One Year With Our Birdie-Girl

I’ve always thought people who were obsessed with their pets were weirdos. It’s just an animal, for goodness’ sake.

Then we adopted Birdie.

On August 25, 2013, (and after months of my husband trying to convince me that we needed a dog), we brought home a three-year old, skinny, timid beagle-hound mix with dry skin and a saggy “mama-belly” flapping beneath her. It was clear that she had not come from the most pleasant of backgrounds. She hated car rides, water, and the feather duster, among other things.

In a short amount of time, however, she began to transform before our eyes- and with every breakthrough, I felt myself changing along with her.

These days, she leaps into the back seat of the car and hangs her head out the window, gleefully squinting in the wind. She b-lines it for the pond at the dog park to swim and pretends she’s one of the big labs. She’s learned how to sit, stay, lie down, and shake (ambidextrously, I might add). She’s strong and athletic and her coat is soft and shiny. Her amber eyes have a new life to them; they’re brighter, more engaged.

We are still working on the feather duster thing though. (Of all things?!)

I can’t believe it’s only been a year since we brought her home. It feels like she’s always been a part of our family. Most surprising of all, though, is how much I have absolutely fallen in love with this precious dog.

I like to rest my head on her belly when she’s trying to sleep and tell her I love her as she lets out a long sigh as if to say, “let me sleep woman!” We play hide and seek- a version of it anyhow- where we chase each other around until one of us gets too tired and plops on the floor in submission.

My heart swells when I think of my sweet, happy, and fearless Birdie. She’s becoming the dog she was meant to be- zigzagging across a field like a wild gazelle, stalking squirrels, rolling around in the dirt, passing out on the cool hardwood floor and snoring after a long walk.

She’s my reminder that love is transformative and love is freeing. It’s like God has allowed me to see – if only a tiny fraction – how he feels when he watches us live our lives that same way….fearless and free.

So here’s to many more years with our Birdie-girl- the doggie that turned me from a normal human being into one of those pet-obsessed weirdos.

The Practice of Confession

I heard someone say once that “confessing is not letting a secret out, but letting grace in.”

I’ve been convicted of this lately.

For the majority of my lifetime, my understanding of confession has been limited. To my naive adolescent self, confession was the one or two times a year when someone from the congregation would walk up to the front pew after the sermon, cry and whisper to the preacher while the song leader led an additional verse of Oh, Why Not Tonight? Then we would pray as a congregation for this brother or sister, be dismissed, and go home to eat whatever had been roasting in the Crock Pot.

I do not mean to belittle this form of confession and I wholeheartedly believe forgiveness and healing took place in that setting because I saw it with my own eyes. But in my mind, confession was reserved for “big” sins like affairs or pornography addictions. And if you could brave the walk to the front of the church, you were awarded a big blue ribbon of forgiveness.

I was never brave enough to make that walk. Instead I stood in the audience, my heart in my throat, convicted of my sin. I would stare down at my hymnal so as to not make eye contact with the preacher who I swore could see into my soul and knew what I was hiding. I would convince myself that my sins and struggles weren’t really that bad and most definitely did not require public attention. Nope. I can handle it. No one needs to know. I will figure it out on my own. (Satan: 1, Me: 0).

Thus began the little sin storehouse in my heart. With every sermon, every conviction, every tug of the Spirit to confess- I would simply justify the sin and tuck it away. Luckily, the deepest part of my heart was not a place I frequented and therefore served as the perfect storage place.

Eventually, my sin storage unit became more of a Costco-sized warehouse with cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling. Justification turned to numbness, and numbness to outright apathy. And before I knew it, I found myself in situations I never thought I would be in, doing things I never thought I would do.

I didn’t understand then that I was only words away from freedom, only a conversation away from the beginning of healing.

By the grace of God, I stumbled upon confession, although I don’t even think I knew that’s what it was at the time. Being the B.S. master that I am, I’ve always known the exact words to say and the exact way to act so that no one would suspect that anything was wrong. I finally came to a place, however, where I could not physically or emotionally handle the weight of the sin and pain I was carrying around. And so one night I told one of my best friends the truth- the ugly, un-candy-coated truth. Then a miracle occurred. She still loved me.

What?!

Yes. She still loved me.

That’s called friendship, folks. (I had pictured it all going down a lot differently. I thought maybe she would gasp in shock, renounce our friendship and run out the door never to be seen again.)

This marked the beginning of God showing me the necessity of frequent confession.

I know it may sound terrifying, admitting your faults to someone else. But all you have to do is muster up just enough courage to get the words out of your mouth. Regardless of how "big" or "small" you think it is, share it with someone. Say it in an email. Say it over coffee. Say it in a text message if you have to. Just say it. Just. Say. It.

Speaking the words alone won’t change you. But speaking the words forces it to be real, and if it’s real, something has to be done about it. And trust me, something will happen.

A few months ago I found myself in a weird place. I seldom prayed. And then I stopped praying altogether. Now, I’ve never been a good pray-er nor am I a very good one now, but this was different. I straight up gave up on prayer and deemed it as useless as talking to a brick wall. But as long as I didn’t tell anyone, I was good. Right? After the prompting from a very good friend, I finally and grudgingly let the words come out of my mouth:

“I’ve lost all confidence in prayer.”

And no sooner did the words slide off my tongue that the craziest things started happening. Some subtle. Some not so subtle. It was as if God was saying, “Alright, I know it’s really hard for you to see me right now, but I’m still going to try to get your attention.” A few days later, I learned of something that had happened in the life of one of my closest friends that forced me to my knees in prayer. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t have the option anymore of thinking about whether or not prayer worked. It had to work. And since I was helpless to do anything else, I got on my knees alone in my room and lifted my arms to the sky, and cried out to God to help my friend. Not because I wanted to. But because I had to.

