light bulb.

I have encountered many surprising things in these first weeks of being a mom, but the most surprising things are not actually new. They are the familiar truths that I have seen in a new light—truths that I had previously acknowledged but struggled to take to heart. Loving our boy has given me a window into a deeper understanding of these truths: to know and truly believe them; to also accept them for myself as I whisper them over and over again to my son.

I told my therapist that becoming a parent has made them somehow tangible, as if I finally found the light bulb chain that’s been swinging above me, and I’ve finally turned on the light. Maybe you’ve experienced the same light bulb moment, or maybe you are still grasping around for the chain. Wherever you are at, I hope you find encouragement and hope in these things as I have recently:

It’s not a burden to care for you, even when you are having a hard time.

You can feel bad, and that does not make you bad. Feelings are something you have, not who you are. Feelings are finite: this too shall pass.

There’s nothing you could do to make me love you any less and nothing you need to do to make me love you any more. You are loved because you are worthy of love.

seeds for thought

Legacy, what is a legacy?

It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.  

– Lin-Manuel Miranda, “The World Was Wide Enough”, Hamilton: An American Musical

Today is my first Motherʼs Day as a mother. Iʼve thought a lot about my own birth story and my birth motherʼs pregnancy with me over the past twenty-four and half weeks. That is, Iʼve imagined what it might have been like. 

The beginning of my pregnancy was hard. I felt nauseated daily, I had little appetite, I lost weight over the first three months, and I was always exhausted. But I was still excited about our baby and felt proud to know that these were signs of my body doing an important job. 

The symptoms also made me wonder about my birth mother’s pregnancy with me. Did she feel as sick as I did? As tired as I did?

Iʼm acutely aware of the stark differences in our circumstances. I have a few sentences on ghost-thin paper about my mother’s pregnancy and my birth. I don’t know what symptoms she experienced, but I do know she was working in the city to send money to her family in a more rural area. I know she fell in love with my biological father, a “coffee shop DJ,” but “it was a one-sided love.” I know that she bound her stomach so that she could continue working. I know that she made the (literally) life-changing decisions to give me life and a chance at a life beyond what she would ever be able to provide.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude at the sacrifices she made. Her choices made way for the life I have now. As sick as I felt in those early days, I was working from home. I had sick days I could use. I had a husband who loved and took excellent care of me. 

As I continue to grow our baby, now starting to feel their kicks and somersaults, I am amazed at just how much I already love them. I like to think that my mother felt the same way. She saw the potential, the value of my life. Without her knowing anything about who I was or would become—about my personality, gifts, or skills—I was enough. Enough for her to endure the months of unpleasant symptoms. Enough for her to let her body be stretched and altered. Enough for her to go through additional discomfort to hide those changes so that she could continue to do what was expected of her.

My birth mother planted a seed that my adopted mom (and dad) were able to water. She gave me life and a family and opportunity. I hope, somehow, she knows that it was worth it. 

My life is her legacy.  And that legacy continues on through the life of my baby.

 

enjoying now.

It's that time. New year, new outlook, new goals...new blog post. I can hardly believe I started this blog two years ago. I didn't turn out to be the most consistent of writers, but I'm glad I've at least written as much as I did.

Two years ago.
I was recently graduated from college and about a month into my first full-time,"grown up" job.  I had student loans looming and a heart pining to be anywhere but where I was...mostly for Portugal. I remembering  feeling (and often complaining) that I was in an awkward limbo place life--finished with one chapter, but not allowed to move on to the next.

Two years later, I must say...I was wrong. Lots of life happened during this so-called limbo time. By the grace of God, my student loans were paid off. I learned a little about designing and coding and a lot about what kind of work environment I want (or don't want) to work in. I met some new friends and became closer to others. One in particular being my self-appointed "BFF"(a story worth sharing...someday) who has truly become my best friend. I started a different job and was given the honor of helping out two non-profits run by people near and dear to my heart. I became an aunt to another niece and found out that there will be three more lovies coming this Spring. There's so much more that's happened, but the point is...the past two years have not been empty. They have not been simply for waiting, although there was definitely some waiting...but isn't there always?

Sometimes there are clear beginnings and ends to the chapters in your life, but I'm finding that more often than that, you're in the middle of the next chapter before you even realize it's begun. I've got a couple of practical New Years resolutions written down (in a list with checkboxes) but I think that one thing I really want to focus on is the NOW. I can get so carried away with planning and thinking about the future or longing for what used to be that I dismiss the life space I'm in now as insignificant. It's not until I take the time to pause and look around that I can see how very significant now is.

