Leave of Absence

I would be the first to raise my hand in the midst of a crowd if we were asked about advocating for the use of social media. I’ve spent hours – by myself, nonetheless – with tears streaming down my cheeks, laughing as hard as I can watching 6-second looped videos on Vine (come back @vine) and reading relatable memes on Instagram. Not only is it entertaining, but I’ve found social media to be incredibly inspirational and motivating.

It’s because of fitness-focused accounts that I spent a year doing two-a-days at the gym and actually loving them. It’s because of foodies that I began experimented with cooking once graduating from college (and since then, have only caught my kitchen on fire twice). It’s because of social media that I can laugh with other millenials about the pains of learning how to be a responsible adult  – including what kinds of parchment paper can and cannot be put in the oven. It’s because of artists that share their work that I bought a watercolor kit and a couple paintbrushes a year and a half ago and started painting to pass my time alone in my studio apartment productively, creatively, and healthily. It’s because of social media that I have been prompted to experiment with new avenues and medium in creating art, especially since I haven’t taken classes since before I turned 10 (with the exception of a semester in college my freshman year). It’s because of social media that I feel more connected to my grandma (she’s a rockstar technologist) and friends from my childhood that I haven’t seen since moving to Washington State at the age of 15.

Social media is so cool. It’s innovative, inspiring, witty, quick, and global. It is so good, a lot of the time, but it also has the capacity to be incredibly destructive. Not in and of itself – it doesn’t have that type of power – but in the way that we use it. For a lot of us, it’s a crutch, a way to pass the time that we would otherwise be spending with other people, developing in our identities, growing in our skills, being more observant, or enjoying the presence of God. It’s ability to consume us is sneaky; if I’m not careful, my phone is the first thing I reach for while standing in line at the grocery store, at a stoplight, when I am trying to avoid eye contact of someone in passing.  It seems like nothing, but it’s quick to become a habit. And, for me, when social media checking becomes a habit, I can drive myself to unhealthy comparison against others – trying to figure out why the whole of my life is so much less appealing that the highlights of others’. I know that if I am checking social media recklessly, and without consideration of my sensitive heart, it starts to ache. And, too, it becomes a lot harder to distinguish between finding inspiration and falling victim to comparison. This happens a lot with my art, which I understand doesn’t make sense because art is supposed to be subjective, but in the world of social media where “likes” and “follows” are a currency (digitally and monetarily), it’s easy to forget true worth isn’t at all tied into digital popularity. It can be incredibly difficult to grow in your identity, according to God’s plan, with the weight of comparison tied to your ankles and hoping to watch you trip.

A few weeks ago, I realized in the midst of a creating lull, that: if art imitates life, then the best thing I can do to grow in my skill and love for art is to spend more time living – offline and intentionally present. And, I read in a blog post by Josh Porter about fast fashion and it’s harmful affects on the planet (and not to mention it’s dissimilarity to the teachings of Jesus), that “less isn’t a rejection of the way things are, less is a better way to be human.”

So, after a few weeks’ break from social media, and having spent substantial time experimenting with my paintbrush, reading, and wondering if I’m sending birthday texts on the right day, I’m back. It feels good to be in touch with my friends and family, in-the-know regarding upcoming events, and aware of the menu for Lifegroup dinner on Wednesdays, but what’s even better, after a little time away, is feeling just a bit more human again.

A Year of Minimalism

My mom has said for as long as I can remember, “less is more”. I’ve come to understand this through accessorizing; in middle school, it was charm bracelets + choker necklaces + flair jeans + sparkly lipgloss + blue eyeshadow + coifed hairdos + Juicy Couture zip-up jackets. I didn’t agree with her. More meant more. But, as always, my mom was right, and thanks to the rise of Swedish designers in the industries of fashion, jewelry design, and home decor (IKEA included), I am learning that minimalism is not only cool, but healthy and freeing and kind of – fun?

More than the embarrassment of remembering outfit combinations of old and the latest explosion of Swedish designers appearing on my favorite blogs and Instagram accounts, though, minimalism is becoming more critical to my spiritual well-being. It’s a lot easier to allow God to work in my life, and direct the desires of my heart toward him, when I’m not cluttered in mind and physical space. Hearing his voice is simpler when I quiet my own in regards to my materialistic wants, and his presence is more satisfying when I, myself, am more present.

