I want to live a reckless life.

I was reading old emails today and I found the following words. I wrote them to someone most dear, just before graduating from college and just before I did a couple of things some people called crazy.

In many ways, I want to live a reckless life. I don't mean stupid and
irresponsible (but maybe sometimes), I mean reckless for LIVING, for
doing things that are exciting and adventurous, unexpected and
passionate. In all aspects of my life I want to do the things I say
"I want to..." I never want to look back and say "I wish I had..."
It is never too late. Life will never run out of adventures, but I
don't want to miss the opportunities for the ones right in front of my
face.

I don't usually make resolutions with the turn of each new year, but this time around I'm considering it. I still have that desire-- the burning heart that wants a life of adventure and romance-- and wants it so deeply. Those words above, they still ring true.

But I've grown up a little.

I've learned that even when I don't regret doing "crazy" things, sometimes the long-term effects are still undesirable. I made life changes once that were absolutely right for me at that moment. But even now the effects linger, and I am left wondering how different my life would be now if I had made the more likely decisions.

I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.

Don't you feel it? Isn't there something in a great story, in the crescendo of the most gorgeous piece of music, in the way the waves pound the shore? It's something that makes your heart beat faster and your eyes grow wider. It's your heart and it's asking you for more. More life! More risk. Just asking-- please, please take that chance and just see what happens.

Maybe it's the worst idea ever.

Or maybe it will change everything in your life, forever.

this Story is true

Here's part of my church's Advent devotion
& I cannot find better words for you on this Christmas day.

"I don’t know where you are today. I don’t know your situation. But this I know: the King has come. And because he’s come, we have something worth living for. So wherever you are, whatever you feel, whatever you believe, this Story is true, and our stories will only make sense as they find their place within it. Merry Christmas."

Love & joy to you--

I can't think of no one but me...

This song is where my mind has been this Christmas season.

Have a listen...


Santa knows what I want for Christmas
but Jesus knows what I need
it can't be purchased wrapped up and placed
under an ephod tree

I need patience, kindness - virtues like these
to bend on my knee at the manger

Santa may bring these that last for a year
but eternal gifts come from the Savior

some days come where I'm playing selfish
I can't think of no one but me
then I think of all that I'm blessed with
and that's always best to give than to receive

I need faithfulness, love, generosity
to open my home to a stranger

Santa may bring things that last for a year
but eternal gifts come from the Savior

I need patience, kindness, generosity
to bend on my knee at the manger

Santa may bring things that last for a year
but eternal gifts come from the Savior

Santa knows what I want for Christmas
but Jesus knows what I need

Eternal Gifts-- Leigh Nash

Dreaming of white

This past weekend, parts of the South saw some glorious snowfall. It's been a long time since I've seen that kind of snow here-- it was my 11th birthday, in fact. The blankets of white made me miss Colorado & made me rest.

I am part of a new-ish church that meets in a bar every week, but because of the snow, our corporate gathering was cancelled yesterday. One of the pastors, however, wrote a really incredible blog post called "You Can't Cancel Church."

Gene wrote: What if it weren’t up to us to change the world? What if it weren’t up to you to fix everything? What if it weren’t up to you to live up to expectations?

That last bit makes my heart dance a little. Go read it. Trust me.

*That picture is the town where I lived in Colorado. It snowed here, but not that much.

I'm gonna talk politics & religion now.

There's a lot of rather historical legislation happening right now and frankly I'd rather talk about that than Tiger Woods & his indiscretions.

(Although, question: What's the difference between Santa Claus and Tiger Woods? ..... Answer: Santa stops after 3 "hos.")

On Friday, the House passed an overhaul of Wall Street regulatory legislation that's designed to prevent more "high-risk" companies from failing and thus potentially destroying the American economy with their desire for more money and more Christmas dinner parties in Vegas and maybe one of Tiger Woods' hoes for dessert.

{Oh no, I didn't say I wouldn't be opinionated. If there's one thing I have, it's an OPINION.}

Anyway, they're calling this the most ambitious financial regulation rewrite since the New Deal. But I wasn't really around before the New Deal, or during it for that matter, which is why I don't have a huge point of reference for how big the change is going to be. Oh!, and also because I have no idea what the financial regulations are right now, and my work is not even a little bit related to finance other than the fact that because I have a job, I also have finances. So naturally I'm writing about this EPIC legislation with great authority and seriousness.

More to the Point

In the midst of debating these new regulations, the health care shenanigans, the President sending 30,000 additional troops to Afghanistan just 9 days before accepting the Nobel Peace Prize, all of the sudden the American populace is discovering that ---THIS JUST IN--- President Barack Obama is HUMAN.

Goooooooooood golly, Miss Molly! You hadn't heard?!

About this time last year, the United States was buzzing with hope. Hope for the future of our country, hope for further breakdown of racial barriers, hope for change, and hope for the rest of Obama's campaign slogans to become daily realities. This Democratic campaign was so different, so current, and so terribly relevant to so many Americans that in retrospect, it really isn't any large wonder that Obama triumphed.

We thought he would save us.

When we expect a broken human being, or even a political process created by broken human beings, to be our savior? We'll be disappointed to the greatest extent.

This is crucial to understand. We live in a culture that values the political process more highly than most anything else. American culture is deeply rooted in placing a lot of stock in things like freedom of speech, and so we value debate and we call laws ambiguous, and we try with desperation to change things to fit our own ideals.

When one way doesn't work, we assume the other way will fix the problem. And so when President Obama was elected, he looked so different, literally & figuratively, than anyone we had seen before, we thought he must be the one who will save us.

What We Need

I fear our culture easily overlooks the fact that we do not need saving from the Republican or Democratic parties. We do not need saving from the health care system or the corporate giants and their executive's salaries. We do not need saving from our jobs or our relationships or our policies.

We need saving from our brokenness, our sin. We need saving from our humanity and all its frail failures. We are fallen people, in desperate need of redemption.

