Hold on to me 'cause i'm a little unsteady....

i have so much going on this week that it makes me tired and gives me anxiety and i already feel like i'm going to vomit. so let's just pray it all works out and i don't talk myself into destruction. 

the world may be broken but hope is not crazy

The way that laughter
cuts the air, ricocheting off the silence
filling spaces that felt forgotten is a
promise
that life wont break
your spirit. 
for everything a season,
but laughter is for such a times as this
and where there is laughter
there is infinite hope.

You run me down right restless and wild.

I love everything about the end of the year. December is probably the prettiest month. (but like, don't tell October, cause she's my girl and I don't want her to feel bad).

But the snow and the sparkles and the glow of December is literally unbeatable. I also like reflecting and projecting.

2017 was a strange little bird. It was full of a lot of life-giving, smiling inducing, instagram worthy moments. But it was also hard, and strangely disappointing. Due to my general laziness this year, I apparently didn't choose a word to go focus on, which, turns out didn't kill me, so it's probably okay.

What, then was this year about, I mean if it wasn't a word, then what was it? I don't know that I have an answer. It could be about establishing myself. It could be about trying and effort and putting myself out there in a way that led to more friends, and new friends that weren't because of someone else.

So many it was about creating my own little world and for the most part, it's been super lovely. Although I've come to expect that not everyone I let into my little corner of the world is going to be amazing, but giving them a chance won't kill me and that is a lesson I apparently needed to learn.

Not everyone is going to break my heart, but not everyone is going to be a gem either. The effort. The trying is what's important. The fear of rejection was pushed back ever so slightly. Forward momentum is forward momentum. I'm not picky.

So I guess that's what's to be learned here. I stood at the beginning of 2017, holding out my heart in the palm of my hands, offering it to whoever would take it and it didn't kill me. It actually did the opposite. It's been a good feeling to offer the world, or at least part of it, my heart again.

also, i discovered instagram story so my life is forever changed.

Which brings us to 2018. So far, things are on the up and up. I've been thinking about what I want 2018 to look like for months now. My words this year are basic, maybe a little odd, but will point me in a direction that looks more like Jesus.

Word one: Witness. I want to pay attention to what's happening in and around me, and the people I love. I want to see them and see the good that is being birthed in them. I want to spend more time looking at all the places God is at work. The broken places especially. Beautiful, good things come out of the broken places, and I want to be paying attention.

Word two: Celebrate. The world has enough critics. I want to spend time celebrating the life, the opportunities and the people that cross my path. My natural inclination is to affirm and celebrate people, so this seems easy, and I hope it is mostly. But I'm looking specifically at how to celebrate from a place of brokenness.  When life feels hard, and the overwhelming message is a negative one, how do we celebrate what's in front of us? How do we celebrate the people we want to punch in the face. What kind of love does it take to say "may it be so" and celebrate in the midst of a storm?

(Not that I'm prayin for storms. No thank you. GTFO with the storms.)

And finally: Amen. It's not a noun or a verb. It's an exclamation. It's uttering that something is true. What would look like if amen isn't just the what you say to end a prayer? What if it's an attitude? What if how i live and what i say says "amen" to who God is and what he's doing? I don't even understand what this means quite yet, but i'm excited to find out. "In heartache or hope, i swear i'll say...amen"

Winter....

Like a true mid-westerner, born and raised in both blizzards and sweltering heat, I can't imagine living anywhere where it can't be 70 degrees one day and snowing the next.

I live for the drama, but also the symbolism in all the seasons.  As i'm sure you're all aware, i love a good life metaphor.

We all know that Fall is my most favorite. It's my oldest, sweetest friend. Fall is for homecomings. But it's winter that concerns me most today.

Winter is magical. Winter is for home. It's for cozy. It's for belonging to a place and people. Winter is for family and traditions and for the world feeling a little bit smaller.

People are kinder in the winter. They hold doors open, and shovel each other's sidewalks and chat about the snow and cold or whatever winter weather is happening. Let's face it, it's never the same and that's kind of why we love it. The holidays help. They center us and calibrate us to what's important.

Winter in quiet. I live life on full volume and in ALL CAPS, and winter provides a lovely opportunity to slow down and quiet down. To listen, to wait, to pay attention.

My best pal is preaching her first sermon on Sunday. I'm so excited. And it's happening in winter. I feel like winter is our season. It was in winter that she first rescued me from a car accdient and let me sleep on her couch. It was a funny set of circumstances that lead to me sleeping on her couch for a whole week, and wearing all her clothes and helping move her mom in the dead of winter in January. It's been winter where she's rescued my heart a billion times. It's where my family ornaments hang on and with theirs. It's where the kitchen feels cozy making Grandma's Pearl's sugar cookies. It's where millions of conversations and Saturdays were spent at the table. It's when we've sold mugs, and made handmade Christmas decorations that made a big church lobby feel like a throwback to Christmas' of a sweeter time. It's where a room full of women were challenged to find their joy and to keep choosing it. It's been in winter when we marched for all of the women that came before us and the women who walk with us.

I may not remember the specifics of what has all happened in our season but I do know how it makes me feel. Winter is significant always. Important things are birthed. foundations are laid. Seeds are planted so that when spring comes, life starts all over.


This is such a sweet time. I'm so thankful.

a work in progress...literally and figuratively.

I was 8 the first time I had a "good enough." Thought. It came on the heels of my dad asking me what he thought about him having a girlfriend. He asked it so casually as we were walking and I was so young that the implications of this question were almost lost on me.

Why wasn't my mom enough for him? why wasn't I? What was missing that home couldn't give him.