Ironic? Me thinkest not.

Now, by confession I don’t mean telling your deepest darkest secrets to everyone within earshot. Rather, what I mean by confession is finding that handful of people in your life who you can trust to love you despite your shortcomings, who will encourage you to overcome them. I’ve found in my own life that practicing confession always leads to intimacy- with God and with others. The opposite is also true. When I choose to keep quiet about my struggles, it only distances myself from God and others.

I’ve come a long way since the Spirit opened my eyes to the power of confession. I’ve abdicated my throne as B.S. Queen. I’m (slowly) getting better at not caring about what people think. I’m real about the person I am and what I’m going through. My relationships are different. My understanding of grace and love are different. It’s been a revival of sorts.

A person I greatly respect once said that Jesus did not come to make bad people good, but to make dead people alive.

Hallelujah. I’ve wasted too many years of my short life trying to be good, trying to get people to think I’m a “good Christian.” I’ve learned the hard way that keeping things hidden from the ones you love and from God (who already knows) only leads to feeling absolutely dead on the inside. First joy is extinguished, then hope, and then if you’re not careful- your faith is next on the chopping block.

This is why the practice of confession is so important. It brings us to a place of humility. It reminds us that we are, in fact, not good, and are in constant need of God’s grace (which He gives abundantly). Confession reminds us that despite what the enemy would have us believe- we are not alone in our struggles, we are forgiven, and we are so unbelievably loved. Confession is a new beginning. (And I need a new beginning all the time!)

Deep down what all of us want most is to be known completely and loved just as we are. This is how God loves us. Confession provides us with a means by which we can love each other this way also. Nothing is more life-giving than to be loved this way.

Life was not meant to be lived behind a mask of deception. Real love and real living begins when there’s nothing left to hide. So walk to the front pew, or make that phone call, or send that email. You'll find more than just forgiveness; you'll find life.

__________



“Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.”
--James 5:16


[About a year ago I began reading a book entitled An Altar in the World by Barbara Brown Taylor. I finished this book yesterday. It took me about 5 months to finish the last chapter alone; not because I am a slow reader (although I am) but because I simply did not want the book to end. Each chapter in the book discusses a spiritual “practice,” although not ones we typically think about. For example, the author explains the practice of things like feeling pain, getting lost, and wearing skin. This book has touched me on a deep level and has led me to discover God in the most unlikely places. I highly recommend this book, especially to my brothers and sisters who find God more often in trees and bugs and people’s faces and a good cup of coffee than within the four walls of a church. This entry is my response to this book; my (extremely) under-qualified addition to the list of practices I’ve found myself desperately needing to observe.]

Lessons from Lili

Mother-daughter relationships are complex. My relationship with my mom is no different. On one hand, I simply don’t know how I would live without her. On the other hand, a lot of times we drive each other absolutely up the wall.

I call her everyday on my twenty minute drive home from work. If I’m trying a new recipe, it is impossible for me not to call her at least five times from the grocery store.

“Regular or heavy whipping cream?”
“What’s the difference between salted and unsalted butter?”
“Why are spices so expensive?”

She’s one of few people in this world who I can read as easily as a children’s book. In five seconds flat I can tell if she’s happy, annoyed, tired, or if she accidentally had real coffee this morning instead of decaf. She’s passionate and loves deeply. You never quite know what will come out of her mouth next. She’s silly and her giggles are punctuated with the occasional snort. She’s the only member of my family that will booty dance with me in the kitchen when a fun song comes on over the radio. She doesn’t do anything halfway and will send you back to clean the bathroom if it wasn’t done right the first time. (I still don’t understand why it’s necessary to clean underneath the toilet, who’s going to see that anyway?)

I’ve learned so many things from her and she’s simply too good of a mother for all her valuable lessons to go unheard by everyone else but my brother, sister and I. So, until she writes a book on parenting, this blog post will have to suffice. Here’s just a few things I’ve learned from my mom.


You can always wash your hands. These words serve as my mantra when I finish washing dishes and my hand’s last task is to bravely dive into the cloudy, tepid sink water and unclog the drain of whatever food has settled there; this week it’s the remnants of last week’s scrambled eggs. The trip from the drain to the garbage may only last a few short seconds, but I wince the entire time until I can get my hands back under the faucet and covered in soap. I imagine my mom had to teach herself this lesson after serving as a nurse and never knowing what the bodily fluid-de-jour would be. And then again as a mom, wrestling the dirty diapers, vomit, and bloody wounds that inevitably come with raising three children. It was what she would tell me when it was my turn to clean out the chicken coop, de-vein the shrimp for her famous stew, clean the toilets, or the many other nasty tasks I had as a kid. In its immediate context, I suppose it was Mom’s way of teaching me not to be a prissy girl afraid of touching gross things.

As I got older, I carried this little piece of advice with me.

I remember a phone call I made to my mother while I was in college. It was one of those tear-filled conversations, the kind girls make to their mothers when they just need to get it all out. Heartbroken over a recent breakup, I was telling her how guilty I was feeling over mistakes I had made. Until that time, my dramatic self thought the best formula for combating guilt was to mope around all day, as if to prove to God how sorry I was for what I had done. This strategy failed miserably and ironically only proved to make me weaker and more likely to mess up again. I’m sure by this point my mom was over my angst, so on the phone that day she simply told me, “You know what, Daley? People mess up. We’re all human. We all make mistakes. Now pick yourself up and move on.” Simple advice, but it sobered me up and stuck with me.