Regardless of your politics or your culture or your beliefs or your background,

two things are true for us all:

1. we are broken,

&

2. we need a Savior.

I feel like running, but life is on a stroll.

Don Miller says this is how God does things.

I've been bad about writing lately, because things are changing. And it's good.

I moved & I'm decorating and unpacking and organizing and remembering how much I love my pots & pans. I totally do, I'm not even ashamed to say it out loud.

Here are a few pictures from the weekend I moved in. (Clearly, I don't edit my pictures, but whatever, I've been busy painting walls.) Nothing is really close to being "complete," though I am of the opinion that decorating is a process that you never really finish. It's always changing. Like life. Maybe that's why I like it so much.

Here's the living room (but mostly a bunch of crap), which I have dubbed "The Christmas Vacation Project." Still figuring out the plan for in here. And yes, I think that rug looks like something someone's grandma picked out when she painted her walls the color of Pepto Bismol. (Nausea, heartburn, indigestion...!) Shhhhhh! Don't tell my roommates!

This is a little glimpse of my room, much of which I've already changed. But, wow, do I love it. I painted one wall deep purple; the other three are a very warm gray and it's just gorgeous. Still lots of work to do, but it's beginning to feel rather like home.



I took this one with my phone, so please forgive the grain, but this is my favorite achievement so far. Bookshelf numero uno. Ahhhhhh! It's like taking a deep breath.

This is not the pace I wanted for this part of my journey, but I'm beginning to enjoy the stroll.

Are you educated?

"It has always seemed strange to me that in our endless discussions about education, so little stress is laid on the pleasure of becoming an educated person, the enormous interest it adds to life. To be able to be caught up into the world of thought-- that is to be educated."

- Edith Hamilton

All Things in Common

On Thanksgiving, we gathered at my Grandmother and Grandfather’s house in South Carolina; we—my brothers and sister and parents, and my aunt and uncle and their four children, whom we hardly know. And I wondered about the intentionality of creating family, of putting so many people together who are so very different and who are yet connected by the very blood that is pumping life through each of our veins, moment by moment.

I have much, abundance even, for which to be thankful. But I found myself on Thanksgiving Day, wishing for more. I was wishing that I knew my cousins better and wishing we knew how to act in a way that would make everyone comfortable, make them laugh and high five and stick their tongues out at one another. But we never did those things together when we were very young, and so we found ourselves each whispering quietly to our own siblings and giving each other eyes holding pointed sibling meaning.

As the evening slowed its pace, I was left wondering how to go about cultivating an environment of ease— a home where things are not sacred, but relationships are, where hugs and headlocks embody the same affections, and where every person want to be there, looks forward to being there, longs to be there in that place where love reigns.

I have had similar thoughts about creating community with intentionality. In my church we speak highly of having everything in common and living in community together. And we all wonder aloud what that really looks like. We wonder about sharing our cars and our homes and even our money freely with one another, and I think we all wish we were capable of that. So what stops us?

I feel protective of my money and the things I have because of it. I work hard for little, and feel the selfish pieces of my humanity come out with strength. I tell myself that I share what I can, but do not have enough to really give it to be held in common. But isn’t that the point? Isn’t the idea that if we do not hold our things sacred, but we share them, give them up, give them away, that we are then freed from the bondage of selfishness and materialism that ties us up so fiercely?

I wonder what it would take for us as Americans, as Christians, as selfish, broken human beings, to learn to live like this:

Acts 2:42-47
And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved.

Maybe that sounds terrifying to you, or maybe it sounds thrillingly freeing.


If we long for greater depth in relationships, to have more abstract things-- like humor and joy and gratitude-- in common, perhaps the key is to first intentionally give our material things to have in common. Wouldn't you rather share your home, your table, your time, for the sake of relational abundance than to keep to yourself for personal comfort? I fear that my little bubble of middle class material wealth will block me from an abundance of joy and depth of relationship that are available should I only choose to share.

I pray this for you & your community this season— an awestruck spirit, a glad & generous heart filled with praise, and a deep understanding of the grace that saves.

What I did during my Thanksgiving break.

Don't think I didn't hit the bulls eye, 'cause I blew the crap out of it.

I did not harvest any animals, however. They did not want to be my Thanksgiving feast.

And yes, wearing the cap backwards does actually help with accuracy.

My Best Friend's Wedding

This girl has been my best friend since we were fourteen. We played basketball together, went to parties together, shopped for prom dresses together, skipped school together, roomed together in college and have supported and loved one another through a whole lot of shit. And that makes me smile.

Tomorrow Lindsey will marry Cade in a beautiful old church, in a gorgeous white dress, in a wedding ceremony we have been dreaming about since the day we discovered Tacori diamond ring advertisements. And I will stand beside her, holding her bouqet, and I will cry for the love and the joy and thank God that she has found this man to journey with through life.

And so our lives enter another season and we feel the changing world and all its surprises.

Be blessed, dear friend. Oh, be so richly blessed.

I love you, flooz.

An official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle!

I've been thinking about Christmas and our culture and how we've made it all about gifts of things.

And I've been thinking about the love of Jesus and the Gospel and how everything is all about the gift of him.

And I'm wondering about how we can change our culture, so that Christmas is all about the Gospel and the gifts are all about the love of Jesus.

And I don't know, honestly, but I'm trying to figure something out. Even if it's just a small something.

Why I love to party

In the past ten weeks I have thrown the following parties: Bachelorette Beach Weekend, Stock-the-Bar & the-Game-Closet-couples-dinner-shower, & a last-minute quarter-century games in the park birthday bash. I decorated, baked, made costumes and cleaned up the mess afterwards. OHHH, I LOVE a good party!

Yes, the planning & Excel spreadsheets involved in throwing a successful party are right up my alley; however, there's a deeper reason I love getting a lot of people together-- the kind who have loved each other for years and the kind who are just learning the way of new friendships.