And, if I had to pick a defining moment from my life, that would surely top the list. But the thought kind of crept in like rolling fog, or frost, or the way sunsets so quickly, yet slowly go from brilliant yellows and pinks to dark blues and greys.

And then it just stayed. It hung around like cobwebs or fruit flies. Not life threatening but present enough to be annoying.

and I carried it with me. It manifested of course in a lot of different ways. When I was young, it was rule-following, and good grades and being so nice. Desperate to be good enough for my parents, for my friends, for my teachers...desperate to find be good enough to make them stay, to make them love me.

As I got a little older, my desire to please my parents lessened as I became more aware of their brokenness individually and together. The more I felt pitted against them, the more I searched for acceptance in my peer group. When being the nice girl wasn't working, i let go of my filter and said anything and everything that came into my head.

I discovered I was funny, but I also discovered that I could be incredibly mean, and while in my gut i knew that wasn't who I was, it was working.

but it only worked for a while. I went to college and realized that I wasn't as worldly and i thought. I was pretty innocent. My chastity certainly wasn't a badge of honor. So college chip away at it. Kissing boys, going further than I wanted but not too for, drinking too much, pretending that none of this bothered me. I fought a battle in my head, I wasn't wildly fond of being hungover, fighting the pressure of being or doing what people wanted to expected of me.

The truth is while some of it was fun, some of it wasn't. Some of it made me feel less than when i was shooting for good enough.

I never felt good enough. I don't think I feel good enough now, to be honest.

Then i moved to the cities. I was searching so passionately for a place to belong, that i did whatever people asked of me. This season was a bit trickier. It's easy to know that kissing boys you don't know and drinking too much to fit in is not a great choice, but volunteering, serving, being kind to people has it's own weird unhealthy underbelly.

I didn't know that i was slowly killing myself. I was slowly turning into a shell of who i was. The best parts of my gone because I was so willing to do whatever people wanted so they wouldn't leave.  So i would be good enough for them to stay...

and as you would expect from any story, things fall apart, the center cannot hold. You can juggle and say yes and do whatever until you cant. Something breaks.

And you find yourself on the kitchen floor begging for directions or a map or a way back to who you are, only to find that the truth is you're not good enough and you never were.

But because God is graceful, i don't have to be. I can simply be. If you can figure out who you are and what you're living for you don't have to keep reaching for "good enough"

I'll never be smart enough, love Jesus enough, be pretty enough, or skinny enough, by my standards or the world's for that matter, but I'm becoming more okay with that because I am loved. I'm fearfully and wonderfully made, i am an image barer and is enough.

Jesus was good enough so because we weren't.

Nowadays i fall somewhere in the chill about life and freaked about my life. Every time someone else gets engaged has a baby, gets a boyfriend....has forward momentum, my good enough bullshit sneaks out.

Maybe I'll find a sweet boy to marry, Maybe i won't. But either way, my value is the same.

This story isn't sad. I was never assaulted, I have a good relationship with my parents,  my parents are still married for better or worse, I am loved, i have a job and a life that is lovely, but it's not without it's hiccups.

The pursuit for good enough could have led me down a very differnt path, but it didn't and for that i'm thankful.

Detours....

I spent the evening in St. Paul tonight, which was great because St. Paul recalibrates me and inspires me. And, if I'm honest, I've been in need of a little inspo, so I took the opportunity.

And that's where the first of many detours come in. First, I wanted to go to the new spyhouse, and I did, except that it's literally a closet and it was overrun by college kids who I can only assume by their disheveled appearances are either in the throes of finals or just super mega hipsters who don't shower and are next level organic.

And either could be true because I just read Into the Wild and maybe they did, too and they're all on some transcendental journey.  All millennial hipsters aside, it was too crowded for this 30 something private school teacher who was just there to work on some churchy things.  So, took a detour over to Ninas, which i love, but wasn't feeling it. So over the Wabasha Bridge, I went, to the ever faithful Amore Coffee.

This is where the real detour comes in. Normally, I just take the High Bridge to Amore but it's closed forever. (Not really, just for a bit. They're fixing it so people don't die, i think. Whatever it's inconvenient). This bridge issue forced a detour over the river and through the woods...actually it's probably more over the river and up a bluff? I don't know landforms, I'm just taking a guess. All i know is that it's poorly lit, windy, and basically something you'd see in a horror movie.  Needless to say, I was annoyed.

I finally arrived at Amore, got minimal work done for reasons that had nothing to do with the atmosphere or the detour, and then I headed back from whence I came.  This time going down the bluff...(i don't know, it just might be a hill, how do you know if it's a bluff?) But then right there, through a clearing in the trees were all the lights of the riverfront/downtown/cathedral/capitol. I AM OBSESSED WITH THE CITY AND IT'S SKYLINE.

It was beautiful and I had a stop and take it in for a second. I almost never go that way because the normally the bridge isn't under construction so I rarely get this view of the city.

And i'm smart enough to spot a life metaphor when I see one. My life has not gone as planned. I'm not married to a nice boy and i don't have kids. I'm not teaching in the inner city, Dangerous Minds style (oh, hey 90's throwback). i don't have precious little house in the city with hardwood floors and built-ins.

I don't know if that will actually ever happen. I've taken some detours and without them, I would not have this view of life, and people and Jesus.

Well, damn. In this time, (advent, duh). I think it's important to acknowledge that this is not the life God intended for us. So we wait, we prepare our hearts, for Jesus. In that waiting, we have expectant hearts which are met by a tiny baby. Not exactly what we wanted, but exactly what we need.

Our view needs to shift from our plans, our missteps, our expectations. We need to look through the clearing and see Jesus, coming on the horizon. A promise kept. A new path born which will lead to the cross.

Because of this baby, how will we choose to see this season? how will it change the way to see out lives?

