A lily... Diva style! (Luke 12:27-32)

Umm... I'm back. 

Turns out that my verbal-processing-open-journal actually DOES keep me better connected to the folks I love. Because, despite having recently adopted a 45 minute commute, I'm still hard to catch on the phone. And I'm not the only one who's lousy at e-mail. But I simply cannot boil everything down to a facebook update. So, if you like random thoughts and updates from me; if you don't mind the occasional ramble, bookmark me. Check back...maybe weekly? That's my goal anyway. Weekly. We shall see.

It's been a busy summer. 

In early July, I moved out of my home in VA and onto my sister's couch in NC. 

Shortly after that, I had a fantastic trip back to Tacoma. I got to enjoy 80 degree summer in the Puget Sound, spoil a cuddly canine, and spend a ton of quality time with some of the most wonderful people I'll ever meet.

 My trip was restorative and restful. It also affirmed my decision to leave the lovely Pacific Northwest, at least for a while. The reasons I left - sunshine, family, and faith - are still strong pulls. Plus, I'm still adventuring. 

And learning. 

Since school started, I have learned even more about how different education is across the country. As 40+ states adopt the Common Core State Standards for curriculum, and adopt rubrics which tie teacher evaluations to student performance, outcomes are theoretically being leveleld. Yet I see no move to address the input. The disparities in resources - physical, technological, and human - in the three states where I hold a certificate are significant. These kids, their schools, and the districts/states aren't bringing the same things to the table. NC teachers get paid 2/3 as much as teachers in University Place, and yet they have more responsibilities in the classroom. One of the biggest districts in NC has a very restrictive limit on the number of copies teachers can make, because they can't afford paper and toner. At some point we, as a nation, need to have this conversation, too. But teacher stuff will mainly go on my other blog "only the lessons." Look for it there, a couple times a month. 

For now, let me just say that I'm loving my work environment. I have a welcoming and supportive team. The boss communicates regularly. The kids are fun to work with. The challenges are interesting. And, since it's a converted old high school  the campus (and the classroom) is huge. So I'm getting a lot of walking in.

Which is good. 

Because in July the doctor told me that I have pretty bad arthritis in my ankle. Likely predating the broken leg, but certainly aggravated by it. Now that I'm settled in my new district, I'm going to get it evaluated by a local doctor and learn what that means for me, long-term. (Feel free to pray for my medical care).  At first I felt rather...limited by this new development. The doc took away tennis and running (two hobbies I actually wanted to pick up). Although he did replace them with kayaking and walking (I already love walking, and kayaking... a water sport? twist my arm!), it still certainly complicated moving this summer. And vacation. And back-to-school. But then two things happened.

1) As I started walking my campus, regularly, and loosening up, the "predating" finally really sunk in. Meaning this really is the same condition I dealt with in my young adulthood. I dealt with it. Successfully. So I know I can deal with it. (And, for the record, I haven't used the "gimp stick" in at least 2 weeks).

2) I remembered how I dealt with it. I remembered that my God is bigger than the boogey man.  Or the arthritis fairy. I have been blessed in so many ways. And part of this journey was learning to trust God with everything. Everything, I guess, includes my ankles. Funny that. Head-shoulders-knees-and-toes?!

I'm not planning to let some deteriorated cartilage slow me down. In fact, I've some pretty ambitious health-and-fitness goals for the 2013/2014 school year. I'm excited and motivated. Not to mention stubborn. 

Oh, and broke, thanks to the NC pay schedule. But it doesn't cost (much) to walk. So I can learn to live super-frugally, and still have fun in the process. Win!

And you know what? God's got plans for me. It's been a while since I've been so excited to see what they might be. 

I know that for tomorrow, at least, they include spending a sunny morning hanging out with my niece, watching my nephew play PopWarner football, while my sister does her team-mom duties. That's a pretty good place to start.

"I'm a lily." - You Can't Take It With You (1938)

One of my all time favorite chunks of scripture begins with a reminder of the lilies and how lovely they are. It ends with the encouragement that God loves to bless us when we trust Him. It's a little long to type the whole thing here, but you can check out Luke 12:27-32 by clicking on this link. 

I hope you have an amazing week! 

A Prayer, and an Answer (Gen 2:18)

I clearly remember a spring day in my young adulthood, when I was standing at the clothesline behind my lovely brick apartment home, hanging out my laundry and praying God would send me just one good Christian friend. Most of my faith journey, to that point, had been just me and God. I read my Bible daily. I went to church regularly. I had a healthy prayer life. But I had no Christian friends. There was not one believer in my life with whom I felt close enough to pray, study, learn or celebrate. There was, at that time, no one close to me who didn't think I was at least a little bit crazy for putting so much hope and trust in ancient "legends."

