So this is Christmas.

So this is Christmas

And what have you done

Another year over

And a new one just begun

And so this is Christmas

I hope you have fun

The near and the dear one

The old and the young

A very Merry Christmas

And a happy New Year

Let's hope it's a good one

Without any fear

I've always liked this Christmas song, but with a different sentiment than most of my other holiday music selections. Rather than being spiritually moving, or dripping with cheesy holiday cheer, I've found that there is truth in these words that reflects a reality of Christmas as we get older. Wish hard as I might, in my "old age" Christmas is no longer all mistletoe and holly, presents under the tree, and snuggling by the fire while it snows outside. Mixed with the usual excitement of returning home for the holidays to a beautiful white Chicago Christmas to visit old friends and catch up with my crazy cousins was a bit of loneliness and sadness which I know from my extensive knowledge of Christmas movies and music is commonly associated with the holiday season.

The nostalgia of the holiday season gets to me pretty deeply. I put up my tree early and listen to Christmas music almost exclusively. I think of good memories of Christmas seasons that are long gone with Brad and Grandma who I miss dearly-especially at this time of year. I think about how my cousins are growing so fast that I can't keep up, and how much I am missing by being across the country from them. I welcome their funny stories and little laughs and sweet hugs, trying to take in their little personalities which have changed so much since last time I was home. I feel the tension of returning home as an adult yet still feeling sometimes like a child. I try to keep my head and heart from spinning in circles as more and more of my friends are getting engaged, married, having their first babies. I try to enjoy the current holiday season for what it is, rather than hoping and wishing and dreaming about starting traditions of my own with a future family that seems, at this time of year, painfully out of reach. And I work hard to hold my head high and ignore the feelings of being left out as friends are splitting holidays with new families and experiencing the increased amounts of sentimental moments that like it or not we are all hard wired to desire at Christmastime. I try to push all of these heartaches aside and sit quietly with God, appreciating the spiritual significance of the season, only to grow increasingly frustrated with my lack of patience and discipline. I reflect on the year that has passed, all I am grateful for, and I hope and dream and pray about the new year.

So, this is Christmas. Truly, the most wonderful time of the year. I do love it. But, for now, I'm glad the new year has begun.

You Might Understand Me Better After this Post.

Alright. Picture the world's most adorable three-ish year old (see photo above). I was, if I do say so myself, quite cute back then. This very picture actually graced the cover of our town newspaper, The Glenview Announcements, in the mid eighties because they felt the need to display my cuteness to the whole town, apparently. It now hangs in the stairway at my parents' house in Chicago.

So, one day little Maggie was busy coloring, one of the things I always have done best (ask my college roommates), and decided to color a picture of an elephant. I must pause to let you know that this is one of my mom's top five all time favorite stories about me. One of a select few of those go-to "tell your friends/future husband/me-when-I-need-to-hear-it" stories in which my true colors were shining even as a three year old. I was sitting at the table, coloring like usual, being all quiet and angelic while the boys were probably running around, making my mom crazy racing and crashing and breaking stuff or whatever it was that they did while I tried to mind my own business. So I started picking out colors for a simple elephant picture and began to panic. From Sue's recollection of the story, it went something like this:


Little Mags: "Ummm, Mom? I don't know what color to color the elephant."
Mom: "Well, honey, what color do you want the elephant to be?"
Little Mags: "I don't know! I can't color it grey, because that's too boring. And I'd like to color it pink, but there are too many pink elephants!"
Mom: (probably trying not to laugh at her daughter) "Okay, maybe blue?"
Little Mags: (at this point my mom swears I was becoming increasingly worked up, on the verge of tears) "Well, blue might be nice. Or green. Or, maybe I could make him a lot of colors, like plaid, or polka dotted, or some other pattern. But maybe he would like to be yellow, or dark red, or orange..."


I kid you not. I have heard this story more times than I can count, and at this point she says I totally broke down. Freaked out. Got so overwhelmed with my options that I could not possibly come to terms with sticking to any one of my fine options. She didn't know what to do with little anxious OCD color conscious, incapable of making a decision Maggie. I, at the idea of having to choose just one color for the elephant, came entirely unglued.

I tell you this because my mom reminded me of the story the other day. Apparently, fight it as I do in my adult life, this is the way that I am wired. I may, at times, seem to know what I want and confidently and independantly make good decisions for myself. Sometimes I do. But, the majority of the time, I am more like this image of little Maggie. Paralyzed to the point of near inaction in the face of a decision, big or small. Afraid of missed opportunities, hurting someone else's feelings, or hurting myself. Afraid of failing, or maybe afraid of succeeding. Afraid of change, and afraid of always staying the same. I'm afraid of missing out, ordering the wrong menu item, getting tired, saying the wrong thing, or picking the wrong color.

So I deliberate. And I waver. And I call Emily. I make lists. And I talk to whoever will listen, not for their advice really, but because it helps me to talk it out. I make myself crazy mulling over options. Then I wait. And I get stuck and frustrated in the waiting.

I know that we are each uniquely, fearfully and wonderfully made; but this is something about myself that I think could use a little refining. So in 2009 I'll be trying to work on my decision making abilities, I think. It's a cute story, yes. But I would like it to be a little less true of my adult self today. I know that my optimistic and active imagination will probably always consider every angle of every situation, and that many times there isn't a simple solution- so thoroughly working through the options is healthy. But I need, more often than not, to be better at the decision making process.

Although, I admit. There is definitely something beautiful and maybe poetic about a little kid coloring a patchwork multicolored elephant and being satisfied with weaving together the best of all the options and making it work; which I'm told by the way, was the result of the little tantrum.

Decking the Halls

Have you decked your halls yet? You'd better believe I have. And no, I didn't even wait until December 1st, the date that universally marks the social appropriateness of decorating for Christmas. I was one day early, and I don't regret it at all. Right now I am sitting at Peet's, attempting to study for a final in an hour and a half, complete the papers due this afternoon (which I still haven't started...) and finish out the quarter with a bang, but I am distracted by Christmas.

And all thanks goes to Karli, who is always looking out for my being on top of current events, flooding my inbox with "Karli saw this on CNN and thought you should see it" emails (which I love) for this morning's little nugget of awesomeness. I mean, I love Christmas and everything, I'm a full supporter of almost all things holiday related but seriously? What would you do if these people were your neighbors??!?! (click this link, you won't be disappointed)

Hope and Renewal

This morning I went to the Westmont chapel service of Hope and Renewal, celebrating the first day back to school after the Tea Fires. It was a beautiful service, full of humility, gratitude, and wisdom, and I am so glad that I made the time to go.