So, I am unfollowing brands on Instagram, and unsubscribing from their emails (although, admittedly, The Reformation somehow sneaks through every time I do a clean sweep. Their copy is so. good. it. hurts. And also, every single item is. so. good. it. hurts.). It’s not so much that I am an impulsive spender, a shopping addict, or even that this would be necessary to my success (as being defined by completing my year of minimalism and abiding by my set of rules), but I am doing my best to remove myself from situations that prompt covetousness. I think that I could finish this year successfully while receiving emails from Sephora for its entirety, but it would make it much more difficult. And I would probably spend more time being sad rather than appreciating the abundance that I do have.

Everyone collets clutter and excess differently, but for myself in particular, this is actualized most clearly in regards to my wardrobe. Or, rather, at its worst, my floordrobe. I’ve cleaned out my closet and I’ve never liked it more than I have now (albeit, it is a lot smaller), because I like every single piece and every single piece actually fits. I sold a box and a half of clothes and shoes – the ones I tried to like but couldn’t, the ones that fit but only by force, and the ones that I’ve had since high school because I am now in my mid-twenties and should really dress like it – and the remainder I left for donation. I didn’t want them back, though I did have to suppress the sentimentality I felt toward them, because I knew they would end up sitting in the trunk of my car taking up space. And, in the pursuit of a minimalistic year, anything taking up space without reason is detrimental to my composure. What I can acquire are replenishments and replacements, anything creatively driven (like film, sketchpads, paintbrushes, books, etc.), home goods, experiences, and maintenance for the things I already own. What I cannot acquire are clothes, shoes, jewelry, accessories, swimwear, manicures/pedicures, and makeup. Note to self: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

It’s still January in Seattle, if only for only a few hours more, but this month certainly sees more restriction than any of the others thanks to resolutions, especially in regards to food, alcohol, social media, and monetary spending. We give up a lot at the start of the year to better ourselves and improve our lives, even stretching so far as to abandon lifelong bad habits, jobs, and relationships, in pursuit of better; we give these things up because, ultimately, what we want is more for ourselves (in terms  of happiness, joy, love, simplicity, fulfillment, etc).

Why does it seem that the more we give up, the more we will be satisfied? Because there are so many things in this world that promise satisfaction that are not Jesus.

I think it would be understandable and relatable and for me to say that it’s been a hard month and all I want to do is buy stuff – and yes, I’ve had moments – but that’s actually not the case at all. I feel freedom. I feel free because no clothing item sparks inner deliberation with myself; it’s always just a “no.” Once or twice, it was a “yes, but in 2018”. *Like Glossier’s Boy Brow*. I mentioned that it’s still January, so I’m writing this while I’m still in the honeymoon phase. I’m 1/12th of the way through, but it’s been easier than I’ve expected. I’m dressing like an adult (woman!) and less like a little boy on most days, taking better care of the things I already own, and spending more time in gratitude. I’ll report back in 11 months, hopefully with news of success, but until then, I’ve figure if I can get through 2016 without it, I can get through 2017 without it – like it ain’t no thang.

New Year, New View

If 2016, by almost all accounts – including those I’ve heard first hand – were to be summed up in one word, it would be heartbreaking. For me, what is encouraging (albeit selfishly) is that I am not alone in feeling this way; however, what is saddening is that darkness was an overarching theme for many of us last year. It was without a doubt my most challenging; one persistent seemingly endless heartache is the bitter taste that 2016 has left on my tongue. For the past few weeks, I’ve been fearful to look toward 2017, wondering if it would be full of as much disappointment as the last 12 months have been.Writing a “resolutions” post is something I’ve done for the past several years (is this a tradition now?), because I am usually excited to look forward in hopeful anticipation. But this year, unlike the others, I haven’t been inspired to make goals or take time to reflect, because it hurts to look back and it hurts to think that I’ll face another year marked by an overwhelming sense of worthlessness and failure and despair.

However, God is good. He has stepped in to annihilate the fear I have about the future and has reminded me that he is faithful. He is faithful in his goodness and his ceaseless love for us. He is better than I can even imagine Him to be, and has said: do not be afraid. He promises in writing: “Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land. For I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” Genesis 28:15. Though, at times, I felt hopeless last year, I know so deeply and truthfully that God did not leave me to face the world on my own. He doesn’t leave us to figure things out on our own, and then return when we are whole again. He’s there in the midst of the hurt, in the very depths of darkness, waiting to again show you his light.

“May he give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed. May we shout for joy over your victory and lift up our banners in the name of our God.” Psalm 20:4-5.

