yuletide

This Christmas has felt a little...uncomfortable? Like, homemade gifts but somehow Tan and I aren’t giving each other anything. There’s so much sentiment in every moment and lingering fatigue always lining it. Inadequacy feels like the demon dogging every step.

That inadequacy makes my culture clash with my faith. Americans are adequate. We’re the best, the most independent, the most self-sufficient. And yet God wants me to be dependent on His strength, because the job He has for me is not able to be completed with human ability. I wonder if the constant awareness of inadequacy is a blessing or a curse.

So I guess we move forward into the New Year, we keep trusting, and we keep knowing God’s way will be the way.

hello again

I have written and rewritten a post called "hello again" almost every week this month, and it never seems to say what I want it to say. This post is going to say none of those things whatsoever.

Tanner and I visited Wisconsin for Thanksgiving, and I had the chance to talk to his Aunt Jody. She talked about his grandmother (her adoptive mother) and how she poured her heart into her grandchildren. She talked about the deep sorrow that always seemed to be present in Grandma's heart, despite the space it shared with a love for God and and joy overflowing from family. She told me that I have Grandma's spirit.

Now, obviously, she doesn't mean reincarnation, because I was in my late teens, early twenties (I think) when she died.  She meant that our souls were made of the same stuff. We are both proof that sorrow and joy are not opposites, that both can thrive in one's heart soil, that love has nothing and everything to do with grief. Grandma was a poet, an amateur artist, a strong heart with perhaps not the thickest skin.

Aunt Jodi asked if Tanner and I want any of Grandma's things before she gets rid of most of it. We asked for her poetry. I want to understand the woman everyone says I remind them of. I want to know the woman that poured so much in the man I married, so maybe I can understand him more. I want to know her, because maybe she will help me know myself.

leaves fall down

Another week of online class, another week close to shorts season being over.  The nights are cold enough for flannel and wool socks; the afternoons retain enough summer for shorts and sunbathing.

I started this post over a week ago. 

Almost all the leaves have fallen. We have had class in person for almost a full week now. It's shocking how swift seasons shift.

Here's a poem that sums up some of my thoughts lately, in case you missed it on my Instagram story:

the good life you know

might not be the good life you have.

i remember

(a phrase i overuse in poetry)

i remember

in the trailer

we didn't have much,

but always enough

for my parents and their friends

to have fondue and play uno

at night

and i

thought, "this is the good life,

the one i'm supposed to chase."

but that belonged to them

and even then

just for a season.

that's the good life i knew,

as opposed to the one i have,

neither meant to last

more than a season.

 

apartment 60 C

 Six months ago, my roommate and I were several weeks deep into mandatory quarantine. Today, Tanner and I are only a few days into yet another forced isolation.  We, thankfully, remain healthy, but our reality feels like a strange limbo.  It seems like every day we are hearing from missionaries who deeply desire to be overseas to begin or continue ministry and they can't go. Travel is apparently virtually impossible in light of Covid. In my small, human mind, the present and future of overseas ministry feels impossible.  People say things like, "When this is over..." but where is their guarantee that this will ever truly be over?

And then our house fills with the light of the rising sun, and a friend tells us that we are going to receive a financial support from their parents this month, and the coffee tastes amazing, and there are so many blessings pushing us forward into ministry that I have to call to remembrance what I know to be true. God has called us to be trained now, not five years past or future.  He cares for every "little picture" detail I notice and controls every "big picture" stroke I cannot fathom.

It is time to be comforted by my inability, rather than pretending I am able on my own. It is time...and yet this change of perspective is overdue. It is time, though I wonder if I will remember tomorrow? God is able to hold me in a place of dependence, I am not.

we look different now

Tan and I recently had the privilege of going to Iowa for our friends’ wedding. Still rocking the buzzed hair.

The combination of mine and Tanner’s hair off of our heads.

My friend Molly and I went on a walk and snapped a selfie.

a billion trillion lights

the stars

are

a billion trillion points of light

visible only to earth at night 

while the sun is not 

and God 

made it so.

the church 

is 

a billion trillion points of light 

visible over thousands of years of time 

while the Son is gone 

and God 

made it so.

so why are the lights flickering?

maybe because it’s darkest before dawn 

maybe because the Son won’t be gone 

much 

longer.

how much 

longer?

new perspectives

 when new people speak into your life, new pathways or connections need to be made in your mind. new realities need to be accepted and considered. new ideas need an opportunity to brew, to be mulled over.  here are some of those thoughts over the past few weeks:

"sometimes God uses people to draw our hearts out, so we can learn, in time, to allow the Holy Spirit to that, just the two of us."  a question that I have carried since childhood is, "why isn't praying enough? why does it feel like I need to talk to people, even after I talk to God?"  the reality is that there are two truths. the first truth is that God has created us in community. the second is that God created our most core desires and needs to be met in Him and Him alone. those two truths together are what make that opening quote to this paragraph relevant. God uses His people to work with each other in the process of becoming totally reliant on Him. that answers my question, but it takes time to mull it over and accept it.