I loved being back in chapel and on campus at Westmont. I was admittedly quite a joiner during my years as a student there. I rarely missed chapel, spent too long at every meal in the D.C., went to every home soccer game... so, for me, it was nice to be back. Walking on campus and into the gym, thankful that it was all saved from what could have been devastating fire damage, I had one of those moments where I was transported nostalgically into a moment where my soul was joyful and at rest. Time stood still for a second and I felt full and safe, solid, rooted; connected to the past, present, and future best versions of myself.

As I was listening to Ben Patterson speak, it was like coming home. I guess, in a sense, returning to Westmont is coming home, as it was my home for four years; but gathering with that community, singing together and listening to Ben's voice is familiar and comforting. His prayers are prayers that I feel and know after so many years. Sitting on those familiar bleachers in my gym-which had become my sanctuary, the place where God more often than not met me right where I was, was a good feeling. A feeling I was at some point used to, but recently have not been able to replicate elsewhere.

The basic gist of his message, and of the service (which you can download and listen to here), was of how we as Christians are at times to be in grief and hard times; a point which comes hand in hand with the Biblical desire for us to find hope in all circumstances. As Christians, we are not to be stoics. We are to remember that we are all called, at times, to grieve. Sometimes, life is just plain hard. But Ben also reminded us that "our faith is not a designer drug that lifts us up out of the mess of life. Rather our faith gives us courage to live in the mess." And sometimes, I dare say, I make a bit of a mess for myself. And more often than not, I find the courage to live in that mess to be somewhat lacking.

So courage has been on my mind and on my heart recently. Sometimes, I have plenty of it. But there are times, more often than I'd like to admit, that courage is something I can't find, and something that I want. I want to, as Dr. Spencer would say to us in rhetoric "live boldly." I think those ideas are woven together for me. I'm rarely lacking for the hope part, but I'm still working on living and moving forward with courage, with boldness, and with gumption. But I've been reminded a lot these days of how beautiful it is when we do- when we move forward in faith, trusting and leaning into God's best plan for us.

My Kind of Town, Chicago

Okay, I know that the likelihood of you all clicking on the link I'm about to post and reading the article is not that great. But, I love this article from the New York Times about my home town and our new president. While the likelihood of my moving back there is not great, Chicago owns a big part of my heart, and the city itself- the nature and character of that beautiful place and the people in it have shaped me and are a part of my blood. So I'm posting the link here.

The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

Our first date.

All I Want for Christmas Is You...

I don't know if you knew this about me, but I'm not married. Not even close.

Surprisingly, this fact about me is one that people like to interrogate me about during the holiday season. And I'm not alone in this, single young people everywhere live in a defensive state at holiday parties, dodging the questions related to this topic. Although it's hard to imagine in what universe the question "why aren't you married yet?" could be asked with anything less than malicious intent, it still gets asked, time and time again. Generally followed with an honest and well-intentioned "but I just don't understand!" I usually smile and shrug while silently thinking "Me neither lady, I'm a catch. But you're not helping right now." And to those of us that are at the ripe old age of 24, too old to still be single seems a bit of a stretch.

Anyways. The holidays less than discreetly remind me of this fact, questions from friends and relatives aside. I am not married. Nor am I in a relationship leading to such a union. I am oh-so-(begrudgingly)-single.

So at this point in this post, I'm sure you're all just on the edge of your seats waiting to find out if I'm going to spill who it is that I, in fact, want for Christmas. No, No. I don't give that kind of information up so easily. (part of the problem? maybe. willing to open that can of worms at this moment? no way jose.)

All I want for Christmas is you, French Blue KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer. Now, I am aware that to many of you, the connection between my current status as a Miss rather than a Mrs. has little if anything to do with my Christmas wish for a mixer. But it does.

You see, my mother hates shopping. Like, more than hates it. She probably abhors it, or some other strong synonym for hate. She always has. It's like torture for her, a punishment of some kind. Upon finding this out, many people wonder where in the world I came from. I just assume that I like it enough to compensate for the both of us. I love it. I wanna marry shopping. So, every year, as long as I can remember, I've come up with what I want for Christmas and pointed Sue in the right direction. This works for both of us, since I am a relatively picky person, embarrassingly known to be a bit of a returner; and she can then just run in and out of the specific store she needs to at the least busy time possible to grab what she needs. It's even gone so far as the handing over of the credit card for me to shop for Mom, Dad, brothers, and myself. Fun for me, and such a relief to her that everybody wins.

So a few of weeks ago I was thinking about Christmas and gave Sue a call.

Me: "Hey mom, so, you know how I'm not married?"
Mom: "Yes, Maggie. I do know that about you..."
Me: "Well, I've been thinking about Christmas."
Mom: "Ummm...Okay..."
Me: "I want a KitchenAid mixer. And since I'm not married and can't register for one, I want one for Christmas. Just because I'm single doesn't mean I should also be denied the pleasure of making cookies and bread and mashed potatoes..."
Mom: "Oh Yeah? We'll see."

***(I wanted one a couple of years ago, and she told me that's the kind of thing, like nice pots and pans, matching dishes, silverware that doesn't bend, etc. that you wait to buy until you get married so you can register for it.)

2 weeks later, a voicemail from Sue: "Hey Mags, It's mom. Listen, I'm at Old Orchard, and I just hate hate hate shopping. I'm not doing it this year. At all. Kyle wants a trip to Colorado and needs a new ski jacket, so that's what he's getting. Dad can just buy himself some stuff from Home Depot like he does every year anyway, and why don't you just go to Williams Sonoma and buy yourself that KitchenAid and we'll just be done with it, okay?"

So, Christmas came early this year. I walked right in there yesterday afternoon and bought her. And she's a beauty. While I'm still attempting to cook with crappy pots and pans and serving dinner to guests on dishes that came from someone's garage and don't match one another let alone the decor of our kitchen, and sometimes I bend the spoon into a right angle while dishing out ice cream, there she is in all her glory, reminding me that single girls can still bake cookies without getting arm cramps. Who knows. Maybe some fresh baked cookies mixed to perfection will be the keys to someone's heart.

The Way That We Mend

I am presently finding myself in a very good place, piecing the bits of my life that had come unraveled back together. Living in and being a part of a community that has just been so visibly shaken and is working now toward healing has led so many of us toward a fresh perspective on how blessed we really are. We are feeling how much we really have, and how so much of it doesn't actually matter at all. This inevitably points us humbly toward what does. People, friends and family matter. Love matters. Memories matter; and faith and gratitude and hope matter.