I realize this epiphany of mine is neither original nor deeply profound, but I hope it encourages someone as it has encouraged me.

Happy New Year!

Just because I never tire of this view, from our most recent trip to Yosemite.

starting on Someday.

It wasn't too long after I started college that I knew I wanted to work in missionary/member care. Through conversations with missionaries I served with and my own experiences with re-entry and debriefing, I saw a need for a holistic approach to the way we take care of the Body—and I wanted to be a part of meeting that need.  Throughout my time in college missionary care remained something I hoped I'd get to be a part of...someday.  Someday, when I've finished college. Someday when I've had more experience. Someday when I'm better equipped.

Someday, someday someday...

During my final semester of college I realized that I didn't know what master's degree I would or should pursue or if I even wanted/needed another degree. The thought of going into more debt, investing more time and money on something that I didn't know if I wanted or needed seemed unwise. 

So, I didn't. I was blessed to find a job before I even graduated and started a week after that. It wasn't what I wanted to do forever, definitely not a career I wanted to build my life around, but I was working full time—a cherished gift for a recent college grad.

But even though this job allowed me to pay off my student loans and start saving a bit of money, the yearning for Someday remained. I still didn't know how to get there, so I just kept working and waiting for Someday to show up.

A few weeks ago I had a chance to catch up with two dear friends (who also happen to be two of the ladies I lived with in Portugal).  I always leave feeling encouraged, inspired, loved and full of potential after spending time with these two. They both just have a gentle and genuine way of reminding me of who I am in Christ and how they see Him working in my life. During this conversation, I was asked about my passion/dream for missionary care and what I was doing to make that happen. I sputtered out some roundabout response about not knowing how to go about it or where to even start and all the unknowns and questions when my dear friend reminded me,

"The beauty is, you only have to make one decision at a time"

So, I've decided to start being proactive about figuring out what it would like for me to serve in missionary care. I've started researching schools, even went to visit one last month! (Arguably) More importantly, I'm having conversations with lots of people. People who I respect and look up to as mentors and friends. People who have the degrees I'm considering. People who have a heart for missionaries and the Church and taking care of other people.

I'm not at Someday yet, but I'm starting to look for ways to get there.

here we go.

to do (and to not do).

Quite some time ago, my sweet friend Emery suggested I read this book:

That day, I added it to my Amazon Book Wish list and then promptly forgot about it until a few weeks ago when I picked it up on sale at a little bookstore in SLO. And am I ever glad I did. 

One of the things I like most about this book is that each chapter can stand on its own, so I didn't feel overwhelmed to read all of it RIGHT NOW. I breezed through the first few chapters, pausing for some "Hmm's" and shoulder shrugs, but I got a big fat  "Oomph" to the gut when I read the following from the chapter titled, "things I don't do":

I'm a list-keeper. I always, always have a to-do list, and it ranges from the mundane: go to the dry cleaner, go to the post office, buy batteries; to the far-reaching: stop eating Henry's leftover Dino Bites, get over yourself, forgive nasty reviewer, wear more jewelry.

At one point, I kept adding to the list, more and more items, more and more sweeping in their scope, until I added this line: DO EVERYTHING BETTER. 

-Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet p. 54

Now, this chapter already packed quite a punch but it wasn't until a few nights later that I really understood how necessary it was for me to read that.

---

It started when a very tired and disoriented me had an argument with my parents about something so trivial. Feeling overwhelmed, I fled the scene to my room. There I curled up in the dark and all I could hear was the booming voice in my mind was broadcasting, "You can't do enough. You can't be enough. "

I felt sick to my stomach, like my even my body was rejecting me.
I wished I could  get up and boldly stand on the truth--that God is enough, He is more than enough. But Instead, I just cried. Mourning over something I'd never had, someone I'd never been.

And then, after quite some time of being paralyzed by the darkness, I realized I was still learning what I had been hit with over and over last week:
it's not about me.

Let me be clear in explaining that this wasn't a beautiful epiphany.
I didn't just snap out of my pitiful state, get out of bed and slap a big smile on my face.

