Guys, here's the deal: I really enjoy nailing down the details of things. It's satisfying. It gives me a sense of purpose. It makes me feel like I've conquered something.
But wedding planning is, like, the king of details. And it's overwhelming. So here are some things I've learned since September 18.
1. You can, indeed, have extensive discussions with someone over the type and color of linens at your tables for the reception. Like thirty minute long discussions. That mostly include me going, "Mmhmm... yep... sounds great Mom...yeah, I think ivory is great. Yeah... let's do that." It's in moments like these when I'm thankful she has an eye for the artistic details. And is decisive.
2. Sometimes your mom goes to a cake tasting, tells you all about the quality of the almond flavor, and then texts you three hours later, "I'm in a sugar coma." Thanks for taking one for the team, Karen.
3. Yes, yes, it's true. "Say Yes To The Dress" hasn't been making it up. "The Feeling of The One" is a real thing when dress shopping. Tears and pictures and feeling like a total princess are all things that happen. Be aware. And bring tissues.
4. Bridesmaid dresses are complicated, and it is somehow impossible to find the right color. After many hours on Nordstrom and David's Bridal's websites, my office vote is: I don't care. You do you, bridesmaids (probably not going to happen but a girl can dream).
5. My best friend is theknot.com because checklists and reviews and suggestions oh my.
6. Why is it acceptable for boys to just call up their guys and be like, "Hey, will you be a groomsmen?" and girls have to do these cute and creative things? Pinterest, I cannot live up to your standards. I do what I want.
7. Speaking of Pinterest, it's a hotbed of wedding comparison. In the long run, it really doesn't matter if you had candle holders or mason jars. Calm down, all you vintage country chic weddings, everything will look beautiful.
8. Has anyone ever defined what exactly a "wedding vision" is? What in the world does that even mean?
9. Wedding websites and wedding hashtags are things that now seem super normal, but can we just pause for a second and think about these terms? If we went back in time to 2005 and threw those terms around, can you imagine the weird looks we would get? I'm guilty too, of course. I've been planning my wedding hashtag since, like, March. But it's still such a weird concept #tyingthestringers
10. Amid the chaos of finding color schemes and vendors and planning, I've had to check myself with two things:
The first is that no one will remember the chair covers or the first dance song, but they will remember how they felt. Were they welcomed? Did the bride and groom come talk to them? Was the cake good? (Cake is important, y'all). Were they loved? This is a party for my people. Without them, Hayden and I would not be where we are. Let's celebrate.
And two: I will be a bride for one day. From 6:30-11:30 on May 20, 2016, I will be a bride. But after that, for the rest of my days, I will be a wife. That is a much higher calling, demands significantly more of me than that one day. Will I pursue the Gospel in such a way that I honor and love him? Will our marriage be a testament to the love we have been given from Christ? Those are the crucial things to remember, not the minutia of that one day when we became one. May 20 will be a big, important day. But it is only the first step in a life we will share.
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Thursday, October 1, 2015
The Sirens
Switchfoot has been one of my
favorite bands for as long as I can remember. The first album on my pink iPod
mini in, like, 2004 was “The Beautiful Letdown.” And since those painful brace-face
middle school days, I have been a devout Switchfoot fan.
There’s
something deeply personal about all of Jon Foreman’s lyrics. Even listening to
that old album now, well over ten years later, I catch new pieces of truth,
beautifully worked into the rock sound. This music can bring me to my knees,
can send me to my feet, and can make my voice raw if I belt it out too loudly.
There’s
this one song off of the EP “Edge of the Earth” called “Liberty.” Initially, I
only really liked the song because I caught the Odyssey reference. And I love
Greek mythology, so that was an exciting moment for this nerd. But then I put
the song on repeat and listened.
In
this particular event about Odysseus, he and his crew were sailing by the
infamous island of the Sirens. It was legend that men swam straight to their
deaths because the Sirens so sweetly sang to them, promising to tell them the
secrets of their heart. They were beautiful. Their island was beautiful.
Everything drew these poor saps in, where they were promptly killed. Some
mythology says that the sirens ate them, but regardless, if you made it to the
island, it was probably because your body washed up on shore. RIP.
But
Odysseus was a smart guy. So he brings a ton of beeswax and tells his men to
stuff their ears with it so they would be safe. But Odysseus wanted to hear the
song and what they would tell him, so he tells his guys to tie him to the mast
and not let him out. In fact, he tells sailors to tie him tighter when he begs
to be freed.
He
thought it would make him wiser, that he would know himself better.
As
per usual for a human, he was desperately searching for answers.
The
lines in the Switchfoot song go like this:
Tie
myself up to the mast
Give
up a semblance of control
The
sirens sing, but I let them pass
Because
only you can free my soul
The semblance of control. The thing I am
constantly chasing and seem to hold onto for the briefest of moments before it
slips away. But it’s just a semblance. A fake. There is no reality to it.
Odysseus was still a slave to the sirens as he was floating by because they had
him enraptured. He “had control” because he was tied up to the mast, but his
nature was to run to the thing that he wanted but would eventually kill him. He
could not trust himself.
Are
we so different?
How
often have I toed that line between safety and danger, fighting to hear my sirens? It’s every day. Every
day I run to things that could destroy me, and God holds on tighter because he
sees that I’m swimming straight to the rocks.
Christ
is the rope tying me to the ship. I have no control. I have no power to stop
myself because the enemies are stronger and rise against me. But the Lord maintains his hold on me so I don't run headlong into
my destruction.
And
he gladly does so. No father wants their child to suffer at it’s own hand.
Or
be serenaded by cannibalistic beings.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
To love is to risk it all
It's insane how quickly fear crept into my engagement.
Before I had my new piece of jewelry, my biggest fear was loneliness. But when Hayden and I vowed to commit our lives together, my biggest fear switched to losing him.
My mind swirled with possibilities. What if he dies? What if he's in an accident and hurt beyond repair? What if something happens to me? What would I do? How would I handle it? Would he be okay?
I'm 100% confident he won't abandon ship of his own free will. But we can't control accidents. That's why they're called accidents. I realized that loving someone meant you wanted to protect them from anything that could potentially cause them harm.
Loving him is a risk because anything could happen to him. It's the greatest risk I've ever taken. I willfully chose to love him and now I have to accept that the Lord will take care of us, come what may. It hurts to even write those last words. "Come what may." What a weird idea.
This is so different than handing my future over to God or trusting him with money or whatever. This is another person. Someone who I care for deeply, who I love wholly. The idea of him not being with me feels like someone is twisting my gut.
But I've thought of two things to deal with this.
The first is that I cannot live the next lifetime with Hayden in fear that something will happen to him. I cannot protect him from everything–or most things–and thus lose that control to protect myself. His pain hurts me. Living in fear of losing him is no way to live. It's putting all my hope and trust in a human who will fail me somehow. And that's not what I'm called to.
The second is much loftier.
God created mankind with this impossible, incomprehensible love. And we hurt ourselves constantly. We actively fight against him. He saw the part of creation he made in his image being lost to sin. And he wouldn't have it. He sent a rescuer, someone to cast a lifeline to us so we wouldn't be forever separated from Him.
So few people have grabbed onto Jesus. The heart of the Lord aches for his lost children because of his great love for us.
You should know that I feel this way about all my family and friends. Losing any one of them would be devastating. But it hit a high point when Hayden became a solid part of my future.
How do I not live in fear of loss?
Because Christ is enough.
Before I had my new piece of jewelry, my biggest fear was loneliness. But when Hayden and I vowed to commit our lives together, my biggest fear switched to losing him.
My mind swirled with possibilities. What if he dies? What if he's in an accident and hurt beyond repair? What if something happens to me? What would I do? How would I handle it? Would he be okay?
I'm 100% confident he won't abandon ship of his own free will. But we can't control accidents. That's why they're called accidents. I realized that loving someone meant you wanted to protect them from anything that could potentially cause them harm.
Loving him is a risk because anything could happen to him. It's the greatest risk I've ever taken. I willfully chose to love him and now I have to accept that the Lord will take care of us, come what may. It hurts to even write those last words. "Come what may." What a weird idea.
This is so different than handing my future over to God or trusting him with money or whatever. This is another person. Someone who I care for deeply, who I love wholly. The idea of him not being with me feels like someone is twisting my gut.
But I've thought of two things to deal with this.
The first is that I cannot live the next lifetime with Hayden in fear that something will happen to him. I cannot protect him from everything–or most things–and thus lose that control to protect myself. His pain hurts me. Living in fear of losing him is no way to live. It's putting all my hope and trust in a human who will fail me somehow. And that's not what I'm called to.