It's something to do with the laughs, and the way friends who have long been apart smile in their eyes when they hug. It's something about how wine will inevitably be spilled and/or spewed amidst raucous laughter. It's in the way my newly pregnant friend Tara's husband rubs her back to keep her comfortable so she can enjoy the company, even though she's feeling sick, again. It's the way we all get the jokes without finishing the stories. It's the way we start talking about what it will be like when we all have kids & how we must always get together like this. It's the way Mandy says "I love you" to all of us, repeatedly, when she's had a few glasses of wine, the way Emily points with helpful tips, and the way Lindsey gets even louder.


And there's something in the way new friends hi-five each other after a particularly great game of kickball on a warm Sunday afternoon. It's something about grinning for pictures and eating cheesecake without forks. It's to do with the way we shield our eyes to the bright fall sunlight for greetings called out to friends arriving late. Something in the sound of giggles at the end of a truly heinous rendition of "Happy Birthday." It's about the way acting like kids creates bonds between adults-- strands of friendship stretching between the softball bases and the kickball, amidst the hulahoops and the dogs lounging in the sun, winding themselves into the sweaty hugs and arching over our heads behind the football when the sun begins to set.



I love to throw parties because sometimes, people just need to know the time and the place. Sometimes friendships happen when you simply show up for someone else, and celebrate.

A Peek Back

When I graduated from college, I moved to Southern Colorado "for the summer" and stayed for a year. I worked in a European-style cafe in a small former mining town and the days stretched out before me-- long and golden, like the shadows of the cattle on the plains.

And some days, weeellllllll, some days went like this:

__________________________________________

One day, a man came in who we'd never seen before. He was probably in his mid-forties, over six feet tall, and--it must be said--rather large. I'd like to think he was a linebacker in his day, but years of beer and down-home cooking had done him in. His thinning hair was a mousy brown, with a certain greasy uncleanliness. There was a patch sticking up in the back, untouched since he hauled himself out of bed that morning. An unkempt mustache twitched above his protruding duck lips when he spoke. I came upon the sight of him about halfway through his lunch order. He wanted soup, but without the side of bread. A sandwich but without the side salad. Coffee, extra cream. And can he please have a glass of water too? Oh, and do you have any cookies? Okay, forget the soup, add two pumpkin cookies. No maybe he wanted the soup AND the cookies.

I giggle to myself a bit and then head back to the kitchen to bring clean dishes up to the counter. When I return, I find Rachel patiently preparing his lunch, while the man is leaning largely over the counter poking into a very small box with his sausage-like fingers. He comes up with a small plastic bag. At this point he is breathing heavily, as though he's just run stairs for forty-five minutes. I won't even tell you about the breath... So, he's fiddling with this itty bag and finally gets it open, carefully turns it upside down and dumps the contents into his massive palm.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Crap. I turn around slowly, catching Rachel's laughing eyes in the process. I smile.

"Yes, did you get everything you need?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if you could put these in for me." Put what exactly, where? He turns his head so that his elephant ear is facing me and he holds up one of the objects that have been lost in his hand. An earring. Oh you have GOT to be kidding me. His earlobe is looming above my face, pierced and waiting to be decorated. "My wife won't be off work until later and I want to get them in before I lose them." He thrusts his hand out to show me. Oh no. These are not just any earrings. These are the kind of earrings my grandma bought me for my eleventh birthday. You know, birthstone studs. Yes, that's right. Little round red jewel studs with a minuscule diamond attached for flair. He looks at me, waiting, hopeful.

Rachel is practically snorting in a failed attempt to stifle her laughter. I have no words. I open my mouth to say something I have not yet thought of when, glory to God, the phone rings.

"Oh, excuse me just a minute, I need to grab that." I dash for the kitchen. Of course someone else has already answered it, but I've escaped! I breathe a sigh of relief. Ellie asks what's going on with her baffled glance. "There is a man out there who asked me to put his EARRINGS IN HIS EARS!" I hiss.

"WHAT?! Who is it?"

"I have no idea; I've never seen him. But I have to go back out there! AH!" I rustle around the kitchen for several minutes, hoping he'll forget what he asked me.

I take a deep breath and walk back. Oh bless! He's putting the earrings back into the little bag. Well, he's trying to anyway.

"Nevermind, I'm going to have Fred do it... He's a jeweler."

"Oh good. Yeah, we really shouldn't do it since we're working with food and everything." This of course, was the obvious response I should have had fifteen minutes ago. But, honestly, who can blame me? It's not like strange men come in everyday, order lunch and then ask ever so sweetly if you could please put their earrings in.

So the man eats his lunch, waves a thank you and heads across the street to the jeweler. And what do you know, a few days later he reappears, eleven-year-old-girl earrings shining brightly from his Buddha lobes. Since then, he has come in several times a week ordering his very particular lunch and coffee. Only now, he sits in the table closest to the counter and makes small requests throughout his meal. Could I please have a napkin? Do you have any half and half? Could I get an extra pickle? I need some extra icing for my cinnamon roll. Oh, and could you wash my hair while you're at it?

That place made for heaven

I know that it's just, I'm tired and I'm sick, and I'm tired of being sick. But it's also that it's nearly the holidays, and where is my life going? And why can't I set out and do something big and bold and adventerous, right now? Why can't I leave this place and come back changed? Is it because I did that already? I don't regret it, but there were mistakes in there. There were, if I'm telling you the truth. And I'm not sorry that I loved him, but I wish it hadn't made me so blind. And maybe I am sorry that I ended things badly with the one who came first, because I think I will keep looking until I find another one who is like him, but more for me.

