Oh Winter.

As I drove home today, my car indicated that it was 1 degree outside.

1 freaking degree.

(presses pillow to face) GAHHH:OIF:OWEIUF:OIWEH:OIH

I'm trying my best to fight the seasonal blues this winter. But I am a creature of warmth. And really, if you want to get technical about it, aren't we all?! We could survive naturally in the heat of July, as long as we could find some water and shade. But without furnaces and big warm houses and puffy marshmallow coats, we wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in Wisconsin winters.

(Okay, so that appropriated saying didn't quite work here, since snowballs actually stand a pretty good chance in this weather. But you get the idea.)

The winter slows me down. Sluggish, unmotivated, moody. Sometimes I feel like a sloth, inching along a tree branch and then resting for a few hours, because jeez, that was hard work. Or like a little brown bear, hibernating in my warm cozy den. I'll see you in April, everybody.

 Eeek! I'm cold!!!!!

More seriously, it's a little scary how drastically this weather affects my mood. I don't always notice the darkened feelings until the world starts to defrost. But on those rare warm, sunny days, I walk down the street and suddenly feel overwhelmed by a rush of gratitude for being alive, joy in my surroundings, general optimism, etc. And those lovely feelings make me notice how drastically they've been absent.

For me, it's harder to find those random bursts of thankfulness and joy in the deep frost of winter.

Once, walking home from the library, the fresh snowfall around me sparkled so beautifully that I didn't even notice how cold it was. Then again, that was back in home sweet Ann Arbor, which tends to be at least 10 degrees warmer than Madison. At this very moment, Ann Arbor is 18 degrees and Madison is -2.

Okay. Stop being negative.

Trying to remember the beautiful things about winter. Let's see.....

1. Hot chocolate and cider and cinnamon lattes.
2. Cuddling up beneath blankets and keeping each other warm.
3. Christmas movies and colorful lights and COOKIES.
4. Cute scarves and hats and big knit sweaters.
5. Pretty snowfalls.
6. Um......running out of ideas....
7. The joy (and painful prickling feeling) of coming inside from 1 degree weather?
8. Help! Need more ideas!
9. Fireplaces. Yes. Those are good.
10. Coffee shops with fireplaces.
11. Camping out with Phil in a coffee shop with a fireplace while pretty snow falls outside.
12. Wintery music. You know what I mean. Bon Iver, the National, other pretty things.

God, help me to focus on the good. Help me to find the warmth and sweetness of winter, to pluck the fruit when it's ripe, and not just hibernate until the summer awakens my soul again.

(But still, keeping my fingers crossed for a winter of 20+ degree temps and light, fluffy snow that does not clog up the roads and an early spring!!!!!! You never know.)

This is Why We Fight

What do you do when you're under attack?

It's tempting to duck and cover--to find a safe place and hide, to wait for the barrage of blows to finally come to an end. It's even more tempting to feel sorry for yourself. (I'm guilty of both.)

Health-wise and body-wise, these past two months have not exactly been a picnic. Unless you picnic in the middle of a shooting range and happen to forget your Kevlar vest. Also your sanity.

I'm going to run down the list, not to elicit sympathy, but just to explain how weird and overwhelming things have been lately. If you're squeamish or easily grossed out, just stop. Like, seriously, stop reading. And please forgive the TMI. I'm just in a vulnerable (read: overshare-y) sort of mood. And it does make a pretty good story!

1. In late August, I tripped while running downhill--fast--and now have a half-moon scar on my upper arm that doesn't seem to be going away quite yet. Or maybe ever. (If you squint and tilt your head sideways and dim the lights, you can't quite see it . . . )

2. Two weeks later, I got a tick bite on my ankle that ended in potential lyme disease and cellulitis (i.e. infected tissue), which swelled my foot like crazy. While I was working a 12-hour shift, it got so painful that I couldn't put any weight on it. I ended up with an antibiotic shot, stuck DEEP into my hip with a super scary needle, and a 10-day course of antibiotics.

3. A cold. A really fun one.

4. (Here comes the TMI part . . . sorry!!!) Stomach pain and.....well....strange bleeding. The sort of bleeding that, coupled with weight loss, prompted my doctor to refer me to a GI specialist. Eeek.