The second is much loftier.
God created mankind with this impossible, incomprehensible love. And we hurt ourselves constantly. We actively fight against him. He saw the part of creation he made in his image being lost to sin. And he wouldn't have it. He sent a rescuer, someone to cast a lifeline to us so we wouldn't be forever separated from Him.
So few people have grabbed onto Jesus. The heart of the Lord aches for his lost children because of his great love for us.
You should know that I feel this way about all my family and friends. Losing any one of them would be devastating. But it hit a high point when Hayden became a solid part of my future.
How do I not live in fear of loss?
Because Christ is enough.
Sunday, September 20, 2015
I said yes
Exactly one year ago today, I met my husband.
Obviously, I didn't know that at the time. I'd just gotten my Aggie ring (whoop) and was still absorbing that new addition to my hand--the thought of putting something on the other hand in the near-ish future was foreign and felt unlikely. Being the only one of my best friends who was single, I had decided that finding the guy for me wasn't in the cards for my time at A&M.
I went to my friend's 22nd birthday party with no expectations of anything besides celebrating her.
Which we did. But I also met a guy named Hayden. He had just gotten back from spending a year in Greece as a missionary and was now working for a church in College Station. He was living with another friend's fiancé and had almost not come to the party. His roommate Mark, though, told him that if he (Hayden) came to the party, Mark would find him a wife.
A week later, after having a brief conversation at the party, Hayden asked me on a date. And while many, many things happened between September 20, 2014 and September 20, 2015, you could say the rest is history.
He proposed to me on September 18, 2015. His knee barely touched the ground before I very nearly shouted "YES." Two days later and it still feels like a dream. We have fallen completely in love with each other. We knew that this relationship could only be from the Lord and we try to exemplify his love in every aspect of our lives. He is a good father and a faithful provider.
No, we don't have a date yet. Sometime next summer for sure. Beyond that? You got me. My wedding pinterest board is pretty barren (that website still is a mystery to me). Wedding planning is monster I don't know how to duel with. But Hayden and I are taking a week to just enjoy being engaged.
Frankly, I'm still stunned that I get to spend the rest of my life with him. He's caring and selfless, kind and hilarious, adventurous and relaxed. Neither of us think we deserve the other, but neither of us think we would make it without the other.
Can you tell that I'm still floating around with my head in the clouds?
I'm eager to see our future unfold together. And to become Mrs. Linley Rae Stringer.
Obviously, I didn't know that at the time. I'd just gotten my Aggie ring (whoop) and was still absorbing that new addition to my hand--the thought of putting something on the other hand in the near-ish future was foreign and felt unlikely. Being the only one of my best friends who was single, I had decided that finding the guy for me wasn't in the cards for my time at A&M.
I went to my friend's 22nd birthday party with no expectations of anything besides celebrating her.
Which we did. But I also met a guy named Hayden. He had just gotten back from spending a year in Greece as a missionary and was now working for a church in College Station. He was living with another friend's fiancé and had almost not come to the party. His roommate Mark, though, told him that if he (Hayden) came to the party, Mark would find him a wife.
A week later, after having a brief conversation at the party, Hayden asked me on a date. And while many, many things happened between September 20, 2014 and September 20, 2015, you could say the rest is history.
He proposed to me on September 18, 2015. His knee barely touched the ground before I very nearly shouted "YES." Two days later and it still feels like a dream. We have fallen completely in love with each other. We knew that this relationship could only be from the Lord and we try to exemplify his love in every aspect of our lives. He is a good father and a faithful provider.
No, we don't have a date yet. Sometime next summer for sure. Beyond that? You got me. My wedding pinterest board is pretty barren (that website still is a mystery to me). Wedding planning is monster I don't know how to duel with. But Hayden and I are taking a week to just enjoy being engaged.
Frankly, I'm still stunned that I get to spend the rest of my life with him. He's caring and selfless, kind and hilarious, adventurous and relaxed. Neither of us think we deserve the other, but neither of us think we would make it without the other.
Can you tell that I'm still floating around with my head in the clouds?
I'm eager to see our future unfold together. And to become Mrs. Linley Rae Stringer.
Monday, August 31, 2015
Blue Bell: The Return
About a year and a half ago, I fulfilled a life dream: I toured the Blue Bell Creameries factory in Brenham, Texas.
Blue Bell ice cream is a way of life in the Lone Star State, and one of the many reasons why Texas is the best state in America (yeah, yeah, it's in other states too, fine). Earlier this year--132 days ago to be exact--this wonderful company experienced a strand of bacteria that invaded its factories. It was taken off shelves of local HEBs and Krogers statewide and other (lamer) ice creams got a major boost in sales.
But today, August 31, the famine ended.
If you looked on social media today, you would've thought the great rains had come after a generation-long drought (which kind of happened this summer too). That the prodigal son had come home. That another A&M player had won the Heisman.
Really, though, it was just ice cream.
Okay, okay, the "just" is kind of uncalled for. I, like everyone else, have been anxiously awaiting the return and realize Blue Bell is more than just a brand of ice cream. It leaves that smooth feeling in your mouth, cool and savory and sentimental.
I think all the hoopla comes from a sense that Blue Bell represents that sweet, slow Texas lifestyle everyone kind of idealizes. And a summer without it just doesn't really feel like a real summer in this weird and wonderful state. Blue Bell reminds us of hot afternoons by the pool, Coke floats at our grandparents' houses, and homemade vanilla in a cone on the 4th of July.
It's part of our Texas identity. Yes, it's ice cream. Yes, sometimes it costs $6 for a half gallon and sometimes that seems a little pricey. Yes, the fact that HEB was totally sold out by 6am was a little alarming. And yes, it's embarrassing to admit that I'm considering waking up in the middle of the night to make sure I get that half gallon of Cookies n Creme because I know when the Blue Bell truck rolls into College Station (but I'm not revealing my secrets).
The craze is undeniably insane. But it's for reasons like this where I just toss back my head and laugh. This life is full of joy. And sometimes it's found in a half-gallon of ice cream.
Blue Bell ice cream is a way of life in the Lone Star State, and one of the many reasons why Texas is the best state in America (yeah, yeah, it's in other states too, fine). Earlier this year--132 days ago to be exact--this wonderful company experienced a strand of bacteria that invaded its factories. It was taken off shelves of local HEBs and Krogers statewide and other (lamer) ice creams got a major boost in sales.
But today, August 31, the famine ended.
If you looked on social media today, you would've thought the great rains had come after a generation-long drought (which kind of happened this summer too). That the prodigal son had come home. That another A&M player had won the Heisman.
Really, though, it was just ice cream.
Okay, okay, the "just" is kind of uncalled for. I, like everyone else, have been anxiously awaiting the return and realize Blue Bell is more than just a brand of ice cream. It leaves that smooth feeling in your mouth, cool and savory and sentimental.
I think all the hoopla comes from a sense that Blue Bell represents that sweet, slow Texas lifestyle everyone kind of idealizes. And a summer without it just doesn't really feel like a real summer in this weird and wonderful state. Blue Bell reminds us of hot afternoons by the pool, Coke floats at our grandparents' houses, and homemade vanilla in a cone on the 4th of July.
It's part of our Texas identity. Yes, it's ice cream. Yes, sometimes it costs $6 for a half gallon and sometimes that seems a little pricey. Yes, the fact that HEB was totally sold out by 6am was a little alarming. And yes, it's embarrassing to admit that I'm considering waking up in the middle of the night to make sure I get that half gallon of Cookies n Creme because I know when the Blue Bell truck rolls into College Station (but I'm not revealing my secrets).
The craze is undeniably insane. But it's for reasons like this where I just toss back my head and laugh. This life is full of joy. And sometimes it's found in a half-gallon of ice cream.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
The Forgetful God
My parents celebrated their 27th wedding anniversary last week. Yes, you may applaud. I've only been around for almost 23.75 of those, and remember even less of that.
But even those years that I don't remember, I trust that my parents were good. I had no reason to believe otherwise. They fed me. They gave me a bed to sleep in. They bought me a small colony of Barbie's. But they will be the first to raise their hands when someone needs a volunteer for an imperfect set of parents.
It's not that they've done a bad job of raising my siblings and me (quite the contrary, in my biased opinion). They just have a healthy understanding that no one is perfect and, beyond that, no one really knows what they're doing in life. Sure we have things that we're gifted at, but to claim to be perfect at any one thing is absurd.
And the things we're not naturally good at? Please. We're hopeless. We make stupid decisions, say stupid things, think stupid thoughts probably every minute of our lives. Failure, my friends, is an inevitable factor that we have to face.