Now, I am blessed to be positively surrounded by people of faith. Some of my old friends have become true brothers and sisters in Christ. I've met many more on the journey. I'm blessed by their encouragement and I rely on their prayers. Our conversations are richly seasoned with things not of this world. I'm pretty sure they don't think I'm crazy (or at least not ALL crazy).

Women of faith...together...the first Easter
discovering the empty tomb.

Since most of my readers are also these friends, it would be silly (and somewhat insulting) for me to try to write here about the incredible-ness of Easter. We rejoice today, together. Our joy has been more eloquently expressed in a hundreds of songs. The lessons of faith and redemption taught in dozens of sermons. My awe has been captured by authors far more talented than I, and shared in hundreds of books.

This morning, when I rose to get ready for church, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness for the community of believers who have become such an important part of my life. Easter - the resurrection of our Lord and Savior -  is the most important thing we have in common. In some cases the only thing. That's okay. It is more than enough.

I still pray for those in my life who do not know the Lord. How dark must this world seem without the hope of Easter, of life, of renewal, of a Kingdom beyond this world. These dear ones do not understand why we celebrate today with more than bunnies, eggs, and jelly-beans. So I pray that God will open their eyes, that Jesus will speak to their hearts, that the Spirit of truth will draw them near.

I pray, and I celebrate.
Because I know that prayers are answered. You, my friends, are proof of that.
Will you share your own story of answered prayer?

The Lord God said, "It is not good for man to be alone." - Genesis 2:18

Looking backward, while moving forward (Ro 8:28)

I know that's a long little title. It's perfect for this post in so many ways, though.

This is my first post of the New Year. What do we do as we start the new year? Look back at last year's failures and plan for success moving forward, right?  This isn't going to be a post about resolutions, though. I didn't make any. Except maybe to be less stubborn. Be kinder to others. Share more of myself.

The title is also perfect, because it is the answer to the question I'm hearing the most these days... "what happened?" You see, I broke my leg over Christmas break because I was doing exactly that - looking backward to say "goodbye" to someone, while moving forward out their door. Um, there was a step there. Ouch.

I'm sure there's an allegory there. I'll leave you to work it out.

It's a nasty break. My right leg. The docs and nurses were all impressed with how well I broke it. One doc said 3-6 months of healing, BEFORE rehab and PT. 6 months of not driving. At least. Right now I'm not allowed to put any weight on it at all. Suddenly I own a shower chair. Toilet rails. A walker. All because I was looking backward while moving forward. Yes, folks, walking and talking at the same time requires a certain level of skill!

However, the real reason I chose that title, is because it describes the strategy I'm using to keep my sanity as I heal. Looking backward... while moving forward.

You may remember, how in April, I decided to move away from the community I had lived in for a dozen years. In August, with God's blessing, I landed across the country in a new neighborhood.

With God's blessing.


As I struggle to move forward with the day-to-day challenges of being broken, I keep reviewing all the steps that brought me here, to this place, at this time.

I'm still confident that God blessed my move.

I also believe that nothing happens to God's people that is outside of his control. So He allowed this accident to happen this year. Last year, I made the same trip. Walked out the same door. Last year I would have been going home to that community of care. This year, I'm on my own, and my family has had to get creative to help me out. My parents. My sister. My Aunt. Help coming in from 3 different states, and none of them the one in which I live! Last year I had tons of sick leave. This year, there was barely enough to cover the immediate crisis. Last year, I would have felt - just a little - more in control.

Ha!

So I've got to believe there was a reason, or many reasons, why this accident happened this year.

So I'm looking backward. At my journal and notes and blog from last year, as I set aside the old life and took up the new. I'm remembering that the reasons I moved were to draw closer to family, and to learn to trust God-the-provider to meet my needs.

Ha, ha!

So I'm praying. And learning. And healing. And growing. And looking backward... while moving forward.

...and we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. - Romans 8:28

Home, revisited. (Josh 1:9)

I know I'm overdue to post.
I was on a roll, there, writing every week - even if some of the topics were truly insignificant.
Like my last one, about what it means to go "home" for the holidays.
Then the holidays came. And I broke my leg.


That's right. 3 days after Christmas, while spreading holiday cheer with my dad, I fell out a door and broke my leg. To be more specific, my right leg. The one I need in order to drive.
To quote the folks who worked on me - I did a "good job." Everyone who had access to my x-rays or case notes was impressed with how well I broke it.

