room for hope, unfortunately. 

I (want to) know God is not absent and I do know Chris isn't suffering now. But last month, and the last few days especially, have been very real and very tangible whereas the former---not so much. Yet, anyway.

Please pray for all the layers death reveals. The layers that consist of planning a memorial service, of elderly parents adapting to a life without their son, of figuring out what it means to claim hope above it all.

Chris had such a giving, genuine, inquisitive, and polite soul. He constantly thought of others before himself, especially those less fortunate than him—which is really beautiful when you consider what he also endured. He played piano more intentionally, emotionally, and purposefully than anyone I know. His heart stayed on those keys way after his fingers left, and it was truly something to behold.

And amidst and above it all, he trusted and loved the God who says he's with us always. He openly asked questions and prayed prayers of great depth. His pastor told us last week that his and Chris' conversations centered more on grace than any other topic, and somewhere in there I find comfort, because grace is what I cling to, too.

Things are still tangled and bruised, though, and we need prayers as we stay tangled and bruised for a little while here.

Thank you in advance and thank you to those who have already been on this journey with us. We love you all.

the beauty in high schoolers

Before I started volunteering with my church's youth group, high schoolers really intimidated me.

Lamest confession ever, right?

But I'm serious. I would have rather been in a room of twenty crying babies than stuck in a one-on-one conversation with these partly-adult humans.

Which is ridiculous on many levels. Number one, I was a teenager less than 5 years ago. Number two, I loved being a high schooler and my friend group was awesome and if we were awkward (of course we were) we were blissfully unaware. We were fun and our adult leaders loved us and laughter came easily and things were good. If an adult would have told me they were intimidated by me, I would have said, "Uhh wait, what?"

I remember being on choir tour with my university and talking with high schoolers before concerts at their schools. And I remember walking into the room where we would perform, wearing my long, formal, unflattering choir dress, wishing I could do anything, ANYTHING, but approach these groups of girls and TALK to them.

What in the world would I say? The usual hi-how-are-you and what-grade-are-you-in can only lead so far, and teenagers aren't usually the most talkative, and when they're together they giggle or stare or worse, both, and oh-my-gosh-I-was-reliving-my-high-school-experience-all-over-again. Reliving the bad parts, that is. Not the good parts.

I was falling prey to comparing myself all over again, and wondering if I'd be accepted, and wondering if they would think I was weird (newsflash, I am), and hoping there wouldn't be any uncomfortable silences (newsflash, there were).

This was only a couple of years ago, you guys. I was an upperclassman in college and I was worried what fifteen-year-olds were thinking about me.

Whoof.

This is from a Wednesday night. We did an activity called selfie-destruct, which is exactly as it sounds. We had every kid take their phones out, snap an unflattering selfie, and post it using the hashtag #selfiedestruct. It was awesome, and the students totally loved it.

But when I moved to Pasadena in September, I started attending church immediately and some of the first connections I made were with the high school students. Now, this is mostly because I was the junior-high pastor's girlfriend who was finally in-town and yes, real, but regardless of the reason, those initial connections changed my views of teens (and thus myself) in a completely new way.

First of all, I realized it wasn't the students who intimidated me. In fact, it wasn't a matter of intimidation at all. It was a matter of identity, it was a matter of people-pleasing, and it was a matter CARING. Caring what other people thought and caring how I might be perceived and caring that I could come across wrong and caring about all the things that ultimately get in the way of forming relationships. I did this in high school, I did this in junior high, I did this in elementary, I do this now (although it's infinitely better than previous years). Comparing has been my vice for as long as I can remember, and unfortunately, not even high schoolers transcended that insecurity.

My first Sunday at church, though, man. I was greeted by name by more than one student and wrapped into a hug by another. And that pattern continued, and continued, and continued, until what did you know? I was making friends and learning a TON.

In January I started volunteering on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings, and admittedly I was a little nervous. I was really excited, and I already knew a dozen of the kids, but my old fear still crept in. I shadowed another leader for a couple weeks, seeing how small groups worked and getting an idea of who everyone was, and now I can't even begin to imagine not being apart of these students' lives.

I can't imagine not listening to them process about the world around them, even if it's like pulling teeth sometimes, and I can't imagine not hearing them laugh at the most insignificant of things, just like my friends and I did. I can't imagine not teasing them for the number of selfies they take in an evening and I can't imagine not being there to see them perform their recitals, play their sports, or tell their jokes. I don't know if our church is lucky or if I'm unaware, but we seriously have some of the coolest, sweetest, most sincere students.

