Bragging & Complaining Rights.

One of my favorite House policies is our "bragging and complaining rights." Jenelle and I started this sometimes this summer, when we lived together - just her and I - and it has broadened our world and allowed such great release and freedom.

It allows us to laugh and be joyous and grateful for incredible things that have happened at work, or great success' at something we've done, or honor shown to our gifts.

It also allows us to come home and just say what you've wanted to say all day but held in so you didn't loose your job, or feel like a gossip, or go hysterical.

This honesty and frankness is so great, we both relish at times the idea of coming home and getting to do so. I love not having to 'coat' my success with veiled humility, but being able to just brag about something good, and not feel embarrassed for being incredibly awed and proud.

And I love being able to have moments to just really say ... everything about the day.

I'm glad, I am thankful, for this house, this home. This friendship. And for bragging and complaining rights.

Love & Loss.

I feel like I'm walking on shifting plates. Like everything below is moving and tilting, in almost a sea-sick fashion. Because the people I love, I keep loosing. And I keep trying to be loving and gracious and let them go, but it leaves me feeling raw and vulnerable and empty and needy and sad all at the same time.

One of my greatest "heart" friends here is Amy. We're far apart in age, but close in life. She went to Taylor, 25 years before me, and lived in my exact same room -- 115. And now goes to my church and has me for tea and there is nothing like the feeling of walking into her house... We laugh like school girls, share like best friends, and connect sometimes like mother daughter too... But she may be moving. Her husband lost his job back in November, and the search hasn't been easy, which brings thoughts and interviews and plans and preparations for moving.

I bawled yesterday. Angry, tearful, pleading tears. She is my heart in so many ways, and a place of solace here. Her home and friendship is like a safety net, and encouragement. I feel like the air is sucked out at just the thought of her leaving.

And then my roommate. Jenelle. I love her. There were four of us. All together. Everyone knew each other's story, and most deeply, knew mine. So my heart was in the safety of the homes we lived and the relationships there. For a year and a half now, Jenelle and I have lived together and never had one sense of strain...

But she's at a job interview this weekend in Nashville, and is pursuing moving there steadily. It's not so much a matter of if, but when, now.

And the thought of loosing her, of tearing her out of my day-to-day interactions, and place of home, leaves me feeling lost in life. Like the bearings in Charlotte creep away... first it was Marilyn to London, then Angela to marriage, now Jenelle to Tennessee... These were my women, these were my heart and my home...