I'm thankful my parents handle failure well and that they don't seem to beat themselves up over it. They show grace and don't keep score. They love well. I have a hard time forgiving myself when I do something I deem idiotic. It bites at me, a nagging voice that won't let me rest.
It's in these almost daily situations where I have to beg God to remind me of Psalm 103:12. That my sins are as far removed as the east is from the west. My faults are perpetually being pulled in the opposite direction of me. He guides me to him and repels sin. He teaches humility--even when it feels embarrassing. He forgives. He distributes grace without hesitation.
I don't know if you've noticed, but music is a really dominant aspect of my life. Christian rap has been something I've gotten into more recently (Lecrae, Andy Mineo, KB, etc). I stumbled across a lesser known rapper called Flame, and his song "Start Over" has been on repeat through my head. Not because I necessarily feel like I need to turn a blank page, but it's just such a cool reminder of the Gospel. My favorite line is this:
"Thrown in a sea of forgetfulness--what sin? what offense? And when the waves come crashing in, He'll calm the winds in your defense."
I always want to pump my fist to that. What sin? (pump). What offense? (pump). It's so powerful.
After we call on Christ to forgive us, he chunks our dirty laundry into the ocean so we can move forward. He is not a holy scoreboard. He forgives and forgets because he loves us. Holding onto our weights drags us away from him. So he throws them further than we can and asks, "What exactly was preventing our closeness?"
It's our job to let him get rid of it, to forgive our mistakes, and to move on.
Maybe one day we'll figure it all it. But until then, all we can do is forgive.
But even those years that I don't remember, I trust that my parents were good. I had no reason to believe otherwise. They fed me. They gave me a bed to sleep in. They bought me a small colony of Barbie's. But they will be the first to raise their hands when someone needs a volunteer for an imperfect set of parents.
It's not that they've done a bad job of raising my siblings and me (quite the contrary, in my biased opinion). They just have a healthy understanding that no one is perfect and, beyond that, no one really knows what they're doing in life. Sure we have things that we're gifted at, but to claim to be perfect at any one thing is absurd.
And the things we're not naturally good at? Please. We're hopeless. We make stupid decisions, say stupid things, think stupid thoughts probably every minute of our lives. Failure, my friends, is an inevitable factor that we have to face.
I'm thankful my parents handle failure well and that they don't seem to beat themselves up over it. They show grace and don't keep score. They love well. I have a hard time forgiving myself when I do something I deem idiotic. It bites at me, a nagging voice that won't let me rest.
It's in these almost daily situations where I have to beg God to remind me of Psalm 103:12. That my sins are as far removed as the east is from the west. My faults are perpetually being pulled in the opposite direction of me. He guides me to him and repels sin. He teaches humility--even when it feels embarrassing. He forgives. He distributes grace without hesitation.
I don't know if you've noticed, but music is a really dominant aspect of my life. Christian rap has been something I've gotten into more recently (Lecrae, Andy Mineo, KB, etc). I stumbled across a lesser known rapper called Flame, and his song "Start Over" has been on repeat through my head. Not because I necessarily feel like I need to turn a blank page, but it's just such a cool reminder of the Gospel. My favorite line is this:
"Thrown in a sea of forgetfulness--what sin? what offense? And when the waves come crashing in, He'll calm the winds in your defense."
I always want to pump my fist to that. What sin? (pump). What offense? (pump). It's so powerful.
After we call on Christ to forgive us, he chunks our dirty laundry into the ocean so we can move forward. He is not a holy scoreboard. He forgives and forgets because he loves us. Holding onto our weights drags us away from him. So he throws them further than we can and asks, "What exactly was preventing our closeness?"
It's our job to let him get rid of it, to forgive our mistakes, and to move on.
Maybe one day we'll figure it all it. But until then, all we can do is forgive.
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
My heart is my armor
Recently, I've had the album "Blurryface" by Twenty One Pilots on repeat.
My brother introduced me to them and, for whatever reason, I've had this impression that they're a metal band, but they're actually a really cool indie band. Not like metal isn't cool. It's just overwhelming. Anyways.
So they have this one song called "Tear In My Heart" that quickly became my favorite song on the album for several reasons, but the biggest one is because of one line: my heart is my armor.
Which is so counter-intuitive to what we're bombarded by on a daily basis. We're told that we should protect our hearts, that they're vulnerable, that they break easily. Wearing our hearts on our sleeves is a bad thing because it makes them easy to access and easy to hurt. We guard them. We hide them away.
Those things aren't bad necessarily. The danger is that they can allow for a lot of callous to build up and we go too defensive rather than protecting them to be safe and healthy.
But the idea as my heart as my armor is a mind-blowing concept.
Because if we believe that we keep the Lord in our hearts, that he makes our hearts his home, shouldn't it be the strongest, most well-fortified place we have? And not fortified in the sense that it throws rocks or hollers insults at any passerby--you probably won't catch God yelling "Your father was a hamster and your mother smelt of elderberries!" at some guy/girl who comes calling. But fortified in that it is not easily taken advantage of or swayed by each passing whim.
Rather than being a fragile sign of life, it should be an expanding kingdom.
The challenge that we're faced with is this: we are human, so we want control of what we view is ours. But when we ask the Lord to come in so he can make our hearts his home, we transcend our nature and relent control over the center of our perceived wellspring of life.
The key phrase in that is "transcend our nature." We will always, always, be fighting for that control back. Even if we know it would be bad to take it back, we want it. But when we demand that God remove his armor so we can have our way is when our hearts go from being well protected to inviting attack.
I'm not saying that we will not know heartache if we surrender ourselves to God, but the healing will come at a much healthier rate and through healthier means. The Lord allows the chinks so that he can show us that not only is he a knight, but a doctor.
My heart is my armor because the Lord has set up shop in there. He's a protector, and he desires to tend to his creation.
We just need to let him.
My brother introduced me to them and, for whatever reason, I've had this impression that they're a metal band, but they're actually a really cool indie band. Not like metal isn't cool. It's just overwhelming. Anyways.
So they have this one song called "Tear In My Heart" that quickly became my favorite song on the album for several reasons, but the biggest one is because of one line: my heart is my armor.
Which is so counter-intuitive to what we're bombarded by on a daily basis. We're told that we should protect our hearts, that they're vulnerable, that they break easily. Wearing our hearts on our sleeves is a bad thing because it makes them easy to access and easy to hurt. We guard them. We hide them away.
Those things aren't bad necessarily. The danger is that they can allow for a lot of callous to build up and we go too defensive rather than protecting them to be safe and healthy.
But the idea as my heart as my armor is a mind-blowing concept.
Because if we believe that we keep the Lord in our hearts, that he makes our hearts his home, shouldn't it be the strongest, most well-fortified place we have? And not fortified in the sense that it throws rocks or hollers insults at any passerby--you probably won't catch God yelling "Your father was a hamster and your mother smelt of elderberries!" at some guy/girl who comes calling. But fortified in that it is not easily taken advantage of or swayed by each passing whim.
Rather than being a fragile sign of life, it should be an expanding kingdom.
The challenge that we're faced with is this: we are human, so we want control of what we view is ours. But when we ask the Lord to come in so he can make our hearts his home, we transcend our nature and relent control over the center of our perceived wellspring of life.
The key phrase in that is "transcend our nature." We will always, always, be fighting for that control back. Even if we know it would be bad to take it back, we want it. But when we demand that God remove his armor so we can have our way is when our hearts go from being well protected to inviting attack.
I'm not saying that we will not know heartache if we surrender ourselves to God, but the healing will come at a much healthier rate and through healthier means. The Lord allows the chinks so that he can show us that not only is he a knight, but a doctor.
My heart is my armor because the Lord has set up shop in there. He's a protector, and he desires to tend to his creation.
We just need to let him.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
College Station and the melted Reese's cup
At this point, you're all probably tired of me talking about how wonderful my undergrad years at the best university were. Texas A&M and all of its quirks and activities and people made me one happy human. It was here where I learned how to grow and speak well and trust wholly and invest fully without fear.
So I figured that year five would just cap off a magical last four. Even better: I could work at a church and not have to study for classes I don't care about. It was like God said, "Look, I have created the happiest situation for you. Have it and bask in how #blessed you are."
But God probably doesn't speak in hashtags, and he certainly does not make plans centered around my level of happiness.
Stupidly, I had the idea that College Station would be exactly the same when I returned after the summer. It would be like all the other summers over the last few years. I would go, take my hiatus from the 77840, and then return and poof! Everyone would be there. College Station did not exist without the Cauldron, Timm Dr, Puryear, and Rayburn crews. Right?