5. Another cold. I'm serious. It's like the germs were seeking me out, trying to make me feel special.

6. An upper-GI endoscopy and a colonoscopy. (Apparently, they call this a double dip.) The brochure featured a lovely, beaming elderly couple on the cover, which made me feel even more fantastic.

7. The day after the procedures: shortness of breath and fatigue, which worried the clinic nurse enough that I soon found myself sitting in the ER with an IV in my arm and those sticky electrode things on my skin.

Whew. It's exhausting just to type everything out. And it also makes me laugh. Like, how on earth could all these things happen within two months?! It doesn't seem like there'd be enough hours in the day. Plus, it's strange how each ailment waited its turn before jumping into the fray. I guess that's the polite way to attack a girl--single file, one at a time.

But it's less funny when you realize that this was, in fact, a carefully orchestrated attack.

My life is beautiful. Phil is just amazing--there are no words. We've started opening up our house for prayer and worship nights. I'm leading an AWESOME creative writing group with super talented kids. And I'm writing a book that I'm so excited about.

But when these trials came, I found myself feeling timid and full of anxiety. My thoughts were like kites all tethered to the same pole, flapping around and getting tangled up. What if the doctors find cancer, or something else horrible? What if Phil and I never get to have kids? What if bad things just keep happening?

On top of that, I was embarrassed. Even ashamed. Why couldn't I have chosen a different picnic table, or noticed the tick earlier? Why was I careless enough to share food with a friend who seemed under the weather? What kind of 24-year-old gets a colonoscopy, anyway?

Basically, I was making myself MUCH sicker than I needed to be.

Obviously, I didn't want to worry. It just sort of happened--no matter how much I prayed, no matter how many deep, calming breaths I took. It made me admire my mom even more--her ability to take each thing as it comes, and her super powerful prayer.

Thankfully, everything has healed (more or less) beautifully. The doctors didn't find any serious issues. And most of the "issues" weren't even real health problems--they were tiny blips on the radar. Colds that went away quickly. Shortness of breath that turned out to be nothing more than fatigue and mild dehydration. Plus, there were huge blessings along the way. My friends prayed over me, often without even being asked. I gradually learned how to stop worrying and focus on good things instead. Just yesterday, an awesome friend shared a story that made me feel much less embarrassed, and also made me laugh really, really hard. And Phil has been the most patient, supportive, selfless, and kind partner I could ever dream of.

But as the smoke clears, I'm starting to realize that I took the wrong approach. Somewhere in the middle of all this craziness--I think between numbers 3 and 4 on the list of super-fun ailments--I stumbled upon these verses:

"Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand." -Ephesians 6:10-13

Amid times of trial and confusion, God has always led me to the truth I needed to hear. I just wish I'd taken the hint sooner:

Spiritual warfare is real.

For my sweet and amazing friends who aren't very spiritual, I hope this doesn't sound too weird. But it's irrevocably true. The devil--or evil forces and temptations, or whatever you want to call it--tears us down. He wants to ruin marriages and pull apart friendships. He wants to chip away at our identity, to pile on the insecurity and self-doubt. Because when we're afraid, we're not as powerful. It's hard to love your neighbor when you're busy hiding; it's hard to make the world beautiful when you're drowning in it.

Spiritual warfare is real--but we don't have to hide from it. We don't have to feel ashamed or slink to a dark, hidden place. We don't have to face trials alone.

What do you do when the attacks keep coming?

Put on your armor and fight back.

A poem I wrote when I was feeling down (and not the namesake of this blog.....apparently it's just an image I'm stuck on.)

in the light I scatter
far-flung like glass beads across a wooden floor
pulled homeward with long needle strokes--
my hopes bound up in fresh stitches
and tightening seams.

it bespeaks a labor of love
that an empty cistern might produce water
that a clay pot might not end broken

you know the inner workings of my heart
which we understand to mean faith, or weakness:

you could pull a single thread
and all my quiet places would unravel--
you could tuck the loose strings back into place
and make me like new--
you could add buttons that shine and glisten
like fish scales in the river--
you could sew on patches that become improvements,
you could make me better

(but to err is human
and to err means,
now and again,
to take up the scissors.)

            so stand up tall and proud,
            because you hold a privileged position
            and this, at least, is a beautiful thing:
            you could never have injured my heart
            if I had never opened my unmarked skin, my cage of rib bones,
            and sewn you inside.