I've learned how important trust is. And I've remembered how important it is to NOT CARE. To be as weird and silly with them as I am with Ayden on a daily basis. It's true that bringing Jesus into the picture can bring a legitimate level of intimidation in a different way, but even with that I'm learning I have to establish a safe and trusting relationship before I can expect them to share or listen to this stuff called Christianity and this being named God (of which I have very few answers, which is also okay).

Getting outside of ourselves is crucial to living a full life. I'm outside of myself when I'm with these students. I'm outside of myself when I'm nannying. I'm outside of myself when the relationships around me encourage growth and new identity and grace.

Teenagers are cool. And they don't scare me anymore. :)

becoming me, not you

I'm going to write as long as my computer will last without charge...if we're lucky that will be at least 10 minutes.

I've been thinking about a new blog post, because it seems that every time I think about writing it's geared toward posting, and not just creating.

That's a main reason I haven't written in forever. I've wanted to do purposeful-writing rather than throw-away-writing, although both you and I know there is no difference.

The last month was a hard one. I was an emotional wreck and discontent and questioning so many things.

Who am I? Who am I most myself around? Why don't I have an answer? UH-OH UH-OH UH-OH.

Through a few tearful conversations, though, my head began clearing from its fog and proceeding toward clarity.

I'm becoming more me and less you. 

And sometimes that's really hard, because you seem to have it all together, and you seem to know everything there is to know, and you never seem to have emotional breakdowns.

You have direction and have started your career, or at least know where you're headed.

You speak with poise and write with ease, you never doubt yourself and couldn't care less what a single soul thinks.

This "you" is no one in particular. It's a personified you, the you that embodies all the reasons my "me" has allowed itself to get squandered beneath unattainable expectations.

I'm learning that it's okay to be emotional, it's okay to have emotions. Never again should my first reaction to tears be an apology. Why am I apologizing for being human? For not having everything figured out? I couldn't tell you. 

I'm also learning, however, that being emotional can lend itself to something sobering and beautiful or something destructive and dependent. I don't want emotions to define me, yet I don't want to be ashamed of them.

I don't want to push them away but I don't want them to control me.

And this is difficult, but I think it's also extremely healthy. Exercising any extreme all the time probably isn't the healthiest course of action. This balance, though....this delicate, beautiful balance, is truly an artful discipline.

So as I'm learning more about myself,  as I'm learning who I want to be and consequently who I don't want to be, I'm primarily learning that to become more myself I must BE myself.

Yeah yeah, like none of us have ever heard that before. But I think a lot of us practice it a lot less than we admit. I think we are all apart of this beautifully broken thing called humanity but all we ever do is reject it. We both reject our vulnerabilities while emphasizing our weaknesses, saying that we are beyond grace or beyond importance. We are both extremely prideful and extremely insecure. All of us.

Becoming more me starts there. It starts with recognition that I don't have anything figured out for a majority of the things in my life, from the really important to the really mundane. But something seriously crazy happens once the recognition begins...change.

Good change. This change doesn't necessarily alter where I stand on having things figured out, but rather helps me accept and welcome exactly where I'm at. It's a perspective change, an internal change.

I don't want to be you, I wan't to be me. And for those of us that have a harder time accepting our "me's," that's a huge step. 

Some of my biggest me's are this:

I'm emotional. I feel things before I think them, and feeling things helps me understand the world around me. I cry during any weighty conversation simply for its weight----not because its necessarily sad or intense or frustrating, but merely because I feel its importance. I'm sensitive in both the wonderfully gracious way and terribly defensive way, and I'm learning to accept both but transform the latter.

I'm extroverted. Not just because I like people, but because the way I process is external. I process through writing. I process through talking. I process through, yes, crying. If I've had a long day, I feel better if I turn on some music and do the dishes, or cook dinner. If I sit alone at home for too long without a purpose, I feel very UN-me. I get restless. I enjoy being externally stimulated while maintaining independence (i.e. sitting in a busy coffee shop but being in my own corner, my own space, my own world).

I thrive on the little things. A perfectly written line in a book, a simple cup of black coffee, a beautiful day spent outside. I find extreme joy in these moments and they are often what fuel me. I also, however, can be just as easily swayed in the opposite direction. One word spoken in an ill-tone, one interaction that didn't go how I expected, one moment of frustration...they equally impact me and drain me instantly. I am the birdie flying over the badminton net, getting thrust back and forth by the smallest of force. This is my biggest struggle on a daily basis...to find consistency and joy even when my emotions, my external circumstances, are directing me elsewhere.