Wrong.
Suddenly, I was in an all-too-familiar place with very, very few people who knew me well. And it was, to say the least, a shock. It was like when you open a Reese's peanut butter cup and it's all melted and not at all what you expected and you're not sure that you really want it anymore. That's kind of how College Station feels right now (to put it in an imperfect metaphor).
I didn't realize how absurd, how abnormal, it was to have a horde of people who knew me well until I only had one or two within a short driving distance of me. I freely admit that I took that for granted.
But even though my roommate situation has changed and I'm in a familiar environment that looks different somehow and I'm feeling kind of lonely, I know that the Lord absolutely has me here for a good reason. It's easy to ask him why he didn't prepare me for this immediate loneliness and tell him that it's his fault for not planning ahead, but I know that won't be right.
It's another lesson. It's another reminder that I am perpetually thinking that I can either 1. do all this by myself or 2. don't think he's going to ultimately work for my good. Probably a decent combination of both.
It's a call to come and kneel at the cross again. To do it every day. To realize that none of my expectations will ever be met because I have too small of an idea of what to expect. He can do far more than I could ever imagine (Ephesians 3:20). I can only expect him to fulfill his promises he makes in scripture, but I don't have any clue how they're going to manifest in my life.
The answer to the uncertainty and the loneliness is standing right beside me. But do I trust him enough to reach out for his hand?
So I figured that year five would just cap off a magical last four. Even better: I could work at a church and not have to study for classes I don't care about. It was like God said, "Look, I have created the happiest situation for you. Have it and bask in how #blessed you are."
But God probably doesn't speak in hashtags, and he certainly does not make plans centered around my level of happiness.
Stupidly, I had the idea that College Station would be exactly the same when I returned after the summer. It would be like all the other summers over the last few years. I would go, take my hiatus from the 77840, and then return and poof! Everyone would be there. College Station did not exist without the Cauldron, Timm Dr, Puryear, and Rayburn crews. Right?
Wrong.
Suddenly, I was in an all-too-familiar place with very, very few people who knew me well. And it was, to say the least, a shock. It was like when you open a Reese's peanut butter cup and it's all melted and not at all what you expected and you're not sure that you really want it anymore. That's kind of how College Station feels right now (to put it in an imperfect metaphor).
I didn't realize how absurd, how abnormal, it was to have a horde of people who knew me well until I only had one or two within a short driving distance of me. I freely admit that I took that for granted.
But even though my roommate situation has changed and I'm in a familiar environment that looks different somehow and I'm feeling kind of lonely, I know that the Lord absolutely has me here for a good reason. It's easy to ask him why he didn't prepare me for this immediate loneliness and tell him that it's his fault for not planning ahead, but I know that won't be right.
It's another lesson. It's another reminder that I am perpetually thinking that I can either 1. do all this by myself or 2. don't think he's going to ultimately work for my good. Probably a decent combination of both.
It's a call to come and kneel at the cross again. To do it every day. To realize that none of my expectations will ever be met because I have too small of an idea of what to expect. He can do far more than I could ever imagine (Ephesians 3:20). I can only expect him to fulfill his promises he makes in scripture, but I don't have any clue how they're going to manifest in my life.
The answer to the uncertainty and the loneliness is standing right beside me. But do I trust him enough to reach out for his hand?
Friday, July 17, 2015
I'm overwhelmed [but there ain't nothin' I can't do]
The first half of this summer felt like it was dragging its fat feet. It was my first time in a 8-5 job with packing a lunch (well, okay, my mom packed some of them) and waking up early on a consistent basis and having to learn how to do professional journalism. It was a challenge. And my company was my mom and sister, two friends, and Friday Night Lights.
All of those things are good, but it was a long six weeks without all the people I was so close to throughout college, and being thrown into a grownup job. After only being in 20 hours of class and work last semester, having a lot on my plate was an experience I was a bit rusty at.
Then my boyfriend came back to America, I reconvened with all my closest friends for a wedding, and I finally got the hang of work. And time started to fly. Looking at my schedule, I only have 4 more days in the office before going on a family vacation, then I have to be at my new job the day after I get home.
But with all the refreshing breaths of air came some kind of urgency, a need to wrap everything up, and time started to move way too fast. I've enjoyed learning how to be an adult but I've spent so much time this summer looking forward to the future that I didn't see the beauty in where I was.
Time, as it does, slips away when you need it to stick around.
My to-do list seems colossal. Each item has tons of sub-items. Raising support requires me to make phone calls. Packing requires organizing.
I know I'll get settled into my new job in College Station (Grace college, I'm coming for you). I know my room will get put together. I know my support will come in. But none of this is in my hands. It's all Christ, or it's nothing.
But as my friend Lecrae said, with Christ, "there ain't nothin' I can't do."
All of those things are good, but it was a long six weeks without all the people I was so close to throughout college, and being thrown into a grownup job. After only being in 20 hours of class and work last semester, having a lot on my plate was an experience I was a bit rusty at.
Then my boyfriend came back to America, I reconvened with all my closest friends for a wedding, and I finally got the hang of work. And time started to fly. Looking at my schedule, I only have 4 more days in the office before going on a family vacation, then I have to be at my new job the day after I get home.
But with all the refreshing breaths of air came some kind of urgency, a need to wrap everything up, and time started to move way too fast. I've enjoyed learning how to be an adult but I've spent so much time this summer looking forward to the future that I didn't see the beauty in where I was.
Time, as it does, slips away when you need it to stick around.
My to-do list seems colossal. Each item has tons of sub-items. Raising support requires me to make phone calls. Packing requires organizing.
I know I'll get settled into my new job in College Station (Grace college, I'm coming for you). I know my room will get put together. I know my support will come in. But none of this is in my hands. It's all Christ, or it's nothing.
But as my friend Lecrae said, with Christ, "there ain't nothin' I can't do."
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Pray without ceasing
My prayer life is average at best. I pray daily, but it's not a significantly meaningful experience. I spend more time writing emails or scribing little notes to my boyfriend than I do in prayer.
I wish that wasn't true.
But that can change.
This morning, I interviewed a man who would literally pause our conversation to pray. Sometimes I wouldn't know if he was talking to me or the Lord. Maybe both at times. But he would apologize to God during a prayer to ask me a question, or ask me to pause so he could pray for God to guide his next answer.
It was like nothing I had ever experienced. It was a life totally focused on the fact that we were created to glorify and worship a holy God and for him to know us and for us to know him. That only comes through prayer. And I've known strong prayer warriors in my life. But Colin was like no one else I had ever met.
He was so in tune with Christ, so aware of what the Lord was telling him. It was unreal. Where I am always hesitant to even ask for something because I'm scared of the word "no," Colin treats Jesus like they're best friends. And, frankly, they probably are. How could you not be when you spoke that often?
It's mind blowing.
And I want it.
What if we all lived like that? Not just an emphasis on prayer, but totally revolved our minds and hearts around the idea that we are in constant communication with Christ? What would that even look like?
Insane. Totally abnormal. In a world that moves too fast, cares too little about others, and focuses too much on ourselves, a switch to constantly and fearlessly communicating with someone who may not respond quickly or with what we want is less than ideal.
But I've found that the waiting is an answer, and the more you try to listen, the more you hear. I am confident that this is a life that I want. To be closer with Christ in a way that I've only ever heard about but never seen firsthand. Prayer is vital to knowing the Creator. And knowing him brings me closer to him, and being closer to him helps me reflect him.
And that's what we were made for.
I wish that wasn't true.
But that can change.
This morning, I interviewed a man who would literally pause our conversation to pray. Sometimes I wouldn't know if he was talking to me or the Lord. Maybe both at times. But he would apologize to God during a prayer to ask me a question, or ask me to pause so he could pray for God to guide his next answer.
It was like nothing I had ever experienced. It was a life totally focused on the fact that we were created to glorify and worship a holy God and for him to know us and for us to know him. That only comes through prayer. And I've known strong prayer warriors in my life. But Colin was like no one else I had ever met.
He was so in tune with Christ, so aware of what the Lord was telling him. It was unreal. Where I am always hesitant to even ask for something because I'm scared of the word "no," Colin treats Jesus like they're best friends. And, frankly, they probably are. How could you not be when you spoke that often?
It's mind blowing.
And I want it.
What if we all lived like that? Not just an emphasis on prayer, but totally revolved our minds and hearts around the idea that we are in constant communication with Christ? What would that even look like?
Insane. Totally abnormal. In a world that moves too fast, cares too little about others, and focuses too much on ourselves, a switch to constantly and fearlessly communicating with someone who may not respond quickly or with what we want is less than ideal.