I realized she was telling me the same thing she had told me years before. At some point, we all find ourselves among the filth and refuse of mistakes we’ve made. This was Mom’s way of reminding me to go the faucet, wash my hands, and get on with my life.

Don’t ignore crying strangers. It doesn’t happen often, but if you see someone who’s crying- whether they’re walking past you on the street or you hear them in the next bathroom stall over, always ask them if they are alright. You never know what people are dealing with and just stopping to talk to them could make all the difference in the world.

Swallow your pride and apologize. My mom and I share the same “Type A” personality. We’re assertive, in charge, not afraid to state our opinion, and sometimes it can get us in trouble. My mother also happens to be Mexican, adding to the equation her fiery little personality. Just like all of us, my mom has said things in the heat of the moment that she regretted, either to us or to my dad. I don’t remember any of those things she said but I do remember what happened afterwards. She apologized. Immediately.

This may not sound like novel advice, but I think a lot of relationships could benefit from learning how to do this. If you said or did something wrong, apologize for it. Don’t wait until tomorrow. Don’t wait until you’ve vented to someone else about it. Suck it up and apologize, immediately and genuinely. Then forget about it and move on.

Do the good. I don’t know about you, but this happens to me a lot: I’ll be at the grocery store and the check-out girl behind the counter just has the prettiest smile. Or the cutest earrings. Or the most gorgeous hair color. The guy at the coffee shop has the coolest tattoo. The couple at the restaurant has the most adorable baby. I find myself thinking these things but more often than not I walk away without saying a word. And this is when I hear my mom’s voice. “Do the good.” Yes, these people are strangers. Yes, they may get totally creeped out by my random compliment. But giving the compliment is a good thing to do, so do it. You were thinking the nice thought, so say it.

But this rule doesn’t only apply to silly compliments (although I promise you it will make someone’s day), but is helpful in a lot of other situations.

Not sure whether you should apologize to that old friend? Do it.

Write the note you’ve been wanting to write? Write it.

Tell someone how much you look up to them? Tell them.

If it’s a good thing, if it’s a positive thing, if it brings healing, encouragement, or reconciliation, don’t think twice- do it.

Everyone can use more hugs and kisses. In the summer of 2007, I went on a mission trip to Honduras. We spent one week there building a house and handing out clothes and food to people in need. I am ashamed to say that even though I’m half Mexican, my Spanish is terrible. So, for my first few days in Honduras, I awkwardly stumbled through introductions and dreaded talking to anyone because I had no way to respond. But then I remembered my mom. I decided to stop worrying about trying to speak their language and do what my mom does best- hug them. Hug everyone. And not an obligatory, polite hug. Hug them with some umff. Hug them in a way that says, “I’m glad you’re alive. You are precious.” Whether it’s a poor, toothless Honduran man who reeks of B.O., that old woman from church who’s in a nursing home, or your best friend- a good hug and a kiss on the cheek will always be more powerful than even the most beautiful words.

Sit up straight. Good posture exudes confidence. It also has the added benefit of making your bosoms (or pectorals, gentlemen) appear larger. This got me sitting up straight real fast.

You are normal and extraordinary. I don’t pretend to know how hard it is to be a parent. There are so many decisions, and the way you handle each of them will forever affect your child. No pressure. One of the greatest things my mom did was to make me feel normal when I needed it but also made me feel extraordinary when I needed that too.

All a middle-schooler wants to do is fit in. At 13, you want to know that you look, smell, act, and think like everyone else. She reminded me then that I wasn’t the only one who had to wear deodorant, I wasn’t the only one who had to get braces. My mom did as good of a job at this then as she does now. She reminds me that I’m not the only one who cries over silly things, makes stupid mistakes, or still gets zits in their twenties. She tells me that pale is the new tan, that hairy arms equals a better sex drive (?!), and that lots of people still don’t know what they want to be when they grow up.

But in the same way that I sometimes need to be reminded that I am normal and not a total freak of nature, there are also other times that I need to be reminded that I am just the opposite- that I am extraordinary. Sometimes it’s easy to feel lost in the crowd and forget what I could possibly have to offer this world. Then in steps Mom, to remind me that there has never ever been someone quite like me, with my talents and my abilities. Yes, it’s coming from the most biased source out there, but I’ll take it. Even at 26, I need to hear that I’m not just a nobody wandering the earth- I’m special, I’m unique, I’m awesome. Thanks Mom.

I can breathe a huge sigh of relief that I am abnormally normal.

Heaven will smell like babies. And no, I don’t mean the stinky-diaper or post-throw-up kind. I’m talking about the swaddled and freshly cleaned kind. There is simply not a better smell on the planet. Never pass up the opportunity to smell a baby. And if you’re willing to be that person with your nose pressed to a baby’s forehead, I promise it’s totally worth it. Go ahead, get a good, deep inhale; warm and sweet and new. If forgiveness had a smell, that would be it.

There are times to be tough, and there are times to cry. The first semester of my sophomore year of college I spent abroad in Vienna, Austria. I had been in Vienna for exactly one week when my mom called and told me that my dad had been diagnosed with colon cancer. I was devastated. I wanted to be there for my dad, I wanted to be there for my mom. How could she possibly handle all of this on her own? Because, after all, this was the woman who cried at Hallmark commercials and at the end of sappy movies. But over the next few weeks, when we would talk on the phone, I witnessed a complete transformation. I remember her telling me, “What’s the point of professing this faith in God if we only trust Him when things are easy?” It was as if she simply turned on her bravery switch and never looked back. I’ll never know everything that she went through during that time. After all, I was 6,000 miles away. But I do know that she spent the better part of a year watching her husband of 25+ years waste away to less than 140 pounds, doing her best to feed him something that wouldn’t make him nauseous.