Rather than resolve to do anything differently on my own in 2017 in pursuit of self improvement, I resolve to let Jesus have more of me. For Jesus to have more of me means I will have greater wisdom to become the daughter He already sees in me, despite the scars I bear from last year and all those prior. It means I will more easily and readily love Him and love others. I believe that, if 2016 was a year of challenge, growth – and mere survival, at times, in terms of emotional capacity and stability – this year is one of triumph. Abiding in him does not look like disappointment; it looks like radiant joy. Abiding in Him looks like victory.

What a beautiful year it will be.

A Letter to My Sister

To Gracie, my baby sister:

I’m sorry I didn’t have the right words to say when you were feeling inadequate. I’m sorry I was frustrated trying to explain to you how beautiful you are despite your disagreement. I might have been insensitive, I may have said the wrong things, and I know that nothing I could have said would have been enough anyway.

I know this because I know what it’s like. I know all too well how it feels to not feel pretty enough, to feel ugly and small and insignificant and worthless because you don’t see yourself as we see you. I know how you felt when you were driven to tears after taking Christmas card photos. I know how it feels to look at a photo of yourself and hate what you see.

But, please, let me remind you again – and this time more calmly – just how beautiful you are, exemplified in both this Christmas photo and in everything you do; the way you laugh and the way you observe and the way you inquire. This photo – the one that drove you to tears – is beautiful, but it doesn’t for a moment capture your coolness or your strength when you play soccer or your intelligence and quiet understanding of everything around you. It doesn’t capture the way your witty comebacks or your wise insight or the way you can kick my tail in a spin class. It doesn’t capture your ambitious intellect or your inherent athleticism or your humble nature. It doesn’t tell a story of your fierce determination or your unassuming leadership or your endless patience (especially toward me and my persistent sloth-related texts). It doesn’t capture, not even a fragment, of who you are: Grace. 

I wish you could see yourself the way that the world sees you. I wish you could see yourself the way that God sees you, because you’d be blown away. I want you to know that God created you so that he could love you, and he made you – every fiber of your being, every hair of you head – with perfect intention. Not one thing is out of place, and no standard of the world will declare your inadequacy when God has made you so much more than adequate; he has made you beautifully and wonderfully. I’ve wondered myself why I don’t seem live up to the standard of the world in the darkness of comparison. I’m angry that you are suffering from something that is not at all abnormal. I’m angry that I have suffered from the same thing, appearance-based value, and that our society sets us up for inevitable failure in the game of comparison. Almost everything we see tells us how we should look, how we should carry ourselves, and how important it is to live up to this standard. Social media is a highlight reel of a life that doesn’t exist, yet we are not only encouraged but expected to meet this standard. It’s a lie.

Comparison displaces our ability to see our true God-given beauty. Do not compare yourself to anyone else, because who you are is already cherished by God. Comparison only encourages us to become an archetype of average, and you, my baby sister, are not made to reduce yourself to any worldly standard. We weren’t created in the image of another person; we were created in the image of God, and his grand expanse and imagination allows for each of us to fulfill our individuality to his delight and our joy. I hope you know, you are extraordinary not because of the condition of your appearance, but because of the condition of your heart. And yours, Gracie Mae, is really breathtakingly beautiful.

 

The Gratitude-Joy Connection

I heard today, post-Thanksgiving vacation, someone refer to the equation that “Joy = Gratitude – Fear”, which I think far too simplifies the emotion that is joy (or perhaps complicates it?), but I couldn’t help but shake this thought from my mind. I repeated the phrase over again until I understood what it meant for gratitude to be an essential part of the equation resulting in joy, and came to agreement: without a sense of thanksgiving, joy cannot exist.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 is such an incredible reminder of this fact, as it commands: “Rejoice always, pray continuously, and give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” The two – the act of rejoicing and the act of giving thanks – go hand in hand, and are both commanded of us by God.

The really cool thing about gratitude is that it takes on a snowball effect; a little goes a long way. Similarly, it’s like faking a smile in order to convince yourself happy. Scientists say that forcing a smile results in a real one, because the mere physical act of turning up the corners of the mouth induces a sense of actually being happy. According to psychologists, the mere act of producing the sound “e” – which mimics the act of smiling – causes a sense of happiness, while sounding “u”, which forces the mouth into a pout, does not. Even if you have to force the smile by stretching the corners of your mouth upward and outward, you’ll feel happier. And, even if you have to force yourself into a state of gratitude (“Thanks, God, for that one time I had a good hair day”, for example), you’ll feel truly, honestly, genuinely more joyous, because you’ll remember maybe a few more good hair days you had and that stranger’s compliment regarding your curls and all of a sudden you remember just how fearfully and wonderfully made you were in the loving hands of the Creator of the heavens and the earth and thankful that he knows the number of fluffy, frizzy, ridiculous hairs on your sweet head. Maybe even by then you’re crying tears of joy.