I want to live a better story. I want the words on my pages to count for more than days gone past. Do you ever imagine observing your own life as if it were a movie? I always want to be laughing in those captured moments, but I wonder how often I am laughing in the real ones. My life is rich in friendships and in a certain kind of love there, and I am ever grateful. But I am afraid I will always feel this empty place. I am afraid that my longing for a deeper life is that place in me that was made for heaven and I'm afraid of how long it might be until it isn't empty anymore. What's more, I think I am afraid of not trying to filling it well; and by that I mean, this broken world is filled with its own beauty and I fear missing that for feeling the emptiness too much.

Are you down, are you down with the sickness?

I haven't been out of the house in 49 hours. I'm sick. My thirteen year old sister keeps checking on me and ending with, "You have the swine flu." Well thank you, precious, for your professional diagnosis. I'll be sure to cough in your face the next time you're within germ-spreading distance.

The worst part about being sick is how many long, excruciating hours there are in a day. When you're well, you looooong for free hours to do whatever you want. Ohhhhh, to have a quiet morning sipping coffee and contemplating life's meaning. Or doing laundry. Whatever.

But when you're sick, the hours draaaaaag on and on. This morning, I woke up from a Nyquil-induced sleep at 7 AM (I know that's not early, but it's Sunday, so bite me) because I had to use the facilities so badly after drinking gallons (gallons, I tell you GALLONS!) of hot tea to flush the sickness out. I had intended to go back to bed, but I couldn't. Y'all, the Nyquil knows. It knows the sun is up. It knows it's time for you to switch to it's evil twin, Dayquil. (Which is, in my opinion, far less effective.) So when I looked at the clock after catching up on 57 episodes of various television shows and it was only 10:17 AM, I was so over this illness. I was ready to be up at 5:30 AM and happily rushing around to get out the door to work. Go figure.

The grass might be greener on the other side, but it's still just grass, and there will always be another side.

time for a letter to the Internet

Dear Internet,

I'm sorry I have forsaken you. I've just so been busy doing things like scheduling 100 people for day-long film shoots and attending conferences where I "learned" that blogs are not dead (ummmm, okay, thanks), twitter is great and email marketers think Gen-Y kiddos spend more time on email than facebook (#EPICFAIL). In other words, Internet Summit 2009 left me with very little takeaway. And now I'm feeling snarky.

Also, I would like to redesign you, Blog. Well, have you redesigned. I'm over trying to be a mom blog when I'm not a mom.

Thankssomuch (kiss on cheek, kiss on other cheek),

Texas & extra syllables

There's been a small, but significant shift in my thinking, ever since I went to Texas and learned that I have a pitiful Southern accent and should raaahhlllly sllloooow dooo-ooo-wwwn maahhhh uuuusse of saaaahtain wooooords.

In Christian circles you hear a lot about purpose. What's my purpose in life? Is my life purpose-driven? What am I "called" to do? What is my life's assignment? In non-Christianese: why are we here?

Most significantly, our purpose as Christians is to glorify God, but we hear that a lot. Will someone please get down to the nitty gritty of it? What the hell does that look like on a daily basis? And that very question is where I have been stuck for quite sometime. No one has been able to give me anything practical. And then I traveled to the land of cattle and oil.

I have always believed that God gives us passions and abilities for a reason, that reason being for us to use them; but I guess I just needed someone to tell me more than that, to tell me that it's biblical, to tell me something helpful about it. And they did. They asked us to think about what we're good at, what we love to do, and they said those things matter. But this one question they asked has really stuck with me, in an I-think-about-it-all-the-time kind of way.

That question is this: What disturbs you, giving rise to your sense of justice?

I have considered this of late because I feel like I'm writing things that are more Jesus-y, and I feel averse to it. Not that I don't want to talk about Jesus, but that I don't want to shove him down people's throats. I really, truly, deeply loathe that. You could very rightly say that I am disturbed by that behavior. So I find myself feeling like certain Jesus-y things need to be said differently and so I say them, here on my blog, or in conversation.

What really gets me upset is the way Jesus is often presented. The way the Church as a whole has behaved. The way the Gospel is misrepresented. The way people think following Jesus means following rules, when it really means being set free.

So the shift in my thinking is that maybe I feel strongly about that for a reason, and maybe I express myself best through writing for a reason, and maybe finding my "purpose" isn't quite so much about finding, but a little more about understanding, embracing and going for it.

That last part sounds like a Nike commercial.

Know Thyself

So advised Aristotle. It's good advice, I think.

There was a time when I didn't know how to be in a romantic relationship, because it was practically my only true relationship. Sometimes I think it's really too bad I'm only realizing that almost three years later.

One of my very best friends in the world is going to have a baby. I am so, so excited for her. And surprisingly, I'm not the least bit jealous. You see, for most of college, I thought I would be married and at least thinking about having kids by now. But I'm not even close to that, and I'm almost surprised to realize that I'm happy right here.

I am learning more and more every day about who I am. I am not lonely. I am not outcast. I am not lost or deeply hurting. For a very long time I believed I was all of those things. Granted, I still feel that way at times, but I don't believe that's who I am anymore and I think recently, it's a result of two things:

1. My friends-- real, true, call me at 3AM, make me laugh and cry in the same minute, talk shit with me when I need to talk shit, forgive me when I need forgiving, love me when I need to sit there and feel loved, laugh at my irreverence, ask me "how are you" with meaning in their tones-- they're those kind of friends, and they're spread all over this country. They are the kind of people who help introduce you to yourself, and that is a beautiful gift.

&

2. The weekend I just spent on a little ranch in Texas. I went to a retreat that was basically a training weekend. Training for reading the Bible in context and applying it to real life, instead of hypothetical life. They didn't promise me my best life NOW. They didn't tell me I would know my purpose after all was said and done. But they did give me practical advice & application and biblical guidance. They gave me a bed in a lodge and they gave me their glorious Texas-Southern accents and they gave me sunrises over the river and diamondback snakes in the grass. (Okay, upon further study, it wasn't actually a diamondback, but a bull snake is not a good story.) I'm embracing my passions a little more and I'm wanting to work more towards the things I love that don't necessarily pay my bills. Yet. I'm learning more about the Bible as a narrative, as a whole story that points to one thing, one person really. It's like it's a new book, and I'm excited.