You’d think that would be enough to prove how strong she was.

But about a year and a half after my Dad’s cancer went into remission, my 23 year old brother was diagnosed with cancer. So the woman who just watched her husband go through the horrible suffering of chemotherapy, now knew exactly what lay in store for her child. Once more, my mom picked herself up and got to work. She prayed, she cooked, she cleaned, she went outside and hushed the neighbor’s dogs who barked while my sick brother napped. There was even a few weeks there where she was given the task of giving my brother two shots a day to prepare him for his stem cell transplant. I think this is probably where I would have thrown in the towel. But not my mom. She doesn’t give up. She did everything short of take the chemotherapy for my brother, although if it were an option she would have done it in a heartbeat. I’m also pretty positive she would have started a full-out marijuana farm in our backyard if weed would have made him feel better.

Through all that my mom taught me that you’re tough sometimes because you don’t have any other choice. There is no other option but to be someone’s stronghold when they can’t do it themselves. Falling to pieces and giving up hope won’t get you anywhere.

By what I can only claim as a miracle, both my dad and brother are currently cancer free and healthy. Life has returned to normal. And the same woman who courageously cared for them during that time is the same woman who still cries every time we say goodbye at the airport and every time we watch the movie In Her Shoes.

___

These are just a few highlights of all the wonderful things I’ve learned from my mother. Glad she’s mine.

So you've graduated from college. Now what?

Look at you. You’re a college graduate. You’ve put in your four or five (or maybe even six) years of hard work and now you’re ready for the real world. You’re ready for the next phase of life.

Or are you?

Perhaps you’re planning a wedding, perhaps you’re preparing for grad school. You may be moving away or moving home. Either way, a big change is-a-coming and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You knew college would go by quickly, you were told to soak it all in and live it up, but you didn’t really think it would go by that quickly...or that you would already miss it.

You were given so much advice about college: stay up late, think for yourself, try new things. But what happened to the advice about after graduation? What now?

I’ve often wondered to myself why no one told me what life would be like after college. Where was my warning?

I would have greatly appreciated it if someone had sat me down, looked me in the eye and said, “Ok, this is what’s going to happen. You will feel like you’re losing your mind, possibly hope, even your faith--but don’t worry, I promise they will return to you better than before.”

At least I would have seen it coming. At least I would have known I would get through it.

So this is for you, my college-aged friend.

As someone who is not far removed from the phase of life you find yourself in, I offer you my humble advice.

Navigating the post-college years:

1. Ask yourself “What identifies me?”

Perhaps the hardest lesson I learned after college was coming face to face with the person I had become. Not that it was bad. I’d learned so much, grown in so many ways, and certainly matured from the high school version of myself. But once college ended and I was separated from friends, classes, and the constant barrage of activity, the silence convicted me of something. It convicted me of my superficial faith, and the fact that for the past four and half years I had allowed pretty much everything but Christ to be my identity.

I found my identity in popularity, in being friends with everyone, in being over-involved, in the attention of the opposite sex, in getting good grades, in doing the “right things.”

And then one night while I was in grad school, I drove home alone after church. I parked in front of the house I shared with four other girls, turned the car off, but I didn’t get out. I don’t know why I remember that night so well, but as I sat there in my dark parked car staring blankly at the dashboard, it was as if for the first time I was seeing myself for exactly what I was......absolutely nothing. Everything I had allowed to validate me in college was gone and in that moment I finally realized my own insignificance without Christ. My eyes were opened to the shallow, murky pool I called my faith. And it was at once one of the hardest and greatest moments of my life. It was a starting point, a rebirth.

Take the time to ask yourself some honest questions. Do you live like you actually need Jesus? Take away the trappings of church and friends and the busyness of life--and what does your faith look like? What are you allowing to validate you?

In case you haven’t already noticed- everything in life changes. Christ never does. Build your house on the rock.

2. Resist the urge to become a cynic.

I love Conan O’Brien. And what he chose to say in his last few minutes of the last taping of the The Tonight Show made me love him even more. He looked directly into the camera and said:

“All I ask of you is one thing: Please don't be cynical. I hate cynicism -- it's my least favorite quality and it doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen."

I’m not sure why it occurs, but for some reason after college so many people (myself included) develop a somewhat bitter and pessimistic mindset toward just about everything. Those people are too rich. Those people are too radical. Those people are not radical enough. Those people are too liberal. Those people are too conservative. And on and on and on and on.

Cynicism is for cowards. It’s easier to judge others than to get off your high horse and love them. And harder still to allow them to love you in return. Let people be who they are- however different that is from you- and even if you know they’ll never change.


3. Shower grace on others.

Friends. This is the truth of the matter: college is over. People change. Friendships evolve. Some get married, some move away, most of them get jobs. This makes maintaining friendships really challenging. But it’s okay. It doesn’t mean your friends love you less, it only means that--just like you--they’re attempting to navigate this new phase of life. Inevitably, dinners will get canceled, friends will bail at the last minute. You’ll go a month without seeing your best friend-- even when you live in the same town. Even so, schedule those lunches or phone dates every chance you get, write them into your planner. It will feel unnatural at first- having to schedule time with friends you used to see every day. But soon you’ll come to appreciate each other even more and savor every last second you get to spend together. Show them grace as they grow and change, because you’re growing and changing too.

