the good earth

I don’t often find myself reading the obituary section of the local paper, however, I found myself there out of a necessity to kill some time last November. That’s where I met Sylvia. I was drawn in by her old hollywood glam. Whichever kid of hers was tasked with picking the proper photo to memorialize her deserves a hearty congrats and a strong glass of the appropriate adult beverage of their liking because they truly nailed it.

Sylvia spent her life learning to love the places that she found herself in. In her late twenties, she chose to let go of the green Ohio lands she knew and found all sorts of goodness in this dry and sometimes dreary West Texas basin. She spent her decades rearing babies, honing in on her artistic abilities and growing up (not old) in a land she never anticipated to be her home. Her obituary told the story of a woman hell-bent on giving it her all, no matter where her return address placed her on the map. Plainly put -- she pressed in.

I'll never know the exact reason why I stumbled upon her on a random Saturday morning and she'll never know how much (the synopsis of) the life she lead means to me but I believe it was all divinely orchestrated. I'm almost certain God placed Sylvia on this earth and in this town in part so that in death she could spur me on. As wild as that may sound.

It was as if her obituary was the coffee shop postmortem pep talk she knew I needed. These last words were the confirmation and the recognition of what I had been desperately trying to do for nearly two years.

I had made a similar sort of choice. Sylvia just happened to spend nearly 60 years charting the course ahead of me.

You see, I could have dug my heels in and said no when I got the call that would lead me to the same West Texas town. I could have placed fear in the driver's seat and listened to its terrible choice of music all the way through. I could have told God his plan was dumb and, frankly, was asking too much of me. But I would have missed it all if I had.

I've found wonder and beauty in some of the strangest places over the last two years. Strange being the discretionary word here, as they really weren't strange at all. If even the most aesthetically displeasing regions of the world are worthy of His admiration then they should demand my affection as well. Tucked behind the corners and hidden within the cracks I have found such magic in the mundane because I've looked for it. I refused to play the broken record and get stuck on all the things I could, should, would have any where else.

This dry flat land has been good to me for He he has followed me here. His mercy has given me rose-colored glasses and filled its borders with hope and promise.

Sylvia -- Slyvi (Syl-vee), maybe? --in all her wit and wisdom gave it her all and left behind just enough to remind me -- a stranger who is coming up with nicknames for a woman she has never actually met -- yikes -- just how good it is to live with wide eyes.

“And now, here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to start all over again. I’m taking her back out into the wilderness where we had our first date, and I’ll court her. I’ll give her bouquets of roses. I’ll turn Heartbreak Valley into Acres of Hope. She’ll respond like she did as a young girl, those days when she was fresh out of Egypt...On the very same day, I’ll answer”—this is GOD ’s Message— “I’ll answer the sky, sky will answer earth, Earth will answer grain and wine and olive oil, and they’ll all answer Jezreel. I’ll plant her in the good earth. I’ll have mercy on No-Mercy. I’ll say to Nobody, ‘You’re my dear Somebody,’ and he’ll say ‘You’re my God!’” Hosea‬ ‭2:14-15, 21-23‬ ‭MSG‬‬

preaching to myself

Generosity doesn’t come dressed like convenience. So stop calling after it like it will strut down the Catwalk of Ease.

The art of Going Out of Your Way is far less glamorous. It takes boots on the ground and all hands on deck. It's the in-between of the sliver of a nanosecond. The breath between rolling your eyes at her persistence and her, completely oblivious to the eye-roll, thanking you for all your help.

You see, it's denying the selfishness of a to-do list a mile long for the sake of another. It's winding the long hallways of the basement and standing outside of the shipping and receiving dock hoping someone will answer the door and point you in the right direction of a large box containing a new mom's glider and ottoman set, when all you really want to do is figure out how to create more time in a day. Daylight Savings, though, can go to hell.

How generous it is to be used as the unintentional vessel to bring "good news," as she called the nursery furniture's perfect timing, to someone. So why do you try to treat it as a chore when it causes the slightest of inconveniences?

You know there is far greater Good News than the chairs babies are rocked in. And because you know that, it's your duty to treat generosity like a "get to" and not a "have to."

Because at the end of the day it’s the beautiful time-gaining (not losing), winding nature of the road paved of largess. Frankly, it’s as simple as this: Get out of your own way so you can go out of your way.

I doubt she ever dreamed it

I doubt she ever thought about it. I doubt she ever wondered what would become of this boomerang shaped coffee table.

I doubt she ever dreamed it would sit in her granddaughter's living room, sharing a weekly cup of coffee and a reading of the New York Times. Yet it does, along with the ghost of her secrets. Secrets clothed in pride.

That's the funny thing about pride and furniture. They live on after we've become worm food. Or a box full of ash. They keep our secrets just below the tangible surface of understanding. In plain sight and just out of reach.

I've changed the table's legs from their stumpy originals in an attempt to refine and polish the thing. The new thinly tapered set isn't quite right, though. It wobbles on its weak foundation. My attempt to update the table seems futile as, in reality, I am only trying to drown out the thought of our similarities ending at our shared middle name and this triangular, unsteady object.

Did I end up with her self-sabotaging prideful ways? Do I have her fear of being truly known? This woman whom I've never met but seem to encounter every time I step foot into my living room haunts me with the possibility of sameness.

Grace and mercy covers the generation that came before me, a valley of peace sandwiched between the pragmatism of the one before her and the one after her. Born to one and the giver of birth to the other, shouldn't my mother's life have been the catalyst of change? Wasn't her humility the bridge to better? Here I sit, questioning the genetics of the soul. Do we get the strands of DNA that have been spliced and pinched from those who've come before us to craft the foundations of our souls? Is this the growth place for the marrow in our bones?

Perhaps it would be easier to come to a conclusion if the liquor hadn't soured her liver, turned her eyes yellow and brought death in her fifties. Maybe if I could sit across from that woman shrouded in her secrets, instead of her 1960's knock-off antique, I just might be able to define our similarities from presumptions.

What if my questions are exactly that which makes us different? While she spent her life in the trap of what she couldn't bring herself to say out loud, maybe I am the one who is supposed to do the dirty work of ending the silence. What if she lived through the dark so that I could glean from the light? A busted and holy combination of my ancestry 一 grandmother, mother, daughter.

Is it possible a namesake does bring with it a cloak of responsibility?

the first date chronicles: part 3 - Jared-Dylan-Adam

Clarissa Toll

This is an actual event that took place my junior year of college. Be sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 before you read this post, the third and final installment of a very odd first date. 

A bell chimed over her head as she walked in to the diner.

The boy had apologized about his use of chameleon names and tried to explain it away as a bad joke gone wrong. Whatever, she thought, just give me my spot in the library back and we'll move on. 

There was just one problem, though. He wouldn't leave her alone. The boy asked to meet her at a small, local diner to discuss the book over lunch. Intrigue and a foolish grip on possibility made the girl agree, much to her father's dismay. 

She spotted him by the counter, half-way shocked to actually see him there in the flesh. She would be lying if she said wasn't the slightest bit scared of him standing her up. 