I don't know, but i'm waiting to find out what this season has for me, and maybe you too if you're open to it.

Also: My advent playlist is so good.

There's steeple bell ringing from the church that saved my soul....

All the cool kids write about the Table. About cooking, about how making something that feeds your people is a holy experience. How many times have you read that the table is a place to be feed and seen. Physically and spiritually.  So many times.

And it's about creation. Taking something God has provided, a harvest, and making it something beautiful and delicious. How many times have you read about the smells and textures and felt like you were there. So many times.

It's a cliche, an old hat, and something that we could probably write off., if it wasn't the most true thing in the world.

Because absolutely everything anyone has ever written about the table and kitchen and the act of cooking is a billion percent true. It's beautiful and holy and cathartic and cleansing and perfect.

There is something about the whole experience of cooking. Like from fram(ers market) to table.

The act of carefully choosing ingredients. The smell of basil and garlic, the way that good bread is soft and flakey, and the colors of everything. The vibe of the farmers market is a simple one. It's uncomplicated and organic. It's proof that we long for the days of simplicity. I have a deep respect and reverence for farmers, their job is a hard one, but perhaps the most important one. One that is dependent on God's provision.

Planting, and harvesting, and seeds and growth. IT'S FREAKING BIBLICAL.

The prep of eating is almost my favorite part. I LOVE being a sous chef. I love cutting and stirring and measuring. More than that I love the conversation that goes with it. It's sometimes idle chit chat, some times it's deep and meaningful. It's always memorable. It's full of laughter, and questions and connection....AND I LOVE IT.  It's also full of music. Sometimes it's worship music, or acoustic, or oldies but it's always the exact perfect vibe for the occasion.

I learned so much about cooking and life and God around the cutting boards in the the kitchens of the people who've gone before me.  Even back when I was little and I baked with my mom and grandma.

Maybe its such a holy experience because it engages all your senses.

Once it's done, gathering your people around the table to talk about whatever, sometimes it's silence because the food is that good,  or because the season is hard and words come slowly, sometimes you talk so much your bites and few and far between laughter and stories that are co-authored, and tag-team told.  Sometimes wine flows freely, sometimes we're just looking for the comfort of go-to meatloaf and mashed potatoes so mend broken hearts, other times we're cutting cake, pie or brownies or some other sweet treat because we are celebrating each other, and how far we've come and how faithful our God is.

After the food is done, and plates are cleaned, we linger for just one more story, one more laugh, savoring the moments that are here. What if lived our entire life like it was one long dinner. What if we stayed around long enough to savor, to reflect, to help clean up. What if we said yes to one more glass of whatever your having. What if we weren't in such a hurry all the time. What if the table...wherever it is, whatever it look likes was enough for us.

The table, the kitchen it's all sacred space. Holy ground. There is something that happens there that you cant replicate anywhere else.

If there is anything this summer is teaching me/reminding me of, is definitely the things that fill me up and give me life. It's a summer of getting back to my roots. So much of that is the kitchen and chopping and listening and learning.

The truth is, that I've been out of sorts a little. Slowing getting back to the core of who I am, and what i've been discovering is that I've needed to see God in places outside of church. I've needed to feel God in places where he's felt absent. I need to get my butt back to church, certainly, but I've needed the feel sacred spaces again.

It's been a beautiful journey back to myself, I don't know that I'm there completely, but I'm getting closer. The desire to love my people (and everyone, really) well is alive and well.

These are Holy Days and I'm so thankful.

I'm just sorry it didn't turn out the way we thought it would.

I have big ideas. Big, romantic, rose colored ideas.  I think some things should last forever. That we should fight for important things. Priorities should include people and time for the things that light you up inside.  Distance and arguments should never be deal breakers.

But sometimes they are. Sometimes things don't last forever. Sometimes you drop the rope you're holding.

And I'm learning to be okay with that. Life is about growing and changing into cool humans and sometimes we can't grow and change at the same time and in the same direction.

And that's okay. At least, i keep telling myself it is.

The big gay wedding happened in Florida yesterday. I, obviously, was not in attendance. I'm okay with, it, really. But watching the video there was a part of me that thought that maybe I was wrong.

Maybe 17 years of friendship should mean more than whatever the last 3 years has thrown us. Maybe history should trump pride.  Maybe I should have been there. Maybe I shouldn't have dropped the rope.

We were both holding it pretty loosely, and it hurt my heart too much to keep holding it, so i dropped it.

Like i deleted all their numbers from my phone, dropped it.

It sounds dramatic, and it is, but it's also necessary.

I like who I'm becoming. I like where I am and who I spend my time with, but there are days, like today where I miss them. But we're not those people any more and that makes it a little easier to miss them.

I met Brent when I was 15. He was not a cool kid. I wasn't either but I had more street cred. I just thought he was funny and I wanted to be friends with him. Our friend groups were different, they eventually molded into a common one, and he'll tell you I followed him to college.

And if it wasn't for that, i wouldn't be here. So, I'm getting more okay with the idea that sometimes forever isn't in the cards, and I'm learning to how to be happy for people when you're not included in their new normal.

It's all okay. It's actually better than okay, this life is a good one.

Life, love and the pursuit of it...

Rhythms of life are weird. They frequently don't make sense until after they've come and gone. They're not predicable, each comes and goes and another seamlessly begins, only for you to notice about a 1/4 of the way in.

Because something feels different.  Normally, I catch these new rhythms when something feels off. I'm often put off by the sudden realization that my flow has been tampered with. I spend time obsessively analyzing (often incorrectly) everything that's going on. My anxious heart goes into panic mode and it's a whole damn thing.