No, it was more like my process of waking up...which is the farthest thing from immediate. (Ask ANYONE who has tried to wake me up). I have stages of waking up including resistance and grumpiness. I need time. And that's how exactly how I'm learning this whole "it's not about me" thing--slowly, with moments of resistance and grumpiness. But I have hope that I'll eventually "wake up" to the idea as I find practical, daily ways to remind myself.

Coming back to the book, Shauna explains in that chapter how and why deciding what you want your life to be about isn't the hard part, but it's deciding what you're willing to give up for those things that is "like yoga for your superego, stretching and pushing and ultimately healing that nasty little person inside of you who exists only for what other people think."

So, the questions I'm leaving here are:  What are the things I don't do, the things I'm giving up, so my life can be about the things I've decided it should be about? (I hope that makes sense, it's poorly worded)

And the moral of this story is, LORD, I need You.

nine. [of ten thousand]

nine.
Praise God for knowing even the smallest details.
Those few extra minutes of sleep. That  feeling after a good shower. The smell of a hot cup of lav cream earl grey. Those first familiar chords of that one song. That safe, comfortable place in the company of your best friend.

It's the little things that remind me that God sees me and knows me. When I notice these little things, I remember He hasn't forgotten about me.

So, I keep fighting, knowing I'm not alone.

seven and eight. [of ten thousand]

I'd be lying if I said this has gotten easier each day. Going on in faith that one day it will be easier, that it will be as natural as breathing.

seven.
Praise God for cleaning.
My car, my room, my heart. Clearing the windshield to see, making a path to walk, shining the light of truth in to expose...from quite insignificant to most important, slowly but surely I'm we're making progress.


eight.

Praise God He's patiently full of grace.

As I was reminded through the radio today, "If I'm so thankful, why do I easily forget that You died for all of this?" This is why  I have to choose daily to see and remember just how good He's been to me. And every time I forget, He just patiently and gracefully reminds me again...and again...

when children pray.

On Wednesdays, I hang out with Kindergartners. We sing, we pray, we play, we learn about Jesus--we do life together. It's a highlight of my week, every week.


At the beginning of the month I got a brand new group of kids to hang out with, the ones who will be going into Kindergarten in the fall. On the night of the "up-grade" one of the moms asked for my name, so they could pray for me during the week. I thought it was sweet, introduced myself and thanked her. Weeks passed and I kind of forgot about it.

Until tonight. The same mom came to pick up her daughter and this is the conversation we had:

Parent: "It's Katy, right?"
Me: "Yep, that's me"
Parent: "Ohhh, we hear all about Miss Katy at home!"
Me: "All good things, I hope!"
Parent: "Of course! A* tells me all about how she gets to sit next to Miss Katy during worship. Also that Miss Katy wears a ring, but doesn't have a husband."
*Laughter*
Parent: "So, thank you."
Me: "Umm, uhh..."
Parent: "We got to talk about purity and loving and serving God."

What an amazing story! I am really just relaying it...all I did was wear a ring and answer, to the great dismay of the eight girls that were there that night of the up-grade, that I wasn't married and didn't have kids. The parents of this precious child should be getting the praise here. For engaging in conversation and encouraging prayer with their daughter, even though she is "only" four years old. Look what great fruit is being reaped! Can you imagine what amazing conversations they could be having once she's fourteen? 

It all starts here. Kids.

That Jesus knew what He was talking about.

So talk to kids. Pray with kids. 

p.s. I've been inspired to re-read this book that I read while I was a children's ministry intern oh so long ago. It's a good one.

*name changed

heart check.

I kind of like writing on Sundays. Not only because it gives me a chance to reflect back on the week I just finished(I usually see my weeks as being Monday to Sunday) but because often I figure out(aka God shows me) what I should share after listening to the sermon at church.

Anyway, today it came to me when I heard Brad talk about how our behavior is an outward indicator of our inner condition, of our heart--what we believe and what we love. I saw how much of what's gone on in the past couple of weeks was the beginning of a major heart check for me.

It's getting late and I'm not sure that I'm ready to spill all the messy details of what that's looked like so far, but here's what I can say:

(Also from the sermon today) I'm seeing how individualism is an idol in my life.  Although I can talk a pretty convincing talk about the joy and benefit and calling to live in community and do life with others, if I'm honest, my heart isn't quite there and my actions prove it. Yes, I've joined a life group of peers and am leading a life group of some awesome Kindergarteners, but I know that I'm holding back and keeping a lot of my life to myself. My compulsive Darkside shows itself as I carefully decide what parts of my life are open and which doors must remain shut, locked and expertly wallpapered over. It's going to take some time for me to open those doors, but I think I can at least start on peeling off the wallpaper and acknowledge that they're there. (sorry for this analogy, but my dad is a wallcovering specialist)

Other than that, all I know is that my heart is not too healthy right now. I know I'm always going to need some kind of work and that this time of cleaning, discovering, refining and repairing has no real end. I know it's going to be painful and humbling, but I trust that it's necessary and hope for a day that I  might truly be able to understand that.