So I feel like I'm on this tilt-a-whirl of loss. Wishing these people could stay in my life in the same capacity, but knowing that there is a good possibility they can't. And wanting to develop other deep friendships, but now cautiously reading the future like a telescope, wondering how far away until that friendship is removed too. It feels like sinking sand, and I'm grasping for help alone. Because I have loved, deeply, and now am going through loss.

~~~

P.S. One loss, just highlights all other losses. So this week, the pain of earlier losses (friendships that are now geographically distant, and my mom) just blare and pull all the more painfully and deeply.

Penalized for Strength.

I don't know how to write this, but I guess I'm going to try... it's a mix of words and confusion and lots of unseen emotion that I haven't figured out or know how to deal with... so here's the sloppy vocabulary end of it...

I spent most the day today with one of my friends, and he repeated himself through the day with labeling "feminist" on me. Usually I laugh because I've already given him my "strong woman, soft heart" speech...

But by the end of the day, he got out of the car, and I felt.... vulnerable. Feminist? Me? That's the last thing I want to be -- some I-hate-men, anger-driven, unconcerned, hardened creature who feels the need to prove herself at every turn.

I have no idea how he defines 'feminist,' which obviously matters in this conversation, but it still pulled at me. He's a good friend, a sincere heart, and crazy guy, and our honesty of relationship is positive, but I still couldn't help but cringe at the term.

My mom was strong. Surely. But lovely and soft and caring and concerned and compassionate and giving and serving and humble and gracious. She was sure and moving and demanding and leading, but all in ways that complimented the earlier. And the mixture of these things, made her... wonderful... Her.

So to be called "feminist" unnerved me. It's the opposite of what I what to be. I'm a strong woman. I was raised to be. I was taught to work hard, to live purposefully, to use the hours well. To start the day with prayer and breakfast and then keep moving from there. To mow the law, power a stick-shift, drive a four-wheeler, budget finances. To not complain until I had taken action to correct the complaint. There wasn't an option to be weak, to be soft-spoken. For heaven's sake, all I got was crap about being "too sensitive." But now my friend instead sees my strength as assertive and strong and who-knows-what.

I don't like being punished for being strong. I don't enjoy being intimidating to men, and therefore not asked out... and, alone or unmarried, because men don't know what to do with the fact that I can get dirty, do chores, and think for myself. I don't like the fact that because I'm (using his words) "spiritually mature," I'm punished because other men aren't. And it leaves me alone because of this strength.

So anyway... my entourage... He wasn't meaning what-so-ever to be hurtful, and has no idea I took his flingings to heart... And I know that the godly man I desire will have strength enough to be beyond these thoughts or ideals or expectations... but in the midst, it left vulnerable me.

And lastly, though, what I must add here... is what left tears to my eyes. What was REDEEMED. Because after this encounter, amidst my insecurities, my dad called. And something about just talking to him affirmed me, as me. My strength and intentionality and purposeful use of every moment in time. Because my whole family is like that, and we all love being that way and understand it; it's familiar and true. My sister, my brother, my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law... we all are strong. We're leaders, we're decision-makers, we're risk-takers, we're do-oers. We're 7am up-and-at-um. We're work-hard, play-hard, rest-hard, pray-hard people.

So it's interesting, that my family somehow redeemed my fallen thoughts and sinking self-esteem. That my strength was breed from their strength today, and that is how it was redeemed.

So to strength, to soul, to softness, to me. I pray, oh Lord, make a beautiful woman of me.

Population: Me.

I've heard this song on my morning drive two days in a row. Both times, cringing and pausing and reviewing and wondering. Population: Me. Ouch. Yikes.

I stop and think. Do I live 'Population: Me'? Chances are, if you'd look at how I spend my time (outside of anything teaching) and my finances (outside of tithing), you'd sadly, admittedly, find a lot of that --population: me.

I've read that I should give 'til it hurts. I've also read I need boundaries. Some days I feel I have nothing left to give, other days I wish I was giving what I had.

All I know is, this song is playing around the chords of my heart, and it tweaks a bit off-pitch, waiting for life and purpose and gifting to find harmony in something bigger, something better, than population: me.

~~

Based on the song "My Own Little World" by Matthew West.

Fallen Leaves.

Written by my friend, Trish Jackson, this poem is an artful thought, a perfect expression, of life, love, loss and the greater - redemption. I read it and then re-read it with pauses and thoughts, gathering it in, and wondering what it all means and how it applies, and finding the joy in knowing each season, separately, as well as looking back at the whole. Blessing.

As leaves fall
into a stream
the current carries
away fallen dreams

The tree is left bare
from all that's lost
the winter winds
then bring the frost

All seems dead
for hope is gone
longing lies dormant
awaiting the dawn

The winter is passed
let the spring begin
for now is the time
to dream again

Let song burst forth
new buds appear
smell the sweet fragrance
of joy born through tears

Trust Me.

I loved these words from this morning:

‎"If you believe that I am sovereign over every aspect of your life, it is possible to trust Me in all situations... Trust is like a staff you can lean on, as you journey uphill with Me." ~ Sarah Young in 'Jesus Calling'

Been Loved.

I think, perhaps, once you've been loved, its even harder to go without.

Sometimes I think, sometimes I wonder, what it is like for those who have always grown up... alone. Without parents present either physically or emotionally. Or without a supportive school system, a church body, a presence of love in your life.

I've been loved. Deeply.

And sometimes, perhaps selfishly, that's what I miss the most.

I miss being loved.

I miss her phone calls. Her care packages. Her letters. Her meals. Her place of home. Her emotional safety. I miss the unconditionally, the no-restraints, the encouragement, the always-holding-you-in-my-heart.

I know I have friends. I know have other things, other people. But its different. It's different than the unconditional. It's different than the know-your-heart-history. It's different than the my-world-revolves-around-you love. It's different when you matter that much, everyday, all the time.

It's different, when you're loved.

Time to Be.

I want time to write. I want time to think. I want time to breathe, to reflect, to be. To see Jesus in the ordinary, and know him in my heart in the extraordinary. I want time to flourish in him again...

I gathered so much of this between the holidays and snow days, that now its suffocating to not have it, and shuts my heart off...

On another hand.... my boss reminds me everyday that they have to make cuts next year, and I'm on the lowest end of the totem pole, so to make sure I work hard to try and keep my job.

I hate that. I don't love my job enough to sell my heart to it.

In honesty, if I loose it, I'm at stillness and peace. Because that means I'm released from teaching, once and for all, no more wonderings... And then I know what things I'll throw myself into -- I'll nanny again full time for cash and space in life, and throw myself into my church -- the women specifically, and maybe youth... And simply love and give, and be...