I was impressed with the care I recieved.
The ambulance drivers were friendly, composed, and calm - if not entirely coordinated. The ER nurses were helpful and reassuring. The surgeon explained things clearly, listened to my concerns, and accepted my input, respectfully. The anesthesiologist even joked with me. This might seem like no-big-deal to you, or that's-how-it-should-be, but I've seen a lot of ER's over the years (though this was my first time *on* the bed since grade-school), and I know that's not always the case. So, my compliments to the crisis team.

I was on vacation when it happened. 550+ miles from home. Visiting my parents for Christmas.
I am so thankful I was. They were amazing. My dad held my leg while we waited for the ambulance. My mom bought me dresses while I was in the hospital, since all I'd packed were pants. My brother & his fiancee brought the baby to give me hugs - even on the coldest night of the year.

Once I got out of the hospital, my dad - who is generally stuck home due to his own health concerns - was the best nurse ever! He waited on me constantly for a week. Spoiled me totally rotten, in a way I suspect he's wanted to do for years. Mom became a quite a strategist, figuring out how to wash my hair, with no chairs to put by the sink, painting my toe-nails to match my cast, packing my gear so I could travel. And thanks to my brother and his girl, that beautiful baby kept coming around.



Then, finally and yet too soon, I got my clearance to travel home.



Home, where I live independently. Home, where I've been for just under 6 months.

Home, where an acquaintance spent 2 days rescuing my car from the parking lot where I'd left it, so confident I'd be back soon.

Home, where another virtual stranger picked me up from the airport at dawn and drove me to my door.

Home, where the nearest family is 4 hours away.

Thank God my sister was able to come up and join me for a few days. She's helped me shop for the things an invalid needs, rearranged the house to be more mobility-friendly, and helped me feel not quite so lost. She also brought cute kids to give me hugs. Oh, and new wine glasses, for when I am ready to celebrate.

I look back on my decision to move here, and the hundred ways God blessed that move. I re-read my own blog from August, and really do believe He was with me, coming here, at this time.

I also believe He allowed this accident to happen this winter. Somehow this is all part of "the plan."

So I have to believe that somehow He will bring it all together for good.

Because right now, I just want to go home. Home to mom's house. Home to my sister's couch. Home to Tacoma, where I left so many wonderful, helpful friends. Home, dear readers, I have finally realized, is where you are not alone.


Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. - Joshua 1:9

(Super thanks to my friend CM who posted this verse on Facebook just when I needed it the most. Thanks, girl, for following the Spirit's leading. May you be blessed, always!).

Home for the Holidays (Heb 11:9a)

NYC 2012

Years ago, I remember my Uncle Bill telling me not to answer the everyday-ordinary question "how are you?" with the reflexive answer "fine." He said that if someone was taking the trouble to ask me a question, the least I could do was give them an honest and well-considered answer. To this day, I can't say "fine," when asked about my general disposition.

Lately, though, people keep asking me if I'm going home for the holidays, and I wish I could pop off with an easy answer. I know it's just conversation. I know they mean well.  They're just being friendly. However, I don't think they realize how difficult that question is for me.

Because I don't know what "home" means.

When they say "home," I think they mean to family. Unless they don't. Maybe they mean to ask "are you going back to Washington?"

Santa's helper, 2012

The main reason I moved this summer was to be closer to family. In that sense, I am going home for the holidays. I've already been down to my sister's, inspected the tree, and dropped off gifts. I'll be travelling Christmas week to see my parents and my brother's family. There will be laughter and tears, wine and chocolate, twinkling lights and tinsel. There will be a baby underfoot for Christmas day; boxes everywhere, movies no one is really watching on TV, and good food in the kitchen. Is "to family" what they mean when they say "home?"

In fact, I have enjoyed quite a lot of fantastic family time in the last few months. I've seen my nephew play basketball and fight pirates. I was at my oldest niece's birthday party. I'm finally comfortable enough in my sister's kitchen to make my own coffee (though she didn't like my brew). I even surprised mom & dad (who are 12 hours away) one weekend - thanks to my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, who helped me with the details. I took my baby niece for doughnuts, and saw my brother's new place. I even got to connect with an aunt and a couple of cousins when they "escaped" to New York for a weekend. I could've seen another aunt and uncle, if he wasn't a straight-through-on-direct-routes type of traveler (or if I didn't have to work Fridays).  So in that sense, I guess I go "home" most weekends.