So here's to walking my talk. Letting you in to hold me to it.

Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and put a new and right spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
and do not take your holy spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and sustain in me a willing spirit.

-Psalm 51:10-12

eavesdropping

I've been really into stories lately. Life stories. You can kind of see it in the past couple weeks' blog posts.

I've been asked to share a story of my own for the Friends of Portugal blog.
(For those of you who don't know what that is or are wondering what me moving back to Portugal might look like check it out here.)

Anyway, I've been really excited to be apart of what FOP is doing and to be able to be a part of it all, but I was really struggling to give my story words.  And then, it just kind of happened. God's timing is impecable.Today, when PJ was speaking, I heard these words and knew how to tell my story...

"It's not what you know, but who you love."


When I was eighteen, a month after I graduated from high school, I and a team of three other ladies moved to Massamá, Portugal to work with the Espaço Vida Nova Church there. We were there ten months, living, learning and serving. I think I must have had some idea when I left my California hometown that this "trip" was something special, but in a lot of ways I feel that I am still discovering just how instrumental those ten months of my life were.

During our time there, I spent a lot of time hanging out with kids. I came with several years of experience working with kids in a variety of settings, so it was just a natural fit. There were three kids in particular that I spent time with: Joe, Mary and Harvey*. These were my three faithful attendees of any and everything that I did at Espaço. Sunday school, Saturday kids' club, changing the window display, sweeping the floor, you name it. If we were there, they were there.

When I work with kids, I sometimes wonder how much they're really taking in.  Are they really listening to this story or are they just interested in the awesome flannelgraph? Are they memorizing a Bible verse or just coloring a photocopied page? Are they learning what it means to live and love as a community or just concerned with winning the wacky relay race? (Present day me would like to just answer "Yes!" to all of the questions above by the way...) In all honesty, I felt this way, this doubt and uncertainty, for a large portion of my time in Massamá.

Did it matter? Was anything I was doing going to make a difference? Would these kids even consider anything I said in my broken, limited Portugese to be true?

Then, one Sunday near the end of our time there, all of those doubts and worries were silenced by an overheard conversation.

That Sunday, Marjorie taught her class (really just the table of the older kids that was next to mine of the younger) about Heaven. They talked about what it was like and that it was where Jesus was. After the service, while I was cleaning up, I saw that Marjorie was talking with Harvey. I continued to pick up the scraps of paper and stray crayons from my lesson while I watched them pray together. After they prayed Marjorie asked Harvey,

"So, do you know where Jesus is now?" 

He looked at her with this incredulous look expressing a sort of "DUH!" as he replied,  

"We just talked about that today, He lives in Heaven, remember?" 

Marjorie waited for a moment, and then I saw it. His little face lit up and a giant smile spread across his face and he pointed to his heart,  

"HERE! He is lives here now too!"

And that's when I knew. I was brought to Portugal not solely to plan lessons and relay races and create window displays, but to spend ten months with these three kids, to overhear that conversation and to see that expression of pure, genuine joy.

As I said before, I don't think I fully knew what ten months in Portugal would mean for me when I left, and I'm still finding ways that it has impacted my life that I didn't see before. But without a doubt, I came to Portugal and fell in love. I fell in love with a culture that values family and traditions and history. I fell lin love with the beautiful parks and old castles and cafes at every corner. And I fell in love with the people who live there. I may not know everything about Portugal, I'm still learning and have much more to learn, but I love Portugal. I think that's a good place to start.

*Names have been changed

behind the music.

 Apparently being out of town on a Sunday means blogging get pushed back to the middle of the week...

"Where words fail, music speaks." - H.C. Andersen

There's just something about words that are put to music that speak so much deeper into my soul than words by themselves.

I went to a concert on Sunday. That's not really big news, as most who know me know.
It was a Bon Iver concert. That IS big news. He's been on my list for a while now.

It was...
beautiful, visually (outside.Santa Barbara.stage design.lights.) and aurally, and cathartic.