I need connection. If I'm unable to connect with someone I start shutting down, because I enjoy relating and feel lost when I cannot. This doesn't happen too often, but when it does, it really hits hard and I take it personally. Again, with every strength comes weakness, but I don't believe in disregarding the weaknesses. The weaknesses, if addressed with perspective and grace and humility, absolutely have the potential to become the strength, or at least become manageable beside the strength. In this case, it's accepting that I'm literally incapable of clicking with every human on this planet. During those times, I should not suddenly disregard who I am and think a lack of connection means a lack of value. 

I must maintain my "me."

on being a writer

Being a writer feels silly sometimes. "Oh what do you do?" 

"I'm...well, I'm a...writer," I reply, dragging out the sentence as though it'll lessen the blow. 

Claiming the title "writer" creates a couple of responses: affirmation—in the wow-good-for-you kind of way, usually from a fellow creator who understands pouring hours over a project that's borderline significant to the world, but incredibly significant to you—and rejection—in the um-yeah-cool kind of way, usually from a rational, type-A human who understands reality more than creativity, and recognizes writing is synonymous with unemployed.

Sometimes.

I graduated college almost a year ago (WHAT the), and haven't claimed the title "writer" yet. Mostly because it's always been a hobby, it's always been personal, it's always been second to my "actual" job.

As the year has (very quickly) progressed, countless people have asked that jabbing, invading question: "So what do you do?"

I can never respond well because there are too many things I'm doing, can't you tell. There isn't just one job. No, I haven't started my career. No, I don't even know what my career is yet. 

I've worked for a small magazine the last 8 months and still can't say I'm a writer. Crazy, right?

That being said, it's been a strangely good month in my little world of writing. And an even better week.

A couple posts ago, I mentioned how a stranger and I struck up a conversation about writing in a coffee shop. And I said don't judge me, it was inspiring.

He was working on his memoir and l said, "If you're writing a memoir, you must have a good story to tell!" He kind of laughed it off, but I decided to ask him what I wanted anyway: "Soooo...are you going to let me read some of it?"

Again, he recoiled a bit, but about ten minutes later he leaned over, asking if I wanted to look at precisely two pages. I lit up, exclaiming yes yes yes, and thanked him—I know how difficult sharing something you've written is...especially when it's a personal excerpt from your life, and especially because I was a complete stranger.

After I finished reading, we talked about what good writing entails, and who has influenced us. I spoke highly of William Zinsser, whose book On Writing Well fine-tuned my writing unlike anything else. We talked about revising and how important it is, and how much it sucks.

As the conversation slowed we went back to our individual projects, and before he left he thanked me several times for talking with him. He said something clicked and he was going to work, work, work. We exchanged emails, and that was that. 

I drove home and was beside myself. In those moments of talking, reading, and writing about writing, I felt more in my element than ever. Like something clicked for me too, and I wasn't just this and this and then also kind of a writer. 

No–I was a writer. I am a writer.

In the week following that encounter, I've had multiple, random affirmations regarding writing. Some in person, some over text message, and some through Facebook messages. But they've all been intentional, direct encouragements that say Hey. Alyssa. Do you get it yet? Keep writing. Keep writing. Keep. Writing. 

And so I have been. I've been writing a lot—for myself mostly, but if you've noticed I've also blogged once a week for three weeks. Huge accomplishment people, huge accomplishment.

This post is long, and I still have something cool to share, but I will save it for next time. Stay tuned. 

And as always, thank you to those who have constantly been voices of encouragement to the part of myself I am very happily accepting:

"Oh, what do you do?"

I'm a writer. What do you do?

babies + classical music

Being a nanny has made me soft(er). I generally respond emotionally to (extreme or mixed) circumstances anyway, but especially especially in the context of these little humans. The fragility of life is something so insanely fascinating and calming and intriguing. It constantly makes me more aware of God and less aware of myself—ironically, less aware of my own humanity. 

Classical music also does this. I realize I'm not the first person to lump babies and classical music together, but it's on the brain because my weekend consisted of both. (And let's be honest, so do my weekdays).

My grandparents have season tickets for the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, and they invited Mackenzie and I to this month's concert in Pasadena. They took us out to dinner at a tasty Mexican spot, and we dressed up and double-dated from 4pm all the way until 10pm. 

The main piece was a Haydn cello concerto, but before that was a tribute to Benjamin Britten for his 100th birthday. As soon as the conductor lifted his hands and the entire viola, violin, cello, and upright bass sections struck their instruments, I was done. Or, more accurately, undone. Completely undone.

