Inevitable Underdog

I ran away home for a day with the intent of forcing my soul to rest and my eyes to dry. I spent the morning (which started at noon) with my mom and my pets and then came to my third favorite place in the world to work on productive parts of life that I have been avoiding for months. What I really wanted to do was blog, but what my Mother, my Professor, and my brain told me to do was complete my resume. Upon arriving, however, my internet refused to cooperate. If I cannot access my resume, how could I possibly improve it?

In a time such as this, I ask you: What am I to do but blog*?

It’s about time for my inevitable blog about Autumn, I think. I’ve told you before that this is the time the world seems to remember to breathe, be it creation itself or the people who run it.  The trees are loosening their grip on the heydays of the Summer and allowing the passing of time to make their colors richer. Chicagoans welcome to relief from the humid air we have spent the last three months swimming through. Everyone’s hair looks better. Music seems louder. Lyrics matter more.  Driving seems to take on a new sort of joy.  Car windows retreat into hiding.  Stop signs aren't so annoying. Pauses are welcome.

                  Pauses are welcome.

I think that rings true for me in all of Autumn. No matter what stage of life I am in, Autumn is where I take a break and I make sure that I am still who I am and that I am becoming who I want to be. There is something about the crispness in the air that reminds me that I am alive and that there is hope and that I am called to tell a story with my life.

We were fashioned by a creative God who has orchestrated every thing that has ever happened. He is a story teller. He not only made us,but He designed us in His image.  We are a reflection of Him because He wants us to be. So shouldn't we be story tellers? Not just with our words and doodles, but with our lives? I don’t think anyone will ever pen my biography, but if they did, I should like to give them something to write about. I want plot twists and adventure. I want to do the unexpected and prove people wrong. And darnit, I want to tell people that social media isn't inherently evil (we are).

Do you see what this weather does to me? It brings out the best in me. It makes me breathe and reminds me to be a story teller. It lets me wear boots and consume caramel beverages. I’m so grateful that God invented Autumn. I think it’s my favorite part of the story. Like an unsuspecting character that doesn’t expect to change anything in life, but ultimately provides comedic relief and inspiration and an unexpected piece of advice that changes the whole story. Like Sir Cadogan or Fezzik or Emiline Harris or George (who spends time at the Nut shop, where it’s fun.)

Autumn is the underdog that changes the whole story, and I want to follow in its footsteps. 

*My internet began working seconds after I finished this post. God is funny sometimes. And always totally in control.

The Beginning of the End

Just another average day at Moody Bible Institute.

Class, chapel, chat, class, lunch, class, class, chat, meeting, meeting, dinner, library, people, sleep.  

Rinse.
Repeat.

A long night ahead, I scurry to Dunkin before the 99 cent special ends,  return to campus and begin my descent to the Library below. I round the corner expecting to see a friend at the desk… he isn’t there. That’s right, he graduated…

That’s ok, just one difference. I can do that. This week has gone by so quickly and so much has happened, I haven’t had to think about how much is changed. But little things begin to stick out.

I weave my way through the back of the library. It’s time to become reacquainted with my usual spot. A comfortable, famil…They’ve rearranged the furniture. And added bookshelves.  Ok. Breathe. Just another little change. No big.

The quiet of the library makes my mind race, finally dealing with the events of the day, the week, the Summer. Do I really have to face life now? I have so much homework to do! Can’t I just process in January after I graduate? I think that’s a really great plan.

It’s too late. The little changes have sparked a revolution in my reluctant mind. Every change, every familiar face gone, every brand new freshman that I am pretty sure is still 14. It all hits. SLAM. Done.

I burry my head in my hands and reach for the nearest bit of God I can grasp. “I rest me in the thought

of rocks and trees, of skies and seas; His hand the wonders wrought.”

A bit of break. The eye of the storm.

What’s this? Channel change? Oh good. My mind, a thing of its own, has progressed to life after Moody. What will I do? Who will I be? Where will I go? What will I have left behind? It probably doesn’t help that Kammerzelt reminded my Senior Seminar class today that all of our plans and dreams are likely futile. Senior Sem… that’s right. I have to write a paper for that. And I have to read for another class. I have homework to do.  So much homework.

A couple of friends visit, satisfying my need for community and providing much needed distraction. My brain settles, moving steadily back in to homework mode. I can breathe again. Back to homework and music and twitter and a handle on the peace that’s past all understanding.