These things are found in the way that we mend. We surround ourselves with people we love, people who love us. And when we fall, even when we don't have the energy to ask for their help, these people take us by the hand and gently pull us back up onto our feet. We were designed for this. We allow our community, whoever that may be, to surround us; and we mend by embracing hope and gratitude with both arms. Or, if it's our turn, we are the ones doing the surrounding, encouraging, and supporting. It is a beautiful and cyclical, constant giving and taking in relationship that is at the core of what the intended function of the body of Christ is.

There's a Bebo Norman song that I had forgotten about until a couple of weeks ago, when it played at just the right time as I was driving home from the Biltmore Wall around 11 pm. This song, for me, is the kind of song that has those simple and honest lyrics that seem to be an overflow of what is in my own heart. The words that often by their very nature haven't yet been able to make their way intentionally into a prayer, when put to music become more than my prayer. They are the pleading and the answering at the same time. They point me both toward my need for a Healer, and His constant unswerving presence as such.

"Lately you’ve been all blue sky
And I’ve been rain
I don’t mean to bust up your party
With all of my pain

But sometimes my shadows surround me
And you take me in your arms and say

It’s the way we mend
We tear it all down and we’ll start it again
And I don’t know how but you find me where we begin
And that’s just the way, the way that we mend

It’s just that some voices remind me
I’m not strong enough
To put all my demons behind me
And carry this love

But just like an angel of mercy
You take me by my hand and say

It's the way we mend

They’re pouring out
From my mouth
So many words all spoken wrong
But you come alive
And somehow I find my way."

We're All in This Together

I totally cried like a baby while reading this article in Starbucks this morning. What a beautifully written article. It begins to grasp at what it is that makes Westmont the kind of place that our hearts are inextricably bound to, and what it is about the Westmont community that is woven so deeply into our hearts.

Rising From The Ashes

Beauty For Ashes

Last Thursday, as most of you who read this are well aware, fires raged in Montecito. And for all of that night, and the few days that followed, a wide mix of emotions swirled around our community. Mostly, at first, fear and disbelief. Thursday night, as I was glued to the local news coverage of the fire, I watched as this place I've come to call home was being swallowed in fire. Driving back from L.A. Thursday night, I could see my town burning from 40 miles away, and was amazed and terrified at what I saw when I got closer. Flames, large and visible on the riviera, an ominous ring of fire creeping toward people's homes, and ash falling like snow on my windshield. Westmont College, my college, the home that nurtured and challenged and fed and supported me for so many years, being burned. The neighborhoods surrounding, where I'd walked, run, driven countless miles, also on fire. And the homes of the professors that are so much of what makes Westmont so special, burning as well.

Most of us have, at this point, shared our own perspectives, experiences and personal connections to the current tragic state of this Montecito community. Most of us living here know at least a handful of people, of families, who lost everything; and are doing what we can to help. Not surprisingly, the go-to scripture for so many right now in the midst of it all is Isaiah 61:3.

"and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor."

Because our God is a God of love, of goodness and faithfulness, redemption and restoration. And so many of these families know that the Lord gives and takes away, and choose to praise Him in it all, clinging to hope in what looks like nothing but brokenness and ashes.

Where the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Fly

It has never really been a secret that I am an Obama fan. Before he even became a candidate for this election, my "I heart Obama" sticker was proudly displayed on the back window of my car. When he actually began his campaign, though, I took the sticker down. Not because I supported him less, but simply because there was more riding on that bold statement of support now, and I did not have the knowledge about politics, him or the other candidates to be making such a loud statement so early in the game. While I do kind of regret taking the sticker off of my car, I don't regret at all the way that this admittedly long (and excruciating at times) campaign season has peaked my interest and involvement in politics.

I was "hearting" Obama back when he was just a really awesome senator from my home state, doing cool things in my backyard. I read his books, and found myself wishing someone like him could become president one day. Someone bold, with a fresh perspective, who is intelligent and capable of taking the reigns and leading this nation toward positive change. I am an optimist, a believer in good, a dreamer, and a hoper, and I have been moved to care more about what is going on during this election.

I've been moved to engage my mind, my heart, and my beliefs. I've been moved by images of generations of people coming together in this election, demanding change. And I've been even more deeply moved by seeing on the faces of generations of Americans the walls of segregation that have still been shadows in this nation, torn down once and for all. It was a monumental election race, with two highly qualified candidates working hard for the good of this country, for the people of this country. While generally I find politics to be a dirty game that I don't understand well enough to play, there have been enough glimpses of hope in this campaign from both sides, democrat and republican, that have led me to believe those historic words from last night's rally to be true: "yes we can."

Last night, our new president gave a beautiful speech. I felt the excitement and the weight of history being made as I watched my hometown cheer him on. His eloquent, graceful and hopeful words were so fitting for the moment. I am not an incredibly patriotic person, but last night and into this morning, I have been swept up in the beauty and freedom of what this country is, what this means for us historically, and where we are headed as a nation. And I am just plain excited about the change that is coming.

What a Difference a Day Makes

Life is good.

Candy cane Joe-Joes are on the shelves at Trader Joes.

Red cups are back. Red cups filled with peppermint mochas and gingerbread lattes (and even though they changed the names on me, the sentiment is the same). If I wasn't in a season of life where I was craving a little change, a little seasonal change around me, I might find it too early for the holidays to start creeping in. But right now they are totally welcome old friends. Although, really, lets be honest. I've never been one to think that the holidays creep up too soon. I am a sucker for the Christmas season, and I'm willing to squeeze out every last minute of it.

Also I've found that there are seasons in southern California, if you are looking. Trees here do change. Not with the same overwhelming, awe-inspiring beauty of the midwest, but you can find them around certain neighborhoods. Or go to the valley.


And the air does get crisp. And boots, scarves and jackets can be worn sometimes out of necessity, not just fashion.

It has even rained here for a couple of days. Hard. Beautiful and perfect. The rain has brought with it days of heavy, low, and dark rain clouds that have been spectacular. It's like God knew that I needed to be reminded that while 300 or so days out of the year life in Santa Barbara pretends to be sunny and perfect and too good to be true, it doesn't always need to be like that. Sometimes we need cloudy rainy days and cold days, they're good for us. Good for our soil and our hearts.

And my friends are wonderful. Not that I was ever doubting this, but many of them, this week, in their own ways, have reminded me subtly why it is next to impossible for me to leave this place.

