Conflict

So I have two finals tomorrow, and I also have super poor time management skills. I've been freaking out and studying all day. Then I remembered that my Spanish professor said he had decided to drop the lowest test grade, and now I have a dilemma. I have an A in the class, so I could feasibly bomb this test intentionally and not have my grade affected. But I'm also a perfectionist, and a scardy cat. So, that makes me really nervous. But let's be real, I'm getting tired of this college junk, and I'll probably snap and just get really apathetic.

Two More Weeks

Life seriously flies. Things are perpetually changing, and I can't keep up with them. One minute I'm just getting comfortable in college, and then the next I have two more weeks in my junior year, and I'm starting to talk about graduate school and wonder what the next chapter will be like. Last summer felt like an eternity, and all of the sudden it's a year later and I'm starring at another. I guess the way things change can be a comfort in some regards. If you're not happy where you are, hold on for just a bit, and you'll be somewhere else before you know it.

What You Want in the Moment

Not trading what you want in the moment, for what you want in the end is one of the hardest things to learn. Unfortunately, more and more opportunities to practice this skill seem to pop up the older you get. It applies to so many things: diets, time management, schoolwork, relationships... you name it. The world offers so many "tinny" replicas of true, bona fide joy, that it's a continual struggle to remember that those things ultimately will never leave you feeling full. I hope that holding out for the earnest versions of happiness gets easier and easier the older you get... the more you see that waiting is always worth it. But what I do know is that I have faith that the best is still yet to come, and that I won't find what I ultimately crave in this world, because it's not the one my soul was created for. What a blessing it is to have a Jesus that can promise me so much more than this life can. He promises us that those who hope in Him will not be disappointed (Isaiah 49:23), and every bridge He's ever built in my life has held. So why not take Him at His word?

Not Happening

So when I took my gen ed sciences classes, my adviser was totally off base about CSD requirements, and said any science classes would suffice. Well she was wrong, and I ended up taking two global climate classes and zero physics, chemistry, or biology. While I'm so glad I wasted those 8 credit hours of my college experience (not), I'm left playing catch up in ridiculous gen ed classes that are mostly freshman. I'm taking biology now, and was planing on taking physics next semester. Until I realized that Math 1010 is a prerequisite for physics classes, or special professor permission. I never took Math 1010, and met both my gen ed and major requirements with statistics. I'm done with math people. I already celebrated and everything. More math is not happening. NOT HAPPENING. I emailed the professor about special permission, but have yet to hear anything. Either way. Math 1010 is not happening. I did my time.

Mixed Feelings

Normally when the end of the school year is this close I can hardly contain my excitement, and the thought of Summer makes me feel all bubbly inside... I mean the reign of academic terror is about to draw to a close, right? Well this year I feel strangely different. First, I forgot what month is was today, and thought to myself "I guess we're almost halfway through this semester," before I realized that there are 3 short weeks of classes left. I'm not sure why it's different this time. Maybe the realization that this is my last Summer being in undergrad is scaring me... the life stage that once seemed like forever is now barreling down the tracks, and honestly... it's starting to scare me, and make me a little sad. Just when I got comfortable in college, when I learned how to manage everything successfully... it's starting to draw to a close. And I'm not sure I'm okay with it.

Unemployed

I'm hopelessly unemployed, and I'm starting to get really stressed about it. I thought I had a nannying job lined up for the Summer, but it ended up falling through because the family changed their Summer plans. So here I am, unemployed, and totally broke. And with grad school looming in the distance, now is not the time to be taking the next 3 months to paint my nails and catch up on Netflix. I know there's still some time left to find a job, but I'm still really stressing about it. Not many places want to hire someone who will leave them hiring once again as soon as the Fall rolls around. But hey, I'm gonna be optimistic and choose to believe that something will turn up. And if not, lemonade stands are still a thing, right?