They picked a booth by the front window and looked over the menu. She ordered a burger. He ordered the breakfast special.

Somewhere in-between the awkward pauses and surface conversation, it began to ease in to a semi-comfortable rhythm. 

They discussed the book, the author and the little intricacies the story wove together -- both fully enjoying hashing out all of the details. Towards the end of their meal, she mentioned her current stint as a staff writer for their university's newspaper. She had to get back to campus to meet a deadline.

"Really?" he remarked. Interested in continuing the conversation, he sheepishly mentioned he liked to write too.  Then he mumbled something almost inaudible across the table. 

When she quizzically asked him to repeat what he had just said, he leaned back in to the booth pulling away from the table and then said, "I'm actually an author of my own book." 

"That's great," she said. "You'd like to be published?"

"Actually, it's been published," he said with slight uncomfortableness.

Immediately the girl's brain flashed a neon sign that read: I AM ON A DATE WITH A PUBLISHED AUTHOR. HE'S KIND OF WEIRD, BUT THIS IS COOL. ALSO, IS THIS WHAT A GIRL WEARS ON A DATE WITH AN AUTHOR?!

As he explained what his book was about, it all started to make sense why he was so interested in a  girl who laughed as she read books in the library. 

The girl made sure to get the title of this said book of his. She was going to double check his stories. He didn't have a great track record of keeping things straight thus far. 

He paid for the bill and they walked out on to the sidewalk. They both got quiet. Leaving a first date is always strange. Do you hug? Do you mention a next time? No one has ever truly figured out the best method for hopeful strangers to part ways. 

After a few moments of standing there, he was the one to lean in for a hug and the one to say "let's do this again." Those words allowed just a smidgen of possibility to grow. Maybe this could be something after all, she thought. 

When back at her computer and finishing up an article, she googled his book. Sure enough, there it was. His description and name lined up perfectly. It seemed there was no strange joke or story with this piece of information. 

She stared at her computer screen in a busy newsroom smiling like a fool and thought how fun this little adventure could be.

She planned to gain a copy of the book and have him sign it. She waited for her phone to ring and to come upon him in the library the following week, but her phone never rang and her spot in the library never housed him again. 

Just as soon as he had swept in, he left just as quickly leaving no evidence of ever being there in the first place. 

He, in effect, had completely vanished. 

Perhaps, he was using her and the encounter for new book material. Perhaps, he was just a strange character all his own. She never would have the answers to her theories. 

She did, however, learn of a killer diner close to school and gain a cool story out of the experience. That was enough for her.

box 03 // wear the hope

Clarissa Toll

We've all seen that article about the very loved and fashion forward stores that only pay many of their workers 4 bucks an hour for the gruling and laborious tasks they perform day in and day out. 

How very many of those lifeless statements I hang in my closet. It kills me to think that I have in some ways encouraged a broken system with my desire for "cute" clothing. 

The terms: Sweat Shop, Child Labor and Fair Wages way heavy on me like an itchy wool sweater I can't shake. 

For about six months, I've been researching ways to be more ethical with my clothing purchases. Brands. Causes. Organizations. I've been searching for a way to give back and empower my closet. 

And I'll be real with you, my bank account cried at just the thought of the prices we'd be paying.  It's not something you can just do. It's a price hike and takes extensive amounts of intentionality. 

I know there is something to be said about cheap prices, (I'm a recent college graduate who works for a non profit. I get it.) but I'm afraid those cheap prices will just add up to a cheaply clothed life cloaked in uncaring and disregard. I refuse to live out a legacy with the lace trim of indifference and nonchalance sewn into its seams. 

But that doesn't mean I don't peruse the Target clothing section or salivate at all the pretty garnet and emerald colored things in H&M. 

A new favorite blogger of mine, Ellie at Selflessly Styled, puts it this way: 

"I'm an ethical fashion blogger, and I still own several things that I know were probably made poorly and in very poor conditions.And I will keep wearing those things until they wear out.
And when they wear out I will have saved up enough to replace them with ethically-made alternatives.
Sometimes the most "ethical" thing to do is keep wearing your sweatshop-made clothes until they've become too tattered to work for you.
If you have a small budget (like I do), it's so freeing to have time to save for responsible replacements instead of the weight of a guilt-driven rush to change everything."
 So, that's how I'm doing it too. Taking it slow, attempting to save, stuffing my pockets full of hope and wearing what I've got."

So, that's what I'm doing. Doing the research, attempting to save, stuffing my pockets full of hope and wearing what I've got. 

One of the great finds in my research was Hope Supply, a subscription box of fashion accessories from a variety of different ethical brands. Each box is curated with four beautiful hand crafted items for your closet as well as your home. 

Hope Supply is the steam engine that continues to empower and bring better to impoverished women in Honduras through Mi Esperanza, an organization that works to educate and provide resources to improve the lives of local artisan women through training and micro-loans.

My favorite part: every item is labeled with the name of the woman who made it. 

Box 03 is simple and sweet. A scarf made from recycled clothing by Reyna. A ring and a necklace crafted by Denia so dainty they're precious. And the loveliest hand-stamped pillow case by Amparo. 

When you wear items with heart and soul behind them, you sense the love and the beauty and the commitment it took for them to be with you. As if these pieces have voices and a story to whisper in your ear.

Clarissa Toll

When I wrap the scarf Reyna made around my neck, it's like a hug from a woman I have never met. A love story is stitched into edges. A sweet blessing of hope covers its fabric. It's an honor to play a small role in ensuring Reyna and girls like her get the beautiful life they deserve.

Clarissa Toll

Hope Supply is such a beautiful representation of how choosing the pieces that have a heart and a story – the ones that make a difference – can do so much more than make a fashion statement. 

Clarissa Toll

You can purchase the same box here and, if you go follow @hopesupply on instagram, you'll get you're self a pretty sweet discount code of TEN DOLLARS off!

This is not an ad. I received no compensation for this post and purchased the box on my own (without the coupon). 

on the other side of 22

Every year, I have written a birthday post. It's been a time to use my words to bid ado to the year previous and prepare/pray/dream/cast vision about the new year ahead. It's something I have always considered a sacred group of words that seek to honor the blessing living this life is, which threaded together create a concrete timeline for reflection later -- a visual of what the Lord will do and has done.

Last year, I felt itchy and restless. I couldn't bring the words to my fingers tips, let alone know what words I wanted to represent my twenty-second year. My world was in more limbo than ever had it been before. This birthday came on the eve of change. In the middle of my final quarter of college, I entered a new chapter altogether. What would follow after that early day in October only created more limbo and more uncertainty.

Goodbyes. Unemployment. Adventures. Urgent care trips. Weddings. Distance. All things I couldn't see coming. 

I wracked my heart and brain at the time for the words and the vision and the prayer, but I felt slightly like someone had turned off my gravity switch and I was just floating around bumping into people, things, moments, and memories. What was I going to do with such a blurry outlook with no words or actions to fill the void? 