It was the best musicianship I've seen. Every single person was playing together, as one, and there were points where the conductor just stopped, hung his head, and allowed himself to soak in every moment of his orchestra's playing. Such an incredible experience.

Then on Sunday night, I hung out with babies while their parents enjoyed a triple date/early birthday celebration. Mackenzie came too, and while I was quickly realizing watching a 2-month old is vastly different from a 6-month old, the mixed emotions erupted.

I felt mildly concerned—wanting to do everything I could to make sure this baby was comfortable, taken care of, loved. I felt thankful—thankful that I wasn't alone, that even if Mack was watching the Broncos game, he was there, he was present. I felt relieved—instantly calm as the baby fell asleep in my arms, fully content after being fed.

And then I had my moment. The moment after yet another amazing, amazing weekend, where my mixed emotions turned into one overwhelming one: gratitude. Extreme, extreme gratitude.

I can't express it other than that. My weekends have been full of meaning in the smallest yet most significant ways, because they've reminded me of this thing called life. This thing that I am experiencing every day, yet too often overlook. I'm so thankful for these people, this city, the position I'm in, the generosity and love surrounding me.

It was enough to make me cry. Happy-cry. Happy-thank-you-Jesus-for-reminders cry.

This is Ayden, the baby I nanny. She is the cutest and most curious. She's not the above baby mentioned, but she is the one who reminds me daily how cool life is—how cool it is when you just zoom out for a second, and focus on the small miracles, like rolling over or sitting up, or learning that yes, you have fingers too!

Her and her family are a huge part of the gratitude. I am so blessed. 

beloved

source

You know, when you're sitting in the middle of an LA highway, two miles away from your destination, and your truck decides to stop working, you have time to think about life.

Granted the thoughts are more like flashes, and not totally coherent, but regardless, they show up.

When the 5-month old baby you're taking care of won't stop crying because she knows you're not her mom—you're not her home—the thoughts come.

They come when you're visiting your uncle who's battling colon cancer, they come when you're finally sitting in church again, and they come in the quietness of the morning.

My first two weeks in Pasadena have been accompanied by these thoughts, and it's been a really beautiful thing. I'm seeing fragility and dependence all around me and I'm remembering how blessed life is.

I finished reading Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen last week, and aside from its straightforward writing and authentic voice, I am most aware of its timing and its ability to piece together my fragmented thoughts. 

It's harder to listen to the voice that calls us chosen, harder to claim blessings amidst ordinary days, and harder to face brokenness when all we want to do is package it neatly and send it away. But the easy way doesn't affirm our Belovedness, doesn't push us to see life, doesn't encourage us to claim brokenness so it can be redeemed.

I could go on and on about how "the great spiritual battle begins—and never ends—with the reclaiming of our chosenness," but really you should just read the book. It's a super quick read that is simply and perfectly profound. I love how God sobers us into dependence, and how He surrounds us with tangible situations where dependence lends itself to something beautiful.

a reorientation of time

I'm taking a morning off, doing nothing but drinking coffee and eating chocolate-chip banana bread and reading a bunch.

It's been a crazy week—a crazy month—and I'm remembering the importance of time. Time to set aside certain "need-tos" for other "need-tos," time to step away from stress and be quiet; reflective and aware and in-tune.

I've been thinking a lot about time recently, whether or not that's been a conscious choice. I've been frustrated by people's disrespect for other's time, I've been reminded that time is short because life is short, but mostly I've been humbled by time's tenderness; its fragility and its precision.

My good friends got married in June, and their wedding reintroduced me to a pretty special guy. His name is Mack(enzie) and I call him boyfriend, and the timing of him, of us, is fairly astounding.

When I think that God could allow someone so wonderful and something so beautiful enter my life when I felt (feel) least prepared, least equipped, I'm brought back to grace. I'm brought back to the tangibility of grace, the tangibility of a God who is involved in our lives.

There's this girl I've met a couple times, an amazing girl whom I only know through mutual friends, through Facebook, and I've watched her family go through the reality of a brother, a son, with terminal cancer. He's 19 years old and his time is fleeting (but aren't we all), and watching their journey has been incredible.

It reminds me of my friend David who passed away at 20, it reminds me of the strength of a family who says God Your will be done even when that will might be unimaginable loss. I think about how I'm barely strong enough to look at pictures of this guy (it makes me tear-up every single time), much less proclaim God's goodness in spite of it all.