While there may not be anything predicable about the rhythms of life, my reaction to them is pretty mathematical. You can set your watch by me and let the crazy roll in, until recently.

The pace of this summer has been a really great one. The days go by at a speed that allows to me to soak in the joy of being pretty carefree, but on the whole summer is going by rather quickly. It's nearly July. Before i know it i'll be putting together bulletin boards, and printing syllabi for the children. Also, i'm starting to miss the children. I'm getting excited to see them, which is a good thing. I do not feel overwhelmed with what the school year will bring. I feel strangely chill about the whole thing. I love my co-workers, i love my kids and love my principal. I know that i'm always learning and always getting better, so I feel okay about where i am.

That being said, this summer hasnt necessarily been full of rip roaring excitement, but enjoy of delightful run-ins with people I absolutely adore and for the most part, I feel like the feeling is mutual.

In this pace i've set for myself, I seemed to have kicked up some pieces of myself that were poking out but not really exposed all the way.  Thankfully for everyone around me, it's the stuff about me that people like. Showing up for people, being intentional, letting people know they're being seen, celebrating life big and small moments. It's felt really good to have these pieces of me back.

I've also spent some time in Wisco, which has been so good for my soul. This whole concept of evolving while maintaining the roots of who you are is something i've been really trying to focus on.  Home is always good for me. I often need to walk around in the place the built me to remember what's important.

My family is important. Spending time there is important. They are the ones who taught me to love people, to laugh, to enjoy life but also to work hard. I need to remember that I am the product of so many people hard work, so many people's good work. I need to honor that and pay it forward.

So home was good. home is always...a little frustrating, but always life giving.

So here I am about to start July with a peaceful, thankful spirit. Thankful for tan lines, sweet summer memories of riding carousels, and looking at bonsai trees, of terrible golf scores, and baseball games and bug bites, and tours of childhood stomping grounds, thankful for all the lemonade that's been made and drank, for birthdays and babies and seeing each other.

this season is a beautiful one and I'm so thankful that for once, i'm noticing while it's happening. At night I've been taking time to breathe in the day and spend some time letting the hazy light of summer sunset color the memories that i'll pull out on a later date, when perhaps my rhythm isn't so sepia toned.

This rhythm is definitely allowing me appreciate my roots, the rings in of these years that have been lived, and there's been nothing better than watching the bloom of the buds grown in hard, frustrating, doubtful times. I know I haven't gotten here on my own.

I am a late night prayers and hopes, scars and bruises, I'm hard lessons, and loud laughs, I'm celebration and heartbreak. I've been carried here by love and grace and I wont soon forget that.

I go to bed with messy hair and the smell of a life that well lived with the promise that tomorrow will bring new ways to love this life.

Thankful doesn't even begin to cover it.


And Hey, now maybe we can marry me off?

prone to wander.

Looks like i'll forever be a gypsy.

When all the people you like leave your current church to plant a new one...you're left church homeless. and its sad and annoying.

Looking for places to land along is annoying. Maybe i'll take the summer off.
It's not like i ever actaully talk about Sunday services with people or bible study with people anyway.

Here's to being church homeless again and not feeling any urgency to find a place to land.

Rita called.  I didn't call her back.  I miss her, and she reached out and i couldn't be bothered.

I have nothing to say, anyway.

sometimes too much life happens or nothing at all and you're not the same.

It's like al my important Jesus people are gone.

Can't even remember the last time someone asked me what God's up to in my life and actually cared.

I miss sweet sundays. I miss rich conversations, and community and after church lunch and making dinner together chatting through the day. I should have held on tighter while it was happening.

How was i supposed to know it was change.

i'm tired of transition.

Hollywood is not America...

Some things:

1. I have a pretty little collection of water bottles. It has absolutely helped me to drink more water, but mostly I have them because they're cute. 

2. I really love reading, but i'm a book quitter sometimes. Also, it takes me forever to actually get into a book. 

3. I like audiobooks a lot. Oddly, my favorite audiobook is "Bittersweet" I could (and have) listen to it over and over again. It's simple and real and reminds me why I love writing. I want to write. I just have to figure out what. 

4. I am obsessed with old movies right now and always, really. The faster the talking and the older the better. Right now i'm super into the 40-60's. I also love a Hollywood love story. 

5. I just watched a documentary on the Oscars. It was delightful. 

6. If i ever get to New York, my first stop will be The Algonquin. 

7. I like nicknames but i don't necessarily like pet names i've decided. You don't get to call me sweetie or honey unless you're my parents or grandmother. Take note boys: Call me sweetie and it will not go well, I'm not a 5 year old. 

8.  I had a kid make me a playlist of their favorite songs on spotify. It was an excellent choice. It's so good. 

9. I'm strangely into the Kennedy's again. But i'm also reading 11.22.63....so there's that. 

10. I haven't been to church in 6 weeks. This is officially a problem. 

11.what if i never get married. ugh ugh ugh. 

I need more Jesus and less of everything else. Everything else makes me crabby.

Baby go find what you're searching for....

Things that I miss:
 1. Creative Team.
 2. Weekly check in meetings
 3. Project meetings
 4. So much coffee shopping
 5. weekly prayer meetings
 6. When Rita would buy raspberries for me.
 7. Opening the building at 7 The way stepping stone smelled and felt when we woke it up on sundays.
 8. Literally weekly texts from brad that said "you're a good thing"
 9. community prayer
 10. scheduling people. and sending emails. I miss church homework.
 11. service projects.
 12. random outings.
 13. feeling part of a community that really loved me.
 14. Bread and chocolate
 15. ALL THE PIZZA LUCE.
 16. Rita.
 17. house sitting for rita.
 18. abby the dog.
 19. learning things from rita
 20. like fasting.
 21. all the time i spent with Sam and Julia. Aria, tea garden. Cafe Latte.
 22. always having people at my apartment.
 23. When people trusted me with big things like the offerings, and planning things, and leading things and like...their hearts.
24. planning worship set lists.
25. I miss when Brad would cry during prayer
26. I miss funny brad.
27. Gelato with Bard
28. Shish.
29. The way the kindalls call me Nickolai, and before that, Neko.