To be honest, here we are a year later, on the other side of 22, and I still haven't a solid conglomeration of words or a complete understanding of the past year. Or the new one -- 23 feels just as foggy.

Yet, I'm pretty sure I'm okay with the fog and the confusion. Don't get me wrong it's still strange and uncomfortable at times, but I'm grateful to not understand everything. I believe in a Creator who does know it all, therefore surrendering complete knowledge comes with the territory.

This I know: last year was sacred and this coming year will be just as sacred, regardless of what comes my way. Life is one heck of a gift and it kills me to doubt any bit of it.

For 23, I'm jumping on the roller coaster and lowering the bar tight against me. There will be whoops and dips and loops.

"Hope can be a mighty powerful thing when you decide to tangle it into a journey. Hope can shake things up a bit. It'll convince you that even if you don't know which direction you're headed in, something will meet you at the end." - Hannah Brencher, If You Find This Letter 

I'm going to write this year a love letter drenched in hope. It'll be beautiful and broken -- just the way it's meant to be. 

don't step on my blue suede shoes

Once in high school, I and a few others from my ASB traveled to the state capitol to develop and speak on our suggestions for the Board of Education. We found ourselves shotgunned into groups of students from all over the state to learn how to debate and create legislation together. It was a long weekend of late nights and groups built like patchwork quilts -- stitched together with our passion to change the world. 

In my group, there was this boy. He had charm and height and an air about him which exuded confidence that was a border town to cockiness. We shared a few laughs and a package of care-packed Redvines on the couch at a downtown hotel. He made fun of my pink energy drink, which to this day I can't find a reason as to why I was even drinking it. That drink was like death -- pink death. 

This boy was the kind to have it all already figured out. He was a card carrying MENSA member and was going to be a lawyer. There was no plan, only certainty. When he talked it wasn't the sort of passion filled determination of a hopeful high school student, but a robust certainty that only those with their own law firm would/could know. As a fifteen year-old with a ramshackle sack of unknown and sort of kind of desires and dreams, I stared at him in awe and bewilderment.

How did he become one of those people who knew what he wanted to be -- was it knit between the strands of his DNA? Was it a dream he found tucked into his kindergarten knapsack or on the play ground during recess? Did his grandfather's grandfather start the family line of lawyers-who-always-knew? 

Even now, I sit back and want to peel back the layers to see what makes these kinds of people know. Sometimes I wish I could gather all these sorts of people up on to a big old couch in the middle of a big city, break apart a package of licorice like we're breaking bread, and have them each tell me one by one how they exactly know.

In July, I started my first job post-college in the PR world. I, a lot of the time, still feel like the fifteen year old girl I once was with her bag full of undecided dreams. Except now, I'm wearing electric blue suede kitten heels and have a cubical and a work phone. Transition is so strange and sometimes it feels like you've been uninvited to your own story. Like, life is just a whirl-wind that blows past you on its way to more.

I have been blessed with a position that houses a ton of learning opportunities and ways to garner experience. It's a depiction of what I always spoke about wanting: a nonprofit who works to make the world better for those who have been wronged, but it doesn't quite yet feel like home. And that in it of it self feels strange, because I convinced myself it already should.

Like when as a kid your sweet momma bought you new jeans or thrifted a worn, strong pair always with a hem that flapped around your heel at the beginning of every school year. She'd remind you that you wouldn't forever be the scrawny, half-lanky kid, but one who would stretch a handful of inches by the end of the year -- you'd grow into them, they wouldn't grow around you.

Transition is the too long in the legs and a little bit loose in the waist part of life. The here and the now of change feels like the never ending yanking up on the hips and the cuffing of the too much, but in the end the button gets tight and the ankles of life look as if they're preparing for a flood. Growing into the new takes time. Wearing in that denim is an art form.

I guess I'll still look up from my desk some days and stare at the grey-blue walls of my cubical wondering if the world and my place in it still exists outside of the office, but I know that I know that cubical won't hold me forever.

I pray the lawyer-boy felt the ramification of change despite his "knowing." I hope he takes the time to wear in a few pairs of jeans. As for me, I want to wear in my jeans until they are good and hole-ly, tight and lived in.

Besides, a good pair of jeans and pair of blue suede kitten heels make for one hell of an outfit.

the first date chronicles: part 2 - jared-dylan-adam

PC: Clarissa Toll

If you missed part one or need a refresher because the blogger took too dang long to get part two up (because that's totally understandable), read here.

A week. A week had gone by since their encounter in the library. No sighting, no call, no text, no Facebook friend request, no sky writing -- nothing had come of the boy who seemed interested in her book and her phone number.

As the girl ranted rather loudly to her carpool mates on their daily trek back to the car about the stupidity of the turned-nothingness of the encounter, her phone vibrated. 

Her dear friend had just got through telling her that maybe she didn't know everything and that maybe, just maybe, this story wasn't quite over yet when the phone signaled a new text message. 

It was from a number not listed in her contacts and it held the shortest phrase of shock/reaction about a piece of the book that only one who was reading it would know. 

The girl stopped dead in her tracks, turned around, and looked into the bushes all while scanning the foreseeable grounds for that tall, lanky boy whom she had met in the library. He and his peacoat were nowhere to be seen.

"How did he know?" she thought.  It was like he was Go-Go Gadget and could hear her rant and hope dwindling out loud. 

With the text and lack of possible spy, those wanna-be hopeless romantic girls instilled new belief in this possibility and began giving him all the typical excuses He's Just Not that into You warns women about. 

Feeling determined to not let boy in on her pervious rant and frustrations with his absence, she held off responding right away and then casually commented about his reaction to the story. 

His response: "This is Jared, by the way. The guy you gave your number to in the library." 

Now, how exactly did "Dyla the Microphone Killa" become Just Jared? No accidental autocorrect could be THAT bad, she thought. She couldn't have created that memory in her mind alone, either. Her memory couldn't be THAT bad.

"Jared?" She texted back, "You said your name was Dylan." 

Again, there was radio silence. With no response to her text, she was left with only her own frustration towards his tomfoolery for comfort.

Who did this fool think he was? Was he playing a game and forgot which name he had used to introduce himself by? How many girls had he met in the library so smoothly? Was he preying on young book nerds just for kicks?

Her carpool mates had also lost their romanticized ideas of him and were no longer so kind to his disappearance. 

They said things like: "What's next? Adam? We'll just have to start calling him Jared-Dylan-Adam." and "If he can't keep his name straight, he must be an ax murderer."

Clearly, they were on to something. 

The girl planned to chalk this event up to one of those "party trick" stories with a few awesome plot twists and just move on with her life.

And then, just like that, the boy reappeared in her spot by the window in the library once again. He was obviously ignoring the unspoken rule about separation of assets, i.e. the cozy spot by the window to the right of the elevators on the third floor, which he forwent by ignoring her text and changing his names like a chameleon changes colors. The nerve of him.

As she casually combed the stacks past him, gathering intel to report back to the carpool mates, she noticed that he was reading the book. HER book. His stature was relaxed as he thumbed through it's pages, as if he was waiting to be noticed. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction, so she begrudgingly trudged her way to the other side of the floor away from her beloved window seat and her coveted sling-back salmon pink chair, all the while muttering under her breath just exactly what she thought of that boy -- whatever his name was.