Spirit, fall fresh on me

I think this might be my dream future:

A cute house, small but airy and inviting, with lots of light and green lawns. Two kids that Phil and I had together, and possibly one or two kids we've adopted and brought into our family. Vegetable gardens, raspberry bushes, maybe a peach tree so that we can preserve peaches and make jam. A special corner of the house where I can sit and write, because I'm working on my next book. Music filling every room, because our kids are learning to play the piano and the violin. Phil coming home from work and giving me a sweet kiss and then all of sitting down to a healthy, summery pasta made with vegetables from our own backyard. 

Sometimes, I feel like this is what I want. And at first glance, it seems okay--the stability, the comfort, the beauty of it all. And (my mind argues) it's not like I'm seeking a big, expensive house or a high-paying job. I don't want those things; my heart doesn't seek after them.

But lately I'm learning that God doesn't compare us to other people. My little vegetable garden could become as much of an idol as my friend's impressive salary or two-car garage.

So I wrote out another scenario--but this time, it wasn't my fairy-tale future. It was my challenging future. The sort of future that might actually give me a purpose, a sense of joy. And I wrote it not in objects and images, but in actions.

Being kind to the people who hurt me or judge me or make me feel foolish. Fostering kids, even if there is no guarantee of adoption, even if that love and beauty comes with a whole mess of complications. Honoring God in the way we love and sacrifice for each other. Tithing to the church. Blessing others financially and giving with a glad heart. Never giving up on my passion for writing, even if there's no obvious return for my labors, even if no one is listening. Being vulnerable and honest about my faith--about how I believe in grace and resurrection, in spiritual warfare, in heaven and hell, in I'm-a-broken-sinful-person-saved-by-grace, in Jesus Christ the only son of God--even when it's not easy or politically correct. Letting God lead us from one day to the next.

I stumbled upon this quote once:

"Comfort sells easier than happiness. Comfort is easy. It requires no effort and no work. Happiness takes effort. It requires being proactive, confronting fears, facing difficult situations, and having unpleasant conversations."

Looking at these two pictures side-by-side has made one thing painfully clear to me:

We really do mistake comfort for happiness.

Maybe some day, Phil and I will have our own house. Maybe we'll have a garden, and I'll slice cucumbers that my kids harvested from the backyard. Obviously, there is a way to do those things in a way that is beautiful and right. But those things won't make me happy. And I'm not just saying that to be corny or moralistic. When I imagine myself in that place--that pretty, wholesome, American dream scenario--there's truly something wrong. Some weird emptiness.

When I'm filled with joy and purpose, it wouldn't feel any more or less beautiful if I was in a pretty four-bedroom house or a shabby little apartment.

When I'm frustrated or confused, those feelings wouldn't be any easier if I was pacing back and forth in my lovely fenced-in backyard instead of walking up and down Paterson Street.

Spirit, come be my joy.

Provision

I'm just chilling in the living room at 1 A.M., unable to sleep thanks to the (amazing) dirty chai I drank too late in the afternoon. Will I never learn?

As I sit here, surrounded by blessings and comfort and, yes, a whole lot of "stuff" that I did nothing to deserve, I'm so overwhelmed by how God has provided my physical and financial needs. Since moving into our apartment, I think the only piece of furniture my husband and I have actually bought has been our couch. Our whole apartment is basically a patchwork quilt of all the people who love us.

Let's see. Right now . . .

I'm resting my feet on the wooden chest/coffee table that my parents gave us for Christmas.

I'm looking across the living room at the comfy armchairs, side table, gorgeous lamp, and old-fashioned sewing machine that my sweet, eternally-selfless grandma donated to us when she moved to a smaller place.

There's the beautiful dresser and flower-painted cabinet that Phil's amazing parents gifted to us as a wedding present.

There's the dining table and chairs that Phil's landlady let us take (for free!!!) from his old house when he and his roommates moved out.

There's the jewelry armoire that my mom found at a garage sale for $10.

There's the pretty ceramic owl that sweet Heidi gave me for my birthday, and the Ikea bookcase that my sister passed on to me when she didn't want it anymore.