Well done, Grey's Anatomy.

You have succeeded where the Christian Church failed.

For those who don't watch the show, last night's episode followed a doctor named Callie, a woman who is gay and who became estranged from her staunchly Catholic father when she came out to him. He returned last night, assumingly to make amends; but, he brought his priest with him intending to "pray away the gay," as Callie's character said. The scene that was most riveting had him condemning his daughter for her behavior, throwing scriptures in her face.

Ohhh but glory! Callie came right back with the words of Jesus and ended with a remarkable and true statement: "Jesus is my Savior, Daddy, not you."

Like my friend Joe, I try not to talk about homosexuality often, because I live in two worlds: the one where people I love are gay, and the Evangelical Christian one that's scared to broach the subject. These two worlds don't often collide, but when they do, it doesn't tend to go well, and I find that incredibly unfortunate.

As someone who grew up in the middle of hard-right Southern Baptist conservatism, I have had to wrestle with my own beliefs about homosexuality. But I don't want to make arguments here for whether or not homosexuality is biological or environmental or some combination of both. Honestly, I don't care which it is.

But I do care about people. I care that the Church has chosen to ostracize a group of people based on their sexual orientation rather than the position of their hearts. I care that there are individuals who feel rejected and hurt by the Church, instead of loved and cared for.

I applaud the writers of Grey's Anatomy for opening up dialogue, for taking on not only the subject of homosexuality, but homosexuality within the context of Christianity.

I hope those of you who make up "the Church," the body of Christ, will be challenged by this. I hope you'll take it personally. Because when we choose, as the human representatives of Christ, broken as we are, to reject any group of people, it is personal to them.

The Jesus I know, the one whose words I read and teachings I follow, he made everything personal. It was personal when he forgave the adulterous woman at the well. It was personal when he cast out demons from a man and put them into pigs. It was personal when he made the blind see and the crippled walk. And it was personal when he died for me, for you, and for every other person who has ever walked this earth.

And what he wants is a personal relationship with every single one of us. As the Church, are we introducing all people to that Jesus, or are we leaving it up to the culture to fill our silent void?

NEWSFLASH: Seasons are all the rage this... season.

I've just finished reading Susan Isaac's new book called Angry Conversations with God: A Snarky but Authentic Spiritual Memoir. And I mean really? If that title doesn't make you a little bit curious, why are you even reading my blog? Before I dive into my thoughts, I want you to know that I highly suggest you read this book if you've ever wanted to (or actually) scream: "What the F**K, God?" Because I have, and if you haven't, I'd venture a guess that you're lying to yourself.

Moving on.

Isaacs talks about various relationships throughout her life, both romantic and not, and how they have shaped who she is in different seasons. I agree with her, that we are made for relationship; God made us this way. But somehow her words have made me look at that fact from a new angle.

I've always thought of dating as a process that is necessary to find The One. (Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuun.) You know, like your mom always said when you broke up with someone (again), you just take the good qualities from this guy and from the guys before him and you refine what you're looking for in a man.

I mean honey, at some point can the search be refined anymore? And can we please skip the awkward dinner conversations? Kthanks.

If a person seems likely a weeeee bit close to the Prince Charming in my head, and I somehow impress him with my overt sarcasm and propensity to chew the inside of my lower lip while reading, we might date for awhile.

BUT.

What if dating isn't always about finding The One? What if dating is God putting skin on for a season? By this I mean, I think God sometimes puts people in our lives to date for a period of time to change us. The relationship can help things die that need to die and help grow things that need to grow. And maybe there are several seasons of death and rebirth and growth, but still not all seasons. Perhaps God is giving us "our person" (that's my friend Sarah's phrase) only for a time.

God created us for relationship. Supremely, relationship with him, but also relationship with each other. Doesn't it stand to reason then, that even if a relationship is not THE Relationship, it is still something to work at, to embrace, to cultivate in its season? But further, it's something to let die when that season is over?

I'm bad at letting go.

Boom Boom Pow

I think I come up with some of my best stories in airports. I see people and then I start writing sentences about them in my head, and then I switch the words around to make them sound more entertaining. I am in an airport now, sitting here in my bubble, surrounded by people and conversations.

There is a man who went through security behind me. I didn’t see him until I sat down here at the gate, but I heard him. I heard his voice wave over me, above me, booming to the TSA rep who was very small and studying the large man’s identification. It was a voice so large I should have felt fear, but I found myself smiling at its strength.

I wonder if that’s what it will feel like when God speaks to us in heaven. Will his voice boom out over our heads, with the reverberations flowing around us so that we feel ourselves smiling and feel ourselves safe?

I do not have my MRS. degree, thankyouverymuch

One of my younger brothers is dating a very precious and wonderful girl whom he plans to marry. He calls her his "Missus" and it's nauseating and sweet. They are very strange and somehow, they go together. (When they make the face in the photo? It apparently means they're invisible. And they're twenty-one.)

I don't have a "Mister" and I would love to tell you that's just fine with me, la dee daaaaa! But I would be lying. I used to date my best friend, and now I don't and it makes me very sad. Because what is it about a husband that all of us single gals want so badly? It's having that person who knows you to your core and still loves you, chooses to love you in the middle of all the brokenness of the world and then that person helps you grow. And I had that man for a long time, until one day we realized that we wanted different things.

What I am starting to understand now, is my mistake. When I knew we would break up, I told myself I wasn't sure if I could do life without him. I'll tell you the truth, that's why it was & is so hard, and that's also why it wasn't right for me. There shouldn't be any one person that I need to be able to "do life" except for Jesus. And yes, I know that's incredibly trite and religious-sounding, but that doesn't really make it any less true.