Ruston, WA, 2011

On the other hand, if by "home" my inquisitive friends mean Washington, the place I lived until just recently, then I'd have to say no. The time I've spent with my family since I moved has been priceless, and I don't regret my decision to get geographically closer. However, I have been feeling remarkably home-sick for the life I left behind. Home is my friends and our traditions. Home is knowing where the best celebrations are, and where to park when I go. Home is Cyndie's bread-pudding, "fruitcake" from the highschool, and half-day-spa-day at the start of break. Home is making cookies with the girls, attending half-a-dozen kids' concerts/recitals/pageants, helping with the Scott family's annual Christmas party. Home is sharing wine and (re)packing for vacation with my "other godmother;" cold December rain, and evergreens everywhere. Home is a murder-mystery on New Year's Eve. So, in that sense, no... I won't be home for the holidays.



Yet, that's not my home anymore.  I moved. So now I need to make new traditions, memories, and friends here, and I am working on it. That's the really ironic part. By asking if I'm going "home" for the holidays, my well-intentioned new friends inadvertently label me an other, an outsider. As if there's somewhere else I belong. The truth is, my home is HERE, where I chose to live. Maybe not in the apartment I'm in now - as I mentioned in an earlier post, it doesn't feel much like a home - but certainly here in this community.

on display outside the the 610 carwash, VA, 2012

Sure, I am alone in an unfamiliar town at a time of year when tradition and togetherness are the most common themes. When I get that "blue Christmas" feeling, though, I remember that the real heart of Christmas is Jesus, Immanuel, God-with-us. I'm not alone. And I'm not without traditions.

I'm thankful that people care enough to ask about my plans. I'm happy to make conversation. I just hope they forgive my momentary confusion, as I try to decide how to answer that tricky question. I guess I'm not going home for the holidays (though I certainly will be traveling). I am home. At least, as much as I can be this side of heaven.

By faith [Abraham] made his home in the promised land, like a stranger in a foreign country...."
  -Hebrews 11:9a

It's beginning to look a *little* like Christmas! (Heb 11:1)

Oh, Christmas tree... how lovely are your branches.

City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style.
Silver and gold, means so much more when I see... silver and gold decorations, on every Christmas tree.

Deck the halls with boughs of holly! 'Tis the season to be jolly!

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

I truly do love Christmas. I love cards. Breezy little news updates from all corners of my life.  I love the songs. And that everyone sings, so no-one notices my off-key contribution to the glee. I love the treats. The cookies. The candies. The soups. The amazing entrees. Did I mention the cookies? I love the pervasive attitude of good will (even in crowded stores).

I especially love the decorations. Twinkling lights. Green, red, and white everywhere. Priceless handmade treasures alongside carefully crafted elegance; joy oozing out of every nook and cranny. When I (fairly ruthlessly) eliminated piles of stuff prior to my move this year, there were still 4 storage bins full of Christmas stuff I had to keep. 

However, this year I've opted for minimal decorations.

One small (crochet) tree. One nativity. One Santa doll (not even my favorite). One stocking. One book. Some movies. 

I have a lot of reasons.

I'm working an average of 11 hours/day, and worrying about work more than I should when I'm "off." I'm honestly exhausted most of the time lately. The idea of unpacking those boxes (and then repacking them in 4 weeks) is more than I can take right now.

Besides, no-one comes to my place. Ever. There's no reason to. I'm not even (generally) home on weekends. I'll be visiting family for the big day. Not counting the hours spent sleeping or getting ready for work in the morning, I calculate that I'll be home about 120 hours this month - total. 

Mainly, though, I'm not decorating my house because it doesn't feel like home.

I'm staying there. My bed is there. But I know it's temporary. More so than the other rentals I've occupied, because I know the owner is planning to sell. In the past, it was always up to me how long I stayed. If I loved a place, I always believed I could stay there, indefinitely. This time, I know that's not the case.

Which gets me thinking about heaven.

One of the most important tenets of my faith is that Earth is not all there is. We have a home that is unimaginably greater than this world.

More fantastic than the fabulous food served at holiday feasts.
More comfortable than a crackling fire and cozy socks on a chilly day.

More thrilling than the moment that long-anticipated, beautifully wrapped gift beneath the elegant tree is finally opened.
More awe-inspiring than the multitudes of stars, shimmering in the night sky, like Christmas lights in stores, on streets, on houses, in trees.

More joyous than off-key carolers proclaiming the good news of Jesus' birth on every street corner.
More wonderful than a phone call or Skype with someone dear who is far away.
More heart-warming than the love we so imperfectly try to show our families and friends.

More incredible, even,  than the magic that keeps Santa on schedule and in the air, year after year.
More blissful than the laughter of children, building snowmen, and hoping for magic.

Ok. Maybe not greater than children laughing. But at least as good. 

Merry Christmas, everyone. And whether your decorations are big or small, may they remind you of the hope we have of better yet to come!