 I've been thinking about Sam and Julia a lot lately. I've just flashes of memories I haven't thought about it in so long. Like late nights at Nina's doing homework. Picking up Julia while she waiting for Brad, ordering pizza luce and watching trashy tv. Gilmore girls. Guitar Center dates with Sam where he would try to teach me guitar. House sitting #whenthepastorsaway.

 Then it obviously goes to late night texts about their mom, when i would get out of bed and drive to be with them so their dad could be with their mom. When Julia begged to say with me for a week while her dad was gone and her mom was home. Going to check on Sam. Having to tell them their mom left and wouldn't be around for their birthdays. Watching brad pray in front of everyone that one time it happened during check...and scooping Sam and Ju up and taking them with me because they shouldn't be alone. Their graduations, their grad party.

 Then wondering why after so much prayer and trench digging....it didn't work. Why she's in KY, our baby church and community is scattered and everything that we worked so hard for....didn't work. And maybe it's my heart reminding me how deeply i love them and i haven't checked in on them enough, and maybe they need it. So many things. And they come and go without any consideration for what i'm currently doing.

 What i'm finding though, is that these things are bittersweet, but mostly sweet. These are the things that i LOVED. I can remember exactly how it all felt when it was good. It was so good. so fun. so fulfilling. It lit me up, it pushed me out, and it made me happy. I'm not mourning it anymore, really. It's so much of who i am. And i loved it, and hated it. But i haven't spent time remembering it. The way if felt. The girl I was. The girl i'm working my way back to. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be paying attention to, but I am paying attention.

I wanted it to be Hilary....

The past two days have been hard. Hard in a way that has caught me off guard.  I've always been excited about politics and civics. I cried when the first black man was elected and inaugurated. I believed deeply in this country and the hope of a more unified America. This year, when Hilary accepted the democratic nomination, I got choked up watching the first woman accept a nomination for president, knowing that this moment has been years in the making. The blood, sweat and tears of so many are finally being realized.

I voted proudly for Hilary Clinton, feeling confident that the glass ceiling would finally be shattered this year.

I wanted it to be Hilary for every little girl out there who ever said they wanted to be president when they grew up. I wanted it to be Hilary because she believe in equal pay for equal work.

I wanted it to be Hilary for every single mom working two part time jobs to support the babies she didn't abort. I wanted it to be Hilary because she cares about education, and achievement gaps and giving every kid their best chance. I wanted it to be Hilary because she knows that so many of our issues can begin to find resolve in investing in the education of our young people.

I wanted it to be Hilary for my gay friends who have just been given the rights that straight people have had since the beginning of time.  I wanted it to be Hilary because she couldn't give a shit what bathroom a Trans person uses. I wanted it be Hilary for the closeted hight school students who are trying to find the courage to be who they are.

I wanted it to be Hilary for every black, muslim and latino person who questioned whether or not they belonged in this country. I wanted it to be Hilary because as I look into the faces of the exchange students/adopted kids/immigrant kids in my class, I want them to know that we not only WANT them here, but NEED them here.

I wanted it to be Hilary because I wanted America to say "locker room talk" is unacceptable. I wanted it to be Hilary because sexual assault and the objectification of women has got to stop.

I wanted it to be Hilary because this country was founded on equality and religious freedom and to mandate laws based on a Christian set of values completely violates the separation of church and state.

You need to know that I love Jesus unashamedly and with passion, but also recognize that not everyone shares my beliefs in this country. My job is not to convert them.  My job is simply to see them, to know them and to love them well. That shows people more about the Gospel than any law ever could.

I love Jesus which is why I wanted it to be Hilary because racism, exclusion, and force do not look like Jesus.

But it wasn't Hilary, and I cried watching her concession speech. She's spoke with so much grace and poise and truly conceded like a winner. The ceiling may not be shattered, but it certainly has a few more cracks in it, thanks to HRC.

I would like to thank our President Elect for making me understand to a new extent how important my job as a teacher is. How fiercely I need to love every single kid in my class.  I need to tell them every day that they are important and they matter. I need to show them the Jesus that loves the widow and the orphan and the refugee.  I think we all know that there is no law that will change the hearts and minds of people, but community, connection and love will.

In order to look like Jesus you have to go to the places, talk to the people and do the things that Jesus did. You cannot do that when you're talking about building walls, deporting people and using language that causes fear.

My job is simple, and yet important. To do good. To spread love. To promote tolerance.

It wasn't Hilary, and I'm disappointed. My dad, who has always been conservative, called to tell me that he voted for Hilary and that he was sorry, and disappointed with outcome, too. My dad wanted it to be Hilary, too. He mostly wanted it for me, because he is a good and decent white man who sees other people. I am thankful that I was raised by that type of man.

I believe deeply that people are good, and that if we lead by example, this country will be okay. So i'm looking forward to the day when there will be a woman president, and women have equal pay and minorities are welcomed and celebrated. I'm going to continue to do what i can, with what I have, right where I am.

I'm praying that you do the same.

Oh, St. Peter wont you open up the big white gate.

There are a lot of people and things that are important to me. Parts of me that have only been crafted because of these things, and yet they are so much a part of me that if you asked me to list them I don't know that I could. 