I got free coffee for voting, twice. Voting is a privilege in and of itself and doesn't need to be rewarded, but I'll take free stuff!

I had my first meeting with my advisor for my thesis and am really looking forward to working on it, more than I would have thought. My research will be interesting, and I will be contributing in ways that matter to a project that I think is fascinating and important.

And my garden is flourishing. A little picture of life, of change, of hope, when I look out there and see what used to just be tiny seeds now thriving and becoming what God intended them to be. Peas and carrots and onions and lettuce...

In short, currently, I am grateful. Very much so.

And, if it's posssible, I'm thankful that I feel so full of gratitude. It's a nice place to be. I'd like to set up camp here for a while.

There's Beauty in the Breakdown

Saturday was the breakdown. I think I've had it coming.

I'm not going into all the details of what broke me, just that I've spent the last few days broken.

But there's so much beauty in that place. More often than not, crying and brokenness result in comfort and a reassembly of the pieces, better than they were before.

Last night as my professor was praying for us before class, a tear that I didn't even know I had left escaped from my eye.

"Lord, we are fragile. We know You hold our lives in Your capable hands. But sometimes we think we'd rather take them back; and in doing so, often we break. Pick up the pieces of our scattered lives, comfort us, keep us, hold us, and help us to rest in Your faithful and guiding hands."

That's all, really. I'm kind of hurting and sad, and I'm pretty confused and frustrated, but I'm also oh so grateful. There is beauty in the breakdown, if you're willing to see it.

Something's Gotta Give

If you didn't already know, I've been in a bit of a tug of war recently with time. Not even necessarily just in terms of quantity or quality of time. I think I am in a wrestling match and it's me-my hopes and imagination and anxiety, versus the entire concept of time. I can't slow it down, speed it up, fast forward or rewind, pause, erase... Yes, apparently I want TiVo time. Do I have some deep seated control issues? More than probably.

But I know I have enough time. The problem, I'm realizing, is deeper than that. I'm not entirely convinced that I am presently using all of that time very well. Or much of it, really. I've spent the last few weeks convincing myself that my dissatisfaction with the way I use my time is a byproduct of my circumstances, with a "this too shall pass" kind of attitude. Not a good plan. I don't want my life to just happen to me while I wait, watching it fly by. As Iris puts - yes, in the Holiday - "you're supposed to be the leading lady in your own life."

I don't want to wait for my life to be easier to do well. I just want to pull myself up by my own bootstraps and live a life that I am proud to call my own. I want to be joyful and celebratory. I want to love the people in my life the way they deserve to be loved. Give them my full attention, and my best attention. I want to write notes, take naps, study hard, keep my house clean and my car washed and my garden watered. I want to cook healthy and delicious meals, make time for long walks and morning quiet times. I want to bloom where I have been planted, and I need to live generously, simply, gently, and faithfully.

I don't know when I started this pattern of sometimes being no more than a passive spectator of what's happening around me. But I do know that something's gotta give here.

Here's to Buoyancy...

"buoys never sink they just bob around"

-bumper sticker

I was driving home from school yesterday, trying to think about anything other than crawling directly into bed to nurse the constant cough I have which is a result of a dirty case of bronchitis. Luckily, I had the pleasure/distraction/annoyance of driving behind a big, beautiful F350 with a bumper sticker proudly displaying the above (bizarre) statement.

I spent a solid 30 minutes behind this guy on the 118, racking my brain for some sort of deeper meaning. I made sure to get a good look to see if it was from a store, or something. Not as far as I could tell. So what the heck does this mean?! "Buoys never sink they just bob around." Seriously. I've googled it. Nothing. I tried to figure out if it was from a movie or anything. It's making me crazy. Well, no; I'll probably forget about it tomorrow.

But I'd at least like to come up with a good hypothesis as to what would make one display this so proudly across their bumper. Honestly. Any thoughts?!?!

I Just Want to Dance With You

I couldn't not put this up. It just made me so happy.

If You Ain't Lovin, You Ain't Livin

"As we grow
older
and realize

more clearly

the limits of

human happiness,

we come to see

that the only

real and

abiding

pleasure

in life

is to give

pleasure

to

other
people."

-P.G. Wodehouse

I had lunch with a friend yesterday and we spent a solid couple of hours talking about relationships; our failures and shortcomings, insecurities, laziness and lack of effort, hopes, dreams and my frustration with my general inability to be the person I'd hoped to be when it comes to loving well. We vented, questioned, and extended challenges. We listened to one another, defended ourselves, and theorized about the greater cultural and societal influences and pressures that have made us the way we are.

At one point he just paused to gather his thoughts for a moment and then said "I mean, I hope that grad school is the most selfish time of our lives." I sincerely hope not. I mean, I completely understand his point. I have never before been required to think so much about me in my life. But as a person bent toward selfishness anyway, I hope that the most selfish time of my life is behind me. I hope that I will be able to not just do well in these classes as far as grades and career recommendations are concerned. I hope and pray that I'll absorb this stuff. I hope that I take to action this practice and these theories of good and healthy problem solving, communicating, risk taking, healing, listening, forgiving, loving and loving well.

Mostly his comment struck me because, presently, my life is all about me; and I'm actually scared of what would happen if I were to really truly completely open up to the idea of sharing it with someone, anyone, else. But, worse, it scares me more not to.

I've opened up the big fat pandora's box of thinking about the level of self-involvement currently seeping into every area of my life. Which begs the inevitable: "So, what are you going to do about it?"

I have no freaking clue. I'll have to get back to you. But I promise I'm thinking about it.

Tonight I'll Be Lonely Too

I have a lot of friends. And I really don't say that in an effort to convince myself that people like me, or to brag about how popular and awesome I am. It's just true. I have a lot of friends.

This is something that I generally enjoy and am thankful for. Occasionally, like 2 percent of the time, I wish I had fewer friends simply because it makes me sad to think about all the things I miss due to the fact that I can't hang out with and keep in close contact with everyone I've ever met and loved nearly as often as I'd like. But I'm coming to realize that the nature of adult friendships is just different than the nature of live-with-you-and-spend-every-waking-minute-with-you camp or college friends. This is good and healthy, and I think I am finally coming to terms with it. If I love you and care about you, and you love and care about me, and we make every effort to remind each other that we have not totally forgotten one another even though we may not live in the same place anymore or have crazy schedules and responsibilities that prevent us from seeing or calling each other as often as we'd like, we're still friends and will remain friends.