Parents. I adore my parents. They’re wonderful, loving, level-headed people. There is no one I respect more than them. So, at the age of 22 when I realized that I vehemently disagreed with them about something for the very first time in my life (I’m not kidding)--it floored me. Honestly, I didn’t know how to handle it. What ensued was about three years of constant debates, with them in one corner wondering how on earth I belonged to them- and me in the other corner, convinced it was my lot in life to teach them all that my enlightened self had learned in college.

I realize this may not be the case with you. You may have stopped agreeing with your parents at age five and never looked back. You may not speak to one or both of your parents. You may not have one single thing in common with these two people whose DNA you share.

Regardless of the situation, show them grace. And then show them more grace. This is what I wish I would have done from the beginning. And not “I pity you” grace or “I secretly know I’m smarter than you” grace or even “anything for the sake of peace” grace. Show them real grace. Real grace is humble, accepting, loving, and best of all, freeing. So incredibly freeing.

People who are different than you. This may seem like a given. Because, after all, you’ve just finished college. You’ve probably protested things, attended rallies and benefits; you have opinions now. You’re wiser than ever. You’d never dream of not showing grace to someone who is different than you.

That’s what I thought too.

But somehow along the way I let the pendulum swing so far to the other side that I completely abandoned where I came from and began to embody precisely what I was so against in the first place- self-righteousness and obstinacy. It seems ironic to me now, but I see this phenomenon occurring still. Some people are the first in line to fight for any and every cause and faith and religion, and yet talk about their parent’s, grandparent’s, or neighbor’s more conservative religion as if it is a joke. This is ugly and hypocritical and not the type of brothers and sisters in Christ we are called to be.

Eventually, for me, I began to feel the weight and exhaustion of having to be so right all the time. And so I let it go. And let me tell you, (again), freedom abounds in allowing people to live and worship the way they choose.

So learn to show grace like it’s your job. Because, at the end of the day-- it’s actually you that needs the grace. Or as author Shauna Niequist says:

“At first, showing people grace makes you feel powerful, like scattering candy from a float in a parade--grace for you, grace for you. You become almost giddy, thinking of people in generous ways, allowing for their faults, absorbing minor irritations. You feel great, and then you start to feel just ever so slightly superior, because you’re so incredibly evolved and gracious.
But then inevitably something happens, and it usually involves you confronting one of your worst selves, often in public, and you realize that you’re not throwing candy off a float to a nameless, dirty public, but rather that you are that nameless, dirty public, and that you are starving and on your knees, praying for a little piece of sweetness, just one mouthful of grace.”


4. Take risks, chase your dreams, but remember God isn’t after glamour.

This sounds cheesy and clichéd, but there really is no better time than now to chase your dreams. Do that one thing (or the many things) that you’ve always wanted to do but couldn’t because you were in school or because you were too busy worrying about what other people would think. Move across the country. Move to a different country. Take up crocheting. Take a belly-dancing class. Run a marathon. Write poetry. Whatever it may be- do it! Don’t put it off.

At the same time, don’t get lost in the glamour of finding a grand adventure after college. If you happen to find yourself in a hut in Africa after college- that’s great. But if you happen to find yourself living with your parents and working 40 hours a week at Starbucks- that’s great too. There is great adventure in both. And call me crazy- but I just don’t believe that God is really concerned with your location. God wants you to honor him, whether that’s by feeding hungry children in Uganda, or serving up the gospel alongside someone’s caramel macchiato. There are souls to save abroad, and there are souls to save here. Adventure is just as abundant here as it is anywhere else. And while there may be extreme physical poverty in third world countries to alleviate, there is extreme spiritual poverty everywhere (especially in this country) that needs just as much of our attention.

Do a lot of praying. Apply to a bunch of different types of jobs. Volunteer with different types of organizations. God will lead you where he needs you to be, even if that’s exactly where you are.


5. Embrace uncertainty.

Me offering advice on embracing uncertainty is like Eminem offering marital advice or Jessica Simpson teaching an acting class. I still have so far to go, and my attempt to be alright with uncertainty has been a train wreck at best.

As humans, I think we naturally abhor uncertainty. We want to know the who, what, where, when, why, and how of every last detail of our life. But how often do we actually get that? The plans we spend years obsessing over can be thwarted in a matter of seconds. Which leads me to ask the question- why bother making so many plans in the first place?

If you’re like me, college graduation marks the first legitimate freak-out moment. You don’t have an automatic next step to climb like you did after high school, and well, now you’re a full-fledged adult- you’re supposed to be able to make decisions for yourself. Should you go to grad school? If so, what for? Should you look for a job? If so, what kind of job? Should you move to a new place? If so, where and for how long? Cue the anxiety.

But however much I hate uncertainty, if I’m honest, the times in my life that were the most uncertain were also the times I was closest to God. Perhaps it was only for lack of anything or anyone else to turn to- but nevertheless, times of uncertainty found me clinging to God’s leg like a scared toddler, eyes clinched shut just waiting for it all to be over. It may not have been pretty- and it most certainly was desperate- but I learned that being near to God is the safest place to be.

I do know that eventually it gets easier and somehow by the grace of God I survived the four tumultuous years since college graduation. I feel like I’ve lived five lifetimes since then, and I never would have guessed I’d end up where I am today. Looking back on these crazy years, I can see how God was refining me over and over again- burning away the impurities called cynicism, self-righteousness, pride, and fear.

So wherever God chooses to take you next, dear friend, I will not wish you the best. That would be too easy. I wish you what I’ve had- a wild and unexpected adventure full of both heartache and laughter- that landed me closer to God than I’ve ever been before.

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What advice would you offer the recent college grad?
What do you wish someone would have told you about life after college?