I've decided to take the "people who are important to me" prompt loosely. The two people of importance are not people at all, but rather places. They are places, however, the I personify on the regular. 

First, St. Paul. She is sweet and constant and full of firsts.  The other, is Green Bay. She is hazy and warm like a summer sunset. She is the house that built me. 

I'm Nicole and I'm forever a midwestern girl. 

I was born in a sleepy Wisconsin city. A city whose streets raised me with endless hours of no handed bike rides. Whose well manicured backyards served as a breeding ground for creativity, skinned knees and grass stains. I was a rough and tumble tomboy tempered with the love of the way the stars sparkled and the big snow flakes landed on my eye lashes.  I played barbies in my pink room with dirt under my chewed nails and my softball uniform on. Green Bay encouraged me to be exactly who I was, and I loved her for it. 

She also open doors into the future, and after 18 years she released me into the wild knowing that I'd come back home any chance I got. She knew, even before I did, that before I could appreciate how special she was (is) I had to leave her, first. 

That's when I met St. Paul. Charming neighborhoods, poetic sidewalks and cathedral bells welcomed me like an old friend I had only just met. Though everything felt new and strange, it felt incredible normal and comfortable at the same time. 

It's in a tiny Summit Hill apartment with crooked, creaky wood floors in the heart of St. Paul that I met Jesus in a new way. It's here were I decided that I wanted to live a life that looked more like Jesus. Saying "yes" to this life, in this place, with a community of people I never knew couldn't live without is was sweet St. Paul has given me. 

She is the most charming in the fall, when the leaves are falling and her history is on display. She she may not be as hip as her twin sister, but she is an absolute delight. She has seen me through some of my best transitions and some of my biggest heart breaks. She saw me through the majority of my 20's. And, spoiler alert, you're 20's are fun and wild and hard. Buckle up, you're in for a treat. 

Green Bay is my forever home. The place I run to when life feels impossible, and God feels far away.  St. Paul reminds me of the infinity possibilities of new days, and endless amounts of grace. 

Green Bay reminds that I'm loved, and St. Paul reminds me that I'm forgiven. 

I'm on the hunt for who i've not yet become.....

I have always bought into the Hollywood idea that things last forever. That, at some point, there will be a happily ever after. And, I know that every romantic comedy has also taught me there is a lot of hijinks and heartbreak in the mean time. 

Hollywood has also told me that I'm an excellent supporting character, one that everyone finds endearing and the secret, unexpected treat of the show. The chubby, awkward, plain looking, single best friend who offers excellent life advice and comic relief all while bring the main character ice cream after the most recent break up with Mr. Wrong. 

I've bought in to the sex and the city arch types, and the idea of friends who just stick with each other through everything.  Not only had i bought into it, i thought i had found it. I reveled in the usness of the memories that have come in heaps for the better part of 10 years.

I was an "us" a part of we who was tethered by youth and love and having spent every day with each other for 4 years. As i sit here, i'm starting to forget what it felt like to be there, to be an us, and i swore i would never let that happen.

Turns out there are a couple of plot twists in this romantic comedy, which currently more comedy than it is romantic. Unless you count my deep love of Jimmy Fallon and my complete and total love for the happily ever after.

I feel like a minor climax to my story is that I'm starting to look at myself less as a supporting character. I've decided that maybe i'm a better person when i'm not cleaning up everyone's messes. After all the the matt across my back is not at all a cape.

So, i've recently let go of the idea that things are forever, and i'm holding on more to the idea of formative seasons, some longer than others, and ever changing as dusks turns to dawns.

This story has come around to be more about me than everyone else. Letting go of the things that are no longer meaningful is super hard. It's the bad break up scene with the bottle of tequila, the picture burning and the ice cream eating. It's a turning point.

Sometimes, turning points look like baby steps. My current quests look more like finding the jeans that make my butt look rockin', tackling the ever expanding list of books i want to read, it's taking time to enjoy exactly where i am and the opportunities that await me. It's the trip to Boston in the Fall, its being an amazing teacher who loves her job and her kids, it's making a plan to finally get her ass to Nashville, and New York, Its not worrying about if i'm going to be 100 when i get married but giving myself that permission to believe that there is a funny, dark haired boy out there who also looking for an adventure partner....and it's okay if doesn't happen the way i always thought it would.

This life is still lovely. This life is still full. There are people who love me, who know me, and who will be there, even if they haven't known me since the womb.  It's okay that I'm not wearing a best friend necklace. I like that my life is more comedy than romance because too much lovey dovey makes me gaggy.

So, i'm just here, hanging out, enjoying life until the next plot twist. Feeling a little bit lighter since I've starting letting go of the preconceived notions of what life was, what friendship was and what falling in love looked like.  I'm starting to let go of the idea of forever, and am beginning to focus on what's right in front of me.

Here we go, the end credits are not coming for sometimes.

Stay turned. I'm sure there will be more hijinks and heartbreak to come.

Outgrow

We found out stride,
our specific short hand.
A look,
a word.
A language, a world we created
together.

Promises made over late nights
cigarettes and pitchers paid for
with the change we felt was coming
pinkie swears of forever made
just to get us through tomorrow.

Nothing stays
people change
soon we look like people
we used to know.

short hand gets fuzzy,
it stops making sense
i don't even know who i am
with you.

It's time.
Band aids ripped off
the race gun shot
tears shed.

Not because what was
was perfect
but because i wanted it to be.
I wanted forever to mean just that.

but it can't, and it wont.

Here i am still believing in forever
and best friends 2 am phone calls,
"i love yous" can be real and
short hands and rose color memories

It just wasn't us,
it's just not now.
I'm cutting our proverbial ties
because i need to be set free.