On Saturday though, I might as well have been a total loner who lives in a van down by the river or something and not the social butterfly I have always known myself to be. You think I'm overreacting? It's possible, but not likely.

I don't often find myself feeling lonely, so it's not an emotion that I handle very well.

It took me a little while to identify it, but on Saturday afternoon, loneliness overwhelmed me. All of my friends had totally legit reasons for not being able to hang out with me when I called them. Dinner with sisters or friends from out of town, spouse birthday dinners, church events, they were out of town...

Now, it is not uncommon for me to spend a Friday or Saturday night at home alone in my pajamas doing homework, watching a movie, painting my nails, cooking, reading the newest Real Simple, or cleaning by choice. I actually love this. I am a homebody for sure. But when loneliness begins to creep in (and it does frequently try) I generally kick it's butt right out of there by calling a good friend to chat or meet me for coffee or go to dinner with me or something. It almost always works; even despite my serious lack of a husband or boyfriend or dog (read: constant loyal companion...).

But being alone on a Saturday night when it's not by choice is an open invitation for loneliness to come on over and set up camp for the evening. And it did just that.

I realized quickly that I already lost the battle and loneliness was going to be my stubborn companion for the evening so I surrendered my fight around 4:30 p.m. I submitted and consequently could not get Allison Krauss' "Tonight I'll be Lonely, Too" out of my head for a good thirty minutes or so.

But I think it was good for me.

I am undoubtedly a glass-is-half-full rose colored glasses optimist. In a strange way, when my short bout with loneliness ended only a few hours later, I kind of missed it.

It felt good to be lonely for a little while. To let myself just be sad for a little bit and be reminded that even though I am often good enough company for myself, I long for the fullness and richness of relationship in the deepest parts of my heart. Missing my friends, even the ones I had seen as recently as earlier that morning, served to remind me that I am so grateful for good friends. And longing to one day be married, feeling a momentary incompleteness without that kind of relationship in my life was okay for a few hours. It made me feel alive and hopeful and capable of loving.

Allowing myself to be lonely for a little bit reminded me, too, of the love and comforting presence of God. As a seminary student, I sometimes get temporarily stuck in some of the technical and academic parts of doing theology and reading about experiencing God. But in the raw moments, when I'm curled up in bed on a Saturday afternoon wanting to have a small pity party for myself, God is there. He is there as a Father whose warmth and comforting presence is welcome and undeniable.

Time, Time, Time

Sometimes I get antsy.

I feel like I often find myself waiting for all kinds of things in my young adult life. Waiting to graduate from Westmont. Waiting for the right job, or to feel right in any job. Waiting to get into graduate school. Waiting to start, and now, waiting to finish graduate school. Waiting for my heart to break, and waiting for my heart to heal. Waiting for summer, or fall, or winter, or summer again. Waiting for love. Waiting for a place I live to feel like home. Waiting to see my family or friends after it's been too long. Waiting to be pursued. Waiting for the next episode of Private Practice or Gossip Girl. Waiting to fit into my skinny jeans. Waiting for my nail polish to dry or the stoplight to turn green.

Generally, I find myself feeling like I either have too much time, or not enough time. (Not enough time to sleep, get ready for work, read, pray, study, exercise, cook...)

There is a Celtic saying (yes, I came across this little gem on a Good Earth tea bag)..."when God made time, He made enough of it."

I'd like to believe this with my whole heart and mind, all the time. I think I'm officially making this my new M.O. When God made time, He made enough of it. It's so simple, really. Of course God made just the right amount of time. Next time you find me complaining about where I am on the spectrum of impatient to hyper-stressed, please remind me that I have enough time. And remind me to use it well.

Like Coming Home

A throwback to September 2005...
...And October 2008 at the Kougar's wedding...

I just got back from spending the weekend in Ashland, Oregon for Kacey's wedding. A college roommate and beloved friend, her friendship and the girls that come with it represent (and will always) what friendship at it's very best should be.

With Katie and Kylea, Kacey, Elyse, Hilary and Shannon, I am at home. I may not necessarily feel like Santa Barbara is home yet, or that Glenview is home anymore, nor do I even feel at home in my own skin sometimes...but with my friends I am home. They can make me laugh harder than anyone else, and we have walked through some of the toughest times of our lives together. They make sitting around in pajamas at 3 in the afternoon watching smutty tv with bottomless coffee cups seem like the most fun activity in the world, can eat with the best of 'em, dance, sing, cry, hug, tease, wake up early, joke, encourage, and take whipped cream shots like no one else I know. I can't believe it's been two years since we have all been together. Although we most definitely missed Shannon and all the Shannon-ness that she brings to the group, I could not have been happier to spend four days doing the things we do best, with the girls I do life best with.

As if my cup does not overflow already (right Hil?!) with these six characters, there are a handful of others who fill my heart with light and life and love, without whom I would not be completely who I am. And I needed to be reminded of that this week. Leaving Ashland, I was sad to see everyone heading in different directions to the different places we currently call home, but overwhelmed with gratitude at the fact that I get to keep Hil with me in Santa Barbara. While we are stretched across the map, and the times we get to spend all together are growing depressingly less frequent due to busy busy adult lives, I can see Hil pretty much whenever I want to, and for that piece of sanity I am increasingly thankful. I have fabulous roommates and friends in Santa Barbara and people like Becky who come to stay for long visits. When Becky comes it's like a 2 (or 3 or 5...) day party/therapy session. She knows me and listens to me and encourages me and speaks truth into my life like very few others are capable of. And there's Emily. The old faithful, despite the fact that the majority of our friendship has been done distance style, we have always made one another a priority. The way she views the world and the passion she has for life and what she will do with it and the love she shows to those around her are just a couple of items on the long list of things I admire about her. Taking full advantage of my long commute to and from school, I have rarely been as thankful for my cell phone as I was on Tuesday, as we were able to talk as if we were not in different time zones and be present in the big and small things of our adult lives in ways that matter.

This week, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for these friendships.

I could not imagine life without them, but am pleased that I do not have to. Because life without them is just not an option. These friends, these mirrors and roots and shoulders to cry on and comedians to rely on are as much a part of me as my own hands and feet and heart.

Two People in Love is a Beautiful Thing

It is officially wedding season. Yes, summer is wedding season as far as the time of year is concerned, but right now, it is wedding season in my life. Well, not in my life per se (an issue reserved for later posts, I'm sure...) but in this mid-twenties time of life, weddings weddings weddings are everywhere.