 I think we’re gonna make it.

*Gets text. Checks email. Begins freak-out all over*

Happy last semester of college. Where God is good and change is hard.

Muchier Muchness

In high school, you look in the mirror, secretly wishing that someone else will look back at you. Someone different than who you perceive you are. You would give anything for your teeth to be a little straighter, your arms to be a little more toned, for your hair to fall the right way. You discern that your identity is determined by who looks back at you from the mirror. You’re always disappointed that it’s just you in there. No matter how hard you try to beat your reflection to the mirror, it always greets you. And it’s always you.

In college, it’s very much the same. You wake up, roll out of your bed, stumble across your dorm room, and flip the light on. Half alive you turn to the mirror to deduce what must be done to make yourself socially acceptable. You’ve come to expect nothing. It’s just you on the other side of the glass, and that’s ok. You’re content with this now. You’ve accepted it. You can’t really change it. You can cut your hair or change your eyeliner, but it’s still you staring back in the morning.  

But, one night when you’re tired and a little hungry but also a decidedly too lazy to do anything about either  one of those things, you’ll look in the mirror and be surprised by the reflection. It’s still you…but it’s…you? This weird version of you that you haven’t seen before. *tap tap* Hello? Did I miss something?

The nose is the same, the eyes still can’t decide on a color, that one tooth is still quite out of place. But something’s… different. Unsure of the change you give yourself pardon to look a little longer. Is it the new hairstyle? No. The almost tan? Uh uh. It’s deeper than that. Muchier than that.

Muchness? Is that really what this spiral of thought is coming down to? A reference to a movie I don’t even particularly enjoy? Muchiness. Alright. Fine. Let’s go with that.

It’s like suddenly you’ve become a muchier version of yourself.  You’ve got more than grades and politics defining you. More than music taste and denomination.  You’re not even sure what it is. But you know that somehow you’ve become something different. Something better? Hopefully.  You’ve always known that you look like your dad, but for the first time you see your mom in your face. (I hope you’ve accepted by now that the “you” is actually me. Sorry for any confusion. But if you’ve seen your mother in your face recently, that’s good.) That’s enough to make it not scary. “Ok,” you think. “I can do this. This ‘adult’ thing. I presume that’s what this is. I’m almost 23, so it’s probably time I become an adult, right?”

It’s not even that you’ve decided to be an adult, like when you’re 13 and you now have a “teen” behind your name, which means you know all the things. It’s like you’ve only just now realized that you’ve grown up and you’ve almost graduated college and you are an adult now, darn it, I don’t care if you don’t like it. But you don’t really like it. Unlike when you’re 13, you don’t know everything. You know more than you’d like to, actually, and quite not enough of what you should know. But, none the less, new adult you is looking back at you.

But, what’s that? Is that confidence? Shoot. Your reflection has time-given confidence and that means you have it too. There’s no looking back now. You’re an adult and you have to act like it. Well, ok, so you’re a grown up and you have to add grown up things to your schedule.

Now I guess it’s time for the moral/point, right? Let’s see…

You’re still you in the mirror. The same you that was there when you were 14.  You’re still very aware of the flaws but -- you have found a way to be confident in them. You can’t beat yourself to the mirror. It’s always going to be you looking back.  You may not always like the parts of you, the “flaws.” But that’s normal.  (Those “flaws”, by the way, are probably only deemed such by some silly celebrity of sorts, and I wouldn’t worry about them. They’re beautiful. ) Just make sure you always like the person that is looking back at you. Let your reflection surprise you with good things. But never let someone look back at you that you aren’t proud to call your reflection.

**My blogs have turned personal and introspective lately. I think this might start happening from time-to-time. Just a head's up. ALSO: The Mulan-likeness of this post did not escape me, I just couldn't work it in.**

It's My Favorite Part Because -- You'll See.

So.

Here’s the thing.

I am scared to death about my future.

I’m going to graduate from college in just a couple of months!

And then I’m going to…

Well. That’s where the fear kicks in. I don’t know what comes next.

See, I know God has a plan all set out for me. I don’t doubt for a second that He has already routed every path I’m going to choose. And I know He has pre-configured the coordinates into my feet for each step I am ever going to take. But that doesn't mean that I have any idea where I’m going.