I just need a minute, to be loved, encouraged. I just need a few more heartbeats to gather in today. To read. To write. To let go. To be.

Weeping Forward.

I read this phrase in my Ruth study this week, and shared it with a friend who is going through a really painful season. It stirs thoughts, as one tries to grasp what that means, and what it looks like.

Weeping forward.

Action. Movement. Hurt. Hardship. Pain. Journey. Hope.

And then today, in my study, another phrase collaborated with it: sowing tears. It comes from Psalm 126, where the psalmist writes: "Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy" (v5). And again, it insinuates the same: in pain and loss and hardship and sorrow, in acknowledging all that is hurt and lost and mourned, there is still action. There is sowing.

The sowing is planting; it is moving forward. Knowing the harvest is still a season away. In this hard sport, not only do we weep, but we weep forward. Not only do we weep forward, but we sow seeds for the hope and life that is yet to come.

So, in this thought, today, if you are in a season of weeping, what are you also sowing? And, are you sowing and weeping forward? What kind of harvest do you expect to reap from that of which you sow? Seeds of goodness, love, joy, faithfulness, obedience? Or the folly of the contrary?

Or, if you are in a season of harvest, what bounty can you name and label and see, to gather now as a sign of His faithfulness during the toil of sowing? In the blessings, the abundance, does your joy acknowledge the goodness of the Lord? Are you sifting seeds from your harvest to plant when the time for sowing comes?

Boldly Thankful.

Let me stop myself here, and say that I am thankful. Boldly.

I am thankful for my flourishing friendships here in Charlotte and how this week has allowed them to grow. I am thankful that when the Lord called me to NC, that he fulfilled his promise to me in providing avenues and outlets for community. I am thankful for a church home and family that branches through Sunday services, friendships, and the warmth of a woman named Amy. I am thankful for places and friends to go dancing with. I am thankful for homes to gather in on week days and weekend nights, and text messages which allow me to know that, really amidst all my wandering and wondering, I still do have a place and belong.

So let me pause. Stop. Hold tight. And be thankful. Because goodness does hold strong and true in my life right now. And I will not let my todays pass for tomorrow.

Growing Down.

My friend, Kara, once used this phrase and I've thought about it a lot the last year. Our lives reverberate against each other, as we both are single women, responsible adults, with vision and love for women's ministry, and can easier connect with older women that those our own age.

She was talking about how she connects deeply with the women of our church who are older, so she's always involved with them, and their kids, and the women's ministry and has made a life of such. But how now, in her mid-thirties, she feels pressure to 'grow down' since she doesn't fit in the married life and family groups, and is in this void of belonging to both and neither -- not the silliness and party-life of singles, nor the settled and planned life of family.

This week, my friend Zac, called me a "old soul," somewhat endeared and somewhat confused, by who I am and how I live. And, I remember a conversation with my mom one day, discussing my role on the women's ministry team at my church in Grand Rapids, and how I loved it and felt more connected to those 5 women than almost anyone my own age. I remember exactly where she was standing when she said, "That doesn't surprise me at all." And how that flowed into a conversation about who I am, what I love to do, and how that meshes with my life.

In the midst of this, I'm left wondering and longing, what does it mean for me to life in this land-between being the person I am, but the life stage struggle to belong in?

Perhaps its all fear. That if I stop trying to be young and fun and single, then I'll never meet someone who wills forward for the same things that I do. Or, that I'll be home and alone and lonely. Perhaps it's that I still do have that adventure lets-go-hike-or-fly spirit that gets squashed amidst stability. Or perhaps it's just a longing for heaven, for home, for that idea of a belonging. And that I will never feel a sense of 'whole' until that final day has come.

As I hold these thoughts, weary from desperately trying to 'grow down,' and wishing and wanting more, just to be the holistic woman that God has made and called me to be, I am still left wondering and pondering: what does it mean to live this life, not growing down, but growing full?

Provided: Snow Days.

To mark the words from my friend Amy's text:

"Christina, could these snow days have come at a better time??? I think not! God knows our needs before we ask him."

I couldn't leave this week, without marking God in it. It's easy to pray or complain or be anxious or wonder, and then with the situation is over, to move on, and not note His working hand. But this week, I stop and pause. Because I have to. Because it's a marker on my journey. Because he granted me something special -- snow days.

You see, last week was rough. Each morning, my chest was tight and I prayed myself into the classroom. Once the kids arrived, I clicked into motion, but the anxiousness was frustrating. But this week, we had four snow days. Yes, read that right: four. So each day, I worked ahead, creating lesson plans, worksheets, unit outlines, etc. And then had some fun - sledding, Starbucks, dinner with friends. Yet, this time enabled me to get caught up and ready for second semester so the weight of teaching doesn't feel quiet so suffocating.

I didn't ask for the snow days. I didn't even give thought or hope to them when people mentioned the weather. But God knew what I needed. And he provided. Through snow days.

Respected At The City Gate.

I've been digging through Ruth. And Proverbs 31. And Friendships. And Life. And this morning, this passage got me all over again. What does it mean for a man to be "respected at the city gate?" (Prov 31:10)

As a single Christian woman, my heart is to love and marry and cherish the man that chooses God above all else, lives a life that calls and demands honor, and carries himself with intention and dignity. He is joyful and encouraging, rejoicing in good things, honoring and acknowledging the hard things...

Sometimes I get so caught up in it all, that I can't really figure out what is worth waiting for and what isn't. And if I should just pick one of the men I know, guy friends, and see where it leads...

But this passage entitles that I pause and wait. Because to be respected at the city gate, means the man has earned his role, his intentionality, his honor. It means in the light of people - guys, work, women - he is respected. It means he treats people with dignity. He protects hearts and calls them forward at the same time. He serves, he cherishes, he nudges. He takes leadership roles when necessary, and encourages the leadership of others when necessary too. He filters his thoughts, heart, and life (media, time, talents, etc) through the lens of Christ. He honors his commitments and works hard and lives in community.

It doesn't mean that he is stagnant, getting by. Sometimes I try to get myself to settle for guys like this. Who, simply... exist. Because it's easier, because their stable. But my heart just can't get me to settle there. My term is usually "adventure" but what it really is, from a godly standpoint, is the lust and longing for a full life. A life that lusts after what God is calling him forward to, and what challenges and changes he is continually making to press on towards that. To earn respect and grasp fullness. To not be stagnant amidst the glory of God.

So it all narrows down to this: if I am to be a Proverbs 31 woman, a wife of noble character, then I should filter men through this one phrase: Is he respected at the city gate? [or aiming to be?]