Feeding Yourself is Hard

Lately I have really reached the conclusion that feeding yourself is hard. It's expensive. Time consuming. And it requires a lot of planning and thought. Like I am officially giving my parents mad props for keeping not only themselves, but also me, alive for this many years. I can barely feed myself. And don't even get me started on the extra level of difficulty that is reached if you're trying to eat well. I've given up gluten and sugar for a while, and sometimes I'd rather go hungry than go to the work of cooking. Being a grown up is hard.

What Are the Odds

Sometimes I feel like the weirdest things happen to me. It's like my game is a perpetual game of "what are the odds?" Today was a generally weird day to say the least. I wish I could go into detail, but it's probably more one of those "Dear Diary" experiences than something that should end up on the internet. Let's just say that this town is too small. Sometimes I really feel like I'm playing a big game of Hide and Go Seek. It was easier when I was 5 and 'hiding" meant covering my eyes. But people look at you funny when you cover your eyes in public places and pretend not to see them as an adult. Growing up is complicated. And so are small towns.

Streams in the Wasteland

Today I was just really grateful, and as I'm learning, gratitude is the starting place of joy. I felt extraordinarily happy today, and I realized that it all started when I woke up giving thanks. Learn to pour out thanks, and you'll be filled back up by joy. I used to think that being happy was about waiting to be brought to a different place. But being happy is about having the faith that joy will be brought to you right where you are, like water in a desert. You might not be in the ideal location, but why not rejoice over the water? You wouldn't take a jug of water and smash it to the ground in the midst of the blaring sun and sweltering sand just because it wasn't enough water for your lifetime. No, you'd drink it, joyful for the bit of refreshment, even in the desert. So why smash and blaspheme the spots of joy we receive even on the bad days? They might not be enough for our lifetime, but they're certainly enough for the moment. Streams in the desert take time, but you will be given your portion until they are furrowed. "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up, do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland." Isaiah 43:18-19

The Beach and Me

Over spring break I took a day trip with two of my good friends to Wilmington to spend the afternoon picnicking and relaxing on the beach. I was reminded how much I love the beach. I guess I never really forgot it, but remembering that you love somewhere and then actually being there to love it are two different things. I love how it makes me feel small, reminds me that there’s so much more to this world than the town I live in or my daily schedule. That something bigger than myself has been making the waves roll ceaselessly from the beginning of time, and that that same power holds me and my life, and sustains me just like it sustains the sea. I love running my hands and feet through the sand, shocked every time by the number of grains that ripple over my fingers and toes. I love knowing that my God’s thoughts towards me are more numerous than those grains of sand. I love knowing that the Creator of that ocean created me. That that very beauty that He breathed into that sea He breathed into me. The beach leaves me in awe of my God. 

Sometimes Your Cat Falls Out the Window

Nothing says “Sunday morning” quite like your overweight cat rolling out of a second story window. Honestly, I wasn’t that surprised, because I officially have the weirdest cat on this planet. She spends hours at a time laying on her back like a fatty:

 Piper, otherwise known as “Pip,” likes to sit on open windows and lean up against the screens.  Well it seems she’s finally gotten too fat for the screens. Yesterday morning I was getting ready for church when I heard the screen of my bedroom window pop out. I looked over just as I watched Piper slide and roll out the window, desperately clinging to the window sill just as she dropped. It was just like the Lion King. I panicked understandably and rushed downstairs and outside to find her fitting casually in the grass, staring up at the window with an expression that read “whoa… I had no idea this is where that led.” Only after I knew she was okay did I crack up. I really wish I could have seen what it looked like from the outside. 

What Is Even Happening

I honestly cannot believe how fast this whole college thing is going. My third spring break has drawn to a close, and this time next year I'll be choosing a grad school, trying on caps and gowns, and freaking out over the new life phase that I know absolutely nothing about. I'm closer to being finished with college than I am to the day I started it all. It's so true that whether you're happy or sad, in a good place or bad place, ready or not, life just keeps moving on right in front of you. I guess that's a good thing though, because that means that when you're not where you want to be, all you have to do is hold tight and you'll be somewhere else before you know it.