Three days later, her phone buzzed with a text message from the person previously known as "Dyla the Microphone Killa." He had finished the book. How nice.

As a hail mary, for the sake of the story alone, she texted back: "Is this Jared or Dylan?" At the very least, she was going to nail down his name and take back her spot in the library before she put this encounter to rest.

Nancy Drew had taught her never to allow a mystery to go unsolved. So grab the magnifying glass, because this girl was going to beat the boy at his own game. 

back to the drawing board

PC: Michelle Bongirno

At work, there is a floor to ceiling chalkboard and every day from 8 in the morning till about 8 at night children take chalk to its surface.

Layers upon layers of chalk, white-orange-pink-blue, dusts its surface until the layers of doodles and scribbles become pancaked on top of each other so much so it's hard to decipher the black of the board itself. Chalk dust that didn't quite stick has piled up onto the floor and on the hands and clothes of its artists.

And then we close, the children go home and maintenance comes to wipe it clean. All the labor and dreams spilled out on to its surface are scrubbed clean in one foul swoop, so that the next day another 12 hours of artistry can grace its plains.

In a half joking manner, I told my friend that I'm going to call this season of my post-college life the "back to the drawing board" phase, because, if anything, nothing has gone the way I planned or would have seen fit.

This job with the giant chalk board and the little Picassos, the one that was supposed to be a place holder until I landed my career job, is ending out of the blue. I'm being laid off at the end of the month. With a list of denials only growing longer by the day and being no closer to a job that requires my degree, I am left soon-to-be jobless without an option or a place to go.

When we heard the news, one of my coworkers looked at me with fear in her eyes and with terror-choked words she said, "What am I going to do?" There wasn't an answer. I had no advice, no understanding and no clue. All I could do was stare hard at her and see the reflection of myself in her eyes.

Being 20-something is very similar to having redeemed an E-ticket for the Hot Mess Express. You got onboard without fully comprehending the whole thing, but you were sold on the idea of going west in hopes for gold and your dreams.

Halfheartedly, I want to say I hate this part of my story. I want to raise that banner high and camp myself on one of those cramped benches on that train and write letters back home about all the horrible-rocky-uncertain-frustrating-confusing-daunting things about this season.

But, then I read quotes like this and I feel like these words are what my banner should actually read:

“Transition is a terribly uncomfortable place for you to be in your life. You will start hurting and not even understand where; you’ll think, I’ve never hurt like this before. I’ve never dealt with these kinds of problems. I’ve never been at this point in my life before.”

I'll be honest with you, I was afraid to call these feelings "hurt." It seems silly at first, doesn't it?

Hurt is a word we more often use to describe the bigger, bloodier, bolder problems -- not the bruises we attain by growing up. It makes me feel weak and unprepared to use it as a descriptor in this chapter of my story.

But, this is how I feel. And it isn't wrong or weird just because the world and all its fake-it-till-you-make-it bs says so. Or even because most adultier adults think you should be more joyful and less frazzled by the whole thing.

There is hurt while walking in this season and there is good too. It all goes hand in hand. To ignore the hurt would be silly and create an incomplete picture of what this season really looks like.

My letters home will continue to be filled with the hard and the confusing, but they'll also be the love letters of the now.

Sure, my chalk board has been scrubbed clean and my chalk is a little more crumbly and broken up than it was when I started. It's just the facts of my life right now.

Yet as I live in and through this season, I want to learn to be more like the little artists at work.

They have unrelenting and unashamed desires to still color when the board's been cleared and the chalk has run out. They don't rely on the chalk's permanence, because they know the lines they draw are easily undone. And even after days and weeks of asking, they continue to hold out hope for more chalk when the big box of colors has been all used up.

One day, I'll be lucky to be half as brave as them.

part 1: the first date chronicles - dylan

Photo c/o Clarissa Toll

Preface: This is an actual event that took place my junior year of college. I decided to write it as a third person narrative to challenge my story telling abilities and to make an awkward/hilarious encounter more relatable. Life is funny and it's worth telling the stories it hands you. So, without further ado...

She sat on the third floor of the library killing time during her three hour break between classes. She had cozied herself into an original to the building, salmon pink faded lounge chair by the window. Homework was well avoided during these breaks, and she quietly chuckled often while her nose was stuck in a favorite book and her fingers thumbed through its pages.

"Excuse me?" She looked up. A tall and lanky, pea-coat wearing boy around her age was motioning to the chair across from her. "Is anyone sitting here?" he asked. 

She smiled, uttered a quick "No, go ahead." and went back to her book as he sat down and pulled out his laptop. 

Her chuckling continued and she shared many a "i'm-sorry-if-this-is-distracting-but-you-chose-to-sit-here" smiling glances in his direction. With knowing eyes, his smirks told her it was fine and that his seat choice pleased him.

They went on like this for some time. Her chucking into her book and him smirking at the keys of his laptop. Finally, he broke the silence.

"What book are you reading?" he asked. She told him what it was, who wrote it and how it masterfully combined the heart wrenching with the comical facets of life. Interested, he wrote down it's title and author. Seemingly, he was fascinated with the idea of this book and the girl who had described it to him.

"I thought it was something you were reading for school with the way you were highlighting," he said as his eyes darted to the almost bone-dry yellow highlighter in her hand. She then had to explain her quirk of highlighting other's words; she loved them and those written in books weren't meant to be forgotten. Her explanation seemed to please him, he smiled and said "Your laughter told me otherwise, though."

They chatted a little while longer. What's your major, what year are you, do you often have a break this long, do you sit in the library often -- they rambled through the list of questions acquainted college strangers converse with and then it was time for the boy to stop avoiding life and head back to class.

He packed up his laptop and stood to leave, but hesitated slightly. It was like bravery rocked him back on his feet and said "If i'm going to read this book, I'm going to need some one to talk to about it. Can I have your number?"

She chuckled the nervous laughter that seems to come over all women who realize they are, in fact, being hit on and its no longer just a part of their imagination that they can down play. Thinking the boy clever with his tactics, it was hard not to give him a fair chance.

As she rattled off the digits, she realized neither of them knew the other's name. College students have this horrible talent of skipping over the basics and jumping right to the details. "My name is Clarissa, by the way."

"And what's your's?" she continued. "I'm Dylan Robert Higgins. My mom named me after Bob Dylan." he chuckled. Deadpan he followed up with, "But my customers all know me as 'Dyla The Microphone Killa.'"

Sensing her utter confusion, he then launched into a five minute explanation as to why he as an Apple Bee's server gets very bored and offers to rap for his tables. After the short anecdote he reflected "many of them don't seem to like it much..."

He had an unconventional sense of character and she liked it. She could use a dose of silly in her serious, well organized life.

As they said their goodbyes, she hoped he'd call. Well text, at least, because college students typically avoid phone calls like the plague (in effect, to a college student, a phone call is equal to committing to meet your family and the possibility of marriage all at the touch of the green button).