And then I'm brought back to grace again—grace that is triggered by this concept of time. And I'm starting to understand that how we spend our time, what we choose to do with it and how we carry that to completion day-in and day-out is one of the most important things in life. 

I'm learning that a general disrespect for time is ugly; it is focused on self and unaware of others, it is something we chain ourselves to and refuse to let free—it is the quickest way to deplete energy and cause frustration. Time is really pretty sacred. 

And to be honest, I don't have any other magnificent conclusions—just the simplicity of that thought. I want to respect time. I want to respect it in my own life, and in other's lives; I want to understand how special it is, how crucial it is, how short it is.

I want my concept of time to forever be linked with grace, waking up with no other words on my lips (as Anne Lamott would say) than thank you thank you and help me help me. The second I begin disrespecting time is the second I begin disrespecting grace, and Lord forgive me in advance for those moments. I truly pray that I would begin to orient my days in view of God's mercies—in view of His mercies and nothing else.

a churchless sunday + related thoughts

Today, the feeling to write is there. And I've never been one to ignore feelings, so here we are.

I can't say I know where I'm going yet, but that's part of the fun, right?

It's a Sunday morning and I'm on my second mug of coffee. It's unseasonably warm and on a scale of 1 to 10, life isn't as confusing as it was a few or four or five months ago. (We're at a comfortable 5 now).

Normally, I'd be at church. But since December, that hasn't been the case. This is pretty uncharacteristic of me, and while it's not somewhere I want to stay, it's nonetheless where I'm at.

Graduating from a small, private university and getting back into the "real world" was much needed. Meeting people who were different than me (and usually not Christians) was very refreshing. Somewhere in that mix, though, a hardness started to form in my heart.

I was becoming more critical, and I craved knowledge so that I could hold my own during intellectual conversations. (Context: I am probably one of the least critical people I know, which is good and bad, and I'm not dumb, but I'm nowhere near a genius). So both of these mindsets were new for me, and at the time, they were attractive. They were tangible.

It felt good to wake up, read The New York Times, know what was going on in the world, and be aware. It felt good to drink coffee while listening to NPR. It felt good to have conversations about world issues (the ones I cared about) and church issues. It felt good to have something to say, something to read, and something to listen to. It felt good to not accept everything as it was; to push back and question. It made me feel important, and educated.

This is something I've always craved, too. Knowledge, that is. To me, there's no worse feeling than being unaware in a conversation. Not being able to express what you know or believe accurately, not being able to share opinions because you don't have any. And you don't have opinions because you are not critical. Therefore you just stay ignorant. It's a vicious cycle.

So I was sick of that. I was sick of blindly walking through life not knowing how I actually felt. Or rather, knowing how I felt but not expressing it because of fear. This is where we loop back around to the whole church part.

It is scary for someone who is 99% accepting to suddenly feel 99% unaccepting. (Um, spell check is telling me that's not a word. Why is "unacceptable" a word and not "unaccepting"? Conspiracy)! But, there is also a liberation that comes with change. Instead of just agreeing with stuff because I hate confrontation and I hate skepticism and I hate disunity in general, I started saying, Well wait. I don't really like that, and I don't really agree with this. And I let myself feel those feelings and explore what they meant.

I let myself ask the really hard questions that I finally wanted to ask, even if they weren't pretty, and even if they left me very, very confused.

This led to no more church for me. And yes, that has been weird and again, scary. You feel like you are doing something wrong, you feel like you are cutting yourself off from God, you feel like you are hardening yourself towards everything you've ever believed. It's a dangerous line to walk. It's a vulnerable place to stay. (And it tells you how inaccurate your view of God is).

The cool part about it, though, is the refinement. Wrestling through stuff is so much better than leaving it alone and continuing to ignore its presence. I think I've learned more about God in the last few months than I have in awhile. Which doesn't say too much, because I still feel pretty "lost," but the point is that it's the most honest I've been with Him, and the most honest I've been with myself.

I'm learning that God isn't mad at me for not going to church. He isn't mad at me for having hard questions and doubting Him. Better yet, He is totally allowing me to question, and every day I find Him in a way, in a person, I wouldn't have expected. The silent prayers that I haven't even prayed, only mentally complained about, He has answered.

And more than anything, I'm figuring out what faith actually means. All the questions I have will never be answered here. Literally never answered. I can choose to be mad about that and say Screw you, God, this sucks and doesn't make any sense, or I can say, Okay Jesus. This is really hard for me to accept and I don't get it. But it's always going to be out of my control, so please help my unbelief. Please give me the faith I don't have. 