But I've found that the waiting is an answer, and the more you try to listen, the more you hear. I am confident that this is a life that I want. To be closer with Christ in a way that I've only ever heard about but never seen firsthand. Prayer is vital to knowing the Creator. And knowing him brings me closer to him, and being closer to him helps me reflect him.
And that's what we were made for.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Finding something to lean on
Great news, everyone: Keurig's are remarkably easy to use, and I have only spilled coffee out of my travel cup once in the last three weeks. I would say that's a pretty good track record.
And while mornings are still the worst, I'm quickly learning the value of getting up and getting the day started. That's not to say that I even remotely like mornings, but they aren't the blindingly miserable experiences I held them to be in my undergrad years.
Because I'm just so far past those four years. Right.
The wear and tear of waking up early, not living with my best friends, my boyfriend being across the ocean, and my body's recent requirement of going to bed at ten have sharply reminded me that my physical, emotional, and spiritual needs were wrapped up in my circumstances.
College Station, as wonderful as it is, was a nicely packaged deal for me where I was taken care of and people were always available and no one was more than 5 minutes away (three of the most important ones either shared a room or a house with me). But that is a rarity. Something that I absolutely took for granted, and will inevitably take for granted again when I move back in the fall.
My reliance on Rachel, Myles, Joy, and Hayden was never more keenly felt than when they were in Austin, Mexico, New York, and Greece. Myles is the only one I'll be able to see somewhat often this summer--and we're still a 30 minute drive from each other.
And I know that this time is a teaching one. I am prone to being swayed and moved, my steps unsteady and my balance off. I've never been confident in my ability to stand on my own two feet, but the beauty of the unsteadiness is that I don't have to stand alone.
Leaning more into the Lord is the only option. And while I could wish all day for me to be able to do this summer, this next year, this next lifetime only relying on my own abilities, I know that isn't plausible. So it's with a good dose of humility that I accept the hand reached out to me, and go from there.
And while mornings are still the worst, I'm quickly learning the value of getting up and getting the day started. That's not to say that I even remotely like mornings, but they aren't the blindingly miserable experiences I held them to be in my undergrad years.
Because I'm just so far past those four years. Right.
The wear and tear of waking up early, not living with my best friends, my boyfriend being across the ocean, and my body's recent requirement of going to bed at ten have sharply reminded me that my physical, emotional, and spiritual needs were wrapped up in my circumstances.
College Station, as wonderful as it is, was a nicely packaged deal for me where I was taken care of and people were always available and no one was more than 5 minutes away (three of the most important ones either shared a room or a house with me). But that is a rarity. Something that I absolutely took for granted, and will inevitably take for granted again when I move back in the fall.
My reliance on Rachel, Myles, Joy, and Hayden was never more keenly felt than when they were in Austin, Mexico, New York, and Greece. Myles is the only one I'll be able to see somewhat often this summer--and we're still a 30 minute drive from each other.
And I know that this time is a teaching one. I am prone to being swayed and moved, my steps unsteady and my balance off. I've never been confident in my ability to stand on my own two feet, but the beauty of the unsteadiness is that I don't have to stand alone.
Leaning more into the Lord is the only option. And while I could wish all day for me to be able to do this summer, this next year, this next lifetime only relying on my own abilities, I know that isn't plausible. So it's with a good dose of humility that I accept the hand reached out to me, and go from there.
Monday, May 25, 2015
How does a Keurig work? And other thoughts by a new "grown up"
It's been 9 days since I successfully walked the stage and became a former student of Texas A&M University. My ring has been turned around, and now the eagle, like all the other Aggies that have come before me, now stand behind the class of 2015.
Whoop.
I had a week of freedom on a beach in Florida, but tomorrow dawns adulthood. Or something that resembles it.
Somehow, I have found myself at an internship that is 8-5, four days a week. My first thought when I heard that was, "But I don't know how to adult yet." But that 6:30 alarm is going to go off, and I might become a coffee drinker (which means I should figure out the Keurig), and that toll tag is going to ring up a tab, and I have to figure out what a w9 is.
It's the most thrilling, terrifying thing in the world. I mean, I'm wearing makeup and a skirt before the sun rises tomorrow. Who even am I? I need to find a travel mug and learn to like cliff bars. Work is going to come, and the adventure of life with a degree begins. Somehow just waving it around on a stage doesn't mean I will automatically succeed at all jobs. Who knew?
In addition to my four days a week of being a grown up, I'll also be raising support to do ministry in the fall. So that's equal parts scary and exciting. The Lord is faithful to provide, and has far exceeded anything I could've imagined so far. I have no doubt that my finances will be any exception. But if you could keep me in your prayers for that, I would appreciate it.
Now all THAT being said, I will consider this my official announcement of what I'm doing in the fall (Facebook posts aren't my thing anymore). I will be working for Grace Bible Church in College Station doing college ministry with A&M and Blinn students. The Gospel is cool, and I would like to share it.
The world is big, I'm very little, and God is good. He clearly knows what he's doing, and I'm excited (and, you know, unbelievably nervous) to see how this very bright future he has painted continues to pan out.
Good morning, sunrise. You and I will become very familiar with each other, I think.
Whoop.
I had a week of freedom on a beach in Florida, but tomorrow dawns adulthood. Or something that resembles it.
Somehow, I have found myself at an internship that is 8-5, four days a week. My first thought when I heard that was, "But I don't know how to adult yet." But that 6:30 alarm is going to go off, and I might become a coffee drinker (which means I should figure out the Keurig), and that toll tag is going to ring up a tab, and I have to figure out what a w9 is.
It's the most thrilling, terrifying thing in the world. I mean, I'm wearing makeup and a skirt before the sun rises tomorrow. Who even am I? I need to find a travel mug and learn to like cliff bars. Work is going to come, and the adventure of life with a degree begins. Somehow just waving it around on a stage doesn't mean I will automatically succeed at all jobs. Who knew?
In addition to my four days a week of being a grown up, I'll also be raising support to do ministry in the fall. So that's equal parts scary and exciting. The Lord is faithful to provide, and has far exceeded anything I could've imagined so far. I have no doubt that my finances will be any exception. But if you could keep me in your prayers for that, I would appreciate it.
Now all THAT being said, I will consider this my official announcement of what I'm doing in the fall (Facebook posts aren't my thing anymore). I will be working for Grace Bible Church in College Station doing college ministry with A&M and Blinn students. The Gospel is cool, and I would like to share it.
The world is big, I'm very little, and God is good. He clearly knows what he's doing, and I'm excited (and, you know, unbelievably nervous) to see how this very bright future he has painted continues to pan out.
Good morning, sunrise. You and I will become very familiar with each other, I think.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
A House Is Not A Memory Trapper
My roommates are about to spackle some holes in the living room. Myles is loudly singing some old worship song--while beating the wall--and Rachel caught it on film. Neither of them are 100% confident in what they're doing, but they're going to try and nail it (Rachel just noted that it looks like ice cream but warned Myles to not eat it). This is a day in the life of my house.
One of the last days, actually.
I think we all had a mental knowledge of this week's imminent arrival--we're 3 days out from graduation. But all this packing and painting and the living room in disarray is making the reality, the emotions of the situation, extraordinarily real.
We're doing a good job of making memories and choosing to ignore the goodbyes. Myles and Rachel have turned on "The Wobble" in the living room. Myles has changed the lyrics to, "Hey big girl, go ahead and spackle up."
The picture frames are off the shelves. The sofa is gone. Myles is sleeping on an air mattress. The kitchen has been divided up on a Google doc. It's all changing. This comfy, 1100 square foot little house has been part of many memories. We've had dance parties and crying sessions in the living room. It was a sleepover for two years. It was not without its own faults, and it saw many faults of its residents.
It would be ridiculous to say that this house is just a house, but it will be moved out of and cleaned and readied for the next round of people. It is not immune to wear and tear, nor is it fully prepared for future residents. The house is the holder of memories.
But thankfully memories are not trapped within where they were made. They may be more potent there, feel like they are happening again around you, have strong reminders of what happened. But unlike this house, which will stay planted (however unsteadily based on some foundation issues we've noticed), I get to go.
All the moments where I laughed so hard I cried, where we talked through or quoted movies, threw birthday parties, rearranged, rearranged again, talked out a problem, hugged out the resolution and then made our way out with called "I love you"'s over our shoulders.