Or even better, perhaps they'd make a habit of running into each other in the library.

As he headed off towards the elevators, her carpool mates came off the lift.

"Do I have a story for you!" she said as they came close. Adrenalin was the sole reason her blood pumped in those moments as she recanted the encounter.

They'd squeal and giggle about the chance meeting all the way home. And as girls do, they'd dream about how "perfect" this was and would be. 

you are here

Photo c/o Michelle Bongirno 

They say:

"After further consideration, we have decided to pursue other candidates for this opportunity."

"Your qualifications were reviewed and while impressive, were not  a suitable match for this position."

Or, my personal favorite (heavy sarcasm, here), nothing. 

The list of noes has grown quite long on my end of things. Basically, I'm at the corner of Never Getting Another Interview Again and Job Applications Are The Worst. 

For the sake of transparency and at the risk of sounding dramatic, I write this. For myself mostly, but for the possibility of someone else too. I made a promise early on in my career-hunt that I would be honest about this process for those who are following after -- those soon-to-be career-hunters. The world has told a lot of fake-it-till-you-make-it stories and has neglected to get real about how mucky and rough this season can be. The trenches of in-between college and a career can feel lonely and beyond frustrating. I don't want to be another rose-colored, everything was fine type story. I want the it's-dark-here-but-I'm-holding-out-for-hope type stories, because really, if we get strikingly honest, that's all the stories of every chapter of our honest-to-goodness lives. No filters to hide the uncomfortable or squares to crop out the less-lovely; just the reality and truth remain. 

Last week, I was scrolling through social media. I saw that a friend of mine, same age and recent college graduate, was a speaker at a conference. My first thought: "and I'm just here." Just at a regular job that doesn't require my degree or special skills. Just getting denied applications. Just bored out of my mind. Just wanting more. 

After I pitched my tent for a short while in pity-ville and had a small pity-party of one, I got real honest about my "just." Well the Lord did, actually. 

I was looking at my life as the kind of just -- barely, by a little -- and desiring more of what the world would define as success. My idea of more had gotten quite empty. 

As I clung to this idea of just (the little kind), I was basically saying F-you to all the opportunities I have currently. In other words, I was claiming they weren't enough for me. 

How stupid, right? Who was I to claim they weren't enough? 

I have always had a hard time being in the moment. My goals and minute by minute living (at times) can be consumed with what's coming -- the what's next portion. As a child, my favorite questions were "What are we doing?" "Where are we going?" and "Because why?" They haven't much changed, if I'm being honest. I like being in the know, I like preparing and knowing whats coming. And I really, really like knowing the why to everything. In this season, especially, I have been struggling to be content in the right here and right now with most my questions still hanging in the unanswered category. 

I have to make a conscious effort to set my heart and my mind in the moment, every moment. To set it any where else, I become discontent. Which is only selfishness, because I have NO reason to be discontent -- whether or not I have a plan or the answers to my questions. 

I am blessed to have the opportunity to hold a job for the moment in a place in which I get paid to read books to children and hear them say "wead anotha book! wead anotha book!" a million times over. Where else would I get to add voices to the bears, lions, horses, and elephants and be silly for the sake of growing souls? My degree certainly doesn't house many of these opportunities, if any at all. 

To consider these moments "just" anything is ignorance at best. Sure roaring like a lion, picking up legos or wiping boogers were not what I expected to be doing after college, but gracious. I swear, glory exudes when a child laughs. Its a laugh that brings me back, back to contentment -- back to not seeing the "just." 

I know, in a way, I've said this all before in previous blog posts or in Instagram captions. But, these feelings and this season remind me how easily we, as human beings, forget to remember what we know. 

When I landed my current job, I wrote this: Four years ago I never thought that this is where I would be, but you know what? I'm so damn grateful for it. I'm going to glean from this time and I'll be a better praiser of my creator because of it... Where ever you are, lay down those lies you've accepted as truth from the world and find ownership and glory in the space you find yourself in. It's all so very worth it.

In the day in and day out it is so easy to lose sight of the importance of a current moment. If we really were to break it down, the compilation of all these right-now moments are what develop a life. We (I) get so lost in the loftiness of the future that we (I) neglect to glean from what's happening in the now. The future matters, it does, but I don't want mine to consume these days.

I want to be here right now. 

Some days its a harder struggle than others. But, it's a wrestling match worth my participation and the best fight I can muster. 

The applications and the noes are rough. The unknown and the unanswered nature of this season can be frustrating.

But. The yeses are there and the grace still abounds. 

This testament -- these words -- I write are for me (maybe for you, too) on the days when the right now feels heavy and not enough all at the same time, because those days will still come. And though that fact be true, I still push for hope. 

Because I know that I know that I know, I'm supposed to be here -- right now. 

stop acting like you know

Graduating college is very similar, I would assume, to getting married or having a baby, in the sense that you have a good indicator what all these large milestones in life will supposedly entail. Yet, you never truly know or understand what they are until you are in the thick of them.

I left college knowing it would be change, difference, and newness. I knew that my rhythm of life would adjust to a new normal. And I knew how this season looked from my head's perspective.

It's striking how big milestones and changes can reflect our humanness, like very few others can. We think we know, and then the change actually happens. 

A month post-graduation, I know that what I knew was very little like what I know now. 

The application process is both life-sucking and depressing. Its hard to keep laying yourself out on the track, each time hoping that the train will slow down and not crush you and a little part of your soul as it runs full steam ahead. Motivation runs dry very quickly and its much easier to clean out the years of stuff you've stored under your bed, than write cover letters that you know will return a "thanks, but no thanks" response. Or even worse, no response. 

I've noticed people asking me the "are you busy" question a lot more often. Not necessarily because its being asked of me more, but because I'd actually LIKE to be busy. No job, no school, and a cleaned out bed make for a boring set of 24 hours. It isn't a problem that they ask, it just makes a neon sign in my head of this slow-paced season and its turtle-like qualities. 

But the biggest thing I've realized in the beginning parts of this season:

This is the first time in my life that I don't truly have a plan. When I graduated from high school, I knew I was headed to college. Sure I didn't know what the heck I had gotten myself into, but I knew the general gist of things. When uncertainty started to crowd in, I could at least rely on an acceptance letter and what it implicated. 

This time around, the idea of a "career" isn't enough to call a plan. The variables are large and sometimes can cast big shadows onto the future. 

The other night my dear friend said, five years ago we thought you'd be married and settled, but "You have the world at your feet. Its so exciting." 

And it SO is. But having the world at your feet can be deeply unnerving. The world implicates many options with wide parameters. So many possible choices. 

I often half-heartedly joke that i'll take the first job that will pay me, but I also want to truly know that I have made the right choice. I don't want to pry open or slip through cracked doors. I know to the depths of my soul that the Lord opens doors, and I only want to run through those swung wide open. But this season makes for a lot of uncertainty when it comes to knocking on what seems like an endless slew of doors (kind of like Hilbert's Infinite Hotel). 