"everyone has been wounded by someone else, and everyone has wounded someone else. no one is an exception."  that reality is devastating to me.  at the very core of who I was made to be, I am disgusted and horrified when faced with the reality that I have wounded others and will continue to do so, accident though it may be, in the future. that's a truth, too, but is God's intent with showing me the truth for me to get stuck on devastation? does He want me to spiral downward in despair?  no! the hope, the purpose, the intent is for me to recognize how and where I wound others and to stop, to apologize, to ask God for help in healing rather than hurting.

i am learning, and it is still a process.

homesick and hospitality

Homesick and hospitality are two words tumbling around my mind quite frequently these days.  I’ve thought about homesickness and I’ve wondered if it’s just the adolescent term for nostalgia. I miss home. I miss the old pattern of inviting people into my parents’ house, where the food is always good (by my estimation) and, while I was technically the host, my parents were largely responsible for the welcoming atmosphere. Even though this does not conclude my thoughts on homesickness, it is a rather seamless segue into hospitality.

A book I’ve been reading recently defines hospitality as providing a place or home for strangers, and the reality is that I want to be the stranger welcomed in. I am nearly crippled by the fear that, if I were to invite strangers in, my home and heart will be rejected. My heart is already home to so many aches (both homegrown and borrowed), the anticipated rejection is lodged in my throat like a stone - incapable of going up or down.

So you see, these two concepts circle each other like cat and dog around my train of thought, the ache for safe familiarity and the fear of being an unwelcomed stranger or an undesirable place for strangers to rest their feet. Jesus, you promised all things would be possible in your strength. I think the problem I’m running into is that my strength seems more accessible. Abba God, I need you. Ruah, spirit of God, move from my heart and mind through my mouth and arms in the strength I only possess through you. Use me to strengthen the people around me. I love you. Your will be done forever and ever.

summer of weddings

while I still haven’t gotten our official wedding pictures back, I thought I would take some time to post a few snapshots from the several weddings I attended this 2020.

In early June, I made the trip to Indiana to be a part of my pal, Hailey’s wedding.



My brother got married mid-June. Gracie, as usual, filled in as my wedding date.





At my own wedding, our preacher ran a little late, so I had to wait in the truck till he arrived!

welcome home

 We (Tanner and I) arrived at the Missionary Training Center in Missouri relatively early last Saturday evening.  To our astonishment, our new home is part of a fourplex - complete with a guest bedroom, one and a half baths, and our very own washer and dryer. After two days of unpacking, and a few more days of settling in, I find myself stumbling around in search of my "sea legs".

Of course, we're nowhere near the sea, but my knees are wobbly and my head is spinning.  This isn't the kind of place where people like me get to sit back and observe the social waters before plunging in headfirst. And this isn't the time when I am allowed to put up a convincing veneer in public, while crumbling emotionally and physically in private.  In private, I'm learning to navigate the winding river of marriage with Tanner.

This year has been a slew of best-laid plans set aside to make way for God's best. And yet, somehow, I still attempt to convince myself that every new struggle or situation needs to be bullied through my way.  Bullying through didn't provide funds for our first year of training.  Bullying through didn't plan our perfect wedding. Bullying through didn't get us moved into our new home.  Bullying through does, however, lead to more than a couple tears, hurt feelings, and misunderstandings.

And so we set out on yet another chapter of God patiently reminding his boneheaded child to hold his hand and trust.

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*before i begin this post, i want to make a promise to you, my dear friend: i will post a photo update about the wedding when i get our photos. i also promise that i am happily married.  now, without further delay, a post about life post-wedding insanity.*

I've started packing boxes with everything inside wrapped in colorful tissue paper.  Why? Because my heart and head were very much held fast by anxiety and fear about moving, organizing, packing...and the Holy Spirit has a way of recapturing the attention that is supposed to be his. 