I want to say that I hope to find friends like these again, and a place to hold those future memories, but that would require replacing Joy, Myles, and Rachel (and, like, not moving ever). And I think they're one of a kind. While I aspire for close-knit friendships in the future, I know that these women are pretty irreplaceable. And friendships I will maintain until death do we part.
Andy Bernard, in the last episode of The Office, said "I wish we knew we were in the good ole days before we left them."
Initially, I'm inclined to agree with him. But I refuse to believe that this house is the single manifestation of the "good ole days" and that leaving it signifies that the best time of my life is ending. I'm 23. I have a lot of life to live. I think that the rest of my life, however long it is, will be rich with goodness.
No, my nonexistent readers (it would be pompous to assume anyone besides my parents reads this), I am confident that the last beautiful, growing, hard, hilarious four years have been but a glimpse of the life still yet to live.
One of the last days, actually.
I think we all had a mental knowledge of this week's imminent arrival--we're 3 days out from graduation. But all this packing and painting and the living room in disarray is making the reality, the emotions of the situation, extraordinarily real.
We're doing a good job of making memories and choosing to ignore the goodbyes. Myles and Rachel have turned on "The Wobble" in the living room. Myles has changed the lyrics to, "Hey big girl, go ahead and spackle up."
The picture frames are off the shelves. The sofa is gone. Myles is sleeping on an air mattress. The kitchen has been divided up on a Google doc. It's all changing. This comfy, 1100 square foot little house has been part of many memories. We've had dance parties and crying sessions in the living room. It was a sleepover for two years. It was not without its own faults, and it saw many faults of its residents.
It would be ridiculous to say that this house is just a house, but it will be moved out of and cleaned and readied for the next round of people. It is not immune to wear and tear, nor is it fully prepared for future residents. The house is the holder of memories.
But thankfully memories are not trapped within where they were made. They may be more potent there, feel like they are happening again around you, have strong reminders of what happened. But unlike this house, which will stay planted (however unsteadily based on some foundation issues we've noticed), I get to go.
All the moments where I laughed so hard I cried, where we talked through or quoted movies, threw birthday parties, rearranged, rearranged again, talked out a problem, hugged out the resolution and then made our way out with called "I love you"'s over our shoulders.
I want to say that I hope to find friends like these again, and a place to hold those future memories, but that would require replacing Joy, Myles, and Rachel (and, like, not moving ever). And I think they're one of a kind. While I aspire for close-knit friendships in the future, I know that these women are pretty irreplaceable. And friendships I will maintain until death do we part.
Andy Bernard, in the last episode of The Office, said "I wish we knew we were in the good ole days before we left them."
Initially, I'm inclined to agree with him. But I refuse to believe that this house is the single manifestation of the "good ole days" and that leaving it signifies that the best time of my life is ending. I'm 23. I have a lot of life to live. I think that the rest of my life, however long it is, will be rich with goodness.
No, my nonexistent readers (it would be pompous to assume anyone besides my parents reads this), I am confident that the last beautiful, growing, hard, hilarious four years have been but a glimpse of the life still yet to live.
Saturday, May 9, 2015
6
On this day in 2009, my grandfather passed away. He was the first, and remains the only, close family member I've lost. To consider myself blessed in that regard would be a colossal understatement. To say that the loss was not a difficult one, however, would be a lie.
In one week, I will become a former student of Texas A&M University. If we want to get specific, we're 6 days and 22 hours away. My grandfather, Papa, attended A&M for a time in the early 1950's, and while he graduated from that hippie school in Austin (hisssss), I never saw him cheer against the Ags--even on Thanksgiving. I am proud to be in the fourth generation of Aggies of my family. I wish he could see me walk (or, uh, maybe trip) across the stage, but the fact that he walked the university before me is more than comforting.
It's incredible to see aspects of him sprinkled around my family. The helpful hand went to my aunt. The outdoorsman to my uncles. The quick smile (and stubbornness) to my mom. The love of music to my brother. The eager to laugh to my sister. The high level of intellect to my cousin Haley. The love of family to Holly. The adventurous spirits (and blue eyes) to Lacey and Parker. The tan skin and love of competition to Emily and Caroline. The rough-and-tumble attitude to Morgan (adopted or not, she picked up some things from the old man). The love of books to me. Of course, everyone got a little of everything. Some are more stubborn than others, some with a bit more wanderlust than others.
But in our cores, we know where we came from. We know that this baritone-voiced man who ate all our Cheetos eagerly loved us, constantly cared for our grandmother, and made our parents who they were.
I mean really, he filled up Nanny's car with gas for 50 years because she spilled it on herself one time. He took care of his own.
This passion to serve was a product of the way he served the Lord. I'm in the middle of a pack of 10 grandchildren--8 of them are girls. It would've been easy for me to blend in, to remain unnoticed because I was quiet and didn't draw attention to myself. But every time I saw Papa, he brought me a book or a Land Before Time Movie. He knew Linley.
Birthdays just aren't as fun without that sweet, low voice singing to me. Holidays always lack something without him 1. falling asleep in front of the fire/TV or 2. regaling us with stories. He was the love of my grandmother's life. The standard of man for my cousin and brother to look up to and for my cousins and me to look for. The best kind of father to my mom and aunt and uncles.
He leaves a legacy of love, of the importance of Christ, of the necessity of good food.
I hope to follow suit.
In honor of Jesse Don Lyles, September 19, 1933--May 9, 2009.
In one week, I will become a former student of Texas A&M University. If we want to get specific, we're 6 days and 22 hours away. My grandfather, Papa, attended A&M for a time in the early 1950's, and while he graduated from that hippie school in Austin (hisssss), I never saw him cheer against the Ags--even on Thanksgiving. I am proud to be in the fourth generation of Aggies of my family. I wish he could see me walk (or, uh, maybe trip) across the stage, but the fact that he walked the university before me is more than comforting.
It's incredible to see aspects of him sprinkled around my family. The helpful hand went to my aunt. The outdoorsman to my uncles. The quick smile (and stubbornness) to my mom. The love of music to my brother. The eager to laugh to my sister. The high level of intellect to my cousin Haley. The love of family to Holly. The adventurous spirits (and blue eyes) to Lacey and Parker. The tan skin and love of competition to Emily and Caroline. The rough-and-tumble attitude to Morgan (adopted or not, she picked up some things from the old man). The love of books to me. Of course, everyone got a little of everything. Some are more stubborn than others, some with a bit more wanderlust than others.
But in our cores, we know where we came from. We know that this baritone-voiced man who ate all our Cheetos eagerly loved us, constantly cared for our grandmother, and made our parents who they were.
I mean really, he filled up Nanny's car with gas for 50 years because she spilled it on herself one time. He took care of his own.
This passion to serve was a product of the way he served the Lord. I'm in the middle of a pack of 10 grandchildren--8 of them are girls. It would've been easy for me to blend in, to remain unnoticed because I was quiet and didn't draw attention to myself. But every time I saw Papa, he brought me a book or a Land Before Time Movie. He knew Linley.
Birthdays just aren't as fun without that sweet, low voice singing to me. Holidays always lack something without him 1. falling asleep in front of the fire/TV or 2. regaling us with stories. He was the love of my grandmother's life. The standard of man for my cousin and brother to look up to and for my cousins and me to look for. The best kind of father to my mom and aunt and uncles.
He leaves a legacy of love, of the importance of Christ, of the necessity of good food.
I hope to follow suit.
In honor of Jesse Don Lyles, September 19, 1933--May 9, 2009.
Monday, April 20, 2015
The Final Few
I graduate from Texas A&M University in 25 days, 22 hours, and 31 minutes. But who's counting?
Truthfully, I couldn't even tell you if I'm excited to graduate or not. Because the idea of no longer being a student and not having to take tests is a thrilling idea. But I think I would willingly take a test every day for an indefinite amount of time if that meant I don't have to say goodbye to some of the people who are going to be rolling out in May.
The nostalgia is so, so real.
25 days, 22 hours, 21 minutes.
For some reason, it feels exponentially more difficult to resolve myself to the fact that college is ending than it was for high school. Maybe because high school was not my thing. But being with the people I was with here, in College Station, and the things I had to learn and go through just makes this weird little city seem far more significant than anything else I've ever experienced. These were my formative years. My years where I figured out how to love well, how to do laundry, how to say yes (and how to say no), how to form my own opinions, how to do confrontation well, how to change the battery of a smoke detector. How to make my walk with Christ a priority.
Now I'm sitting at work and trying not to cry.
25 days, 22 hours, 17 minutes.
What have I even done with these four years. I could categorize it by the music I listened to, the shows I watched. The things I was involved in. The clothes that I wore. The friends who came in and stayed or the ones that just passed through. The influential people. The people I didn't 100% get along with. All two of the guys I dated. The places I lived. The jobs I had. The classes I took. The struggles I faced. The themes of each semester.