I'm a better for having realized that i'm a better person without you.

good riddance to bad rubbish.

On kitchens and cars

I've been listening to "Bittersweet" on audiobook again. I've now listened to it about 4 times. It's 1000% worth the listen.  

I listen to it when I need to remember where to find God outside of Sunday mornings, and in the midst of the ever chaotic rhythms of every days life. For whatever reason this book reminds me that our big God who so often feels like just a spectator in my life is also the God of small, every day things. The every day things that I fold up in the memory and file away for safe keeping on days that feel especially fuzzy. 

Today I was just reminded over and over again about connection and about sacrificial love, and how the way my life looks right now is sacred and special. And tries hard to reflect the love of Jesus. Although super, super messy and often falling so far short of anything even remotely resembling Jesus. 

I've learned more in the last 3 years about being broken but strong. Being vulnerable and resilient, being honest  and loving people well than I think i ever have. 

I've learned that sometimes there is literally nothing you can say. Nothing. So you saddle right up to people and sit with them until they fall asleep or the hard hurts less. 

Sometimes you're chopping or drinking tea at a table, but you have something to hang on to while you talk about what breaks your heart or listen and someone tells you what has broken theirs, what their dreams are that they wont say out loud to just anyone, and how you wrestle with the uncertainty of what's coming down the pike. ( or is pipe?). 

or you're in the car with no where else to go, as one hears something tell you their issues with image or weight or self esteem and you try really hard to keep the tears in your eyes that you can feel the tears burning because you're sad they've ever had to feel that while  being able to 100% relate.... or having them call out the honest truth about the reasons why you seem to be stuck in a rut, while you hold your seat belt because everything feels so real. 

I truly believe the first act of love is listening. The second is probably eye contact. Seeing people is important.

I've learned a lot in the last three years among them include how to chop an onion, how to "tear" lettuce not chop it, how i immediately disagree when someone tells me somethings that's 100% true about myself, how important listening is (though sometimes i like to throw my 32 cents in and fill silence with words because anxiety), and that I get to spend my time with AMAZING humans. Like who just embody goodness. Seriously. I get so weepy thinking about it. 

Tonight, more than ever, i've been so thankful for this life. For the people who have come along side of me, for the people with whom i share my life. For the people who share their lives with me so completely.  I'm so thankful for the endless hours of laughter and chopping and cooking and learning, but also for the hard stuff, for living intentionally, to believing in the same Jesus. and for overlaps and the continuing, and for tears shed freely especially when you don't mean to expose that much of your heart. 

So many people don't get to have people in their lives who make you want to be more like Jesus. People who are just good, and honest, and pure....even when they're bossy. 

Tonight, i'm saying extra prayers of thanks for this life, for tables and tears and bonds tethered by life unexpected and an ever faithful Jesus. For knowing and being known. 

This is a hard life, but it's a beautiful, good life. I'm holding it extra close to me tonight. 

and some day i'll write something that isn't just emotional. Maybe. 

Learning to love your legs: Doing the hard stuff.

Body image issues and girls go together like salt and pepper, peanut butter and jelly, ice cream and bad break ups.

Turns out that you almost always find one with the other. I don't like ice cream so bad break ups  of any kind for me mean more kitchen floor resets and like...brownies or chips.  Perhaps a reason why loving my legs is hard.

a n y w a y....

If you're wondering, I don't look like super model coke bottle. I don't need to lifted from my house from a crane, though. To be honest, I don't remember when I started scrutinizing every last imperfection of my body, probably somewhere around the age of 14 or 15. Maybe younger, honestly. I've always been athletic-ish....like i'm pretty strong, but i've also always been sort of on the chubby side. I remember being in Sears looking for swimsuits and i must have been like  8 or 9 and that is the very first time i remember feeling fat and sad about it.

But don't feel bad for little me. She grew up just fine. She found her self confidence...for the most part. And she had a mother who taught her that beauty has more to do with your heart than your face or waist line and a dad who told her she was beautiful all the time.

I'm lucky, really, I am, but i am also at the mercy of a society who values physical beauty, and i have really beautiful friends...so the image thing...is just kind of there. I don't let it get the best of me, although i feel like i spent my senior year of high school and my entire college career on the verge of an eating disorder.  It's actually in college when I started to spend a lot of time staring at myself in the mirror. Wondering why my face was so chubby, my boobs were small and i just wasn't that pretty. Why didn't I look more like my friends, the ones that the boys paid attention to.  Like why was my lot in life to be the chubby, funny, best friend/wing woman? (PS. I'd take being funny over pretty almost every day of the week, now).

I just want to yell at 20 year old me. STOP IT. YOU ARE FINE. The older i've gotten the more I've settled into myself. I like my butt and my nose. I also have mostly straight, mostly white teeth that I feel pretty okay about.

But I hate my legs. LIke SO MUCH. Thunder thighs. Tree trunks....and whatever other creative name that means i don't have runway model legs. My calves are huge....which makes cute boots near to impossible. My thighs make jeans an ORDEAL.  Like i buy nice semi-expensive jeans only to have replace them because THIGH RUB.  I mean... Come on. I refuse to wear a lot of dresses that are cut above the knee to avoid judgement about my snow flake, dimply thigh area that's exposed.

And forget shorts. Gone are the days I can run around in shorts and feel the summer breeze on the freshly saved legs. Those days hit the road prior to high school.

This summer, on a feeling spending situation at Target,  I bought a pair of sleep shorts. I get hot at night sometimes but i refuse to just not wear pants to bed. You can sleep in as little as you want, i sleep in a T-shirt and leggings or sweats. Until this summer, this summer I wear shorts.