Today I read a post on Big Mama's blog that summed up a lot of the lessons God has been kindly beating into my thick skull with a mallet. Primarily, I'm understanding that a man will not and cannot complete me. Our culture inundates us with images of love and passion and completeness as coming together in one giant romantic package, sealed with a long, mushy gushy kiss. And I'm not gonna lie to you, I want that!

But what I also want is someone who doesn't expect me to be perfect. Someone who can forgive me when I try to control every last second of every single day. Someone who can talk me off the ledge when I start crying and can't stop. I want someone who can lead me with strength and masculinity, but godliness above all. I want someone who doesn't need me, but chooses me anyway. (And somebody who will make me enchiladas and margaritas while we watch football, but who doesn't want that?)

Because isn't that how God loves us?

I am only beginning to touch the surface of my own thoughts about this, so expect more. Also expect me to sound more than a little bitter one day, and really rather broken the next. I think that's how it's going to be for awhile. And I'm okay with that.

I did say I like seasons, & change, after all.

I have a crush on Don Miller's words

That's right, not on the man himself, because I don't know the man himself. But I know his words, and if they were human I would kiss them on the mouth because they are so beautiful and balanced and true.

"You get a feeling when you look back on life that that's all God really wants from us, to live inside a body he made and enjoy the story and bond with us through the experience."

-from A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller

Everybody has a story.

"how to write apologize notes for not going to a party"

{This post is dedicated to the individual who used the title of this post as a Google search phrase and so came upon my blog.}

I'm going to give y'all some incredibly helpful advice today. I will be answering the above query as sincerely as possible, because obviously if someone is desperate enough to ask Google how to apologize, they are in need of very serious help. Just maybe not the kind of help they thought they were looking for....

Nonetheless! I give you:

Hope's How To//Writing "Apologize" Notes

1. First of all, I know you didn't realize this when you began your Google search, poor soul, but in this space? We use correct grammar. That's right, your 2nd grade-level grammar skills just aren't going to cut it here at Hopeful. And do you know why? Because we live in America, where no child is left behind and everyone is educated enough to make informed decisions regarding politics and health care. No, wait... Hmmm... Regardless, we live in America, where I pay taxes for you to go to school and damn it, you should have learned at least the basics of proper grammar!!! [Whew, deep breaths.] Therefore, your search should have read: "How to write an apology note for not going to a party."

2. I can only assume by your very specific search that this party you failed to attend was probably rather important to the person to whom you owe an apology. You are clearly distraught that you missed said party; however, your guilt was not great enough to help you make an unselfish decision. That's why I can also only assume that you are, in fact, a teenage girl, and also that you never attended a Southern Baptist school. I often operate under the assumption that it is better to apologize later than to ask for permission. But honey, that shit ain't gonna fly when you're causing the very delicate emotions of your sixteen year old friend to go into conniption fits because OH MY GOD, Josie always picks her boyfriend over me!

3. Stop watching MTV. Seriously, My Super Sweet 16? NOT REALITY. And also? Nobody likes a drama queen, even if The Real Housewives of Atlanta are making bank clawing each others' eyes out on television. You are a teenage girl. Don't Google about apologizing, ask your mom. That's what she's there for.

4. If you were my kid and you had asked my opinion about hanging out with ohmygodmomhe'ssooooodreamy Jacob instead of going to your friend's Not-So-Super Sweet Sixteen party, I would have told you to go to the party and hang out with JacobNotTheTwilightVersion some other time, or maybe even ask your friend if you could bring him to the party. Because really? You're sixteen. Next week you'll be all, Jacob who? But your friend will still not talk to you because you skipped her party.

5. Don't write a note. Talk to her. Try growing up just a little bit and have an actual conversation. I promise you that learning to deal with hard things at this age, like direct confrontation and apologizing when you screw up, will really end up serving you well in life. Just be real, it always ends up working out better.

SUMMARY: Grow up.

You're welcome.

Love,

Mmmm....BACON!

I was listening to NPR during my half hour commute to work the other morning. Of course they had a few stories about the H1N1 virus, and I got to thinking.

Do you find the news fascinating? It's not even so much the stories for me as it is which stories are chosen, how they're presented, where they are placed, what they foreshadow, how they function in culture and what they mean for me and you and that guy over there doing a crossword puzzle from yesterday's paper.

Anyway, not the point.

The story that grabbed me was about how the H1N1 virus is affecting religious places of worship. There were interviews with pastors and priests and rabbis and imams and all of them talked about how their religious rituals had such a high potential to spread the virus-- from sipping from the same wine glass for Communiun to shaking hands to pass blessings. They were, of course, concerned about virus propogation; however, the primary concern for all of them was the spiritual well-being of their respective parishoners. (For the record, I belive that's as it should be.)

But I have a problem with that position too. Because, these spiritual leaders were more concerned that their flocks would miss out on something each god supposedly accomplishes only via each religious tradition far more than they were about the health of the individual.

I'm all for tradition and spiritual ritual, for that matter. My church serves Communiun each week and I believe my spiritual life is better for it. But you know what I'm also for? Using your brain.

Why spread a virus when it can be easily avoided by abstaining from particular traditions for a season? I mean this concretely, but doesn't it apply abstractly as well? Lent is a spiritual tradition in the Christian faith where believers choose to abstain from something (food, TV, internet, whatever) for a season of forty days, the purpose being to prepare yourself for Easter-- the celebration of the death and ressurection of Jesus. Would it not also be true then, that for the sake of our faith, God may call us to abstain from other things for other seasons?

I believe that God gave us intelligent minds that have developed in knowledge and creativity as time passes. Part of that is the world of medical understanding we currently live in. Doesn't it stand to reason that if God has given us the brain power to understand that spreading germs spreads viruses and disease, he also maybe intends for us to be smart enough to try to avoid doing it, even if only for a season?

Maybe not. Maybe for some, spiritual practices are completely necessary for deepening the spiritual life. But I wonder, what kind of god are you serving when your spiritual well-being is dependant upon completing various rituals? What kind of faith is it that needs physical affirmation in the form of rituals?