~~~

SideNote: For all who question my waiting and wishing, and want to repeat for the millionth time, that no one is perfect and I have too high of expectations... I completely disagree. And I know men who prove it -- Ry, Michael, Tom... husbands of dear friends of mine... men who are respected at the city gate.

Love In Their Hands.

My kitchen smells like mom's kitchen. The oven creaks to open and the smell of blueberry coffee cake wafts in the air like a homecoming scent. I love mom's cooking. Fresh. Cozy. Warm. Loved. Made with calm, knowing hands. Astride conversation. Robed with aprons and barstools.

Last week, at my door stood Amy and her daughter Elise, holding love in their hands. It was an anxious, stressful, out-of-your-mind week, and they came over with intentionality.

Smokielink casserole and blueberry bread. From my mom's cookbook. I teared up. It was my favorite dish of mom's. And Amy knew it. Mom always made with blueberry muffins, my other favorite. Amy didn't know that, but God did. I teared up.

The smell, the thought, the gift, the taste... all of it, was love in their hands.

My Favorite Things.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favorite things

~ My Favorite Things

As this song trickles through me, a few other things add their lyrics. My side-bar already as a list of my favorite things... but a few more come to mind:

1. Bath and Body Works. Scents. Oh my word, that place is like euphoria to me, like a kid in a candy store... so many choices, so many scents, so much goodness in one colorful place!

2. Sunday Morning Church. I love going to church. I love going to worship. Seriously, it definitely hits the line of "simple pleasures."

3. Narratives of Missionaries. I love reading these books. They are the biggest encouragement to faith, and usually captivating to read.

4. Hazelnut lattes. Enough said.

5. Beautiful fabrics. I love touching well-made pants or dresses or sweaters. Something about the quality of fabric feels personal, loved, worth touching into.