I Want a Cookie

My roommate and I decided to make some health-related improvements and changes throughout the month of March… it’s only the 3^rd, and so far it is not my favorite thing. We’ve eliminated all refined sugars and sweets, are drinking 3 liters of water a day, and we’re not eating past 9:00 at night. Let me just tell you. It’s not so fun. I made 6 dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies on February 28^th before I knew I would be roped into this, and now they’re just taunting me. I want a cookie. Also, I’ve been throwing back the water like a crazy person, and I realize that this might be too much information, but I’ve literally had to go to the bathroom every hour for the whole day. Who has time for that? Who? All I’m saying is that health isn’t so appealing right now. But life’s tough and then ya die… so looks like cookies, good use of my time, and midnight snacks are a thing of the past. Bring on April. 

The Fringe

I have a backwards kind of pride. Parts of my personality are introverted, but not because I find social situations exhausting or unenjoyable… but because I often care too much about what people think of me, and therefore self-protect by clamming up giving them nothing to think of me. My pride often makes me reserved. For this reason, I have felt on the “outside” of social situations many times in my life. In the depths of my soul, I want so badly to be that person that is friends with all of the “popular” kids, that has a front-and-center role socially because many parts of me are inherently extroverted. I spend way too much time agonizing over the fact that I am a fringe person, and I seem to be destined to be a fringe person for my whole life. But today, my heart had a revelation that I don’t know how I missed before. I realized that over the years, Jesus has given me periods of loneliness and an introverted personality so that I can see other lonely people. If I had all the friends I wanted, I would lose the opportunity to recognize the people who want and need my friendship. When you're a follower of Christ, you understand that everyone is His Beloved... it doesn't matter who you're friends with, because His mercy is the great equalizer. The important thing is not if you're in the "in-group" or not... it's that you're loving one of His people, which is part of your sanctification. You're becoming more and more like Him every time you love one of the "least of these." Jesus wasn't friends with the popular people. He was friends with the outcasts… the fringe people. What if I viewed my being on the fringe as an immense opportunity to bless His children, rather than a misplacement of my desired social standing? How differently would I live my life and spend my time? How much more content would I be?

Give Thanks and Carry On

The other day I saw someone with one of those “Keep Calm and Carry On” stickers on their laptop. Suddenly the thought struck me, “well what if I can’t keep calm? What if circumstances come crashing down on me, anxiety takes over, and things become bigger than my ability to reconcile that it will all be okay? How am I supposed to keep calm?” As a person that struggles with anxiety and a worry-prone personality, I know firsthand that fear doesn’t submit to logic because fear isn’t logical. So how in the world are we supposed to quiet our fears to a state of calm when our souls ache from the wounds left by a flawed world? What if instead of trying in vain to keep calm and carry on, we gave thanks a carried on? What if we admitted that our fears aren’t ordered by our reasoning abilities because we know fears aren’t reasonable? Fear doesn’t submit to logic. Fear submits to God. What if we lived every day trusting that He has our ultimate good in mind, that “His secret purpose framed from the very beginning is to bring us to our full glory” (1 Corinthians 2:7)? Would we be freed to give thanks in the eye of the storm, to simply abandon unfruitful attempts to maintain a cool exterior and channel the turmoil of our souls into song of thanksgiving? Because if we are being brought to our full glory, there are no circumstances in which you cannot sing His praise. And the beautiful thing is that that verse doesn’t read “you are working towards your full glory.” It reads that he will “BRING us to our full glory.” He doesn’t want our efforts to keep calm. He wants our praise even when we are anxious, worried, and overcome, our faith that He will bring us. We are simply meant to grab His hand, and give thanks. The rest is His job. And that is where we find rest for our souls. 