I thought I knew what this season and change would hold, but daily as I sift through more applications and stare out the window; I am reminded that I know nothing. 

One day, I'm sure I'll read this post as a girl who's too busy once again with a career she's living and say "Silly girl, you had no idea." But here's the paradox, that same girl will be uncertain of other things and she'll be waiting on a different unknown. 

So that's all to say, I should stop acting like I know and soak up what the Lord has to teach me in this season. Easier said than done, of course, but worth it just the same. 

Because life is built of seasons unknown, and by grace we survive. 

the end is NYE

If I could see your face and hear your heart right now, i'd tell you I feel a bit befuddled over the change of what is to be.

These past few days I have been mulling over what to say and how to feel about this last year; i've been struggling to pin point my exact sentiments and emotions of this past year. 

2015 was:

Turning 22. Graduating college. Adopting a kitten. Doing the real-deal job interviews. Taking a call from The New York Times. Discovering a potential eye disease. Feeling a February that felt like May. Competing my butt off at a state wide research competition. Seeking grace. Driving all day with a sweet red head just for Shake Shack. Ditching class for too much whipped cream on waffles. Rescuing vintage furniture from the side of the road. Trying pink hair. Celebrating weddings and mourning a missed first birthday. Clinging to sunrises and knowing the proximity of Terror. Seeing love in the shade. Wearing plaid pants. Laughing at two ever so much in love from the backseat. Eating pizza in a car with a piece of Broadway blaring. Watching hummingbirds grow. Retexturing ceilings and cursing popcorn. Telling the story of Special Olympics athletes. Becoming a twitter-er. Falling in love with yoga. Slapping on a fresh coat of paint. Wearing all the stripes. 

It sounds redundant and pointless to say that change is coming. Because, every single year the calendar changes and we change with it. Its nothing new.

Maybe we don't change in all the big and loud ways every time, sometimes -- most times the change is subtle. But those subtleties, by the end of the year or season or moment, some how make us. 

We pour so much into our days here this side of heaven, consciously and subconsciously, that by the end of the year I always feel a little drained.  The goodbye, the hello, the hope, and the dread all are rolled into the passing of another year. 

2016 will beckon a lot of change into my life. It will usher in so much unknown. 

And the only way to begin is to start. Yet, there is always this moment of pause and reflection as the end draws nye. I love that we as creatures are conscious of moments, spaces, and times. We know we are mere mortals and in the end our time always draws short. It is a privilege to understand time and to recognize its beauty. 

As the clock strikes midnight and the champagne is popped, all will be as it should be. 2016 will begin and begin its process of ending all at once. How strange and wonderful.

Jesus, you go before. 

what it feels like right now

Photo c/o Michelle Bongirno 

11 days.

We are a band of misfits. Some of us contemplating medical school and the daunting days it has in store with an exhausted body and soul. Some of us hold the unknown between our fingertips as we grasp the stacks and stacks of job applications, all of which make us feel uneasy, under qualified, and some what worthless. Some of us are just trying to hang on till graduation, because our minds and souls are wrung out and stretched too thin to think about anything else.

We are all charting waters and setting out onto paths for the first time, perhaps really for the first time in our young twenty-something lives, we set out alone. The routines and the rhythms we've known for 16+ years don't apply anymore and we must begin anew, like never before.

Beginning college wasn't the same as high school or middle school or elementary school, but it held the same sorts of principles that made the transition easier and more understandable. Yet, this time, the path isn't set and the variables are unlimited. While this transition is exciting and fresh, its scary and leaves us lying awake at night contemplating even the slightest bends and curves in the road. 

So when you ask a college student a little under 2 weeks away from graduation if they are excited, please don't expect us to be elated or jumping for joy. We're wrung out, practically terrified, and having serious thoughts of running away. It's just the truth. 

We will pull ourselves up by our bootstraps by the time we have to glide across the stage wearing funny hats and robes, but in the mean time, be patient with us. We ARE excited. We ARE looking forward to the fresh and the new. BUT. We are exhausted. And the light at the end of the tunnel is so close, its no longer at the end but blaring. We are blinded by the impending reality that is graduating from college.

We're sad too. Sometimes that's even hard for us to fully grasp or admit.

We've grown roots and become attached to the people and places, the sights and the smells. Basement offices have become our second homes and tucked away cozy corners of the library are our safe spaces. We know quite well the hum of the classrooms and the people who inhabit them. We choke up as professors, who pushed us and taught us more than just textbooks, hug us and tell us they wish us best. We're sentimental over the simplest card games, because the reality is we will most likely never be squished around the table with these people, our people, again. The idea of leaving this "home" and whispering those goodbyes make our hearts ache in ways we never expected.

Life is sending us on. Its beautiful and hard, but worth it just the same.

We are all going to seek a great perhaps, yet in these last few days let us live in the now.

11 days. 

ends and tunnels

The beginning of the end. There's light at the end of the tunnel.

I have uttered these cliches more times than I can count over the last few months in preparation and as the result of beginning my last quarter of college (this past September). 

I graduate this coming December. December 12th to be exact.

I have 10...err...11ish weeks left of my 4 year stay, a stay in which I used to think would last an eternity. 

I created this blog at the beginning of this stay, in the summer of 2011, as a way to process and write this chapter of my life as it played out. I've semi-regularly chronicled the moments of this chunk of time for a little over 4 years now and it feels strange to be on the other end of that timeline now. Good. But, nevertheless, strange. 

Some parts of me have begun to let go and look towards the new chapter I am entering into, I have applied and interviewed for my first career possibility and am knee deep in the application process for the second, but with the voice of my high school associated student body adviser in my head, I am attempting to "be in the moment." To not rush these last weeks, to not start cutting the strings, to not halt the growth and the learning that is left. 

And if I am being honest, I'd say i'm not ready to write the thank you notes and the goodbye letters. I'm not yet okay with walking away and leaving what feels like my basement turned second home. I will be come December, but not here in the October or November. Not here in the in-between(s). Not in the climax of this story. 

There's still the fresh and eager 8 who make up the News section to work with and teach.

There's still the Senior Project left lying incomplete and ill-equipped on the edge of the desk.

There's still the backdrop of mountains, who are the friction love child of fault line(s), against the blue to be admired. 

There's still roller chair derby tournaments and rounds of BS to conquer in a echoy basement on nights that last just shy of dawn. 

There's still cramped fingers to be had from lectures and fast paced notes. 

There's still things to be learned, laughter to be had, and life to be lived. 

I'll save the nice wrap up and the eulogy of my college career for a later date.

For now, though, I'll live this season. 

the in between(s)

The in between(s) are really hard on me, at least that's what I'm learning in this season of what feels like nothing but endings and the waiting on beginnings.

I'll finish school up this coming December, "real-adult" like life will start after that, along with which will come a bunch of other big heart things to size up and settle into before the looming deadline. Its weird and uncomfortable, to be honest. I've been warring with being content, holding on, and running full speed ahead for sometime now. 