To be honest, I really only started using tissue paper because I ran out of bubble wrap. Once I was a few minutes into the tissue paper.  A gentle thought crept into my hectic, frazzled mind, "When you unpack, it will almost be like unwrapping presents." Then a quiet moment before the next thought, "How much of your life is a present right now?"

The reality is that so much of my internal monologue lately has been characterized by the words, "have to." Obligation, not liberation, has been my default reason.  How many times have I journaled, blogged, and even pondered this simple truth: perspective matters.  Yet how many times do I forget that truth in its simplicity?

Our kitchen is packed in multi-colored tissue paper.  The list of things that need to be done before we move is ever-growing.  But we have love and grace because God first loved us.  He is the One who has enabled us to move to Missouri this fall, which means He will also allow us to complete every task before us on our way there.  There are no accidents.  There are no trials that come our way by mistake.  Everything is a lesson, a growing pain, a step in a glorious journey.

Perspective matters.

joy

I've been thinking about joy lately.  What does it look like? How do you know someone is feeling it?  Is it a feeling or a state of being or both? Can it co-exist with sorrow, stress, and anxiety? Could someone have the joy of the Lord and not experience it every single moment?

Normally I ask all of these questions, and then I write about what I've learned. This time, I'm still thinking.

I was doing small yoga this morning (that means just a little bit), still wondering about joy, and the only sort of conclusion I've come to is the song my mom used to sing when I was a child.  "The joy of the Lord is my strength. The joy of the Lord is my strength."  Just that one line over and over.

Tanner and I get married in three days.  Maybe it's a bride-zilla thing to say, but the majority of our wedding is not going to look how I began to envision it would in December.  So many last minute decisions need to be made, and I care too much.  My former expectations need so badly to be thrown away, and it's hard work.  But we don't give up, we keep moving forward despite the tears.

I don't know all of the things joy looks like, but I think one of them is strength when things are hard.

jellyfish

when I was 18

my mentor told me I didn’t have a backbone yet

but he hoped I would someday.

I thought that meant I was spineless.

I thought that meant I was a jellyfish.

I thought that meant I couldn’t stand up to anyone

for anyone.

but he really meant there was a difference

between easy-going and a doormat.

he meant he hoped I could get over the guilt of “should be”

to experience the power of “am”,

to acknowledge my character without apologizing.

I am 27.

nine years later, 

and I thought I had a backbone, finally,

but the love of my life

sees my heart riddled with the spikes

of “should”—

I should be stronger

I shouldn’t cry so often

I should focus my emotional energy elsewhere—

and he doesn’t understand.

he says,

“you are big love and big care.”

“if you had been raised to believe strong people cry,

you would know you are mighty.”

“just because you’re good at helping others, doesn’t mean you’re great at helping yourself.”

“there are so many shoulds buried in your heart.”

“God gave you your character and he’s not apologizing

so why are you?”

and I don’t know the answer.

and plans change

We’ve been waiting for a while, now. Waiting and planning and hoping. And it’s difficult to believe that it wasn’t all in vain.

Our wedding venue has decided to cancel, six weeks before what is supposed to be the best day of our lives. Everyone has his or her own opinion about how we move forward. Unfortunately, I’m still a sensitive middle child who wants everyone to be happy, wants everyone to think I’m making the right choices, wants everyone to think I’m handling this like a champ.

On my scroll through Instagram this morning, I was reminded of other people’s hardships. One post in particular was from a mom whose three-year-old daughter is terminally ill. She is grieving all of the memories she will never have with her little girl. But me? I still get to make memories, they’ll just look different and it’s really okay if they don’t measure up to everyone’s standard. Perspective is a bittersweet companion, because empathy means I want to weep with those who are weeping from sorrows much heavier than my own. Jesus, help them.

So plans change. Hoping and dreaming and moving forward does not.

apartment 15B

What do you do when media and politicians push their agenda to convince you to see a changed world—a world transformed for the worse—yet aside from arrows on the ground, cancelled appointments, and moderate mass hysteria, your world feels very much as it always has?  It stings, maybe just a little, the first time someone mentions this will most likely affect the most important day of your life. But maybe you’re an optimist and “logically” this can’t go on that long. We’re not experiencing the Bubonic Plague or the Black Death here. But then the unrest continues and more people, more friends, more family lose hope that everything could possibly turn out okay. So what do you do?

The eye twitch that left in February is back.

There is no gym to burn off steam at.

America’s Next Top Model can only distract a person for so long.

So far, a total of three mail-ordered bras will not work for under a wedding dress and cannot be returned.

Who knows if a July wedding in New York will even be possible?