Abiding

"Faith never knows where it is being led, but it loves and knows the One who is leading." Oswald Chambers

I struggle with being led. I dig my feet in, I thrash about, I blaspheme the Truth that regardless of my ability to see it, the plan is the plan… and the plan is good for me. The funny thing is that every single one of His bridges have held. I’ve never been left. I’ve never been forsaken. In fact, He is the only One that I can say that about. The realization that you’re discontent with certain parts of your life can weigh on your soul like a big, clammy dark thing that taunts you with its tinny fallacies that you’ve been abandoned to the woods of dissatisfaction. But that is a lie. Sometimes Jesus lets other people fail us, plans fail us, our own will fail us… because He wants us to see the stark contrast between the hallow way that the world pursues us, and the ripe richness of satisfaction that is His pursuit of our hearts and our lives. Sometimes He lets things around us fade into a deafening silence of white noise that we can hear His love song to us… His relentless call that He desires our hearts, and that He is willing to fight for us. Sometimes He removes the presence of others so that we can find His hand. And once we do, all He requires of us is that we hold onto it, and abide in His love. 

Ben Rector

Can I just take a moment to express my ardent, undeniable, never-wavering love for Ben Rector? Side note, if you don’t know who Ben Rector is, then do yourself a favor and look up the song “Ordinary Love.” I’ve listened to it 497 times according to my iTunes, and I regret nothing. It’s my favorite song ever. EVER PEOPLE. But for real, it will be used in a slideshow at my wedding. And my first dance will be to “Forever Like That.” I don’t care what my non-existent husband has to say about that… I mean I don’t even know the guy. Anyways. Today I bought concert tickets to see him in May, and my heart is so happy, I could cry a little. Any day with Ben is a good day. And that’s all of them. 

Stories

I want to be an author. I want to write something that will resonate with this world and humanity in a way that my time-stamped oral utterances cannot. I want to breathe something into a bona fide, tangible existence… words outside of myself, freed from the limited expression of my personal countenance that someone else will consider worth reading. I’ve been writing stories in my head for as long as I can remember. Pearls of thought that I’ve stored up in the caverns of my creativity, just waiting to be strung together into something meaningful… the only problem is that I can’t seem to find the time to start stringing in earnest. I have bits and pieces of isolated stories in places. But I just don’t know where to begin. 

Rule Followers

I never skip class just for the fun of skipping class. A teacher might not even take attendance, but I’ll still be there… because I’m a rule follower (even if there aren’t actual rules to follow). I have four classes on Tuesdays, and all except one was cancelled. I’m having a really hard time with the fact that I’ll have to leave my house in 21 degrees and 6 inches of snow, dig out my car, walk across campus, and go to one single class. He doesn’t even take attendance, and I already know all the material he’s covering right now… it’s Spanish Phonetics, which is basically everything we learned in Phonetics, but with different terminology. But, knowing me, I’ll probably go. Because I can’t make myself skip. Sometimes I wish I was a delinquent. I think I’d have a lot more fun. 

Unknown

I realized the other day that my four year plan has been whittled down into a two more semester plan. What once seemed like an eternity is now a list of 10 little classes. And before I know it, it will be 5, and then it will be none. When you’re facing senior year of high school, things seem so much more sure and planned. You’re headed to college somewhere, what you’re studying isn’t necessarily a huge factor quite yet… there’s always time to re-plan. You’ll be there for 4 years. But when you’re facing college graduation, things feel a lot scarier. I’m realizing that my plan has 1 more year on it… and after that, I don’t know what will happen. Yes, I have to go to grad school. But where? And how will I pay for it? What if I don’t know anyone? I came to college with some of my best friends. Where will my friends come from? What if I don’t get into grad school? I’m not good with the unknown, and it felt good having a 4 year plan. It felt safe. But I guess that’s life… you can plan all you want, but in reality, you’re not the one writing the story. And maybe that’s a good thing, because I often don’t know what I need. It’s hard trusting that He knows the plans He has for you. But that truth is true, whether I can make myself believe it or not. That's something I'm thankful for. 