I don't wear these in public or even around the house really. Though, I've been  known to sport them roudn the house from time to time. But i put them on and stand in front of the mirror, and I just look at myself until I can see past what my brain in an anxious frenzy tells me i look like...until i see past what i HATE and start to see the truth. (PS I half-heartedly apologize for the amount of run-ons/over use the the word "and" you'll read today).

The truth is pretty simple. I'm not that gross. Actually. I'm not gross at all. I don't actually look as much like a whale, blimp, manatee ....whatever as i think i do. I look at myself until I see that my legs are strong. They carry me places, the are athletic, they are capable. And it's starting to get easier to look at myself in the mirror.

 I know that staring at yourself in the mirror probably isn't a hard thing. We all do it  multiple times a day. But i think learning to love yourself is a hard thing and I think it's a always a work in progress.

So I kind of decided, with this shorts thing, that this summer will be a summer where i try to do hard things. Like loving my tree trunk legs.

But also,  making peace with developing parts of myself. To be on a continuum of learning how to forgive people. How to honor past seasons but not be stunted by them. To live a life of gratitude. These are hard things which wont get accomplished over a short summer,  but I think they are worth the effort.

Like my old best friend is getting married in one month. We had a big falling out. I hurt her a lot, and as a direct result we are pretty much no longer friends. I am not invited to the wedding that I would have been in had things gone differently. I am not invited to the wedding that two of my other best friends (former, really) are ushers in. These boys were mine long before she laid any claim to them and yet here we are. I'm the odd one out.

And it's okay, mostly. Because I'm mostly happy for her, and I'm mostly over it because i know that we were all a season and it was hard and lovely, but now it's over. I'm learning how to close chapters but to be honest, i'm pretty bad at it. I sometimes think about the things i would say in the speech i would want to give. I think about how I would cry watching her choose this boy because it took a lot of hard falls and skinned knees to get her to this point. And sometimes I miss the idea of her.

Selfishly, my chances of being a godparent or a fake aunt or giving one last killer wedding speech went out with the closing door of our Summit apartment, as did the idea of best friends. The death of my idea of best friendship is something I still get sad about sometimes.  Because I've lost the concert buddy, the roadtrip partner, the all other duties as needed, person.

And as an only child, it was kind of an important thing.

But, again, it's okay. Because I love my life and the people in it, and so does she.  And that's the goal right?

Well, all that nonsense aside,  I got her a card and i've been really thinking hard about what i will write in it because with the stamped envelope, this chapter will end. And it will end on a note where i tell her how much I love her, and how grateful I am for our season, and how I'm so happy for her and wish her nothing but amazing things ( I really didn't mean for that to sound like an Adele song).

And that's kind of hard stuff. It's not as hard as learning to love your legs, but really, what is that hard?

So, as I realize that the hard stuff is not a road I want to travel alone. I pray for perspective, for eyes that see truth, for a grateful heart, and for grace for every single time I buy into lies, I trip and get discouraged.

And I'm praying for, whoever you are, as you do whatever things feel hard to you. Know that as you do them, I'm praying for you to hear kind words, for courage, for you to be surrounded by the people who will encourage you and not hold you back. I pray that you ask for the love you deserve and that you don't accept an ounce less than that. And that might sound weird since we don't know each other but I think we don't get anywhere alone and it's nice to know there are people out here who also think that. Who understand that hard stuff  is the worst.

So know as you're looking in your mirror, I'm right next to you, holding your had in solidarity, like a Red Rover line. Together, we'll shanghai the roadblocks and the lies.

Here's to you and to me, and the hard stuff. May it make us stronger, and may it reveal to us  our immense, innate value, and may we carry on like the tough cookies we are.

Well,  turns out I haven't written everyday. Who is surprised, I'm about 75%  on keeping promises lately.  Which, for me is horrible. I like to keep my word.

Although, I feel like I don't have anything to say. There is stuff cookin', it's bubbling to the surface, but much like the rest of my brain and body, my words also don't show up until they are ready.

Stubborn to the core, I am.

Anyway, what's been swirling around in my head lately is how hard life is. Seriously, it's never not hard. There are times when you have less responsibility and there are times where you have more money but you're always trying to figure it out. Whatever it is, and you're trying to do it without completely losing your shit.

Which, if i'm honest, for me is a 50/50 possibility at best.

What i'm realizing though, is the stuff that matters, is 100% the small stuff.  I think remembering friends drink orders is important. I think showing up and doing things for people even when they refuse your help, matters.  I think telling the truth, is hard.  I think its important to hold the people that mean something to you, accountable for their actions. I think sometimes telling the truth backfires and breaks your heart.

But you should do it anyway.

You shouldn't wait on apologies, they might never come.  You should offer forgiveness freely, but that's also hard, the work to get there, though, is worth it.

Seasons. They are real. I'm usually unaware a season is coming to a close, I'm usually trecking like everything is normal and everyone else is like packing up to move on, when i finally turn around to be like "guys. come on." The season has already changed, and there i am looking like big dummy and unsure how to both mourn/honor what happened and move on simultaneously.  It still struggle with it. There are chapters that keep wanting to close and i keep forcing them opening, hoping that maybe this time things will be different. Maybe this time things could be like they were. This time, things wont hurt so bad.

But the nature of seasons is that they keep coming and we go along with them for better or worse.  I'm learning to let go, which is hard. because life. right? And emotions.

I really do love my life. I love my people so much. I love my job and i love this city. I have so much to be thankful for. The gratitude is not lost on me.

i have  a lot to say...but my head is getting fuzzy. Maybe it's because i did not speak to another human begin this weekend. imma stop here...and try to think of something more eloquent to write tomorrow.

Because i have nothing to do tomorrow. I'm getting a job next summer.  this shit is for the birds.