I am not trying to compare joy to happiness, because – unlike joy and gratitude – these two do not occur simultaneously, nor are they interchangeable. In regards to joy, gratitude is a necessity, but you can certainly have happiness without gratitude. Happiness is much less of a choice than is joy, driven often by external factors. I’m happy when my direct deposit hits on the 15th of the month and I can go buy local, handmade gelato at Metropolitan Market like a girl doesn’t know what the word ‘budget’ means. I feel a sense of elatedness and excitement, but not necessarily gratitude. I spent time this weekend talking with my mom and sisters about how, only recently, did I begin to understand the phrase “Choose Joy”, because for the longest time, I misunderstood joy as being synonymous with happiness – that it is dependent upon or often the result of a positive external factor (like that direct deposit). Of course, I feel grateful to have a paycheck, but the feeling is fleeting; it dissipates as quickly as the money escapes my pocket in exchange for a pint of gelato. Joy does not come and go like the gelato-induced happiness, because it is not externally-driven. It is deeper and more steadfast and everlasting, so long as I choose to be thankful.

“Though the fig tree should not blossom
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.”

Habakkuk 3:17-18 exemplifies that lack does not mean having joy is impossible. We rejoice no matter the circumstance, not as a result of it.

Joy is a choice. It’s a choice to first be grateful. It does not exist without gratitude. I love that joy does not spring up due to an external occurrence like does happiness, but rather, it is accessible at any moment in which we choose to give thanks. I don’t believe that joy presents itself only in the absence of fear, as the equation I heard earlier states, but I do believe that it arises as a direct result of gratitude. At any moment, joy is available to us; it if for our taking! And for that, I am thankful.

Great Responsibility

The year is 2016. And it’s been a really tough one. For a stretch of several months, I thought I was alone in having a hard year – my most difficult, to be honest, of all 24 that I’ve lived – but it has become glaringly obvious I am hardly alone. Rather, I’m in the majority.

Donald Trump has just been elected President, to be inaugurated on January 20th. I’m not going to dive into my personal beliefs or try to back my opinion, because I believe the last thing anyone wants to read is another politically-opinionated blog post, we are all too exhausted to hear another online rant or rave about either party’s recently victorious or failed candidate, and I would be offending someone I love either way. I have friends and family who are elated and hopeful and expectant; I have friends and family who are absolutely devastated and terrified and shocked. And, really, it wouldn’t be fair for me to try and break down what any one of them is feeling because I have only lived this one life and I cannot pretend to grasp the full experiences of another and to make a judgment on their feelings right now. Their struggles have been different from mine so, in all honesty – what I feel right now is happy for my loved ones who are excited and saddened for my loved ones who feel hopeless.

And, it doesn’t matter where my feelings lie. It doesn’t matter how I voted nor does it matter where my opinions sit on the political spectrum because we have a new President Elect, just like we do every four (or eight) years, and just like we’ve had since the inception of this nation, whether we like it or not.I haven’t written anything at all in regards to the campaign or the election because I am have been afraid that I might be misinterpreted as being unintelligent, uninformed, or wrong from the viewpoint of someone with opposing perspectives. I’m not even so sure about this post because I fear I am coming across as too politically correct, not having taken a side. I don’t know that attempting to identify with both sides is harmful or helpful, but I do know one thing for certain: there are so many people that are confused and hurting and scared right now. Campaign included or not, its been a tough year. It was tough before the election results were announced, and it will continue to be tough regardless of the winner. It will be tough with Trump and it would have been tough with Hillary, because there are so many challenges greatly embedded into our nation that are not derived from our leader but instead are rooted in the actions and opinions of the masses. The question is not, “how do I feel?” but instead, it’s “what do I do now?” And, further, “what do we do now?”, especially in the midst of a chaotic array of emotions and responses from all of the unique individuals that make up this country and our lives.

What we do now is honor each other. That’s it. We honor the people that voted for our chosen candidates and the people that voted for the opposing candidates. We honor the President and we honor the President Elect whether we agree with them or not. We honor the clerk at Safeway wearing a Trump pin and the woman at the bus stop in a “Nasty Woman” t-shirt. We honor the people that do not care to understand our views and we honor the people that chose to not vote at all.

I don’t know what the next four years will look like. I can barely make out an outline of tomorrow. But, it’s going to be a lot tougher for all of us if we choose to continue to dishonor each other. If we do not honor each other as Americans and as children of the one who calls us to honor all others, the man or woman sitting in the Oval Office doesn’t matter.

“Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.” Romans 12:10.

And, “Love does no wrong to your neighbor, therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.” Romans 13:10.

If we are not fulfilling our call to honor all others regardless of their backgrounds, experiences, voting habits, party affiliation, or even the way they are acting toward us, the President is not going to do any good no matter who they are. It’s really up to us, and that is a huge responsibility; it’s fulfilling of the law of God. We are citizens of America and, yes, that means we are obliged to civic duty. But, as citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven, we have a grand civic responsibility. It’s a greater responsibility than even voting (which, we know – is a big one).

 

Remember That Visa Rejection?

About this time last year, I was healing from what felt like a very sudden and confusing breakup. I had been praying and preparing for a trip to India for the year prior with a team of close classmates, with the expectation of ministering to the people of Bangalore, only to face a hard “no” in the form of a Visa rejection. To say I was heartbroken is the best way I’ve been able to identify how I had been feeling, and I can’t even take credit for the analogy; my wonderfully witty copywriter friend empathized with my situation and determined that I was probably experiencing the same heartache as I might going through a relational, human breakup.

For a while, I had to fight the lie that God was saying “no” to me personally, as though I wasn’t good enough or my faith didn’t measure up. I pictured Him looking me up and down, and shaking his head in disapproval, as if my “rejected” Visa stamp actually meant “rejected” was written on my forehead in the eyes of God. I wondered, for a time, if He loved me. Several weeks post-breakup, though, I had come to understand that this wasn’t a rejection from God, but merely a redirection. I understood that I was thinking small-minded whenever I felt as though my part was insignificant. God was so good and so quick to remind me when I was thinking small; I believed so strongly that He found so much joy in the prayers of my friends and family for the trip, so I had to believe that He delighted in mine, too.  Psalm 16:5-6 was especially comforting:

The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;
you hold my lot. 
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; 
indeed, I have a good inheritance.

I wasn’t able to see Bangalore with my own eyes, but I had invested in prayer and love and hoping for the city. I had come to understand that the miracles of my team weren’t separate from me, because they were works of God and not ours.

Upon the recovery of my pseduo-breakup, a conversation of practicality was in order. I had raised support from a number of generous and loving people – if you are one of them and reading this now, I hope you know my overwhelming gratitude! – and was thankful to have been able to use the funds for an alternate trip. So, to Frankfurt, Germany I went instead (with a group of people that was made up of so many of my original crowd of India-goers).

In comparison to where I had been spiritually going to India, I felt so different (read: worse) as I prepared for Frankfurt. I wondered why God was asking me to represent His Kingdom in another nation when I was barely holding myself together at home. I was feeling dull in every aspect of my life: relationally, professionally, creatively, and was desperate to know Him again. In preparing for Frankfurt, I was suffering from a personal, relational breakup IRL – this time with a living, breathing, person. In the months prior to India, I felt disciplined in my faith, fruitful, powerful, joyful, and full. In the months prior to Frankfurt, I felt broken, weak, inadequate, emotional, and completely unqualified. I certainly didn’t feel powerful in prayer, or worthy of sharing the gospel when I could hardly remember what it meant to have abundant life for myself.

But, God’s timing was impeccable, as I expected it would be at the time of my India reroute. It was laughably awesome. In the weeks leading up to our travel date, I was trying to sort through my own emotional turmoil in order to hear the voice of God. I asked Him why I was supposed to be going at all, seeing as a total wreck of a human. I asked Him what would be my purpose if I was just going to try and put on a happy face as part of a facade.  In response, He asked of me only this: to obey Romans 12:15:

Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.

That’s it. That was my mission for Frankfurt, as God had commanded. In my time of weeping, I wasn’t to convince anyone of His goodness or see supernatural works or be an example of happiness. Rather, he was asking me to go and to weep. That, I could do. What’s incredible is that, in my re-reading of my reflective post from last year, I realized that I had hoped to do exactly that in India: “He has called me this year to love India as much as I possibly can. I expected to do exactly that by meeting the people of Bangalore, by celebrating their joys and mourning their losses with them in person.” I wanted nothing more than to rejoice and to weep with the people of India, and that is precisely what God was asking me to do a year later with those in the city of Frankfurt.