Perhaps that kind of faith is the one for you, but don't you ever long to be free? I don't believe I could ever serve a god whose desire was to limit my freedom, to put me in bondage. What kind of god forces you to serve him?

Consider it this way: wouldn't you prefer to be married to someone who chooses to love you, even amidst your flaws, than to be married to someone who is with you out of obligation? The best kind of love is that which is freely given, not the kind that is forced. (I don't think true love can be forced anyway.) The God I serve does not demand my love, but he gives me the freedom to choose to love him, the freedom to choose to live and walk daily in his love for me. I believe that Christ came to set me free from sin, but also from the obligation of spiritual rituals, tradition, and all forms of legalism.

Galations 5 calls it "The Life of Freedom."

Christ has set us free to live a free life. So take your stand! Never again let anyone put a harness of slavery on you.

I am emphatic about this. The moment any one of you submits to circumcision or any other rule-keeping system, at that same moment Christ's hard-won gift of freedom is squandered. I repeat my warning: The person who accepts the ways of circumcision trades all the advantages of the free life in Christ for the obligations of the slave life of the law.

I'm not trying to claim that traditions are bad. I believe that some traditions are designed specifically to give us necessary reminders of what God has done for us. But I fear that rituals in the name of Jesus too often replace relationship with Jesus. And can I just tell you? There's nothing like relationship with Jesus.

2 Corinthians 3:16-18

Whenever, though, they turn to face God as Moses did, God removes the veil and there they are—face-to-face! They suddenly recognize that God is a living, personal presence, not a piece of chiseled stone. And when God is personally present, a living Spirit, that old, constricting legislation is recognized as obsolete. We're free of it! All of us! Nothing between us and God, our faces shining with the brightness of his face. And so we are transfigured much like the Messiah, our lives gradually becoming brighter and more beautiful as God enters our lives and we become like him.

I like the sound of that.

P.S. If only

House was a real person... God knows I love that fictional man. Also I have no idea why this is showing up bold. Maybe my computer thinks the point should be emphasized.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I may have mentioned this once or twice, but I have always loved the seasons. I live in a part of the South where we feel all four of them, where we watch the light change ever so slightly in the late afternoon and feel the humidity lift in the cool of the evening. All of a sudden, fall is descending upon us.

As I feel the relationships around me changing, I understand that they too, are seasonal. My friends are marrying, some are having babies, and I am still on my own. But I am okay there; happy even. When you establish friendships as young single adults in college, people never really let on that when some of you marry and some of you don't, it will change things. Dynamics change, plans change, priorities change. The season of "freestyle," as my girlfriends and I call it, has ended.

I sat at brunch yesterday with my family and at the table next to us there were five women, one had a newborn baby. I couldn't stop myself from eavesdropping as they planned their day of shopping and chatting and passing the baby from one set of longing arms to the next. They would meet their husbands later and "What are you wearing to dinner tonight" conversations carried on as they breezed out of the restaurant. I couldn't help but think, that will be us in a few years.

And I understood then that I don't feel left behind. I feel exactly where I should be. We live in seasons and we are all on different paces, but the beauty is the seasons always come back around. Those women's friendships were a few cycles of seasons ahead of me and mine, but they weren't so different from where we are. Maybe they had gained some fine lines, some husbands, some houses and some history, but adding those things was only adding.

Fine lines mean laughter. Husbands mean love. Houses mean home. History means wisdom. Change is God's way, as Donald Miller said. I want a life that is rich. And I think that means change.

I apologize in advance.

I'm sorry.

*Disclaimer: don't click any links unless you're willing to subject yourself to possibly offensive things, which I find hilarious with my sense of humor that is roughly on par with my 17 year old brother. This post is not for the faint of heart.

I never wanted this blog to be whiny and woe-is-me, plight of the single girl garbage. So if you don't come here for that, happy Friday! And don't let the internet bitch-slap you on your way out. Because today, I'm going to have a little rant here on my blog. Because I never promised not to and I DID promise to be authentic, and this is where I am. Welcome to hell.

(Ha ha, okay just kidding about the hell part, I just thought that would be funny and overly dramatic.)

I mentioned already that my best friend is getting married in November. And people? I am in the THROES of party planning. And other people? I LOOOOVE party planning. Why? Because party planning involves everything I love: to-do lists, shopping lists, people to call lists, guest lists, spreadsheets, address books, paper & pens, menus, decorations, pretty pretty twinkle lights (a definite must), presents, candles, delectable food, music, booooooze, friends, laughter and SO MUCH MORE! Truly, I swoooooooon and maybe even drool a little bit when I have reasons to make new folders on my computer and have tab after glorious tab of Excel spreadsheets. And, I love pretty things. And I happen to be really good at shopping (who'da thunk?). I was born to PARTY PLAN.

Next weekend is the Bachelorette party, also known as the DE-FLOOZING, and I've been to so many um, questionable websites to find things like the Willie Wiggle Wand (don't click that link unless you have ANY sense of humor) in the past week it's a wonder I'm not being solicited to star in p*rn films. My Southern Baptist conscience is making me blush. (Thank you, Matthew Paul Turner of Jesus Needs New PR, for this post, making it far less embarrassing for us single Southern Baptist gals to buy toys, ahem, for our soon-to-be-married friends.)

You're going to have to wait for a full-on explanation of what De-Floozing means, but let's just say that a former beau of the bride once told her she looked like a floozy. Right before she met his parents. I kid you not. She ditched him of course, but honey, you better believe I made sure that nickname stuck!

I've learned a few more things they don't tell you when you get excited about your best friend's wedding. How about a list? I do so love a good list!

What They Don't Tell You About Planning Bachelorette Parties

1. You should have kept that feather boa you wore for Halloween freshmen year of college (when you were so delighted to discover that dressing like a hooker was completely acceptable--nay, the goal, of Halloween.)