Have you seen Inside Out yet? If you have, you can sort of get a mental picture of what the inside of my head looks like currently. For the record, no, I'm not hearing voices. Just a 20-something with the world at her finger tips (why the cliches? whyyyyy?) and the fear of the unknown all wrapped up into one little body. While college was new territory, it reflected the same sort of routine I had spent the last 12 years perfecting with just a sckoosh more freedom. Now that its all coming to an end and the comfortable little nest I've cozied myself into is pushing me out, I'm entering the real new territory. 

I've never been an adult before.

There, I said it. The perfectionist in me wants to act like I know what I'm doing and not seek help, but let's be real, girl needs some real soul searching and humility to enter this season.

I mean rent, careers, love-lives, and couch shopping are all things that call for guidance. 

I preach at myself mostly in this contributor blog post about seasons for my church, which I encourage you to read here.

But there is seriously some hard core thoughts and feelings left to unravel and break open as I enter and exit the in between(s).

So, I guess you should be prepared for a lot of that to happen and play out through the resurrection of this sacred writing space for my soul. 

Though, I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord. Psalm 27:13

so how's school?

Ya know that question that everybody asks-- the obligatory "how's school going?" question. The one you typically answer "good, busy but good" to?

Well I am here to tell it to you straight. School is quite literally running me into the ground. Okay, its not "literally" shoving me to the ground and holding me there, but you get the picture. I've got assignments out the wahzoo, a calendar so full of color coated engagements its starting to resemble a rainbow, and a sanity that's hanging on by a thread. 

What day is it? I don't know. Did I eat dinner? Maybe. Have I done laundry? Ummmm. 

Is it too late to quit school and be all about that gypsy life?

WAIT, IT'S THE MIDDLE OF FEBRUARY?! What happened to January?!

Either those last few sentences are giving you a better understanding of my thought process or you are currently concluding that I am a nut job. You could make a strong argument for either case.

If you still need clarification on the frame of mind I am currently living in, I turned in an essay with my name misspelled. MY OWN NAME. Everything else was grammatically sound and coherent, but my darn name of all things was turned in incorrectly. Goodness gracious. 

Most days I am sleep deprived, most likely hungry, and wishing for a class to be canceled so I can take a mental break. 

So this is all to say if you see me in between now and summer break and I looked frazzled and a little aloof, this is why. And if you ask me how school is going, I'll still probably give you the good but busy answer in fear of looking like an absolute lunatic with giving the truer one.

With tired eyes, hope, and a constant flow of caffeine I push on for the finish line.  December is coming. A cap and gown is coming. A degree is coming.  The future is coming.

On your marks, get set, lets GO. 

things I wanted to say in 2014

As I prepared to write my #turn2015 post, I couldn't help but notice all the posts I had started and never finished late last year. Writers block had hit and hit hard. My inspiration was aloof and I was struggling to write my thoughts coherently and expressively. 

I thought it would be fun to do a conglomerate post of all those things I had started to say in a way that made sense. I still think these thoughts hold some merit to them and should be shared. I don't want these words to be lost in the shuffle.

Harnessed talents and passions // 8.23.14

This past week I have been thinking a lot about the paths we as people take through life and the people who guide us there.

On Wednesday as I sat in and presented on the preliminary research my team and I had done on Big Data, I found myself soul searching how I got there. You see, I realized all the way back in high school (it feels that long ago) I had people truly seeing me and the talents I possessed. They chose to harness those features and guide, partially unknowingly, me to the place I am today. Without those individuals, I truly wonder if I would have chosen this major and felt the ability to take on this research project.

I was reminded of the things that shape you. In the thick of it, I didn't see the impact. But as I looked back through those early years, I saw some of the building blocks that established a portion of my foundation. With wider eyes, it's an adventure to look back.

So this post will serve as a small thank you note to those people who saw me in those early years and sparked the chain reaction that has followed. 

DeAnna: Before I even entered high school, you had me scooped up and placed into a role I had no previous desire/knowledge of. You had heard of my outgoing personality and simply by word of mouth gave me a leadership position that would alter my high school experience, and in turn, my life. You gave me opportunities that stretched me in ways I didn't even know needed to be stretched. You saw my capabilities for leading and speaking and you sent me off places to practice and mold them. 

Because of you, I have hands on experience of being a leader. You gave me a space to mess up and try again, that included an ever changing "high school emotional" environment where working together was possible (and expected). I learned the pluses and deltas of the reactions of someone in a leadership role. Now, as a "real" adult I can be confident in areas many of my peers unfortunately are not. The experiences you aided have given me the ability to stand in front of a group of peers and feel invested and capable of most any task. 

For that, I thank you. You truly took the time to see my abilities and engage them. How special it is to have an experience like that. 

Dr. Baker: You showed me what exactly it means to be a good leader, one that leads by working along side their employees. You studied my personality and my blossoming leadership style. I knew I was a take charge kind of girl, but you showed me how to make that beneficial for all who are involved. You didn't belittle my thoughts and input because of my age, but rather encouraged it. 

Because of you, I make a conscious effort to be present for every presentation I am witness to. I am aware that body language is key to responsiveness and because of this I am a better presenter and audience member.  

Thank you for taking the time to respond and engage, you helped teach me to not be afraid to interact with my superiors and instead seek opportunities to listen and learn from them. For all of this, I thank you.

Navid: You were my support system and biggest cheerleader most times as I ran myself ragged through that school. You simply cared. I was blessed with a wonderful caring family, but you were a most happy addition to my team of supporters.

And like any good supporter, you stretched me. At the age of seventeen, you had me standing in front of a crowd of more than a thousand conducting a graduation. I never reviewed the tape because I know I'd cringe, but the confidence I gained speaking in front of those people has come into play time and time again. 

For the day in and day out and the extra time you put in, I thank you. You saw me and helped me find who exactly I wanted to be.

Thoughts from a fourth year // 9.5.14
The beginning of my fourth Fall quarter is upon me, which means this is probably the last back to school post before my final graduation post is written (Um. yeah. That was weird to write.) So, I though it would be fun to write an honest to goodness post of what I wish I could have told my baby freshman self.

- You are gonna want to blend in and fade to back. When you walk into big lecture halls, you're going to pretend no one can see you. Because if they can't see you, you can't see them, right? 

Nope, girl. That ain't gonna work. Getting lost in a crowd, for one, isn't truly in your nature and two, denying reality isn't good for anyone's psyche. You're there. In a sea of faces who are all in the same boat as you. Find some souls you can connect to, learn to once again attach yourself with an activity and it's people. One day you're going to thank your mom for repeatedly saying "find someone to carpool with" and "get involved."

- Professors are weird. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you'll be able to laugh at their idiocies and roll with the punches. Also, you will never understand why snow pants in Southern California are regular attire for some. 

- You'll hate your Psych 105 and Geology 101 classes. You'll butt heads with the professors (see point two) and you'll be thankful to have a sweet red head in both. But here's the good thing, you'll learn more in these classes than in all other classes you will take. Not on the subject matter necessarily, but you'll learn some REAL good stuff. 