I spent last weekend in Ashland Oregon to celebrate Kacey's wedding. The wedding itself was stunning, Kacey was the picture of a blushing bride- happy, at peace, and simply glowing all weekend (unless she was thinking about the weather, which I am pleased to say, did in fact cooperate quite perfectly, despite the forecasts). The ceremony and reception took place at a "friend's" house/pear orchard and was perfect in every way. It was so Kacey, and it was so fun to be there and be a part of such a blessed day.

When Kacey met Alan, she was pretty much sold from the get-go. Since the two of them live in Boise, the wedding weekend was the first time I actually met Alan, so I was thankful for the opportunity to spend some time with him and his friends and family, getting a feel for who this man is that has brought such love and life to my dear friend. I was more than impressed, and overwhelmed with joy at seeing Kacey so happy, so in love, and so loved back. Seeing them together was, truly, a beautiful thing.

Better Together

A few weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to be able to celebrate the marriage of two of my dearest friends. There are not words for the place Josiah holds in my heart, kind of like a little brother, big brother, jester and dear friend all rolled into one, in the best way. Trust me, this is a wonderful combination. To know Josiah and to have the privilege of his friendship is a special honor. Among all of us girls he has always been known to be quite a catch, if only he could find that "special lady" who would bear gracefully the whole package of Jos.

Jess is more than a special lady. More than the special lady we'd been hoping Josiah would find. She came into my life a little later than Jos, but I knew instantly that we would be dear friends. We traveled Europe together (a great way to build a foundation for friendship), and have since committed to treasured weekly coffee, happy hour, or dessert outings with Robin and Karli. Over the years, Jess has challenged me, encouraged me, and impressed me with her kind and patient heart, humble spirit, and graceful way of doing life.

Two of my favorite individuals in life have found and committed their lives to love one another and I believe, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are so much better together.

What a joy it was to be present for the beginning stages of the relationship, watching two of my friends find interest in one another, and then to watch their love grow in strength and commitment. How exciting it was to walk with Jess through the wedding planning process, and to see a new side of my friend Josiah through her eyes, and to be so proud and humbled to witness even a small piece of the love the two of them share. I have never been more moved in a wedding ceremony, as the two of them knelt before the Lord, in front of their friends and family, and promised to love one another faithfully and completely-placing this love in the hands of the One who brought them together and blesses and keeps them.

Aristotle was the first to acknowledge in his general metaphysics principle of Holism that in any given system, the whole is more than the sum of its parts. A husband plus a wife does not equal a married couple. And God intended for it to be this way. Together, they are more. Together, hopefully, as with Jess and Josiah, they are better.

Time Marches On

Yesterday was my first day back at school. Aside from the anxiety I experienced at being called in for jury duty in Santa Barbara on the very same morning of my first day of classes in Pasadena, I was not nervous about the first day of school as I always have been in school years past. Once the Jury Duty situation was straightened out...and by straightened out I mean: Once I agreed to "fulfill my duty" by coming in during the kindly suggested week of my winter break to avoid the woman's promise/threat of "sheriffs at my front door."

*note: I wrote a paragraph of significant length expressing my frustration with the jury duty system on many levels, but a) I did not want to appear on this blog as an unhappy, unhelpful, bitter citizen unwilling to fulfill my duty or do my part to support everyones right to a fair trial and b) what if these said "enforcers of the (oppressive) system that is jury duty" read my blog? I can only imagine the repercussions...Alas, I was satisfied to vent my frustrations and then delete them.

Moving on. Once the situation was handled, I was able to settle into my fall routine, which I think is going to be fabulous. The drive down to Fuller only took an hour and a half, leaving me time to stop by Whole Foods before heading to the bookstore to pick up the books I wasn't able to get on Half.com. I settled in for two hours of Research Methods and listened to my professor try to convince me that I don't hate statistics- I just think I do. Well, I know that I stink at math (ask Hilary how long it takes me to add up simple scrabble scores), but I do like interesting research and am actually really looking forward to this class. It will be incredibly helpful in the inevitable loads of research that are in my future, and I think that with practice I will not be bad at it and might actually enjoy it.

Tuesday afternoons are going to be wonderful once classes are actually underway. I have a five hour break in the afternoon during which I will have plenty of time to read for class and work on assignments, which means less work at home and on weekends (woot). Yesterday, however, I had five hours to kill and no money to shop with so I took myself to a movie. I know a lot of people think I am strange for loving going to movies alone, but I think I actually prefer it to going with others. Especially when I see movies like Nights In Rodanthe, the choice for yesterday's matinee. It was my favorite kind of movie, full of breathtaking scenery, an incredibly dramatic, passionate, beautiful love story (in true Nocholas Sparks form), a romantic storm, love letters, an east coast clam bake, slow dancing on the pier under the stars... I mean, come on. If that's not a recipe for a great Tuesday-afternoon-movie-alone, I don't know what is. I cried (not just teared up, but cried) at least three times. Thankfully I had an hour and a half to drink a cup of coffee and recover from the emotional rollercoaster that was this movie and to daydream about the kind of love that filled my head and heart for the past two hours before heading to my evening class.

Oh, my evening class. Family Systems Dynamics. Maybe I am a total nerd, but I think really I just know that I am so lucky to be studying something I am so interested in and excited about. Three hours of lecture flew by, I even enjoyed reading through the syllabus! I'm going to get to do this stuff! Read this stuff! Learn this stuff! When I first studied systems theory in Interpersonal Communication my junior year at Westmont I remember thinking "gosh, I could read about this all day and not get bored." This was the beginning of my interest in finding a discipline that would provide me with a reason to study the complexities of human relationships and to find a career that would celebrate the depth and uniqueness, the beauty and the struggles that come with loving deeply and weaving your life together with another. Family Systems Dynamics is foundational to the study of Marriage and Family Therapy, and is a framework for viewing, studying, and working with other theories-just as I believe our relational systems are foundational to all we are and do.

Of course, being the first day of class, a history and overview of the devlopment of a systems approach to psychotherapy was given. While I'm tempted to like copy my notes onto this page every week because I think everyone should get the priviledge of hearing this stuff, I will spare you that and just share my favorite little nugget from last night's class. Human systems are dynamic, open systems. External factors are constantly coming into play. You cannot predict what will happen to you, what will change you. I cannot predict what I will hear or read that will change my perspective, alter my course. I cannot predict who will touch my life, move my soul, and stir my passion. I have no idea now what or who will challenge me, encourage me, love me, hire me, fire me, call me wife or mother or boss or loser. This life is full of surprises and twists and turns and road blocks and blessed detours bringing us to the very place that God created us for every single day.