I realized this last week that I would rather have faith in Jesus, in God, in the Holy Spirit, and not have all the answers, than think I have all the answers and be completely void of faith. Faith allows for hope, and I want to live in hope. Living without hope is, for me, one of the most heartbreaking ways to live.

So no, I haven't found a church yet. Yes, I've had glimpses at a couple great ones where I was reminded why church is so beneficial, special, and necessary. And I know I'll be back soon. But until then, I'm remembering that Jesus loves me despite my actions. Reading my Bible every morning and going to church every Sunday will not make Jesus love me more. And not reading my Bible every morning and not going to church every Sunday will not make Jesus love me any less. Life might be a little harder without the latter, but Jesus loves me as I am. I must learn to separate my actions and His love for me. He loves me right now, today, in this moment. He is teaching me still.

And that's exactly where I need to be.

growing up

Well, I think it's safe to say I'm ready to grab adult-life by the you-know-what and get on with it.

Growing up is hard. It just is. Budgets are hard and having 3 "jobs" without the ability to pay rent is hard. Feeling like a kid when you are trying to live as an adult is hard.

Wake-up calls are good, though. Parents who tell you that "in love, we're launching you from the nest," are good. Having the resources and opportunities to work towards that goal are good.

Some people have to grow up much quicker than the rest of us. They've been financially independent long before college began, and it's not like they chose it; it was simply reality for them.

I respect my roommate a lot for this reason. She's a hard worker. She gets stuff done. She's paying for school (expensive, private school at that), she's GOING to school (full-time, 18/19 unit semesters), she works every day after school so she can pay rent, and aside from all that...she still has a life.

She probably heard me crying talking with my parents last night, and she was probably thinking, "Girl, get it together. This is life." And she's right. At some point you have to stop being stressed or worried and just make stuff happen.

The thing with me is that I can't make stuff happen until AFTER I have been stressed and worried. But at least I know that about myself.

My dad, the motivational speaker and king of "When I was a kid," kept reciting to me: "You know Nike? Just do it. You just gotta do it." Cheesy (love you Dad), but he's right, too. It's time to grow-up. For real grow-up. Not fake grow-up. (I'm really good at being a fake grown-up).

So, I'm making a budget and calculating real numbers rather than guesstimating (English-major over here, you know I avoided the whole number thing for as long as possible), and I'm mentally preparing for the burial of #graduatelife. It's time for #reallife. Yes, I just used two hashtags. I can still do that as an adult, right?! I mean, you gotta live a little somehow. 

Also, I definitely have food-related posts I meant to write before this, but...but then I needed to process. So. Expect a real post very soon.

happy lent

Today is Ash Wednesday. I've never observed Lent, but I'd like to this year. I just don't know what to practice or give up. A lot of people do health-related things, like stopping eating sweets or carbs, and even more people fast from social media, like Facebook and Twitter.

I can't do either of those. Not because I can't live a day without chocolate or Facebook, but because they have selfish undertones (we're only talking about me here; everyone who is giving up these things, you rock). My mind just isn't that pure in intentions. Giving up sweets is accompanied by a tiny thought that says "Oo, I'd probably lose a few pounds and I bet my skin would clear up." Not the right mindset. Not the right focus.

Giving up Facebook would be a cop-out. "Well, I don't know what else to do and everyone gives up Facebook, so I might as well. It wouldn't be a bad thing." Again, not exactly where I want my thoughts to be.

I want to do something that truly puts the focus on Jesus, because I haven't been focusing on Him at all. I'm a person who needs some kind of structure, but not something so formulated that I get stuck in routine. I feel a bit stuck.

Last year I wanted to stop spending extra money (coffee, fro-yo, that cute shirt at Target that's only $9.99), but I didn't commit to it. I also didn't share the information with anyone, so there was zero accountability.

Maybe that's my thing. Maybe I'll try it again. I'm already broke as a joke, but when I'm alone in my apartment for an entire day, nothing sounds better than going to Peet's and getting a coffee so I can at least be around people.

It adds up.

I'll have a list when I grocery shop, but there is always something in the cart I don't actually need. This Lent season would include those items. Foregoing everything extra and scaling back the necessary purchases.

This will be hard for me. When I'm not working, I don't have much else to do. I can only sit around for so long before I start going crazy. This usually results, like I said, in escaping to a coffee shop. If I'm gonna sit around, I might as well sit around with other people! But everyone knows you can't take up precious seating without buying something. I normally get a black coffee—a mere $1.80 subtraction to my bank account—but again: it adds up.