There's the super awesome desk that Erik gave us. The conversation literally went:
Me: Ooh, I love your desk.
Erik: Do you want it?!?!?!?!

I mean, for heaven's sake. How do things like that even happen? And about half an hour ago, I was chatting with my mom about how the hubby and I plan to go to St. Vinnie's this week, to look for cheap dining room chairs--we only have 3, which isn't quite enough for having people over. And my mom responds:

"Oh . . . there are 4 chairs in our basement! The neighbor was putting them out. We took them, just in case. Davy was going to use them, but I think they're too big for his apartment."

;aoiewjf;oiawe;oiru;ioajuiofijo

Whew. Now that I've gotten that out of my system--and aside from the fact that an apartment would have to be pretty cozy (read: teeny) to not be able to fit a few chairs--God's provision has just been astonishing. He has blessed us with so much, even at those moments when we wished we had more or worried about making ends meet . . . furniture is just the tip of a very large, very beautiful iceberg.

At first, when I realized where all these items around me came from, I felt almost guilty. But it would be an act of foolish pride to try and downplay these crazy blessings. The more I think about it, the more I realize how stunningly beautiful it all is. Instead of simply saying we went out and bought things to furnish our house, we can be thankful and deeply humbled to know that nearly everything around us is a tangible testament to how God has blessed us, and how our family and friends give with such glad hearts.

Plus, it pushes us to be better--to spend our money thoughtfully, to give generously wherever we're called to give, and to fight the temptation of materialism. Nothing we own is ever really ours. When we tithe at church, we're not really giving 10% of what's ours--it's more like God is letting us keep 90% of what doesn't even belong to us.

(Squishy armchairs, cute mom, and cuddly pup!!!)

"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these."
-Matthew 6: 28-29

Love.

 
"Don’t worry. Put away your mirrors and your beauty magazines and your books on tape. There is someone right here who knows you more than you do, who is making room on the couch, who is fixing a meal, who is putting on your favorite record, who is listening intently to what you have to say, who is standing there with you, face to face, hand to hand, eye to eye, mouth to mouth. There is no space left uncovered. This is where you belong." -Sufjan Stevens

Extra Love

It's amazing how, in my head, a beautiful and well-organized life seems like it should be effortless. I know what's important to me--all these goals, all the simple little things I want to infuse into my life. (Now I'm imagining raspberry black tea infusing into a mug of steaming hot water.....mmmmm.) But it's so hard to put all those things into practice. When I focus on one area, others seem to fall by the wayside.

I'm a chronic list-maker, so it's easy to chart out all these little goals my heart wanders after:

• Natural and organic everything. If I were rich I would buy all organic food and go to the market every week....and I would use shampoos and lip balms and sunscreen made from tea tree oil, or honey, or primrose. It's just hard for me to spend $15 on a bottle of shampoo.
• Housewifey stuff. I really, really want to make our house beautiful and live in an uncluttered, clean space. Phil and I take turns with tasks like cooking, doing the dishes, and taking out the trash, but I don't think he shares my (hypothetical) excitement about all this domestic stuff. Maybe someday I'll actually be well-organized enough to get one step ahead.....who knows.
• Writing. This is what I've loved since before kindergarten. Someday I want to make an income from fiction writing or freelance editing or some combination of the two. But even if there's no pay-off, it's just something my soul loves--it's frustrating when everything else seems to get in the way.
• Being healthy. Phil helps me limit pop and junk food a lot more than I used to, and we are trying to stay in shape together--but I still feel frustrated whenever I eat too much, or skip exercise. Ugh. Our bodies are like a temple, and I really don't want to fill mine with trash.
• Music. I have these dreams of Phil and I writing songs together whenever we feel like it, playing at coffee shops, worshiping together all the time. And it does happen, but I just wish it could happen more, because I love it so much! But there aren't that many hours in the day.
• Friends. Friends. More friends. I'm a hardcore introvert and have trouble with larger groups--my favorite thing is to hang out in smaller groups, or just individually, and truly get to know people. Maybe have them over for dinner or go out for coffee. But there are maybe 20 people I feel this way out . . . eeek. So many awesome people and not enough time. (I know . . . excuses, excuses.)
• Art. I've been doing some acrylic painting, and I'm full of craft ideas (thanks in part to Pinterest), and I've been wanting to take a watercolor class . . . someday. Maybe soon.