I'd Like to Have That One Back

That day that I watched about 5 hours of old friends episodes on DVD. Okay, there were about 6 or more of those days this summer. I'd like to have those ones back.

Also, that other day(s) when the only thing I did all night was watch HGTV. Hours of Spice up my Kitchen, Property Virgins, Moving Up, House Hunters...

Or the long hours upon hours spent at the beach doing nothing but playing volleyball and working on my tan. They were great ones, but yeah, most of those ones too.

Of course all the hours on facebook. I'd like to have those hours back, if you don't mind.

Oh, and the hours spent at happy hour after work. Right now, I'd like to reclaim a lot of those hours as well, thank you.

Right, and those Saturdays where I let my obsessive compulsive tendencies get the best of me and cleaned every inch and corner of my house for hours. Can I have those too?

I'm going to need as many hours and minutes as I can get over the next week and a half. I made a brilliant decision during registration back in May to take three independant study courses this summer. Sounded great at the time. Full load? No problem. Independant study? Piece of cake, what could be better. Work full time on top of it? Sure! I thought to my naive, glass is always half full, beginning of the summer self.

All of the hours I'd like to reclaim right now were, at the time (and even now when I step outside of my current to-do list), time well wasted. But inside of my to-do list is where I'm currently standing, and from here, I'm going to need to go ahead and take those hours back. The next nine days are going to actually need to be 36 hours long, thanks God. I appreciate your help on this one.

I was on top of so much of my reading this summer, for the most part. I read some great books, took some good notes, listened to a few lectures. I did enough to deceive myself into believing that come this time of the summer quarter, I'd be fiiiiiine. Oops.

I realized last Monday that I was looking at a total of five papers, each written on books I was relatively close to having completed reading, although one of those papers was to be fifteen pages long. Did I mention that that one was on a book I had, as of last Monday, yet to order on Amazon? Got right on that, almost done reading it now, actually. Perfect. Also on the to-do list are three two hour essay exams as well. I know, you're jealous. Thankfully I became a hermit last weekend and didn't leave the house Friday night but just sat and toiled like a good little grad student, left twice Saturday to get coffee, and once Sunday to say goodbye to my pastor who is moving to Oregon, and was able to complete three of the short papers and fully prepare for and take one essay exam. Yes, I would like a cookie and a gold star, thanks.

So that leaves me with nine days to finish reading three books, write a fifteen page paper, edit the last of the short papers, and sufficiently prepare for and complete two essay exams. Sounds manageable enough, for real. I can do that. Add into the equation though working 40 hour weeks, two of my favorite people in the world coming to visit this weekend, and a fabulous wedding celebration on Sunday celebrating two of my closest friends getting married to each other (what could be better?!) and we've got a bit of a time crunch situation on our hands.

So, even though wasting time well is one of my favorite things about the extra long summer days (and one of my spiritual gifts year round, I think), right now I'd like to have some of those hours that were so sweet in the moment back to use more productively.

Count Me In

I confess.

I am not as good at blogging as I would have hoped.

Maybe it takes a while to get into a groove. Maybe it takes a while for the pressure of the posting process to wear off.

But I am still in the awkward beginning phases of this relationship. I mean, I really, truly enjoy it. I look forward to it. I think more often than ever before about writing; I actually think that the way I see the world has shifted a bit.

I swear, I have interesting thoughts all day long. Thoughts that I think you, my loyal readers, would be intrigued, enlightened, fascinated and entertained by. I come up with funny or insightful titles to things I would like to write about. At my desk at work, I often find myself literally lost in thoughts, questions, stories, musings, which I would like to commit to writing. Writing has a way of making me stop and appreciate things through language on an even deeper level. It frees me to come up with words to relish in the simple things that happen each day which make life worth celebrating and being thankful for. Except for the fact that when I sit down to post on this here site, a self monitor that I am not very familiar with comes out and I am hesitant to post.

I am reading a book right now for my Narrative Therapy class by Harlene Anderson called Conversation, Language, and Possibilities. I love this book, I love her perspective on human relationship and understanding, and I hope to be the kind of therapist that she is someday. So the book is all about how we construct meaning in our lives primarily through conversation (parts of it remind me a bit of something we may have read in Rhetoric, but with a significant amount more emphasis on the therapeutic process). We live storied lives with one another and find meaning, worth, healing, love, anger and everything in between through language and conversation. We gain understanding as we enter into conversation about things, whether those words are used to create an inner monologue or a dialogue with a trusted friend, spouse, therapist, or stranger on the street.

She makes a distinction between being transparent and being public in what we choose to reveal and share of ourselves- of our wonderings and fears, thoughts, speculations, opinions, everything. She says "I choose to use the word public rather than transparent...because I do not think that another person can see through us or we through him or her. Rather, we can only see what we choose to show the other." And this I think is so true. We choose what we share, and we present to others what we want them to see of us. Sometimes this comes so natural we don't even think twice about sharing pieces of ourselves. Other times it feels like such a vulnerable nakedness.

So, I self monitor when I blog.

I get nervous. I become self-conscious because things seem so permanent when they are in writing and I begin to feel incredibly uninteresting- or at least incapable of letting the interesting and insightful and funny out eloquently, which is maybe worse.

But you know what they say about practice. So I'm working on it.

It Just Comes Natural

My dear friend Hilary teaches me things constantly, I think.

Granted, she is a teacher, in the most literal sense of the word-sixth grade actually. But in her spirit, in her soul, she is a teacher. She is a teacher with her gentle words, with the humble grace with which she goes about her day to day life, and with her steady and constant encouragement and love for her family and friends, a loyalty and love which I daily count myself blessed to be the recipient of. She is grounded in a faith that is both childlike and mature, a delicate balance that isn't always easy to pull off, but is a beautiful example of how I think God wants us to live.

She is the kind of teacher that, if I were a parent, I would daily feel privileged to have molding and shaping the mind and character of my precious child.

So, to my friend, on her first day of school, which happens to fall on a Tuesday, as it should. I am thankful for you, amazed by you, and so proud of you. You get out there do what you were made for, in animal print! Go Getter.