Often, I get caught up in thinking that God demands out of me what I demand out of myself. However, He isn’t a demanding God but a loving God, and He knew that in the process of my weeping, I’d be able to find rest and healing, and I would again be able to rejoice in His goodness. His command for me felt like such a small thing to do, but I looked back on my thoughts post-India to remember that heavenly significance looks nothing like earthly significance. It seemed so trivial, to be across the world only hoping to mourn with other mourners. But, in the process, I found joy beyond belief. I remembered again how easily accessible God is, and that He is giving and forgiving. I remembered His beautiful and caring voice. I remembered His goodness and His greatness again.  I remembered His love for us that is far beyond comprehension. I remembered that His plan and His timing are really, without a doubt, the absolute best.

I remembered that nothing -no matter its size or significance according to Earth – is small under the reign of a God so big.

Resolve Before Resolution

The world can be divided into two categories of people: those that make New Year’s Resolutions, and those that don’t. I’ve noticed, in my personal asking of friends and family, what one’s resolutions are for the New Year, I receive one of the two responses: “Yes, and these are them in order from most to least important”, or, “No. You asked me that last year”. I am unashamedly a member of the former camp. I know very well that resolutions statistically do not last through the entire year, let alone through February, but I love the clean slate and the promise that the first of January brings. Of course, Hamilton Wright Mabie’s thoughts on the new year are true: “New Year’s Eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things that the passage of another twelve months may be noted; and yet no man has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the coming of darkness on other nights”. The first day of the new year presents the same number of minutes as any other day, rent is still due, and I’ve never woken up any wiser or more interesting than I went to bed. But, the new year is a clean slate, and there’s something about a fresh 01/01 that inspires change for the better like no other date on the calendar.

A lot like New Year’s Eve parties, though, we set ourselves up for disappointment by disillusioning expectation. We think, because this year is not last year, we have the tools and the sudden mindset to accomplish the things we’ve set before us. Sometimes, it works. A lot of times, though, it doesn’t. Last year’s period of reflection was interesting for me, because I had entered into the new year with the resolutions to grow my hair longer, write more blog posts, and lose weight. I did the exact opposite throughout the year, instead leaving 2014 with a fresh shoulder-length hair cut, an entirely revamped blog site (but with zero published posts to show for the thought process), and a good few extra pounds on my frame (within healthy boundaries, as I got off the elliptical machine and started lifting weights, and relieved my fear of celebrating life with friends over burgers and beer. And margaritas. And ice cream). It was a weird year for me, at least on paper, because I had completely failed at meeting my resolutions, but closed out the year with a newfound sense of self – less dependent upon my hair and size and site to validate my worth.

Resolutions can be really good, but they can also be extremely limiting. They can be created and utilized as framework for success, or as the foundation for disappointment and frustration. If they aren’t what we actually need – and are driven by vanity, societal pressure, or misunderstanding of ourselves, they can distract us from doing the things that actually lead us to living our best lives. If losing 10 pounds means giving up birthday parties and happy hours and chocolate-chip pancakes, maybe it’s worth it. But, maybe it’s not. Maybe the best thing to do would be to spend more time with the people that remind you of your worth regardless of your size, that love you whether you’ve made it to the gym every day this week or not.

This year, I’ve decided against resolutions, although admittedly, at the beginning of December, I had them already listed. I really do think they’re great for a lot of things, but I’m taking a different approach for 2016. I deleted the “Resolutions” note from my phone, and have instead set my intention in the form of resolve. Without resolve – which is to commit to a purpose or a course of action – resolutions are arbitrary. Resolve is the driving vehicle to successfully met and maintained resolutions, so instead of willing myself to achieve an end result, I am going to focus intentionally on the process of becoming all of the things I pray to be. For this year, I’m resolving to lead a life characterized by grace, humility, faith, and beauty. In all my thoughts and actions – instead of asking myself, “is this going to help me achieve my resolution?”, I’m going to ask myself, “is what I’m doing, thinking, or saying, rooted in these things?”. I don’t want to focus on the accomplishment like I have in years before. Instead, I want to focus on the process of becoming more graceful, more humble, more faithful, and more beautiful in what I do, think, and say. I’ve set my sights on the driving force – my resolve – before any resolution. I’ve set my sights on the process before any end result.

Much like a New Year’s Eve party, the best part of the night is the getting ready part, anyway. Cheers to the process.

Great Expectations

I have a flight for 5:00pm tomorrow afternoon to Bangalore, India.

But it’s Friday morning, I haven’t packed and I’m making plans for Sunday brunch in Seattle.

I haven’t packed because I hate packing and am very good at procrastinating. But, I’m making plans for Sunday brunch in Seattle because I won’t be going to India, like my flight itinerary implies. My visa application was rejected, and I’m still not sure why. Without diving into tedious detail – because I don’t want to lose you before the closing of this post – nothing went right, and I did everything I possibly could with the little power that I have.