It's all a blur. But when I take a minute to slow down, to breathe, to sit back, I see a small part of a picture. I am not the same Linley who walked into Krueger 415 with a thousand expectations and few life experiences. I will walk out of my little house on Fairview with a thousand experiences that form one big statement:
I will inevitably fail at most things, but the Lord is a good Father who tends to me in all situations.
25 days, 22 hours, 10 minutes.
Yes, this post is disgustingly sappy and dramatic and reflective. I promise that there is part of me that is pretty grossed out by the whole thing.
And yes, I am staying in College Station for another year. But 75% of the people I've come to know and love during my time here will not. Most are staying in Texas. One is going to New York. Another to Seattle. Still another one to India.
No one tells you how hard senior year is. How stressful. How utterly terrifying. But if the Lord chooses for the rest of my life to be half as incredible as the last 4 years were, I think I'll be okay.
25 days, 22 hours, 1 minute.
Truthfully, I couldn't even tell you if I'm excited to graduate or not. Because the idea of no longer being a student and not having to take tests is a thrilling idea. But I think I would willingly take a test every day for an indefinite amount of time if that meant I don't have to say goodbye to some of the people who are going to be rolling out in May.
The nostalgia is so, so real.
25 days, 22 hours, 21 minutes.
For some reason, it feels exponentially more difficult to resolve myself to the fact that college is ending than it was for high school. Maybe because high school was not my thing. But being with the people I was with here, in College Station, and the things I had to learn and go through just makes this weird little city seem far more significant than anything else I've ever experienced. These were my formative years. My years where I figured out how to love well, how to do laundry, how to say yes (and how to say no), how to form my own opinions, how to do confrontation well, how to change the battery of a smoke detector. How to make my walk with Christ a priority.
Now I'm sitting at work and trying not to cry.
25 days, 22 hours, 17 minutes.
What have I even done with these four years. I could categorize it by the music I listened to, the shows I watched. The things I was involved in. The clothes that I wore. The friends who came in and stayed or the ones that just passed through. The influential people. The people I didn't 100% get along with. All two of the guys I dated. The places I lived. The jobs I had. The classes I took. The struggles I faced. The themes of each semester.
It's all a blur. But when I take a minute to slow down, to breathe, to sit back, I see a small part of a picture. I am not the same Linley who walked into Krueger 415 with a thousand expectations and few life experiences. I will walk out of my little house on Fairview with a thousand experiences that form one big statement:
I will inevitably fail at most things, but the Lord is a good Father who tends to me in all situations.
25 days, 22 hours, 10 minutes.
Yes, this post is disgustingly sappy and dramatic and reflective. I promise that there is part of me that is pretty grossed out by the whole thing.
And yes, I am staying in College Station for another year. But 75% of the people I've come to know and love during my time here will not. Most are staying in Texas. One is going to New York. Another to Seattle. Still another one to India.
No one tells you how hard senior year is. How stressful. How utterly terrifying. But if the Lord chooses for the rest of my life to be half as incredible as the last 4 years were, I think I'll be okay.
25 days, 22 hours, 1 minute.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
The New Testament (a historical look)
Amidst all the chaos for planning for the future, I actually have classes that I go to. Being a graduating senior allows for certain perks, like taking 9 hours and being considered a full time student. And having 3 of those hours being online. Yeah, I'm only on campus for a few hours on Tuesday and Thursday. It is as wonderful as it sounds.
My final 9 hours allowed me to take any two communication classes that I wanted, and any other random credit of my choosing. So I chose to take a class on the New Testament.
On the first day of class, my professor walked in, introduced himself, and then promptly announced that he was unafraid to offend and hoped that what we learned in class challenged our beliefs. And rather than sinking down in my seat or looking up other classes to take, my first thought was, "Okay, let's see then."
Honestly, the class hasn't done anything to challenge my beliefs in Christ, or the validity of the Bible, or any other part of my faith. It's kind of done the opposite. All the historical context of when the latter half of the Bible was written is ridiculously interesting. For a 75 minute class, which is normally torture for my short attention span, I rarely look at my watch.
My professor is quirky, and extremely intelligent. He lays out the information objectively (he goes to an Eastern Orthodox church) and it is so clear that he knows what he's talking about. Maybe he's been giving his best efforts to try and dissuade me from my beliefs, but it really has been more affirming than anything.
And it's pretty cool to get historical meaning for who the Pharisees actually were, and how Herod came into power, and how the Bible itself was formed. It's given me context for how important the Temple was, how radical Jesus was, and why different groups reacted the way that they did. And, beyond that, how people reacted after Jesus ascended to Heaven. He made big waves, you guys. The world was immediately changed as people tried to figure out who He was, as Paul and the disciples spread the news around.
A big thing that we focused on the first two weeks of class was about the potential errors of the Bible. Which I get where the argument is coming from--the printing press didn't exist in 60CE, and people had to copy Scripture somehow. Scribes copied and translated and sent out texts. Errors were bound to be made. And, admittedly, there were moments were I did wonder how we could believe what has been copied countless times.
But here's the thing: my God is vastly larger than human error. Jesus died on the cross and then raised from the dead to prove that he was much, much more powerful than any mistake humans could ever make. The point is that no, we do not have the absolute original writings of Mark. But I am confident that the Lord would not let his messages be changed by typos.
I have my first test in that class tomorrow, and while it is a ton of information, it is not information I am uninterested in. I'm a history nerd. I'm learning about the New Testament. And I'm seeing how faithful the Lord is to move through thousands of years. I think, in my last semester of college, I have found one of my favorite classes.
My final 9 hours allowed me to take any two communication classes that I wanted, and any other random credit of my choosing. So I chose to take a class on the New Testament.
On the first day of class, my professor walked in, introduced himself, and then promptly announced that he was unafraid to offend and hoped that what we learned in class challenged our beliefs. And rather than sinking down in my seat or looking up other classes to take, my first thought was, "Okay, let's see then."
Honestly, the class hasn't done anything to challenge my beliefs in Christ, or the validity of the Bible, or any other part of my faith. It's kind of done the opposite. All the historical context of when the latter half of the Bible was written is ridiculously interesting. For a 75 minute class, which is normally torture for my short attention span, I rarely look at my watch.
My professor is quirky, and extremely intelligent. He lays out the information objectively (he goes to an Eastern Orthodox church) and it is so clear that he knows what he's talking about. Maybe he's been giving his best efforts to try and dissuade me from my beliefs, but it really has been more affirming than anything.
And it's pretty cool to get historical meaning for who the Pharisees actually were, and how Herod came into power, and how the Bible itself was formed. It's given me context for how important the Temple was, how radical Jesus was, and why different groups reacted the way that they did. And, beyond that, how people reacted after Jesus ascended to Heaven. He made big waves, you guys. The world was immediately changed as people tried to figure out who He was, as Paul and the disciples spread the news around.
A big thing that we focused on the first two weeks of class was about the potential errors of the Bible. Which I get where the argument is coming from--the printing press didn't exist in 60CE, and people had to copy Scripture somehow. Scribes copied and translated and sent out texts. Errors were bound to be made. And, admittedly, there were moments were I did wonder how we could believe what has been copied countless times.
But here's the thing: my God is vastly larger than human error. Jesus died on the cross and then raised from the dead to prove that he was much, much more powerful than any mistake humans could ever make. The point is that no, we do not have the absolute original writings of Mark. But I am confident that the Lord would not let his messages be changed by typos.
I have my first test in that class tomorrow, and while it is a ton of information, it is not information I am uninterested in. I'm a history nerd. I'm learning about the New Testament. And I'm seeing how faithful the Lord is to move through thousands of years. I think, in my last semester of college, I have found one of my favorite classes.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
One Step Ahead
Well team. It's February. And I still have zero solid plans for what post-grad life is going to look like. No clue really. There are things that I think would be cool to do, but I don't know how to get to those places or who to talk to or how to be an adult. I have a firm handshake, a good support system, and a big God, but sometimes that doesn't feel like enough.
Foolishly, I believe that those things (particularly the last thing) are inadequate for carrying me into the next phase of life.
Believing that lie immediately leads me to picture myself in a dark, circular room. I know there are doors that I just have to try and open, but I can't find the doors, and even if I did, would I have the courage to try the knob? So I just end up running around and banging into walls before feeling drained and hopeless about the large, ambiguous future.