It all sounds nice. But obviously, life is full of other things, like working and paying off student loans and saving to go back to school and budgeting in case we decide to get a house someday. And I am INCREDIBLY blessed that I even have the privilege to try and balance all these hobbies, these goals and passions. I recognize that this isn't something I've earned--it's been given to me as a gift, totally undeserved.

When I create art or take good care of my home, when I make healthy choices or spend time with friends, I want to invite God into every single one of those moments and thank him for it. I want my whole life to be infused by him--so that even if I don't have time for everything on my "extras" list, I can rest in the Spirit.

Return to Sender

Before we met
I had already seen you in far too many dreams.

You can't send letters without words
but that's what I did
sleeping on a mattress of pictures and postage stamps
I never had my fighting chance.

Our love notes read like grocery lists
or prescription refills--
take 3 pomegranate seeds
and call me in the morning--
but I could never bring myself to throw them away.

Instead I practiced the careful handwriting of the girl
who would someday meet me in the mirror
who would've traded her whole flock of delicate black words
for my clear blank page.

Because before I knew you I knew that we would fit
like a letter tucked in an envelope
or a needle in the crease of my arm.
For 22 years you dripped life into my veins.

And when you tapped me on the shoulder
and asked to cut in
I gave you the scissors
and told you to do your worst.

I didn't know how much happiness would hurt.
I didn't know it could be possible to miss someone
when he's laying right beside you
keeping you warm and you're running your fingers
through his hair thinking this is the last time
on the 16th of March at 11:37 at night
that I will run my fingers through his hair and
I didn't know that happy endings go so fast.

But I know that we are blessed
because a thing would have to be pretty damn beautiful
for me to be this afraid of losing it.

Serve God, Love Me and Mend

Madison, Wisconsin--
where snowfall after snowfall leaves us cold and defiant
like the heart that refuses to stop beating even after it's gone through the ice.

I can't be the only one feeling the lack of Vitamin D.

Still, exciting things have been happening. Praise God! It's beautiful to see what He will do when I'm humble enough to soften my heart and surrender it to him.  He can only accomplish so much if we hand him a rock and tell him "mold this." But if we give him clay . . .

This past month, God has been molding me. He has made me aware of exactly where I'm imperfect. Where I'm selfish. Where I've been weak. It doesn't mean I have to patch up those tears myself--it's more that I'm recognizing them, giving them to God.
 
I tend to love people deeply, almost recklessly. But when certain difficult topics come up, I feel torn between honesty and kindness. I don't want to become complicit in something that my heart says is harmful. But I don't want to hurt someone, or alienate them, either. This leads me to sin--in other words, yucky things:

• Telling little white lies to safely navigate a difficult topic. Even if it causes me to express something different than what's in my heart.
• In private, feeling frustrated and even annoyed at the person, to the point where I start to lose the love I once had for them.
• Ranting like a crazy person. Even if it's just to my husband, I think this counts as gossip.

I want to love and I want to speak truth. So where is the balance? I have no idea. But I'm slowly learning the precarious skill of gentle truth. Or at least, of being a friend and showing kindness without supporting something that I don't agree with. And it's not about the big things, either--I don't tend to judge others on their lifestyles, their belief systems. It's the little things, like repeated acts of pride or selfishness. Like people taking advantage of others in small ways.

Truth hurts, especially when hearts are too hard to listen. Blunt honesty can even destroy friendships and burn bridges, when maybe I want to keep those bridges around for a while. But keeping the feelings bottled up and acting like a people-pleaser makes me loathe myself, makes me end up being sinful and negative in my own head and behind closed doors. And it tarnishes the love I'm supposed to be giving. So what do I do?

"He said to me, My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." 2 Corinthians 12:9

God is the ultimate mender. Where I could just sew on a messy patch and try to ignore all the loose threads, he can renew and make me whole. And by letting him work through me, rather than trying to be strong on my own--or worse, pretending that the weaknesses don't exist--I am able to bring glory to him. I can admit that I don't have the delicate balance of honesty and compassion figured out yet. That for now, all I can do is try to follow God and let him make amends where I fall short.