I sat alone--well, alone while surrounded by strangers--and let the music and voice of Justin DeYarmond Edison Vernon (isn't that a fantastic name?) wash over me.

There's something about hearing a favorite song played live that makes me love it all the more.
Especially when it's prefaced with a bit of insight from the artist himself:

"Life is weird. *chuckles* Like how the hell'd we get here? But we're here. And it's weird. This is a song about that.  'Coz , sometimes it's unclear when shit's supposed to be good when it's bad."

Mister Vernon then proceded to play re: stacks, arguably my favorite song. Definitely in the top three.

What I'm trying to say is that as much as I love the song and find meaning in it for myself, it means so much more to Justin himself because he wrote it. It's his. His introduction was just a small glance into the story behind the words. [here's more on that song and others of his...]

That's what I love. That's what speaks to me in music. The story. The thoughts, emotions, joy, pain,  hurt and healing that prompt writing and are poured into the delivery.

Another example:
I have a friend who writes songs. He wrote one about one of the worst panic attack I had that he was present to help me through. The experience itself was awful. Terrifying. Dark.  Powerful.
The song that came out of it is simply perfect. It's an excellent song on its own, but for me, and my friend and maybe even for those who really saw where I was during the years I really struggled with depression and anxiety, it meant so much more.

I guess the point in writing all of this is to acknowledge:
1. We all have a story to tell
and
2. Words don't say everything, although they do say a lot

So...let's listen to each other this week. Let's take the time to find and listen to
the story behind the words

disney & roomies.

Well, I'm a couple of days late, but better late than never, right?
Tonight I just want to share how I got some perspective from a Disney movie and a former roomie.

Let's start with the Disney movie since that came first.

Pocahontas.


Hopefully you have seen this movie, or at least know the general plot line.
As I was watching the movie that I had enjoyed so much as a child, I realized how much I still really enjoy the movie. When I was younger it was the music, the characters and the fact that the bad guy isn't really too scary that drew me to the movie. This weekend it was the story.
One of the song's lyrics really stood out to me. I couldn't seem to get them out of my head.

You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew

I heard those lyrics and was reminded of how often we (okay, I) can be so quick to think our way, of thinking, of speaking, of living, is the best way. The only way.
How ignorant. How prideful.

The (former) roomie.
I spent the majority of the weekend with a friend/former roomie and it was simply excellent.
(for the record, I had two awesome roomies in college)

Aside from just spending some much needed (and missed) quality time together over the past couple of days, I was really inspired by her, simply being herself.
A specific instance of this genuine inspiration happened during our day in SLO on Sunday.
I took her to one of my favorite local cafes for breakfast as soon as we got into town. We enjoyed a delicious (and pretty healthy) light breakfast and then took some time to just relax and rest. (We left Fresno just before 5am, so we were pretty tired already)

While we were sitting on the comfy, worn in couch, an older gentleman struck up a conversation with us. I immediately felt awkward and let my roommate do most of the talking. During the time he was telling us about some of his experiences as movie and tv show extra, I continued to feel painfully awkward as I listened and tried to keep a polite smile on my face while nodding from time to time.  I kept thinking of ways to politely leave without being too obvious about how uncomfortable I was.

We eventually left and the day went on. we stuck gum on Bubblegum Alley, drank chocolate milk,  ate a big lunch, visited a friend, ate otter pops, watched a movie, toured Cal Poly, took a nap, ate fro yo for dinner and finally drove home.

But throughout the day and during the long, late drive home, I kept thinking about the man at the cafe. As I said, he didn't give the most reliable stories, but he did have a story. No, I did not know him. Yes, some of his stories sounded more like fiction than fact. But, so what?

So. What.

I am selfish. and sheltered. and scared. That's what.

I talk a big talk about wanting to live missonally, but I keep finding myself shying away from it being reality.  I talk about being frustrated with people who can't seem to see past the Fresno (and/or FPU) bubble, yet most nights I spend at home. In Clovis. Alone with a book.

I know being honest about all of this doesn't solve this problem, I still have to take some action.
But at least now you know.
So keep me in check, kay?

Let's take some steps, together, out of our comfy spots this week!

on the willows.

By the rivers of Babylon—
   there we sat down and there we wept
   when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
   we hung up our harps.
For there our captors
   asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
   ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’ 

How could we sing the Lord’s song
   in a foreign land? 