Who knows if going to school in September will even be possible?

There is only a certain amount of sanity a person can maintain while locked inside a studio apartment for over a month.

So Tanner and I take turns reminding each other that we’re staying in motion. That we are getting married in July regardless of whether or not it’s a party. That we have done every step we can do for school this fall.  That every aspect of our lives right now is a firm reminder that God is the only one who actually has a say in where we go and how and that’s what we want.

My sister reminds me that it’s still okay to cry and be a little stressed and not always feel peachy.

My best friend commiserates beautifully.

It’s going to work out the way it’s supposed to.

But that doesn’t mean my eye isn’t going to twitch for the next two months.

And that’s okay.

stage fright

There are parts of being human that I think will always be a part of being me. Throughout my life, I have been told that I'm very good on stage, I'm good with people, I'm understanding, I'm dramatic, I'm expressive.  I never thought the fear was allowed to interact with the qualities other people saw.  So I would try to push past the trembling legs and shallow breathing.  I tried to pretend I didn't break down into hysterical tears before every performance. I was supposed to be thriving.

A couple recent experiences have brought these memories to light, for a whole new angle of examination, which I'll talk about now:

1. For a short while, a friend and I were working together and she expressed a surprising sentiment. She confided that she was frustrated because she felt that her anxiety prevented her from connecting with our coworkers, that I couldn't understand her level of anxiety because she clearly has more of it than I do, and that people are more drawn to me as a person in general.  I was stunned.  Did she not know the amount of turmoil I experience on a daily basis over texts, let alone human interaction?

2. My roommate and I were joking about depressing yoga, and I did an Instagram live video describing the hateful universe while doing basic yoga poses.  Friends and family laughed, sending me comments about how funny it was, but some people missed it.  And I thought, "Hey, I could do this again, right?"  WRONG.  I turned the camera on and immediately began shaking.  Stage fright wrenched my thoughts from my mind and I sat in front of my phone, paralyzed in warrior 1.  In the end, I gave up, turned the camera off, and practiced yoga on my own in the quiet.

 In the end, my question is always this: who knows me better?  Me or the people around me?  And I think the answer I keep coming back to is not an answer to that question.  Rather, I'm encouraged to be thankful that God has enabled me to overcome crippling fear, and that He has allowed the people around me to see someone who is not afraid of the world around her, even if I still feel it.  Still human, but maybe a little less flesh and a little more soul.

buzz lightyear to mission log

Quarantine Day 20: There seems to be no sign of intelligent life anywhere.  The ant colony that wintered beneath our faux wood flooring has officially moved in.  They appreciate any dry oats and rice that we drop and forget to sweep immediately. Sadly, they don't appreciate the bright blue disks of death we set out for them quite as much.  I've been praying that God will give them a new home because I actually really appreciate their hard work, I just don't want to share a house with them. Like I said, no sign of intelligent life anywhere.

The days have formed a strange routine without work or social commitments.  I can't figure out if it's really good for me, or  really bad.  I'm reading three different books right now, compiling a poetry collection, walking upwards of 10 miles a day (complete with a daily stop at the post office), planning my wedding that hangs in the tenuous clutches of the CoronaVirus, shopping for bras online, and attempting to cook balanced meals without going to the grocery store. My mom and every close friend I've ever had have joked with me about my pending hermitage.  Friends, the hermitage is upon us.

It's funny how life changes when you actually don't have any responsibility, other than staying home and staying safe.  So much of my time was wrapped up in getting to work on time, picking up as many hours at work as possible, meeting this person here, and that person there.  Those aren't bad things.  They just might not have been the best things and choices.  It gives me a wild rush of anxiety to think about going back to work, and I get the same rush when I think of not going back at all.  There has been no option but to trust that God will care for us each day, just like he cares for the grasses and the new flowers stretching into bloom.

I've been reading Psalm 73 the past couple days.  I've always resonated with the second and third verses, "But as for me, my  feet had almost stumbled, my steps had nearly slipped. For I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked."  And I feel like that sums up so much of the Vivian I used to be.  She was so afraid of missing out, so concerned with belonging, and somehow always ill at ease. The psalm ends with a breakthrough in verse 28, "But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord GOD my refuge, that I may tell of all his works." That is the person I started becoming close to 6 years ago, and it has been good in this time of forced rest to remember it again.  It brings me around to the other psalm that I've been meditating in this time, particularly the first verse.  It's so simple, yet powerful in that simplicity: "I love you, YHWH, my strength."  That's where I want to be.  That encompasses everything about learning where I belong.

normalcy in a realm of relativity

8:30 AM: I'm on the phone with my parents, doing my best not to audibly hyperventilate in a Starbucks bathroom.  Change, unknowns, current and future stressors feel like a typhoon crashing against the bamboo shelter of my soul.