This is where the "focusing on Jesus" part will be genuine. I'm feeling lonely? Unproductive? Lazy? Then instead of filling my time by wasting money (and gas for that matter), I'll be on my knees praying. I'll be taking someone else out for coffee and enjoying their company and thanking Jesus for relationships. I'll be investing in learning how to love Jesus better, and consequently how to love others better too.

I think generosity will be a huge part of this, because if I'm simply not spending money on myself, there is still a small benefit for me— I'm saving money whooo! But I don't want that. The money I would normally spend on things for me will be spent treating other people.

There is so much ridding of myself that I need to do. On a personal level, the second month of graduate-life is much different than the first. But I will spare you all those emotional details.

Happy Lent, everyone.

What will you guys be doing?

thank you's and thoughts

Thank you for all the love and encouragement regarding my last post! I woke up the next morning and had a moment. You know, like, a moment. It hit me that maybe, just maybe, I've discovered what I was made to do. It's that really deep, in-your-gut, no-doubt-about-it kind of feeling, where there's an overwhelming affirmation that YES, this is right. I am a writer. And I am so excited to continue learning what that means.

Seasons of life are interesting. I thought graduating halfway through my senior year was going to be a mistake. I thought I was going to miss out. I thought, I thought, I thought. Wanna know something? I'm really glad half the things I think should happen aren't the things that end up happening. Praise Jesus. 

Unrelated: I feel like a kindergartener again, because I'm reading more than I have in a looooong time. Also, last Friday was the most perfect day. Alissa and I got coffee, then shared lunch at Baagan, then bought fancy lipstick, then picked up yummies at Trader Joe's, and you also must know we were blasting Macklemore in my truck, windows-down, the entire time. If I haven't already said how much I love the little things in life, that pretty much sums it up.

Another good example is how stupid-excited I was to wake up Saturday morning and drink coffee and read my new Real Simple.

Maybe one day I'll work for them... :)

And so it begins...

I'm not Catholic, but it's time for confession:

I've been keeping a secret.

A couple weeks ago, I interviewed for a writing position at an upcoming lifestyle magazine in the greater El Dorado Hills area (including Folsom, Granite Bay, and Roseville). And today, I was offered the position. (Insert ecstatic squeal here).

When I was younger, I didn't think much about writing. I just wrote. My first diary was pink and flowery and Barbie was plastered across the front. (Naturally). This was kindergarten and I probably couldn't write much more than my name, but I remember everything about that little book.

It had a lock and key, (extremely reassuring to a girl with two older brothers) but truthfully it never left my side. I loved that thing. I wrote the name of my elementary-school crush inside. I practiced my writing by copying sections of chapter books. I even got ambitious and tried my hand at "cursive;" squiggly and loopy lines that made me feel so mature and grown-up. When Barbie was no longer cool, (sniff, that was a hard time) I got a new diary, only I called it a journal, because that was the more mature and grown-up name. I still keep a "journal" to this day.

Growing up, I didn't think of writing as anything more than something I had always done. I wrote to process, to express, to create...I wrote when I was happy, sad, and angry. I just wrote and wrote and wrote. In high school I did journalism, but after a few anxious interviews and some unsound insecurities, I said No way, this is not for me.

It wasn't until a couple years ago that I started thinking about writing (as a career) again. I had this friend that was, and still does in fact, always asking people about their dreams. He asked me if I could do anything in the world, what would I do? Initially I told him I'd open a restaurant. I verbally dreamt about it (I wanted to have various risotto entrees) and decided I was going to do it. That conversation awakened the idea that maybe, just maybe, I could have a career that involved food and people and the community created by both. A couple months later I went to Seattle, and during that trip my dream became two-fold. Our first walk throughout the city included passing The Seattle Post, and all of a sudden I was thinking about writing again. Only a different kind of writing. It made so much sense that I was shocked I hadn't thought of it sooner: I wanted to be a food writer.

Since then I have slowly but surely moved (inched, rather) towards that goal. The following summer,I toured Sacramento Magazine and asked the editorial editor was it was like being that kind of writer. I left feeling so excited, and thought This is the kind of journalism I want to do. This is it. And that's what I started telling people. I'd say, "I want to work for a city/regional magazine. It's a magazine that details the culture of the area of you live in. It highlights people and events and restaurants and small businesses...stories that people are excited to share with you. It's a community."

And here I am now. The magazine will be brand new, and appropriately so, because I am too. Brand new to the "real world," (YOGO) brand new to "real writing," and brand new to a "real publication." Oh wow...