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A GREAT book to read after college: 48 Days To The Work You Love by Dan Miller

Dandelion Seeds

It was eight or nine in the evening. Mom was preoccupied with something upstairs so it was now or never.

Mike came over to me and asked, “Will you shave my head?”

My stomach sank. I knew this day was coming, but still I didn’t want to believe it was here. His cancer had returned and he had been going through chemo again for a few weeks. We knew this chemo was stronger than the last cycle, so it was simply too much too hope for that his hair would stick around.

He grabbed one of the chairs from around the dinner table and headed for the back door. I put on my best poker face and followed him outside. The back patio was dimly lit by a string of lights draped from the wooden overhang. Mike plugged the clippers into the outside outlet and handed them to me.

“It’s fine,” I kept telling myself in my head. “You’re just cutting his hair, no big deal.” Maybe lying to myself would buy me enough time to cut his hair- enough time to keep my heart from crumbling in my chest right then and there.

And yet he still seemed so undaunted, so unphased, like this was just another normal weeknight activity.

He faced the chair away from the house and sat down. With the clippers in my hand, I took a silent and deep breath and went in for the first swipe across his head.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I kept silently coaching myself.

Another swipe. And then another.

And then for some strange reason, while holding the clippers in my left hand, with my right hand I grabbed a small piece of his hair from the section I hadn’t cut yet-- and pulled.

It hardly resisted and for the briefest moment I stared at the hair I was now holding in my fingers.

It was like plucking the seedlings from a dandelion. Only I didn’t blow his hair away and watch it carried off by the wind. I made no wish of love or fortune.

The small clump of hair simply fell to the concrete- dead, brittle, and lifeless.

I resumed my duties. If I had stalled one millisecond longer, I wouldn’t have been able to finish. I let the buzz of the clippers in the cool night air drown out my thoughts.

I wonder what was going through his head that night, staring into the blackness of the backyard while being stripped of the last bit of normalcy he had left, knowing the worst was yet to come.

The Biggest Fear of All

Fear is a funny thing.

It comes in many shapes and forms. For instance, there’s the grizzly bear kind of fear that makes your heart pound and your breathing heavy. Sadly, this is me on airplanes. In my mind, death is imminent and there is no way to escape plunging 30,000 feet to the ground in a slow and terrifying death. I’m just one big mass of a billion scaredy-cat cells, all clenching their jaws and trembling, ready to panic at the next tiny bounce of the plane.

Then there’s the more frequent kind of fear- the termite kind of fear that eats away at you little by little and may even go unnoticed for a time, until one day you wake up and you feel like you’re falling apart. These fears come in different varieties- they’re regrets and insecurities, the lingering debris from heartaches of the past. We become so used to them that they silently dictate our actions and hold us back without us even realizing.

We all have fears like this, big scary ones, and small, less noticeable ones.

So as an exercise in the name of catharsis and brutal honesty, I decided to simply list all the things I could think of that I fear.

I fear death.
I fear being alone.
I fear being different.
I fear turbulence.
I fear hydroplaning while driving in the rain.
I fear getting fat.
I fear growing old.
I fear being laughed at.
I fear stretch marks.
I fear having children.
I fear not having children.
I fear getting cancer from processed food.
I fear getting cancer from pesticides.
I fear getting cancer from the sun.
I fear getting cancer from too much Splenda.
I fear losing a loved one.
I fear not fitting in.
I fear someone breaking into the house.
I fear getting my heart broken...again.
I fear being judged by others.
I fear pain.
I fear disappointing my parents.
I fear getting stuck in a job I don’t like.
I fear never finding my true calling.
I fear wrinkles.
I fear other people’s opinion of me.
I fear.
I fear.
I fear.
I fear.
I fear.

And yet, I would still say that I’ve left out the biggest fear of all.

Two years ago on my birthday, I received a simple birthday card from a friend. In it I found a quotation by the author Marianne Williamson that I would never forget:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are ALL meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people the permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Oddly enough, just recently I came across a similar quotation in a book I was reading. (And it’s just too good to not include in its entirety). In it, author Steven Pressfield identifies what he calls the Mother of all Fears, the Master Fear, the only real fear:

"The fear that we will succeed. That we can access the powers we secretly know we possess. That we can become the person we sense in our hearts we truly are. This is the most terrifying prospect a human being can face, because it ejects him at one go (he imagines) from all the tribal inclusions his psyche is wired for and has been for fifty million years. We fear discovering that we are more than we think we are. More than our parents/children/teachers think we are. We fear that we actually possess the talent that our still, small voice tells us. That we actually have the guts, the perseverance, the capacity. We fear that we truly can steer our ship, plant our flag, reach our Promised Land. We fear this because, if it’s true, then we become estranged from all we know. We pass through the membrane. We become monsters and monstrous. We know that if we embrace our ideals, we must prove worthy of them. And that scares the hell out of us. What will become of us? We will lose our friends and family, who will no longer recognize us. We will wind up alone, in the cold void of starry space, with nothing and no one to hold on to. Of course this is exactly what happens. But here’s the trick. We wind up in space, but not alone. Instead we are tapped into an unquenchable, undepletable, inexhaustible source of wisdom, consciousness, companionship. Yeah, we lose friends. But we find friends too, in places we never thought to look. And they’re better friends, truer friends. And we’re better and truer to them...”

Now, I don’t know if Mr. Pressfield is a spiritual man or not, but I think he explained our predicament with fear darn-near perfectly.

We mistake our self-loathing for humility. We settle for superficial relationships to avoid confrontation. We luxuriate in mediocrity, satisfied that our lives are identical to our neighbors’. We blindly accept the faith of our parents, friends and mentors, too lazy to pick up the Bible for ourselves.