2. It will always be embarrassing to buy anything with a cartoon pen*s on it. Even via the world wide web.

3. Getting an entire bridal party together for one weekend, post-college, is a feat comparable to climbing Everest without oxygen or digging a well with your bare hands.

4. You're going to need a glue gun.

5. Dollar Tree is the best place to purchase Mardi Gras beads. (And movie candy!) (And glow sticks!)

6. When purchasing sequiny ribbon, thread, or other Bachelorette costuming necessities from JoAnn's Fabric, make sure you're on the mailing list ahead of time. That way, when you politely ask in your I'm-buying-this-to-make-my-little-sister-a-dance-costume voice if there happen to be any coupons "hiding out somewhere," you will not be met with looks of disdain from the cashier.

7. You're going to get a whole new sex education no matter how hard you try to avoid it. I'm just saying, I definitely bought her a book called Tickle His Pickle. Yes Mom, I did.

(Related sidenote: When we were in high school, Lindsey's- that's the bride- mom would always exclaim: "HOOOPEY!" when I said things like that. My justification was the no-fail "Connie, would you rather me talk about it, or do it?" See? I win.)

8. Colored feathers come in packages of primary colors, and pink. Planning a two-tone color scheme is going to be difficult.

9. No matter how many of the party favors you make yourself, how many coupons you use, how many items you cut from the list for the sake of your meager budget, still plan on hefting that Robinhood-worthy bag of gold onto the counter at Michael's and saying: "Here, have it all! Anything for the sake of my friend's marriage!" Three words: Maxed. Out. Credit.

10. You should prepare for feelings of bitterness, with an undercurrent of jealousy, if you are single. However, you should also take notes so that when it's (finally) your (freakin') turn, your party will be the best one because you've learned the lessons already! Payback's a beautiful bitch sometimes.

11. After you've spent all your money, burned all your fingers with hot glue, vacuumed all the feathers from your apartment's floor, eaten all 3 boxes of movie candy in one sitting, thrice pricked yourself with a sewing needle, and realized that probably no one will realize all the effort you put into this, it will suddenly dawn on you that the moments you spent laughing with your other single friends while you did all it of were definitely worth it, even if the party bombs. (Which you will then pray REALLY HARD that it doesn't.)

12. Then, you'll realize that at the end of a biting and sarcastic post you just got all mushy gushy and you'll be comforted that you do have a heart in there after all.

Hello, Fall!

Dear Autumn,

I have missed you so. When I walked outside this morning and I felt your chill on my arms, I stopped for a moment and breathed deeply, and I could feel the coolness going all the way into my lungs, and I loved it.

THANK YOU.

Fondly,

Hope


P.S. And thank you for providing the perfect backdrop for football season. AMEN!

Drown in Grace

How do you demonstrate grace to someone when you are the one who needs it?

So here's what happened, in a nutshell:

My day job is Creative Marketing. Right now my big project is an ad DVD for my employer and three of us have been filming and planning and brainstorming into the late hours of weekend nights. We had planned to film this past Saturday and Sunday, but decided around 11:30 PM on Friday to postpone those two days of filming due to circumstances out of our control. After a week filled with funeral-related things, visitors, and catching up on work, I was ALL ABOUT not setting my alarm for Saturday morning.

Fast forward.

11:59 PM-- Lights out! I am zonked.

11:17 AM, Saturday-- I decide to saunter out of bed and make some coffee. (People, I even did The Shred.)

Fast forward.

7:52 AM, Monday-- Open work email. See email from fellow employee dated Saturday, 11:30 AM: "Where are you? I've been here since 10:15."

Ohhhh shit.

Said employee was basically forced by her boss to come into work on Saturday, a day she always has off, because of ME and my NEED for her to be in my film shoot for 45 minutes.

The film shoot I cancelled.

The one I forgot to tell her I cancelled.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

7:53 AM, Monday-- Proceed to bang head against wall and groan loudly.

8:10 AM, Monday-- Write 7 sentence email to fellow employee. 6 sentences contain some form of the words "sorry" or "apologize" or "sincerest."

I truly feel so, so badly for my oversight. What is worse, if I were in her shoes, I would have BLASTED me; absolutely annihilated me with anger-- which tells you a lot about me. HA.

Here's my point though, from her perspective (rightly so), I had ZERO regard for her time or her weekend or her in general. What mattered to me was my day off and the SECOND I knew I would have that day off, I forgot everyone else involved. (Including my brother, who was also to be involved in the shoot. When he called to see where I was, I apologized and he said: "Oh okay. No problem. Love you; have a good day off!")

After I sent my apology email, I nearly cried with guilt, with feeling badly for my wrongdoing. But I don't believe I should live in guilt. I am human, after all, sinful. I make mistakes. In Christ, there is grace for me and I am positively drowning in that grace. Therefore, to continue to live in guilt is to reject God's gift of grace.

However, I do not know if this fellow employee lives under that grace or even knows it. As I thought back to my brother's easy-going response to my mistake, I felt grateful for the grace he showed me. So as I considered how else I could apologize to my fellow employee besides an email, I wondered how I could show her grace, when I am the one who needs grace from her?

During my lunch break I bought her a gift card for a local popular microbrewery/restaurant. I left it in her office because she was at lunch when I went by, and I left a note to say I knew it wouldn't make up for her time, but I was sorry and please enjoy dinner & some drinks on me. I don't know what else to do, or if that was even the right thing.

But I pray she enjoys the hell out of that dinner and those drinks. I hope she shares that time with friends and that their meal is filled with laughter, even if it's at my expense. I pray that somehow, such a small thing will serve as an example of Christ, even if my humanity does the opposite far more frequently.

But more, I pray that I will be changed because of my mistake. That when some other human makes a mistake that affects me like that, I will show him or her grace instead of anger. I don't want to be the same tomorrow.

Do you have an answer: How do you show grace when you're the one who needs it?