Moments, minutes, hours later, my premeditated typhoon is nothing more than a ripple in otherwise calm waters.  You'd think that I would learn.  You would think that the next ripple wouldn't fill me with dread at its approach, but it does.  Because what if this is the one that packs enough punch to knock me over?

Fast-forward exactly one week.  I'm blogging these thoughts from a quarantined apartment.  Fragility is the front page of every newspaper, the headlining comment of every conversation.  It is the topic of my internal monologue on the potential rebirth of a planet after a cataclysmic event while I walk around the block for fresh air, and for the first time in a long time, I see no one - no cars, no children on the playground across the train tracks, no one.  Just me and the late flakes of spring break snow.

And yet, in the fragility, there is an iron-wrought spine holding my shoulders straight and head high. In a day, free from the script of work and imagined social responsibility, there is still quiet prayer, loud prayer, laughing prayer, singing, questioning, wondering...moments, minutes, hours alone with the Creator God of the universe.  That is security, a sense of normalcy, in a world that would love to break her neck in an attempt to twist upside-down in slow motion.

7:30 PM: I'm on the floor of my kitchen, doing my best to remember today has been a day.  Not a week.  Everything on the quarantine checklist doesn't need to be marked off yet.  Today has been a day.  Tomorrow will hopefully be another one.  And maybe, after a while, this, like so many things, will be something we all move forward from.

when your right eye twitches

Did you know that even if you've convinced yourself that everything is fine, your body still has ways of telling you that everything is not fine?  Like, say for example, making your right eye twitch for weeks.  A week ago, my eye and emotional well-being were in a state.  Planning a wedding felt like too much, going to a missionary training center seemed impossible, work was too much to think about, and my mind was still in New York with my family.  I was crying a couple times a day, no problem.

Fast-forward to this week.  My bestest friend flew out to Wisconsin despite the corona apocalypse, and the first thing she said when she saw me was, "I'm taking you grocery shopping.  Not for me, for you." We got groceries, and with them, we hatched the hair-brained idea to make the flower arrangements for my wedding arch ourselves.  (Spoiler: they look SO much better than I was afraid they would!)  We've eaten a lot food, talked about the wedding weekend, organized, planned, and purchased.  She's had the chance to spend time with my fiance.  We've slept in.

My eye hasn't twitched in 36 hours.

And I think that's the reminder or lesson or moral.  Not many parts of life, particularly wedding planning, were designed to be handled by one person in isolation. While I know in my head that God designed people for community, to be balanced and supported and encouraged, I forget that I am not an exception even though I have enough stubbornness and pride for an army.  Asking for help is hard.  Asking for help figuring out what I need help with is...confusing.  The small seed of panic in my chest knows that not everything is figured out, but that is why I have a small army of God-fearing women around me, for planning wedding to marriage and beyond.

no one shovels sunshine

Do you ever have a day when you, in your very innermost being, are convinced it is going to be a bad day? Like it’s the coldest week of this winter, your heat in your apartment is out, you almost overslept for work, and when was the last time you actively read God’s Word. I mean, yeah, that one verse in Proverbs 17 is still relevant, but that’s about a week old now. Praying and meditating is good. They need fresh input to be great.

Anyway, I was convinced today would be a toughie, but it’s impossible to shovel sunshine. God provided not one, not two, not three, but four undeniable blessings that spread light over my entire day. Just regular Joe-shmoe people saying, “Hey, I can tell something isn’t right, here’s a thing to make your day better.” And I knew it was God. 

God is just... He knows, man. He sees my anxiety about the wedding. He hears my concern about life after. He is no stranger to my fear gnawing away at the hope to pursue overseas ministry. And today He shared the sunshine with me. And today I am challenged to trust.

crash wedding diet

I’m not stressed out. 

You’re stressed out.

You’re projecting your stress on to me.

Side note: did you know that when I’m stressed (which I’m not) my body decides it isn’t really hungry and, in order to avoid nausea, I’m most content on Gina’s Y2K Liquid Diet.  But I’m not stressed out.