6. Friends who text on a whim just to say they're thinking of me. Those always make smile.

7. Seriously incredible music. My new favs are "Dancing in the Minefields" by David Peterson and "God Is With Us" by multiple artists... but I'm enthralled with excellent music, whether Sugarland or Wailing Jennys or Lady Antebellem or Rhianna or the constant Sara Groves. Good music makes and changes my life.

8. Bakeries. There's one near my house that no one knows of, but I love it. Java Brewery, the baked pies and muffins and scones are so beautiful that you can't help but walk by and stare and wish and want and linger.

9.

Catching Beautiful

It's snowing outside. With a fluffy 4-5 inches of accumulation. The earth quiets and soften with it. And I find myself... catching beautiful... with friends, laughing down mini-slopes at the park on neon green saucers. Four adult women, stacked now four high, on mini sleds, on a not-so-steep hill. The laughter of the scene, and the joy of being a child in the snow is... catching beautiful.

I also find myself, now Starbucked, grill-cheesed, showered, and resting, catching beautiful in my home and heart. Lingering with good scents, my journal, laptop, and a good book on the side of me. Thinking through life and friendships, and capturing beautiful in them. Moments that fall like snow in their goodness.

On these days, joyous and quiet the same, I love catching beautiful, and holding it, like snowflakes landing softly on lashes.

Looking Back.

My dear friend Lynda called tonight to ask/hear about how Christmas went, and I realized in my reflection to her... that it was a process, a stone piece in the restoration.

I didn't want to be there. Everyday, I just craved to be back home, in Carolina. I missed just the feeling of 'home' and place. But at the same time, God provided avenues to goodness in Grand Rapids over Christmas that have CHANGED my perspective on the space/place as a whole.

I used to look at it with fear and condemnation. With big "X" marks all over it, and loathsome grumblings, flaring anger, hurt, and disappointment.

But the Lord is changing the "attitude of my mind." I went with a guarded heart, and kept it that way. I went with little expectation from bloodlines, and kept it that way. But because of that, I didn't leave disappointed, or with lingering hurts from anything "bad." No terrible conversations, no nightmares of situations. Just a lot of blockades a on my heart. But what that means, is that my memories of Grand Rapids this time... are pure.

So instead I remember my nephew, that we would both go to sleep at 9pm, and I would come awake with his whispered "Aunt Nina, can we get up and play?" and our sleepover would roll into the day. And for family, I remember go-karts and laughter (guarded and distracted, but laughter!) from Craigs Cruisers for Christmas.

So I'm able instead of seeing the hurt, anger, disappointment, and preliminary events, to see the traces of good and reconciliation. I see Lynda at the airport, and coffee on her couch. A fire ablaze at Roses with Kate, snacks with my Grandma over hot cocoa, grins while sitting squished between Laura & Missy at Maries, and lingering over lunch and life with Bekah.

My deepest self may have been guarded and just trying to survive, to get-through... but it did. And because of that, there lingers the hope... of restoration.

Til I Rest In You.

The Other Side of the Blue Dress.

What does it mean for me today, to be who I am, who I want to be, but with space that leads longing for both?

What I mean is...

I'm not a party girl. I've never wanted to be. I didn't grow up dreaming of sororities, or going out dancing on Friday nights, or wearing sexy dresses, or waiting for men to lure over me. Cheering to colorful drinks and hoot-hooing and coming home in the late hours.

No. What I dreamt was of families, and children. I like to crawl into bed by ten pm and sleep in until 7 and live fully in between. I like to bake cookies in the kitchen, dance by myself, and gather at the lakeside. I'm the girl who went to Taylor for my M.R.S. degree (literally!) and carefully holds the Proverb "she does him good and not harm all the days of her life" in her heart.

But I'm stuck here in this odd place of being either hermit-like alone and meeting no one to "achieve" the desired status, and being quiet and wishing and wanting... Or every now-and-then acting like I could be one of the party girls, to try and be alluring enough to engage some guy to wish he would talk to me and want to get to know me (which, lets be honest, does that happen anyway?)

So I'm perplexed. It's not that I don't like to have fun, but there is an emptiness, a longing deep in it too that stirs whether or not I battle it not to. There is a hope that won't, that can't, stay hidden for long, no matter how far I try to shove it away.

So I fake times of party-girl. And it looks lavish and movie-like and positively envious to on-lookers. But what they don't know, don't realize, don't understand.... is the girl on the other side of the blue dress.