Rereading Stories

My fingers trace over the gold-embossed spines of the books’ leather cases, catching bits of dust as they go. Title after title, lined up in rows on the shelves of the ivory-painted bookcase that’s stood against the celery green wall of my bedroom since my childhood. My eyes catch the title that spawned my affection for collecting beautiful books: Black Beauty. I remember when I found it in the collectable classics section of Barnes and Noble, its big gold lettering catching my eye, and its watercolor painted cover drawing me in. I bought that book, and since that day I’ve made it a lifelong goal to collect beautiful books so that one day I can have my very own library, with a ladder that spins around the room like in Beauty and the Beast. I try to pick one, a new story into which to delve, but it’s proving to be much harder than anticipated. I love these stories before me, yet none of them are exciting me. I suddenly realize that rereading a book never brings me as much thrill as reading a new story, one that I haven’t discovered the ending to yet. It takes me three times as long to read the book, because nothing is keeping me motivated. Then it strikes me. How much more dull and uninspiring would my own life story be if I knew how it was going to end? I spend so many of my days frustrated that I don’t understand what’s being done in my life… angry that I am a character, and not the author. But, isn’t there something exciting about a story whose end you don’t know? I mean, if I really think about it, would I even want to know how my life was going to go if I could? I think something intrinsic to the enjoyment of life would be lost if I knew why things are going the way they are. Sure, it’s scary not knowing. Yes, there are days when I yell at God for the way things are turning out. But if I can trust the Author, I can trust the story. And if I can trust the story, why not enjoy reading it for the first time… after all, rereading never has quite the same effect. 

Straight Hair is a Struggle, Too

Okay, I have to take a moment to establish the fact that having straight hair is a struggle. I live with three people that have some naturally very curly hair, and the vast majority of my other friends do as well. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told that I have it easy because I don’t have their hair. Well I’ve heard it long enough, and I just need to vent. While straight hair doesn’t have the same struggles that curly hair does, it is a whole set of problems just its own. I’ll list my top 3 grievances:

1. Straight hair is a needy jerk. You roll out of bed late for class ONE morning, and it just becomes a huge cry baby, broadcasting its greasy sheen to the whole world, blabbing the lie that you never bathe. I bathed 24 hours ago, and my hair is the biggest drama queen in the world. It’s like on overly-attached significant other.

… yes, hair. We talked 3 hours ago. Calm down. No, it doesn’t frizz when it rains, but if I don’t wash it every day, I look like I’ve gone European. Ladies, I envy the ability to wear those curls for 3+ days and still look hygienic.

2. Messy buns end up looking like one of those horrible, spikey 90’s updos. You know what I’m talking about:

… not cute hair. Not cute. When you have curls, this alfalfa sprout thing doesn’t happen. Trust me, I’ve curled my hair before, and it goes up in a bun way better than when it’s straight. This triceratops action doesn’t happen.

3. The static is real. All you curly haired girls talk about how brushing your hair is torture, if even a reality. Well. Brushing my hair looks a lot like this:

Winter ultimately means that brushing my hair harnesses at least enough electricity to thaw at least one Lean Cuisine. Maybe two. But I don’t want to be dramatic. I mean I can straight up hear the popping of the static when I pull the brush off my head.

So next time one of you beautiful curly-haired women thinks your life would be way easier if you had different hair, guess again. Yes, straight hair is overrated in the media, and yes I understand you have it rough. But, you’ve been tricked into believing that naturally straight hair is the easiest variety. So stop wishing it away. The grass on the other side might be different, but it’s full of grease balls and dinosaur-reminiscent updos. Okay, rant done. 