Friends and family have given money, they’ve prayed silently, they’ve prayed out loud, they’ve wished me well. I’ve spent time convincing a family member that my asking for money isn’t a scam, that I am pure in my heart and that their money truly is partnering with God to do His work. They have been a part of this journey with me for the year, so not only is this expectation my own, but it’s also the expectation of the people in my life that I love the most. I’ve promised testimonies of miracles and healing, because that is what I have believed God promised to me. I feel like I’m letting a lot of people down, without even touching on my own disappointment. I feel like I’m going to have to try and explain again that this isn’t a scam all over again, and that my heart is as pure as it is broken, but this time I’m going to be a lot less convincing. For the past week, I’ve cried at work in a very important meeting and on the phone with the visa processing agency and at the FedEx office and alone in my apartment. I feel embarrassed and shocked and really, really sad. I feel guilty. I feel a little bit left behind. I feel like a disappointment.

At work this week, in between tears and phone calls with the travel agency, my writer friend Emily – always really good about articulating my feelings for me – pinpointed a surprisingly accurate reason for my heartache. In an attempt to explain why I felt like my emotional instability and dramatization was valid, she paused and asked me, “It’s kind of like a bad breakup, right?”. “Kind of, yeah, actually”, was my response. Thank goodness for friends that know your heart better than you can explain sometimes. That’s what this feels like: a really bad breakup from a year-long relationship, characterized by hope and promise and an incredible amount of expectation. Except this one is with 1/6 of the world’s population.

In relationships, heartache comes when expectations can’t be met by the other person. On the other hand, excessive happiness is the result of acts of unexpected kindness, like surprise flowers or phone calls or compliments. The expectation that I have had for a year has been to travel to India on November 21st with my classmates and friends. I’ve prayed and fought, I’ve invested and dreamt, and I’ve invited a lot of people into this with me.

This is not what I had expected after a year. I am certain I’ve said this every time, and I mean it again: this is the worst breakup I’ve experienced. In my previous relationships, I knew so often that I was selfish and immature, that I made mistakes, and that I could have done a lot better. To this one, though, I’ve given everything. It’s definitely my worst breakup ever.

Maybe God has asked me to stay home and hold down the fort. Maybe an emergency at work will require my presence. Maybe I’ll encounter someone that needs encouragement, and I’ll be there at the right time. Maybe this is just the way it is, and will not ever make sense to me in this life.  Right now, I’m a little foggy with sadness and confusion and heartache, so rationalizing this nonsense isn’t quite happening for me today.  In fact, the only thing that has been happening for me all week are tears of frustration occasionally interrupted by bouts of laughter because I am both emotionally exhausted and surrounded by loving people that are really good at making me laugh.

Unlike a bad relationship, though, and walking away with nothing but a broken heart and promises unfulfilled, I’m walking away with promises that have been met. They haven’t looked like what I imagined, and although it doesn’t always make sense, I’m thankful that God is more creative than the limitations of my imagination. A month ago, I asked God to completely transform my heart and mind. I wanted to leave for India a different person than who I was on that day that I prayed. I wanted an inexplicable, outlandish increase in faith, growth, obedience, and authority as a daughter of the King. I prayed for stronger relationships with my classmates as friends, to feel so loved that I couldn’t help but pour it out into others. I wanted to be so overwhelmed with love for Bangalore to the point that there wasn’t head space for me to be concerned with myself. He has done exactly those things, but through a process for which I wasn’t prepared.

Growth, though, as I have learned painfully this month, doesn’t come from anything so often as it comes from struggle. Faith increases as you believe for the things unseen, especially when things don’t make sense. I’ve learned that obedience is easy until you have to choose to trust the mystery of God’s knowledge more than even your own understanding. It’s hard to say, “I want what God wants for me”, when all you want is one thing and God has something else in mind. But to say it and to truly believe it in your heart bears fruit in the form of faith, growth, obedience, and authority. I wanted to be changed through my experience in Bangalore, and to see God’s love revealed so tangibly in ways that I didn’t know were possible. The way that my own team fought for me when I was exhausted and hopeless and ugly is a testimony of His grace and persistence to love us to no end. I’m not going to India, but God has held true to His promises nonetheless; the way that others have uplifted me, fought beside me, and gone out of their way to love me when I have been difficult to love has exemplified the way that God loves us more than I knew was possible. He is a God that is faithful to His promises – for Hebrews 6:19 reminds us that these promises we have are “a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain”. God, in the strangest, most unexpected of ways, and in the midst of His great mystery, fulfilled the promises He made to me. I am still unsure of His reasoning, but I do know that He didn’t need me to see India to do in my heart exactly what He intended.