- Change your major. It won't be admitting failure, but instead making the best adult decision in your life thus far. I promise, the weight will be lifted as soon as you drop the form off. Communications is where you need to be.

- You'll spend more time in a basement newspaper office than you ever thought possible, you'll miss a lot of sun sets and you'll emerge just a few hours before it rises again. But, its okay. 

-Make sure to bring your glasses and your contact case for your long night in said basement. Also, it might help to have makeup remover wipes in the car. Don't be like me and forget those things.

- Don't try to put your contacts in on Friday mornings, you're tired eyes will be very vocal about the pain you put them through with all nighters. Go with the glasses.

- Half way through when you feel like quitting school, know its always darkest before the dawn and thank your mom because she speaks truth. You CAN do it. 

- Getting preferred commuter parking will be of utmost appreciation. Because, in college, parking is no joke.

- Stop and do silly things to break up the monotony, like pulling over and taking pictures of road side sunflowers. They're beautiful and it will do your soul good to recognize their beauty. 

- You're gonna go on a few dates that will seem promising. One will be an author and there will be GREAT backstory to the date taking place, but he'll disappear randomly and you never buy or read his book because of it. The other will be associated with your dad's profession and he'll seem nice, but he'll disappear too after a few less than truthful statements. 

I'm gonna tell it to you straight, girl, your ego will take a bit of bruising from these encounters. The whole disappearing-without-explanation thing will bug you, but you'll get over it. Also, the stories they provided will in turn provide you and your friends some good laughs. In the end, its worth it. 

- Use your free gym membership. Don't do what I did and go three years without ever stepping foot in there. I'm serious. 

- Do some ditching. It won't kill you. Read what you can, and study the notes for the rest. And always remember, when all else fails, c's get degrees.

-You won't always get Tuesday/Thursday classes. Accept it, live it, and look for the good in Monday/Wednesday/Friday classes. Hint: shorter class times is part of that good. 

But here is what I really want you to know and focus on, you are meant for such a time as this.

For this school. For this region. For these people. For this economy.

For these days.

My thoughts on your thoughts // 10.2.14

I am an advocate for social media and the benefits it can bring. The ability to communicate your life's story is an interesting and fascinating ability that can be used for so many great things. Our history will be forever marked and written without ever needing a historian or fame to induce such recognition.

But, let me tell you, lately its been on my heart how crucial it is to use these tools with strong judgement and self control. Big data aside and the information being collected, the words we write and the pictures we post will mar our names and our children will have our reputations in hand for the rest of time. 

Now, I'm not here on a soapbox declaring that we leave a legacy or a withstanding representation of our lives, but I am asking that we question the validity of our "need" to post. 

Our thoughts are our thoughts, that not everyone needs to know twenty-four hours a day. They are ours to harness. Those who are known for greatness with their words learned to hold their tongue much of the time. We all have learning to do and self control to capture, but we have to make the conscious effort to do so. 

The unbirthday campaign: recap // 10.28.14

It's funny that I entitled this post "the unbirthday campaign: recap," because if you don't follow me on Instagram you've probably never heard of it. Although, I did allude to it in my annual birthday post.

Back story: For months I'd been trying to figure out what I wanted to do for my twenty first birthday. Its typically a birthday fraught with an all about me, I've earned this sort of attitude. Which I personally don't think that's what birthdays are about even in the slightest sense, so I wanted to do something different than what was expected of me. 

In one of many discussions about my birthday with my mom, she sparked an idea about doing twenty-one things for others, for my birthday. After a lot of thought, brainstorming, and planning-- the unbirthday campaign was born.

I was going to spend my actual birthday running around doing crazy fun/gift giving things with my good friend Kelly all over town. I had a list that was complied of twenty one random things that normally wouldn't be done on a typical day, rather than someone's birthday!

the unbirthday campaign list-
Krystal Elementary- cupcakes to share
Neighbor’s house- cookie drop
Mailbox- Mailmen should get cookies
Instagram- birthday giveaway
Mail Box- encouragement card
Redbox- surprise code
Target- dollar bills hide and seek
Target- random gift card(s) drop
Starbucks- free coffee surprise
Church office- coffee all around
NAPA- random gift card drop
Krystal Elementary- labor day lunch and flowers for mom
Aunt Carol’s house- flowers + sweets
Lunch- gift card for the waiter
Parking Kiosk- free parking surprise
Soda Machine- have a coke on me
Communications office- cookie drop
Afternoon pick me up- surprise snacks for sister
Newsroom- let them eat cookies
*some activities count as multiple

I'm not gonna lie to ya, this was quite the feat to prepare.  I was my typical crazy busy self who tried to get all of the prep work done the night before which included trying to bake cookies with no flour, (see: I took a trip to the store at 9:30 pm to round up missing baking supplies.) It was hectic and messy-- and to be honest, all a bit overwhelming. I thought seriously about jumping ship around 11:30 the night before.

But after some sleep and a refreshed commitment to "just have fun" and an understanding that it all wouldn't be "perfect" or how I planned, I was stoked to knock this list out. And can I just say, it was THE most fun i've had in a really long time? Because it totally was.

I would seriously encourage you, if you're looking for a birthday activity or wanting to do something out of your comfort zone, to do something like this. There is no greater excitement or happiness than bringing joy to others. And that isn't meant to sound corny, I believe it to be the honest to goodness truth.

People will ask you with puzzled looks what it is exactly that you're doing and many of them are gonna get all bug eyed when you tell them. But it's worth every strange look and caught off guard smile.

The 411 on 41 // 11.19.14
So do y'all remember awhile back, when I talked about doing something crazy for No.41?

Well to recap:

No.41, based in Rwanda, saw a need and sought a way to change it. Women needed jobs and children's bellies needed food. So two crazy dreamers on a hope and a lot of prayer, created a system that gave women the ability to earn a sustainable income by making hand crafted bags as well as a way to give back to the community by feeding local school children with the proceeds. Every year in April, No.41 does a special campaign, I wanted to get involved and fill some bellies; and came up with a scheme to fill those bellies on my poor college student budget. Enter-- she felt lovely. Read; head bands I made/sold to anyone and everyone who would buy them and then sent those funds off to No.41. We (and I say we because it took a village to get there) raised enough to feed 1,000 meals. It was uh-mazing. 

Fast forward 6 months:

After the she felt lovely 4/1 day extravaganza, Tara, founder of No.41, contacted me and asked me if I would be interested in joining No.41 and becoming a campus rep. My initial reaction was "Um. No way. Me? Someone needs to pinch me."

I have to tell you, this organization has been an inspiration to my soul and the opportunity to be an advocate for it is just awesome to say the least. So, of course, I emailed back YES and I have been on a crazy planning/scheming/listing action to get some intense word of mouth out there about No.41 since then.

Most of these posts were meant to be expanded on, but were left untouched and unfinished because of busyness and writer's confusion. If you made it to this paragraph- you, my friend, are a straight up champ. Those were a lot of thoughts to get through. 

I am thankful for this corner of the internet to jot thoughts down and depict the peaks and valleys my writing takes. Its been a good 4 1/2 years and I pray for more.