Eleven

One of my favorite short stories is “Eleven,” by Sandra Cisneros. If you haven’t read it, you really need to. It perfectly personifies how I feel about growing up. The story is written from the perspective of a girl named Rachel on her eleventh birthday, and how she wakes up feeling no different. Rachel explains that even though she’s eleven, she stills feels one, and two, and three, and four, and all the ages leading up to that. She says all of her ages rattle around inside of her, “like pennies in a tin Band-Aid.” She has days when she feels three, and wants to crawl in her mother’s lap and cry. Days when she feels ten and wants to do things her own way. In essence, Rachel hits on the universal truth that we never really lose an age, we just add a new one to our collection. Well today I felt eleven. And that eleven year old inside of me needed some attention. My roommates and I wandered into the toy aisle of Wal-Mart the other day, and shamelessly bought four Nerf guns on a whim. Before we knew it, all the lights in our apartment had been turned off, all our furniture rearranged into bunkers, and we spent an entire hour shooting each other with foam darts. And it was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I don’t care how foolish I looked… the eight year old inside of me needed it too much to care. So if you haven’t shot a Nerf gun in a decade or so… do your eleven year old a favor, and give it a try. 

Reading for Snacks

Books. I miss them. No, the plethora of obscenely heavy, diagram-ridden, theory-discussing stack of paper that smells like an empty bag of Cheetos on my desk doesn’t count. I want to read books that I don’t remind me that I haven’t been to the weight room in a substantial amount of time, mostly because I can’t lift my left arm over my head. I want to read books without being aware of how many pages I’ve turned. I want to read something because there’s a story to be told, not because there’s a quiz on it the next day. You know, the other day I realized that I don’t remember the last time I read without a highlighter in hand. I want that sorrowful feeling that comes with finishing a book, almost akin to parting with a dear friend, rather than the triumphant walk of survival as I return yet another Cheeto-smelling stack of cardboard and paper to the university bookstore. I want to feel sad that the story is over. Yet, here I am in a world of textbooks and systematic reviews, a place where reading makes you lay gummy bears on every paragraph, because you have poor time management skills and will only read for snacks. Maybe one day soon reading won’t increase my calorie intake by 50 million gummy bears. Meanwhile, the orange ones are the best. 

Not My Day

Yesterday morning I woke up with the most terrible, horrible, crick in my neck. You know, I never really appreciated the amazing things that necks do until mine didn’t work so well anymore. To make it even worse… I did it to myself… in my sleep. It was 6:27 am, and I was having some traumatic dream that I can no longer recall. But nonetheless, I jolted in my sleep, and was woken up by intense pain. I had no idea why it hurt so much, all I can remember thinking is “this is how it all ends… and I’m wearing frog pajamas.” Who gives themselves whiplash in their sleep? Apparently me. Figures.

To top it all off, I had to go to the doctor. And going to the doctor is literally my least favorite thing. I grabbed the wrong jacket, and got soaked walking to class this morning. I slipped on snowy slush. My windshield wipers decided not to work. I had a mountain of homework staring at me. And all this while literally not being able to turn my head to the side. Like if someone attacked me from any direction other than the front right now, I’d be toast.

In the midst of fighting my way through the sleet yesterday afternoon, I thought to myself “this really is NOT my day.” And suddenly, it hit me. None of my days are mine. My days are not intended to bring me glory, success, and everything my heart desires. No. My days are meant to bring Him glory. And He gives me trails so that I lean hard on Him, and learn to get what I need from Him, and Him alone. My days are hard, because through trials He grows me… and as I grow, I grow to Him, and that brings Him glory. I become less, and He becomes more. No, never once has it been my day.  

Me.

It seems funny to be blogging about a life that no one really knows anything about. So I thought before we get any deeper into this process, I should introduce myself a little. Maybe through this endeavor of sharing our lives, we can all find a little bit in common… the realization that we’re all human, and maybe we’re not that different after all.