I want to do radio. That’s not a secret to anyone who a) follows me on twitter b) has talked to me for more than three minutes. I've already begun researching jobs. I point out antiques and say things like, “That will be so cute in the apartment I am going to have!” I secretly practice radio things in my head and when I’m alone. I’m so excited at the prospect of jumping into radio and living on my own in my own little apartment and maybe getting a cat. Definitely getting a cat. Or a squirrel. We’ll see.

But, a midst the excitement, here’s the fear: What if I get a job in radio, but it’s in some state that I’m not even sure of the abbreviation for? What if I don’t live somewhere that is in my comfort zone? Or even, what if I live somewhere completely in my comfort zone?  I want adventure! In the great, wide somewhere! I want it more than I can tell! But, what if the adventure I want and the adventure God wants -- are different?  

I don’t think I have a resolution for you. Or for me, for that matter. I just thought I would share that I am scared about the future.  Not in a bad way. God’s in control. Just in a… scared way.

I am very small and God is very big and I will end up precisely where He means for me to. 

That’s what I need to remind myself of, and that should be quite enough. 

What Would You Do If I Sang Out Of Tune?

I spend a lot of time talking to people. I’m an extrovert – or at least that’s my excuse. But I really just enjoy interacting with souls wrapped in bodies. Watching their faces light up when they tell a story. That split second of awkward when someone cuts them off just before their punch line. The look of feigned frustration when they’re tempted away from their diet. And the light in someone’s eyes when they’re sharing a bit of something they’ve learned about God.

It’s amazing the way  each person reacts to things in a way that, though a mashup of others, is unique to them. No two people tell a joke the same way. And they certainly don’t see things through the same eyes. Sometimes people even laugh at the same joke for completely different reasons.

I don’t have much of a point to make with this post, I suppose. I just think that it’s interesting the way people work. I’m constantly amazed by how much I have to learn from people. If even in passing…

That man at BP reminded me that it’s OK to smile at strangers. The boy who stopped by the desk I work at to adjust his headphones taught me that you should allow yourself to be proven wrong. My advisors at my internship have caused me to feel like anything more than a four word sentence is altogether too long. The guy by the elevator told me that scientists are working toward making 7of9 a real thing (or something like that). And who knows who taught me that it’s ok to laugh your way through the hard stuff. -- And then sometimes, like just now, anyone can teach you that the person who just walked through the door is more valuable than whatever you’re working on.

I guess I do have a point. Take it and do something good with it. Ready? Here it is: Learn from people. Listen to them when they talk. Make eye-contact. Care. When they’re sharing their thoughts, listen to them before you come up with your remark. Their talking time is not just for you to think of your come-back. (That’s something I’ve learned from observing, too. This isn’t algebra, people. You’ll use it in real life.)

So, friends, go forth and listen. 

"I remember it like it was yesterday"

In the tradition of story-telling, to say that “it feels like it happened just yesterday” indicates that the teller has a deep familiarity with the occurrence. That they are so connected to said thing that it is almost tangible to them.

I just came across a quote from Martin Luther that reads,

                “I feel as though Jesus died only yesterday.”

What a thought. To be so intimately acquainted with the story of Jesus’ death and resurrection that you live every day with it as a functional and living part of your life.

I try not to be the type to generalize American culture in any serious way, but I’m going to break my mold here for a second.

We (myself very much included) are so saturated in unappreciated blessings that we forget the very thing that fuels our existence.

But really, here’s the thing: When it comes down to it, most of us just don’t really care about the Crucifixion. I mean, we do, but we don’t. (Bear with me.)  We appreciate the candy on Easter (usually in Rabbit form), and sing songs about how wonderful it is that we are saved, being truly grateful, but pay little mind to it in the day to day, moment to moment.

How differently would Christianity, would the world, would the lyrics to our music be, if we thought of the life and death and life of Jesus as something that actually happened, something that gives us power to live, love, breathe, overcome, persevere, be.

I hope I come to the point that I consider the cross as something so tangibly a part of my life that I actually care about it. And not just generally and distantly grateful -- But really, really care about it. That my every word and action reflect the fact that the King over all kings died for me, suffering more than I could ever imagine.

The crucifixion is not just a story. The resurrection is not a myth.

They come together into the Gospel that is the very thing that allows us breath.

In your day to day, don’t forget the Gospel.

Remember it like it happened just yesterday.