Excuse me while I continue in my giddiness.

because, sometimes

Because sometimes, you just feel like writing even if you aren't sure what to say.

Today I am grateful.

I am grateful for adventures that involve amazing music, laughs, and challenging conversations.

I am grateful for a new job that reminds me how much I love the little things in life.

I am grateful for perspective.

I am grateful for falling leaves and bowls of soup and shoes on my feet and a roof over my head.

But more than anything, and especially this Christmas season, and especially today, I am grateful for a Savior named Jesus.

Someone who wasn't just a man that lived a good life and talked about love but GAVE life and DEFINED love as the Son of God. Someone that came from a perfect, heavenly seat of glory into a disgusting, broken world. Because if the news didn't make it clear this weekend, we live in an unbelievably and tragically broken world.

Jesus came to give rest to the weary and hope for the hopeless. He came to save us from the despair, pain, and complete destitution of a world messed up by sin. Sin with a capital "S" that isn't about "breaking a rule" or "not following a set of standards" but about the very real state of humanity as a whole.

It's a world where a classroom of kindergarteners are shot to death for absolutely no reason at all. A world where a church states that it happened because God is punishing them for legalizing gay marriage. A world where men buy little girls and teenage girls and girls my age for the sole purpose of sex. A world where addiction and abuse govern lives in more areas than one. A world where airplanes are hijacked and flown into Twin Towers. A world where money and greed and power rule.

When I am asked the question, "But why? Why do you need saving? What do you need to be saved from?," I am usually slow to answer. No one wants to hear a Christianese answer and I don't want to be the one to give it. Growing up in church didn't exactly force me to understand that question. It was merely accompanied by a very short answer, one that was memorized and repeated countless times: "Because I'm a sinner."

But this weekend has made the depth to that answer painfully clear: I need saving because I am human, and I live in a world where being human has caused more damage than words can describe. I need a Savior because without One, this world is all I have. This is the best it's gonna get. This world right here. The world I just described.

I need a Savior because even if I have a pretty awesome life, and I don't see myself as a "bad" person, and I take advantage of every moment and mind my business, it doesn't matter because existence is not about me. I can't believe that I am living 'just because.' That all the crap that happens in this world happens'just because.'And even on the opposite spectrum, that all the beautiful and lovely and miraculous events in life happen 'just because.'

Maybe people don't think they need saving. But I just can't settle for that. I am not existing and breathing and living just so that I can do what I want in life. To gratify myself. To gain attention for myself. To have to go through trials and suffer and watch tragedies and know pain without a cause for it. I may not be a murderer or a rapist or a terrorist or anything else, but I am a human who is just as tangled in the web of sin's effect.

And without Christ, that's all I'll ever be; a human who is endlessly trying to be fulfilled but never getting satisfied. Sure I'll be satisfied momentarily, or even for entire seasons of life, but it won't be forever. It isn't permanent. Its roots are weak. But with Him, I am more. I am saved by grace and made new and able to strive towards a life lived with Jesus Himself. And I won't have to, I will want to. When things get hard I will have an everlasting hope to cling to and yell at and cry with. When I mess up there will be grace upon grace met with a hand that aims to teach and help and grow. It is truly astounding to me.

The moments of peace or love or compassion or grace that I experience in this world are so wonderful and calming and amazing because they represent something and Someone who is 100% NOT of this world. They represent Jesus, the Son of God, who came into our disease-stricken lives to SERVE us, LOVE us, GUIDE us, CHALLENGE us, and ultimately DIE for us. God knows pain. God knows pain more than we know pain. He watched His Son get murdered on a Cross to pay a price that we never could have paid but should have paid. And He did that why? Why would he do that? Because He loves us. Because God freaking loves us.

For the first time, I have really been understanding that. Life will be rough even after knowing Jesus, because that's the world, that's the penalty and power of sin, but there is so much rest knowing that Jesus went through it all. And there is wonder in recognizing that the beautiful moments on earth are just a taste of what's to come. I am comforted by His love and His grace. His grace that is not about law but about mercy.

Sometimes you just need to write. I needed to write so badly. I needed to try and process the weight and heaviness of my heart. I know that everyone responds differently to tragedy and everyone responds differently to beliefs, but I had to share what I believe. I had to try and verbalize, for once, why I place my hope in Jesus. He is the only Light at the end of the world's tunnel, and I am going to run as hard and as fast as I can to make sure my sin and my yuck never put that Light out. It'll be dimmed when my sin and my yuck get in the way, but praise God for His never-ending grace in those moments. I love you Lord, I love you so much.