To have faith is to be sure of the things we hope for, to be certain of the things we cannot see. -Hebrews 11:1

4-3-2-1 (Prov 3:5-6)

A little more than 10 weeks ago I decided to move across the country. This is the 4th entry in a somewhat belated journal about my adventure.

As I mentioned, last time, in order to make such a big move, there were a few important things I needed to figure out. 1)      I’d need a job. 2)      I’d need a home. 3)      I’d need to figure out how to get my stuff to my new home.

Option 1: Get rid of all my stuff and start over.
This option was attractive for its elegant simplicity. No fuss, no muss. Sometime, I just might write about the three times I've done exactly that. Stuff, after all, is just stuff. So I took inventory: one well-loved couch & armchair. A beautiful bedroom set that I love. Books. Some shelves - both homemade and put-together-from-boxes (not nearly enough for the books, though).  Lovely things, but it's not like I they were antiques or heirlooms. I didn't even have a kitchen table or dishes. My treasures have always been my relationships.

---And, it turns out, the mementos of those relationships. When I sat down to inventory my life, I found just a few things I couldn't part with (or digitize).

My hope chest (custom made for me by the men in my family).

My scrapbooks (and scrapbooks in progress). Together these hold my most cherished memories.

My journal-boxes (which fill the hope chest). Journals, creative writing, playbills, graduation announcements, and other assorted mementos (and special jewelry) representing milestones in my life and the lives of those I love.

If these things were taken from me by a fire or flood, I would have to deal with it. But I could never choose to get rid of them. And since they wouldn't fit in my car anyway, selling the rest of the stuff would be foolish.

Option 2: Drive a moving van myself.
This is, after all, how my family usually moves. Rent the big white truck. Load it. Drive it. Unload it.
Unload it.
That might be a problem. See, on the loading end, I was pretty sure I could arrange for help. Since I knew no one in VA, unloading would be all me. Imagine, please, me, myself, and I moving a long horizontal dresser. Or a hope chest. Or a couch. All alone.
Yea. Not really an option.


Option 3: Hire movers
This was stressful, because it was the unknown option. I don't do well with unknowns. It was a little more expensive than renting a moving van (but not really, if I had to hire muscle to help at my destination).

I did my research, and I found out that really there's not much a customer can do beyond choosing a reputable moving company. Other than that, it's all out of your hands. Which is, after all, the point.

So, I decided to hire movers.
I got estimates.
I arranged dates.
I gave notice to my landlord.
My roommate and I started packing.







You may have noticed that I skipped #2: find a home. Um...yea. Initially, I thought I could find a place with a short term lease by doing my research online. In the 21st century, it should be easy enough to use search engines and satelite maps to start looking for apartments. Once I had a job and a zipcode, I was sure I could at least get some ideas, find safety data for neighborhoods, read reviews. With any luck I could call some managers and be pretty set before I arrived.

So I started to do all that. I made lists, and found links. Then I took a break and helped my roommate in WA find her a new place. She began her search exactly as I planned to begin mine - online. Together we went to check out some of her prospects in this city we'd lived in for 13 years.

Have you seen that commercial for ... actually, I don't even know what it's for. It ends with the "French model." Here's a link to a shortened youtube clip.  Yea.

My point is this: the internet is good for many things, but for me, at any rate, finding a new home long-distance is not one of them. We were suckered into looking at some pretty awful places in a city we knew really well. (She did find a cute place, by the way). I found myself imagining all the horrors I might get myself into if I tried to follow through on my plan. So, I gave up the internet search, and once again, found myself praying that the Lord would provide. Knowing that could mean anything. Confident I would be taken care of.

I packed up (with the help of MANY fabulous friends).
The movers came.
I turned in my keys.
And stepped out in faith.

I arrived in my new town on a Thursday morning, with no clue where I was going to live.
Friday evening I had a landlord.
Sunday I had a lease.
Monday I moved in.

My (front) door. Welcome.

The house. I have the basement.

The "across the street" neighbors.

I don't know you, but I call that a miracle.

Do you want to know the very best part?
The new apartment came with a kitchen table. And bookcases. My very own golden fleece, right there in my empty new apartment. (Not sure what I'm talking about? Check out Gideon's story in the Bible). I hadn't even asked for reassurance, but God provided it for me anyway.

Because He knows my heart, and knows that I tend to worry, doubt, and second-guess.
But, as I sit at my table and type, I'm learning to trust. How could I not?

Just over 10 weeks ago I decided to completely rearrange my life. With little savings, in a bad economy, I decided to move across the country to a state where I didn't know a single person, for no better reason than that I wanted to. Anyone with any sense will tell you that this should NEVER have worked out. Yet, it did. It did.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make straight your paths. -Proverbs 3:5-6