I was raised in North Carolina, but my entire family lives in Iowa. Because of that, I consider myself more of a Midwesterner, although I can’t deny the fact that I love this “Southern” state and the people here. I’m a home body. I wouldn’t mind living in the same place for my entire life. Yes, I love traveling and exploring new places… but unless you have a place to leave and come home to, did you ever really venture anywhere? I love my family. I’m a cat person. And a dog person. I love Earl Grey tea, and sweaters. I think Anne of Green Gables is the most important book a girl can read, and I’ll fight anyone on that. I was a ballerina for 10 years, but had to give it up in high school for time and health reasons. But that tutu-clad girl is still lives inside of me, and I sincerely miss her and her dancing. I love cooking. I’ve been fascinated by languages and speech my entire life, and I’m truly excited to be an SLP. But if I’m being entirely honest, my heart’s biggest desire is to be a wife and a mother. I would love to homeschool my children, because nothing inspires me more than the chance to be the primary person raising little humans to thrive in this world. It’s a chance to leave a mark that will last longer than any personal accomplishment. I love being outside at night when it’s snowing. It never really gets dark, but everything just turns into a gentle bluish glow. I want to publish a book, and I want to adopt several children. I’m often an anxious and worried person. I love Jesus, and His unfailing love is what gets me out of bed every day. He’s works all things for my good.

So that’s me. It’s by no means perfect, and nowhere near complete. But nevertheless, I’m here in this life, and I’m going to do something with it. 

Joy Isn't Happiness

The sharp crackle of the pine log snaps through the darkness and echoes willfully into the blackness of the hallow winter sky. The unsuspecting glow of the fire draws the energy of the night air through its flaming nostrils, burning fervently as it whispers spirals of smoke, entwining the strings of constellations above my head. The limbs of the tree under which I’m sitting, struck with the barrenness of January, wrap and knot together, casting a net of twigs across the navy expanse of Heaven. It’s as if the tree were fishing for stars. What a persistent little tree it is. The fruits of its labor, leaves that it once nourished, grew, and matured, now lie dead at its feet, stripped by the harshness of its world. An entire year’s labor shriveled into piles, cyclical reminders that all things ultimately must come to an end. Yet, in the midst of the barrenness, the tree throws its nets heavenward, fishing for stars… glory spots that live on, even in the impermeable blackness of night. I think how sometimes the human experience can resemble that of a tree: the harshness of this world leaves you stripped and barren. All you can do is cast your net heavenward, searching for the joy that can still be found. And joy can always be found, because there’s always something to be grateful for.

Joy is different from happiness. Happiness is fleeting, based on circumstances. Joy isn’t circumstantial. Joy is a decision. And that decision isn’t always easy. Yes, last year was a hard year. And no, I’m not necessarily where I thought I would be. Joy hasn’t come easily in this place, but there is value in this place that I am. I’ve spent the trails of my life telling myself that I will be happy again as soon as whatever stress, anxiety, or challenge I’m facing passes… as if I’m allowed to live my life with a poor attitude whenever it’s not going the way I had hoped. But what an incredible opportunity is missed when you hurry through the desert. You never learn to pitch a tent, and survive. Life is about pitching your tent. Casting your net, even if that’s all you have left, and being willing to fish for little blessings in your darkness. Gratitude isn’t something that comes easily. It’s against our human nature. We throw ourselves to the ground, throw a fit, and blaspheme the opportunity for personal growth that has been presented us. But what if both trials and triumphs inspired an equal degree of gratitude? How much purer would our lives be? How much more infinite our joy?

So this year, I’m practicing pitching my tent. And though I’ve had to pitch it somewhere I often want to leave, I’ve pitched it just the same. There is joy in this land, because there is gratitude in this land. And there is gratitude in this land, because there is no land in which I will not be blessed. And there is no blessing on which I cannot find the finger print of my Father. So today I will be grateful for snowflakes. For Earl Grey tea and the way it smells like the color lavender, if it had a smell. For the velvety, flannel feel of the air as the furnace turns on. For a Jesus that draws me in when I shamelessly blaspheme the trails He gives me that are for my good, and quiets me with His love. Because, “His mercies are new every morning.”

-Maddie