There are pieces of wedding planning that I thought would be difficult, like invitations and food and clothes. Turns out, no big deal. Do you want to know what has actually been the most harrowing on my nerves and overall well-being? RSVPs and the rehearsal dinner. No one warned me about those things! No one told me jack about the internal angst that would spring up from random emails telling me who is or isn’t coming to a party that I’m throwing in a place I’ve never been. And am I throwing this party or are my parents?

Which naturally flows into my colorful portfolio of current stress dreams. Like the one where Eminem is giving me poetry/rap lessons and then my dad shows up at my practice session, but I’m embarrassed and think he won’t enjoy poetry culture, so I ask him to go away. In the dream, his feelings are hurt so my feelings are hurt and I go to him to try to fix it and then my mom tells me his feelings were never hurt in the first place, but I miss the poetry show.  Or the dream where I can’t get into my mailbox, no matter how certain I am that I know the combination. Or the dream where it’s like the day of the wedding and Tanner shows up to marry me, but it isn’t him anymore, but everyone else thinks it is, and how does a girl deal with that?

I’m a little stressed out.

But the moments of quiet have been a blessing as well as a reminder. Sitting in the silence doesn’t feel like sitting with a stranger anymore. Lately, quiet feels like a warm cup of tea, over which God and I talk quietly and he reminds me of his big love for me, and my family, and the world. So I can stress, and you can stress if you want, but even stress that functions as a crash wedding diet kind of loses its luster when it gets compared to big love.

coffee cup poetry

rhymes on a cup
tiny words to fill up
your soul: brain coffee
so read while you drink
while caffeine sinks
into your system: energy
coffee cup poetry
a cup to you from me,
your barista: brain-coffee-energy-lady
who brews you two hot commodities
please
think with me
about the color blue,
about the shades whispering
through the sky
or reflecting
in her eyes.
think about blue lights
how blue looks cold,
but it belongs in summer
because gray is colder
and it belongs to winter
just like white.
white noise, white space,
we're stuck on one channel in one place,
just quasi-members of the human race.
white noise, white space,
white light from stars
through the night,
eternal night
in the void between galaxies
and here on a rock sits you and sits me
writing poor poetry,
just a blip in the void's memory.
just think with me
about eternity
about infinity
about some piece of humanity
going on endlessly--
now pause.
catch your breath.
the inevitable end
hasn't happened yet
so let's sit down for a pour over coffee
just the void and you and me
and discuss the point of everything
continuing
"there isn't one," says the void
in a voice too much like white noise
"existence is meaningless"
so the void is a nihilist
and the void looks at me
so I say, "it seems like vanity,
true
but what if you
were made to be family
to the maker of infinity
and purpose is found simply
in the harmony
of you
and the God who made blue
and gray
and white
and that makes me sound religious
which makes you and void suspicious
of my agenda
but now the void and I have both shared our coffee thoughts
and the time has come, like it or not
to think
think about blue
think about God
think about you.


update: in this interim period between training and school and life, I'm trying once again to write a book.  we're going for a short story/poetry collection this time. wish me luck.

2020

It’s a new year, a new decade, a new chapter...and the right words are whispers waiting to be heard above the racket of real life.

The book of Joel is God’s command and plea to His people to correct their hearts toward Him. He tells them the end of everything we know, the disaster that will afflict humanity, and He says, “If you come back to me, I will still be faithful to protect you from that.” But the end of Joel is open. There is no final answer to the result of the people of God, because we are still living in the time when the answer must be made. That is the entire purpose behind the last two years of Bible school, and the key to goal of however many more years God chooses to give me: people need to know their Creator is waiting for an answer. Will they love Him? Will they accept His terms? Or will they be numbered among the ones who reject Him?

It’s a wild time to be alive.  On the one hand, Tanner and I are getting married in six months! (Ohmygosh six months) My wedding dress arrived and is ready for alterations as of today, bridesmaid gifts are here, my sweet friend Lydia is almost done with invitations...we are actually getting married! On the other hand, our church may not be behind us going on to the Missionary Training Center this year and that hurts. He is involved with the missions team; I teach Sunday school with another lady; we attend a small group that we love.  Yet we might not have been presenting the right questions to the right people, or pursuing moving forward as missionary candidates in the most visible places. It’s a confusing, dizzying place to be.

But my brother is right. All we can do is pray, and be willing to accept and follow the guidance given by the leaders we are blessed to be under. God designed things that way, not us. 

So, my reader, pray for us through excitement and disappointment. Pray that we would be still in these moments so that we might move only when the Holy Spirit says “go.” Pray that we would be surrounded by people who desire God’s will to be done.

Thank you <3