--Psalm 137:1-4

So FPU Theater's Spring Mainstage this year is Godspell and I highly recommend going to see it if you are in Fresno and haven't yet.  The cast (which includes two of my close friends) is crazy talented and it's really a fun/exciting/emotional/thought-provoking show. Seriously go.
Okay, I'm done plugging.

Sort of.

I went on opening and again this afternoon with my momma. Both performances were excellent and both times I was in tears at one of the final scenes and songs, "On The Willows."(Note: The link is the Broadway cast. You really need to hear the FPU cast sing it. Do it.)

SPOILER ALERT. (you've been warned)

In the scene, Jesus is saying goodbye to each of the disciples before he is betrayed by Judas and crucified. Each disciple has their own unique relationship with Jesus and that is reflected in their goodbyes. I think it's seeing the personal, intimate interactions that brings the tears for me. 

I also know that the lyrics of the song really laid heavy on my heart during and after the show. Nerd me knows that they are from Psalm 137 (thanks BLIT 321). The psalmist wrote these verses in reference to the Jews' time of being held captive, a time when they were abused and insulted, far from the Temple and  everything they knew.  I don't want to suggest that I have experienced anything so intense. But I hope it's not offensive to suggest that in a very small way I can imagine the hopelessness, the disheartenment, the pain that comes when we lose sight of God in our situation. How could we possibly sing the songs that we sing out of the overflow of joyful worship from our hearts when we're in a place, literally or figuratively, that is so cruel and foreign?

Sometimes it seems impossible to praise God in the midst of our situation, when we really feel how far away we are from Him here in this broken and foreign world. But we were never promised it would be an easy, or even enjoyable journey with Christ. In fact, if we're really living the way we're called to, it's quite costly. We're called to  deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow Him. I am pretty sure following Him is not limited to the glamorous, exciting, and safe places.

Scary? Try, terrifying.
Difficult? Extremely.
Necessary? Absolutely.

Like Paul says, "Not thatI have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me His own."  (Philippians 3:12). But as important as it is to remember this is what we're called to do, we should also remember:

we're in this together. 

investment.

I've been thinking about stuff lately.
I don't mean that ambiguously, I mean I've been thinking about literal stuff. Specifically MY stuff.

I've been getting in these moods lately where I walk into my closet (if you've ever seen my closet, you know I mean literally walk in, maybe even lay out and take a nap) and start yanking clothes off hangers and putting them in hand-me-down and Goodwill piles. These often seem to come after instances like these...

About a month ago a good friend of mine moved from California to Mississippi. Let me clarify, about a month ago a good friend of mine DROVE from California to Mississippi. I had a chance to hang out with her a few days before she left and something she told me has been floating in my mind ever since.

"I'm driving around with my whole life in my car. My whole life fits in my car."

Or something along those lines. I guess I shouldn't put quotations around an approximation...oh well. The point is, I can't say that. I am no where near being able to say that.

And this morning I drove by a man on his bicycle towing a trailer carrying a cardboard box and a couple of black garbage bags and thought to myself, "That's his whole life, going with him wherever he goes."


Also, I discovered this blog today which reminded me of this book, both fueling the desire to get rid of my stuff.


I think part of my angst comes from the thought of moving home to Portugal in the near-ish future. I know near-ish is more like a few years, but college was a "few" years and that flew by.

When I think about moving back, I think about what I'd take with me. The last time I lived there I packed everything into two suitcases. That was for ten months. (I took a backpack and carry-on when I visited for a month) This next move will be for at least three years. Would it be possible to pack my whole life into two suitcases again? It's not like Portugal doesn't have HUGE malls, grocery stores, feiras (markets), etc. where I can buy lots more things. Will I leave things here in my room? Will I ever be moving back here to Chickadee Lane once I leave?

These questions are somewhat frequent, but the question that most often comes to mind is much more difficult to wrestle with.

"How much of myself do I invest here? Now?"
How much time? Should I start working with this ministry if I already know I'm not in it for the long haul?
 How much money? Should I save  up for a more reliable car?
How much of my heart? What happens if I meet someone (you know, that kind of someone)? Should I forget about them if they don't want to move to Portugal too? (Should I even really be worrying about this one at all? Answer to that one: No.)
How much of my interest? Can I love this time and place wholly and fully without losing the love of Portugal? How do I do that?