Always Never The Same

I took a few classes (any that I could, really) during my time at Westmont with Mandy Ream, who was one of my favorite professors of all time. She was young and witty, incredibly insightful and passionate, and helped me to fall in love with the study of interpersonal communication. Her classes set the stage for my future studies of people and what makes relationships (of any kind) work (or not work). Something that she would say in class that has stuck with me was "to know me is to know..." fill in the blank. It's silly, really, that I remember her saying this in class after all these years, and after all of the other valuable things that I learned sitting in her classroom, but I do, and find myself using those words sometimes, and thinking fondly of Mandy, wondering what she and her firefighter husband are up to these days... I digress.

So. To know me is to know that I love country music; almost all country music, really, but George Strait is kind of the big one. He pretty much gets me every time. In the soundtrack to my life, especially my daydreams, much of the music would come from George. Or Alan Jackson, Gary Allan, Kenny Chesney, Sugarland...

















My life is not, on a day to day basis, all that similar to any of these songs that live so comfortably in my heart and play so religiously on my ipod. But I indulge freely and regularly in daydreams of wide open spaces, Texas sunsets, cowboys, porch swings, sweet love stories, dramatic heartbreak, reckless love, and people of who live passionately and say what they feel; simple southern summer nights filled with romance and cowboys and honkeytonks and margaritas... I allow these songs to transport me to a world I don't mind living in for a while in the least bit.

I suppose that what I might as well say is "to know me is to know that I am a hopeless romantic."

And that I'm a sucker for a good country love song.

You should check out my movie collection.

But, I'm okay with that.

George Strait has an album called "Always Never the Same," from which I borrowed the title to this site. I like that, always never the same; and I think it's a good name for a place where I am attempting to make sense of some of the questions and dreams and thoughts and hopes swirling around in my head and heart during this mid-twenties season. From jobs, to houses, to relationships, ideas, passions, and feelings, my life as a twenty-something seems to be always never the same, and I kind of love it.

Granted, on a not so great day, I am worn out and exhausted by all the change. I yearn for something stable and constant. I find myself feeling like I am struggling to keep my head above water while others around me are settling into happy marriages, with homes that they are building, and babies and puppies and stable jobs...

And then there are the other kind of days. Those are the days that I find myself bursting at the seams, celebrating every glorious moment of the life that God has blessed me with. This kind of day I spend time in places I love, with people I love, my heart at peace. I wear my favorite dresses which all have pockets, and I eat the food I love and everything tastes better and looks brighter and feels fuller. These are the days where I believe with everything in me that the God that I worship and love is a God who holds my life preciously in His hands. That He is sovereign and He is good, and He is constant. While my life seems so often to be a big fat crazy mess, He is smiling on my exhausted efforts to put together the pieces when He already knows where they all go. He sees the whole picture and blesses it. And some days, I am able to rest in knowing that.

A Better Rain

This morning was one of those mornings that makes me wonder why I ever think that an extra hour of sleep could possibly be better for me than getting up early to take a walk by the ocean. The harbor in Santa Barbara is one of those places like the Biltmore Wall at sunset or the Elegant Farmer on a summer afternoon that for reasons I don't really understand, makes me feel incredibly happy, joyful really, thankful for what I've got and where I'm at, and comforted no matter what life is currently throwing my way. This particular morning was a glorious one.

More often than not, the sky in Santa Barbara is clear and blue. This morning though, the sky was one of my favorite kind of skies, lingering with rain. It kind of rained last night. At least, before dinner with friends I felt a little bit of that silly Santa Barbara rain that you can hardly feel because maybe a raindrop hits you every thirty seconds or so. At which point I actually even allowed myself for a moment to get excited about the possibility of a warm summer storm. A good summer storm is a rarity in Santa Barbara, an idea left now mostly just to nostalgic summer-in-the-midwest memories along with lightning bugs and early morning barefooting on a glassy lake and fresh berry pie, preferably baked in a brown bag and topped with ice cream. Things that I wish my summers in California could be full of. (Although, I am aware that Santa Barbara does have it's own fair share of summertime perks.)

The part of the sky over the ocean was dark with rainclouds on their way out to the islands, which caused the water to reflect in such a way that I could barely tell where the horizon line was. The sky and ocean appeared to be a seamless wash of a delicious hue of grey-lavender and a golden color that stopped me in my tracks and left me speechless for a moment. Latte in hand, I let my heart and mind wander and my eyes, ears and nose take in every bit of that harbor morning. The sun, the clouds, the colors, the salty harbor air mixed with the smell of rain, and the other happy morning risers out to greet and celebrate this good day. I felt my crazy, busy life slow down for a moment so that I could gain my footing and take a deep breath, breathing in appreciation for some of the day to day blessings that make up my life. Kind of like God gave me a time out. Not a misbehaving toddler being sent to the corner kind of time out, I'm going for the sports analogy here. Like, just a quick breather, a moment to gather my thoughts, refocus, and then continue on my merry way. This time, though, a little more hopeful, joyful and thankful in my soul for this life that in all of it's messiness is still filled with beauty and grace and goodness.

Write This Down

True confession: This is not the first blog I have started. Turns out I have a nasty habit of starting things of this nature, and then failing miserably. Maybe not miserably, but failing nonetheless. Kind of reminds me of the Friends episode, you know, the one with all the new years resolutions, and Rachel had resolved the previous year to keep a diary. Monica goes and retrieves said diary in order to illustrate the point that Rachel cannot keep a resolution, and reads it outloud. It reads something along the lines of "Dear Diary, my new years resolution is to write in you every day! See you tomorrow!"...then, NOTHING. So maybe I'm not that bad.

Generally, when I start a new journal, I put forth a valiant effort. I keep lists of things that I am thankful for, I keep track of prayer requests. I even manage to fill the first ten or so pages of my most recently purchased moleskin with a few days worth (I think a few times I've even gone a month or two) of incredibly interesting observations that I've made about my life and those around me, wisdom beyond my years, ranting and raving about life's frustrations, quotes, desperate pleas with God to answer my prayers, lingering thoughts or goals for the future...then, NOTHING.

So I suppose that the "glass is half full" perspective on this journaling situation would be that at least I keep trying, right? I mean, if at first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again? Well, yes. But I think it is important to remember that if I keep trying the same tactics, with little or no motivation to do a better job this next time around, I will continue failing at my journaling efforts, and killing innocent trees in the process. Alas, I enter the blogosphere.

Ideally this "blog" (a word which I will have to get used to, and don't yet take seriously) will be a place for me to reflect on my life and my world as I see it, and will also be a magical place of commitment. I assume that (once I actually tell people that I have a blog), the added pressure of not letting my loyal readers and fans down (probably Laura, Hilary, and Emily, if I'm lucky...) will add to my ability to commit to this place.

So, here's to blogging!