Am I confused about His plan? Yes. Am I frustrated that I don’t understand? Absolutely. Have I been crying for three days straight? Totally. Am I crying right now? Probably.

Am I doubtful of His goodness? No, actually. Not even for a second. I have no good apart from Him.

The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;
    you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
    indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.

Psalm 16:5-6

I can’t comprehend why these impenetrable boundaries exist, but I know that they have been established by God for my safekeeping. He has called me this year to love India as much as I possibly can. I expected to do exactly that by meeting the people of Bangalore, by celebrating their joys and mourning their losses with them in person. It won’t be what I expected, but I’m not going to stop loving Bangalore, I’m not going to stop praying for India, and I’m not going to expect fewer miracles because of my absence. God has called me to bring the Kingdom of Heaven to earth, and the distance from Seattle to Bangalore is nothing for a God so great. And, if the way that my teammates wildly loved me at my worst is any indication of their selflessness and strength and obedience to Jesus, India is in very good hands.

Earlier this week, I heard something that I found especially relevant: “Redirection is not rejection”. Despite my visa rejection, I know that God himself hasn’t rejected me. He isn’t saying to me, “you’re not prepared” or “you’re not trustworthy for a job this big” or “you’re not good enough, and that is why you can’t go”. He’s just saying, “no”, and not because of who I am, but because of who He is. He knows better than I do. Everything happens for a reason; I’ve heard it more this week than I have in my 23 years combined, but that doesn’t make the hurt of my not going any less painful. Fortunately, though, I’m not in bad relationship with a boyfriend leading me on. I’m with God, and in His wisdom and mystery, He is leading me elsewhere.

 

I have a Confession

It’s not what you think. And, honestly, I wish this confession were a little bit more scandalous, but at the base of every confession is a sense of guilt, and I feel guilty about this:

I like my 9-5 job. I feel really guilty about it, sometimes, too, because I am comfortable and happy and content for the most part. Of course, this is not at all to say I haven’t felt like sneaking off to the ladies’ room to cry in a fit of frustration or stress or because I had just listened to a really awesome TED Talk and am feeling particularly inspired. I feel guilty because I like walking into the office, knowing from where my paycheck is coming and where I’m going to go eat lunch and at what time I’ll be off, headed to the gym or to my apartment to drink wine on my rooftop and admire the view of the Puget Sound in the distance. I like stopping for a coffee at the same shop every morning at the same time; the baristas know my order, and – yes – I like it that way.

On the other hand, I feel guilty because I think sometimes I’m wasting time, sitting at a desk answering emails or scrolling through beauty blogs, when I have friends backpacking through Europe and teaching English to children in Vietnam and working for nonprofit organizations in Seattle. I’ve been in a state of restlessness as of late – at home and at work, in my perception of the present and of the future – and am feeling especially unsatisfied with things that, normally, are easy and comfortable. I am hardly the type of person to respond to a “how are you?” with anything other than a high-pitched, “good! how about you?”. It’s easy; it’s comfortable; it saves me time and it saves my inquisitor time. It’s a win-win type of response, really, if our measure of success is temporal. I responded to this question – “how are you?” – posed by my friend last week, with exactly this: “Fine. Actually, you know what? I feel weird. I’m in this place where I’m trying to figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life.” I expected him to react uncomfortably, but instead, he looked at me completely unfazed, and understanding, even. “You mean like what people try to do with their lives forever?” he asked me.

I laughed. Yes, exactly. Thank goodness I’m not the only one wrestling with this state of restlessness.

Instead of feeling guilty about being comfortable or feeling guilty that I’m not doing enough to change the world, I’m going to be thankful for the season in which I am currently residing in my life, and do everything I can to change my world, even if it isn’t on a scale as grand as the world. I’m going to be thankful for this restlessness, because it means that I am expectant of more. I am ready for bigger, prepared for better, but not so much so that I am blind to the work to be done here, today.

To be content, and not, simultaneously, can be draining. I can wallow and dream about everything I could be doing instead of going to work, earning a paycheck, eating lunch, exercising, drinking wine on my rooftop. Or, to be content and not simultaneously, can be driving. To be both content in the present and also dreaming of bigger is the best place to be. At this time, in this place, I can choose to feel guilty about where I am (mentally and physically), or I can choose to make small, day-to-day impacts, and continue to dream wildly. Thankfulness for the now, coupled with a hunger for bigger and better things, makes for one hell of a force to be reckoned with.