I have answers to some of those subquestions, most of them I don't. I've been listening to lots of Mumford lately, and this is the thought I'm left with (and the thought I'll leave you with):

"where you invest your love, you invest your life."

rainy.

Rain, rain come this way,
Come to stay for several days.
That's the song I'll teach my children someday. 

There's just something about rain that I just can't seem to get enough of. A friend of mine said it quite perfectly this week. Rain is:
"Such a relief. Rest. Joy."

I know I didn't always used to like rainy days. When I was really young, I was terrified of lighting (I figured our log home would burn pretty well...) and in high school I remember complaining about how I hated the way my jeans turned into giant sponges that had half of my leg drenched by lunchtime. But as time went by and life was experienced, as with many other things, my views were broadened and I began to see it differently.

My sophomore year of college was by far the most difficult year of my life. (Seems a bit naïve to say that since I've been alive for twenty-two years. Anyway...) That year was difficult emotionally, mentally, physically and especially spiritually. You know when people say they're going through a dry spell in their relationship with God? I felt like I was in a desert.  There were few things that brought me genuine joy during that year, but one of them was rain. Rain brought cleansing. Nourishment. Healing. In the rain I felt remembered. I felt cared for. I felt loved. 

In movies, rain seems most often connected to a sad scene. In the movie of my life, rain became a source of pure joy. I guess that's why I get so bummed out when people rag on the rain. Maybe sometimes rain does make you sad, but I've found it's okay to be sad sometimes. Following Jesus doesn't mean being happy all the time. Life is tough. There are moments of great pain and moments of great joy. And also just moments that don't seem to fit in either of those extremes. 

You may not think about rain the way I do, but I think there's probably something God's used in each of our lives that we may not have expected, or even liked, to reveal Himself in a new way and bring us closer to Him. Let's encourage each other, sometimes it's really difficult to see those things when we're still in the midst of them.

p.s. if you've never tried it, I highly encourage you to go dance in the rain this week! (barefoot is best)

so live your life. (no tellin' where it'll take ya)

Sunday night, we meet again. Sometimes, more often that not actually, I cannot believe how quickly time passes. I actually thought about writing yesterday, but the procrastinator lives on. :/
It really would have made sense for me to write this yesterday, since most of what I'll be rambling on tonight happened yesterday...but I digress. 

If you ever drive out to my house from town, assuming you're not coming from Sanger, I'll tell you to watch for a curve in the road and the flashing yellow 30 MPH sign, you'll make a right turn off of the main 168 to get to my house. Well if you miss that turn off, or choose to pass it by like I did, you head straight up towards Prather, Auberry and eventually Shaver Lake. I decided to take the short drive up to the San Joaquin River Gorge just outside of Auberry. Beautiful place, short little hikes. It's best in the summer/early fall to explore the little(very little, think shimmy, not walking around) caves, but since I was alone and knew the sun would be setting in a few short hours, I decided to take the shorter trail to the bridge. All that babble to get you here:

After I had been walking for awhile, actually it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, I felt like the trail seemed to be longer than I remembered. I knew I was on the right trail, but I guess I was just impatient to get to the destination. I kept walking and heard water flowing, and it sounded quite close. Excited, I walked a little faster, only to find that the source was only a stream running down the side of a slope. I stopped to take a few photos and just listen to the water run by, but after a few minutes I got up and kept going. Although it was pretty and right there it wasn't what I had come for. 
Eventually I heard the faint sound of the river rushing and several minutes later I could see the bridge. Beautiful view. So worth the drive, the walk, the chill in the air and the light drizzle from the sky.

You know when you hear a message/sermon/devotional and the speaker just seems to have the perfect life example that fits in with what they're talking about? I always wondered how they always found such great examples. What I realized is that it's not that their lives are any more exciting or spiritual than mine, but rather that they were intentionally aware of how God was moving and working in their lives, from grocery shopping to taking a hike. On this hike in particular, I realized I had encountered some of those "really cool life examples":
-Even though the "trail" you're on may seem long and even daunting at times, remember God's past faithfulness. Keep going.
-God's voice isn't always the loudest one. There will be sounds/voices that seem a lot louder and closer, maybe even some that sound like what you're looking for. Be discerning. Keep listening.
-God is quite the Creator. Not really a metaphorical way to tie that in..but seriously, He makes some beautiful things. 

Again, mostly notes for myself. I guess it would be pretty cool to share these with a group. Or kind of terrifying.  Anyway, let's open our ears and be encouraged by His still, small voice.