We doubt our birthright as children of the Living God. We don’t really believe that we’re powerful beyond belief.

We fear the truth about who we are, because believing it means living up to it.

Believing who I really am means I can no longer remain comfortable, remain the same.

But what if that changed? What if today I stopped fearing? What if I allowed myself to live in the wonderful freedom of God’s love? What would change?

I’d take risks with no fear of failure.
I’d love abundantly with no expectation of being loved in return.
I’d just love for the simple sake of loving.
I’d passionately embrace and pursue the talents God has given me, uninterested in other’s opinions.
I’d slaughter comparison and burn its remains.
I’d have friendships that go deeper than hugs and a few tears.
I’d live wholly and completely in the moment- not fearing the uncertainties of the future, knowing that if I needed something God would supply it.
I’d be disciplined even when it’s hard because God has given me a limitless amount of strength.
I’d laugh when my plans tank, shrug my shoulders and say, “oh well.”
I’d go looking for challenges to overcome.
I'd trust the Spirit and take off running in the direction of its calling.
I’d unapologetically wear my love for Christ on my sleeve and tell absolutely everyone I could about His love with no fear of rejection or embarrassment.
I’d pray expecting miracles and transformations.

I’d bask in the knowledge that I am God’s child.

I’d be me, fearless.


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What do you fear? How would your life change if you let go of that fear?


“Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him, and he in God. We have come to know and have believed the love which God has for us. God is love, and the one who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this, love is perfected with us, so that we may have confidence in the day of judgment; because as He is, so also are we in this world. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love.
We love, because He first loved us.”

I John 4:15-19

I heart Nashville.

This month marks eight years since I first arrived in Nashville. On August 18, 2002, my parents and I drove away from our gray and white house on Orkney Drive and began our 2,222.6 mile journey to Tennessee. Stuffed in the backseat with every single one of my earthly belongings, I spent the next three long days of driving preparing myself for what was about to happen. I remember being so excited about college that if someone pricked me with a needle I probably would have burst. But I also remember thinking to myself, “Tennessee?? You have got to be insane!” and having to muster up every ounce of courage I had not to panic and run back into the safe arms of my mother. Three days on 1-40 with my parents (you know I love you) quickly cured me of any desire to NOT go 2,222.6 miles away and soon enough we arrived at Lipscomb with my beach-themed dorm room decorations (my hometown is nowhere near a beach) and the Cowboy hat I was sure to buy so that I would fit in with everyone at school.

Little did I know then how much that school and that city would change my life forever (and that I would wear that cowboy hat once during four years of college). I never thought I’d feel at home in any other city but Patterson, but here I stand eight years later feeling as though I’ve always belonged here (shhhh- just don’t tell my mom).

So to commemorate this milestone, I’ve decided to give you a top-10 list of why I heart Nashville, Tennessee.

10. Small town feel (and it’s just so stinkin’ cool). I know this will be hard to believe coming from California and all, but before I came to Nashville I had only driven on the interstate maybe three times. There was simply never any reason to. If we needed to go to the mall, or Walmart or movie theater, (or anything, really), we had to drive about 20 minutes on backroads through dairies and orchards. Needless to say, I thought coming to Nashville would be overwhelming, but it simply does not feel like a big city. Even standing on 2nd Avenue in the middle of downtown, Nashville just feels like a small town masquerading as a big one. And I wish I could say this more eloquently- but there’s just so many stinkin’ cool things to do in this city, and I feel as though I’ve only discovered a fraction of them. Here’s my Nashville favorites list*:

-coffee and oatmeal or a fun salad at Frothy Monkey
-reading and sipping coffee at Fido (this is where I am currently, typing away on my computer)
-shopping around at Pangea
-jogging down Belmont boulevard starting at Lipscomb University, going down to the Athlete’s House and back
-early Saturday morning breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes at Pancake Pantry (warning: must nap afterwards)
-getting a pistachio flavored popsicle from Las Paletas on a super hot summer day
-yoga classes at Sanctuary for Yoga at sunset
-lunch at Bread & Co. consisting of the “Iroquois” sandwich and the best fruit tea that will ever touch your lips
-breakfast at Loveless Cafe, complete with their famous biscuits
-coconut chicken from Copper Kettle

*Feel free to let me know of great things I’m missing out on, I’m always open to discovering new places!

9. Nature. My first few months in Nashville, I felt claustrophobic. There were so many trees that I feared they were going to swallow me up. To me, a girl from the wide open spaces of the valley, where the hills are golden (a nice way to say covered in dead grass), Nashville might as well have been the rain forest. And as if the sheer amount of green all around isn’t wild enough- the trees literally come alive in the evening with the sound of bugs and frogs and God-knows-what-else chirping and buzzing. Over the years (and despite the humidity) I’ve come to love all the green and even find going to sleep to the cacophony of creatures pulsating within the trees strangely comforting. I’ve also fallen madly in love with Southern rain. If Southern rain were Niagara Falls, California rain would be infant baptism. I remember seeing scenes in movies with pouring rain and thinking, “Seriously?! That rain looks so unrealistic, who’s going to believe that’s real rain?!” And then I experienced my first hit-you-out-of-nowhere southern downpour. “Oooooooh, so this is real rain.” I have always loved the way it rains in the South; so inconveniently purifying.

