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.
Monday, August 31, 2015
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)