I am not called to live this way. Ecclesiastes 7 commands me to not trust on my own wisdom and righteousness because doing so would label me a fool--ironic, isn't it? Trying to glean wisdom by myself makes me look like an idiot. But that's exactly what I've been trying to do. I've been digging around in my head to figure out what the heck I want to do after May when all I have to do is let go.
The future is big, too big for me to do on my own, and will always be one step ahead of me.
For the record, that is not a wisdom bomb that I dropped on myself.
I know it's all going to be okay. The future is going to come, and keep coming, and there's only so much I can do to prepare for it--which isn't much. But trusting in the one individual who can stand by my side as life happens is the one thing I can safely hold onto.
Christ is sufficient for me.
Foolishly, I believe that those things (particularly the last thing) are inadequate for carrying me into the next phase of life.
Believing that lie immediately leads me to picture myself in a dark, circular room. I know there are doors that I just have to try and open, but I can't find the doors, and even if I did, would I have the courage to try the knob? So I just end up running around and banging into walls before feeling drained and hopeless about the large, ambiguous future.
I am not called to live this way. Ecclesiastes 7 commands me to not trust on my own wisdom and righteousness because doing so would label me a fool--ironic, isn't it? Trying to glean wisdom by myself makes me look like an idiot. But that's exactly what I've been trying to do. I've been digging around in my head to figure out what the heck I want to do after May when all I have to do is let go.
The future is big, too big for me to do on my own, and will always be one step ahead of me.
For the record, that is not a wisdom bomb that I dropped on myself.
I know it's all going to be okay. The future is going to come, and keep coming, and there's only so much I can do to prepare for it--which isn't much. But trusting in the one individual who can stand by my side as life happens is the one thing I can safely hold onto.
Christ is sufficient for me.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
I went cruisin'
The camp I worked at this summer is pretty incredible. And the people I got close to quickly became some of my favorite people. We learned together, we grew together, we laughed, cried, danced, and jumped into mud pits together. We worshiped a big, big God together. I wouldn't trade them for the world.
Thankfully, our directors knew that, and organized a group of us to go on a cruise in January to Mexico so we could reunite and hang out and catch up. And, because I think I'm funny, I wrote down my thoughts as things happened, and you guys get to read them. So here was my cruise with Camp Peniel.
Day 1
Getting to Galveston was pretty easy until we, like, actually got here. Now it's just confusing.
WHERE IS THIS PARKING GARAGE.
It doesn't exist.
And I clearly still don't know my left from my right.
Google Maps successfully took us to an electrical warehouse.
But we did find Texas A&M Galveston. #fishemAgs
Okay yeah we made it to the parking location with some help from the county constable.
Oh my. This boat is so large.
And I don't know if I like this whole rocking business.
It's like the Titanic. I'm freaking out.
Upon first inspection, there is one large bed in the room. For 5 girls.
Ope, beds fall from the ceiling. It's like Chicken Little meets Sleeping Beauty.
This restaurant is FANCY y'all.
Day 2
Good morning captain. Didn't anticipate hearing your voice coming over the intercom at 9:30am.
Phat chilled on a beach chair on the back of the ship all day. This is the dream.
And had 3 ice cream cones. Swag.
Why is it that I prefer Whataburger to fancy restaurant foods.
I'm clearly so uncultured.
This ship has been rocking and rolling all day. Holla at dat Dramamine.
Speaking of the ship, it's still a pretty weird thought that I am actually on a ship.
Karaoke is the place to be y'all. This little girl sang "Let It Go" and I almost cried. So precious.
Day 3
It's becoming easier to share a bed with 2 other humans. Still not my ideal situation though.
COZUMEL HERE I COME.
Ah yes. My limited Spanish knowledge coming into play with this taxi situation.
I don't hate being on a beach twice during one break.
Alas, I'm not as good at bargaining as I once was. That's disappointing.
WATER SLIDE ON A BOAT!
I rather enjoy this whole watching-a-movie-on-a-boat business.
Ugh, I still need Dramamine. You would think I would be used to the rocking by this point.
Day 4
HUZZAH! MAYAN RUINS! HISTORY!
Okay but really this is actually really cool.
Ha. Roman church arch in the middle of the once-plaza. Which piece of architecture doesn't belong...
This is all so incredible. I want to explore forever.
Giant natural spring!
Okay actually not that giant. But real deep, and crystal clear.
Swimming where the Mayans swam! I'm so native!
Good news team: bargaining game back on point.
I have consumed an embarrassing amount of ice cream on this ship.
Also just ordered two meals for dinner. Oops.
This "magic" show was just a bunch of flashing lights and show girls. Highly disappointing.
Dramamine. Dramamine for days.
It's not a real vacation until I somehow injure myself.
Day 5
I love sleep. Sleep is my favorite thing.
It's 2pm and all I've done is eat a burrito and read. The dream.
WOW IT IS SO WINDY.
Phat chillin all day long.
Worship while watching the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico is pretty incredible.
I sat in a hot tub and watched Guardians of the Galaxy. Yaaaaaas.
Okay two-stepping on a rocking boat is not easy.
Over half our group is sea sick, so I guess we're going out with a bang?
Day 6
LAND AHOY!
I'm going to miss these people a whole lot.
Until next time, Camp Peniel.
Yep. That was my adventure onto a cruise ship. Lots of friends, lots of food, lots of fellowship. I'm pretty okay with it.
Thankfully, our directors knew that, and organized a group of us to go on a cruise in January to Mexico so we could reunite and hang out and catch up. And, because I think I'm funny, I wrote down my thoughts as things happened, and you guys get to read them. So here was my cruise with Camp Peniel.
Day 1
Getting to Galveston was pretty easy until we, like, actually got here. Now it's just confusing.
WHERE IS THIS PARKING GARAGE.
It doesn't exist.
And I clearly still don't know my left from my right.
Google Maps successfully took us to an electrical warehouse.
But we did find Texas A&M Galveston. #fishemAgs
Okay yeah we made it to the parking location with some help from the county constable.
Oh my. This boat is so large.
And I don't know if I like this whole rocking business.
It's like the Titanic. I'm freaking out.
Upon first inspection, there is one large bed in the room. For 5 girls.
Ope, beds fall from the ceiling. It's like Chicken Little meets Sleeping Beauty.
This restaurant is FANCY y'all.
Day 2
Good morning captain. Didn't anticipate hearing your voice coming over the intercom at 9:30am.
Phat chilled on a beach chair on the back of the ship all day. This is the dream.
And had 3 ice cream cones. Swag.
Why is it that I prefer Whataburger to fancy restaurant foods.
I'm clearly so uncultured.
This ship has been rocking and rolling all day. Holla at dat Dramamine.
Speaking of the ship, it's still a pretty weird thought that I am actually on a ship.
Karaoke is the place to be y'all. This little girl sang "Let It Go" and I almost cried. So precious.
Day 3
It's becoming easier to share a bed with 2 other humans. Still not my ideal situation though.
COZUMEL HERE I COME.
Ah yes. My limited Spanish knowledge coming into play with this taxi situation.
I don't hate being on a beach twice during one break.
Alas, I'm not as good at bargaining as I once was. That's disappointing.
WATER SLIDE ON A BOAT!
I rather enjoy this whole watching-a-movie-on-a-boat business.
Ugh, I still need Dramamine. You would think I would be used to the rocking by this point.
Day 4
HUZZAH! MAYAN RUINS! HISTORY!
Okay but really this is actually really cool.
Ha. Roman church arch in the middle of the once-plaza. Which piece of architecture doesn't belong...
This is all so incredible. I want to explore forever.
Giant natural spring!
Okay actually not that giant. But real deep, and crystal clear.
Swimming where the Mayans swam! I'm so native!
Good news team: bargaining game back on point.
I have consumed an embarrassing amount of ice cream on this ship.
Also just ordered two meals for dinner. Oops.
This "magic" show was just a bunch of flashing lights and show girls. Highly disappointing.
Dramamine. Dramamine for days.
It's not a real vacation until I somehow injure myself.
Day 5
I love sleep. Sleep is my favorite thing.
It's 2pm and all I've done is eat a burrito and read. The dream.
WOW IT IS SO WINDY.
Phat chillin all day long.
Worship while watching the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico is pretty incredible.
I sat in a hot tub and watched Guardians of the Galaxy. Yaaaaaas.
Okay two-stepping on a rocking boat is not easy.
Over half our group is sea sick, so I guess we're going out with a bang?
Day 6
LAND AHOY!
I'm going to miss these people a whole lot.
Until next time, Camp Peniel.
Yep. That was my adventure onto a cruise ship. Lots of friends, lots of food, lots of fellowship. I'm pretty okay with it.
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