8. Lightning bugs. Now, I know Nashville is not the only place with lightning bugs, but I saw them here for the first time. And I know this is a bold statement, but second only to the beach- I honestly believe lightning bugs could be the most beautiful thing in all of creation. They absolutely mesmerize me. Pre-Nashville, the closest thing I’d ever seen to real lightning bugs were the fiber-optic lights attached to swinging wires in the “bayou” on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. And even the fake ones mesmerized me. To this day you can find my face pressed to the window at dusk in utter amazement at my breathtaking sparkly friends. They’re the only bug I won’t swat away when they come near me. It’s as though there is something magical, almost holy about them. They are bugs that LIGHT UP! Unbelievable.

7. Celebrity sightings. Unlike what I imagine it’s like in Los Angeles with its crazy, intrusive paparazzi, I’ve always been so proud of the way Nashville treats its celebrities. We’ll notice them, maybe giggle and text our friends, or if we’re really bold we’ll ask to take a picture with them, but besides that we seem to let them go about a normal life. I love seeing celebrities out and about in Nashville because it makes me feel like we have something in common. “Oh, you love Nashville too? Great! We should be friends.” Who I’ve seen: Alan Jackson at Cracker Barrel, Big Kenny (from Big and Rich) in traffic on Woodmont, Nicole Kidman at Starbucks, Dierks Bentley, Sara Evans, Scott Hamilton, Lionel Richie, Vince Gill, Phil Vassar, Emy Lou Harris, and the best celebrity sighting of them all: George Jones standing in front of us in line for candy at the movies.

6. Southern Culture. Before college, I’d never heard a southern accent, known anyone with two first names, or eaten fried okra. The first time someone called me a Yankee for my accent, I thought they were talking about the New York baseball team. I learned that I had very generic grandparents because their names weren’t Meemaw, Pappaw, Daddy Joe or something strange like that. After arriving in Nashville, I also had to quickly teach myself to say yes ma’am and yes sir, and when I accidentally say it to people in California they almost always get offended- as though I’m calling them old. The list of foreign Southern-isms could go on and on, but the truth of the matter is that all these things that I once considered strange I now find endearing. To me, Southern culture is like most grandmothers: warm, welcoming, but just a little on the quirky side.

5. Baja Burrito. Baja and I have had a passionate love affair for many years now. I order the same thing every time- a chicken burrito and chips with an UNGODLY amount of their hot salsa. None of this wimpy mild salsa or silly pineapple salsa- I’m a hot salsa girl all the way. So yummy and spicy and fresh. I could swim in the stuff, like Scrooge-McDuck-style in his big vault of gold coins.

4. Country music. We all have those things about ourselves that we couldn’t change even if we wanted to; something so inborn, it’s as much a part of us as our left arm. Country music is that thing for me. It awakens my soul. Don’t ask me how a girl from California happens upon country music, but somehow at the age of ten a George Strait tape appeared in my Walkman and it was love at first slide of the steel guitar. So it’s only fitting that I ended up in Nashville, where five of my six radio pre-sets in my car can be country music and it’s always easy to find tickets to my favorite shows. And just so it’s clear- I am not an advocate of the cheesy country songs that contain words like badonkadonk or lyrics about thinking someone’s tractor is sexy. But I do LOVE songs about cheatin’ and drinkin’ and lyin’, even though, again, these aren’t things I advocate. If you’d like an example of what I consider to be a brilliantly written country song, check out the second verse of Randy Houser’s song called “Anything Goes.” Good. Ol'. Country.

3. My job & the Lipscomb community. I’ve worked enough lousy jobs to know that if you like the majority of the people you work with on a daily basis, you are pretty lucky. And if your boss is not a total I-want-to-punch-you-in-face-you’re-so-mean kind of a person, you’re even luckier. So I know how rare of a situation I am in to literally adore all the people I spend eight hours with every day at work in addition to having an incredible boss. It’s not that we all don’t have our moody days, but it’s never something that we can’t laugh about later. Somehow I manage to get work done even though some days it feels like all I’ve done is giggle with (or at) my co-workers all day long. I also consider myself incredibly blessed to be part of the Lipscomb community. No institution is perfect, and we’re not the exception, but I’m just not convinced you could find a more generous or loving community of people who are always trying to be better, do more in the community, and push its students to know Christ on a deeper level. And no, they didn’t pay me to say that.

2. Friends. I won’t really elaborate on this one. I will only say that the best types of friends are the one who will get on their hands and knees and pray with you, who will call you out when you need to be called out, and who will drop everything to go eat frozen yogurt with you. I have been blessed to find friends like this here, and they are more than worth having to live through the sticky humidity, the bone-chilling cold in the winter, and the ten hour drive to the nearest beach.

1. My church family. If I were to describe my church family at Ethos in one word it would be real. Not that other churches aren’t real, it’s just that this is what I most appreciate about Ethos. I wholeheartedly believe that redemption begins when we’re able to look someone we love in the eye and confess our struggles to them. I feel very blessed to be a part of a community where I am safe to confess my faults without fear of alienation. What I’ve found in this community is a group of imperfect people simply in love with their God. We don’t always know exactly how to go about it- but one step at a time and through trial and error- we’re learning what it means to be Christ in our city and in this world. Every Sunday evening I find myself in the middle of a crowd of people I love, who are singing at the tops of their lungs in praise to God, and once again I’m reminded that I’m not alone in this world and that even when I mess up- I have brothers and sisters who will pick me up. My church family inspires me to be bolder with my faith, to read the Word as much as I can, and to love people even when it’s difficult or messy. I've seen God change and heal so many lives (mine included) through this family and I get so ridiculously excited to think about what the future will bring. This is the group of people I plan to serve along side for years and years to come, the people I plan to grow with, cry with, raise all of our kids with, and most importantly these are the people I want by my side as we tell the world about Christ. I'd love for you to join us. (ethoslove.com)


Did I leave anything out? Why do you heart Nashville?