"But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”

When I graduated from college I lived in Guatemala. It saved me. I was one of those activists in college. You know, the ones that you sometimes avoid because they make you feel guilty.  Not always intentionally, but you feel guilty for not doing enough. I was busy - planning something, writing something, doing something. I was also angry. I was angry at my friends who did not care as much as I did. I was angry at unjust systems and inequalities. I was angry with government officials. I was angry at the world. My anger was fuel. Whenever I became exasperated, or just too tired, I remembered my anger and it helped me keep moving. It helped me keep fighting.

Then I moved to Guatemala, angry. In the beginning it was hard for me to understand the worldview of the community I served. The community that served me. I saw them as apathetic and complicit in unjust systems. Their acceptance annoyed me. I learned how wrong I was. Their silence was not weakness, it was not silence at all. My community embraced me as an outsider, they loved me. They had a sense of community loyalty that was so beautiful it baffled me. Guatemalans were really good at forgiving. The real kind of forgiving where the situation is never brought up again. It is not forgotten, just forgiven. Guatemala taught me how to forgive and it saved me. It freed me from the anger I carried in my heart that was quickly turning into hatred. I did not want to hate. I fought that hatred and tried to overcompensate with a love that was paternalistic in many ways. In Guatemala I learned how to let go of my anger and love genuinely. Guatemala saved my life.

That was four years ago and since then I have been living a happy life, full of love and forgiveness and empty of anger. I have felt light and free. I have also felt antsy and empty of passion. This summer I felt a spark of that old anger and quickly tried to subside it and instead filled my heart full of love and forgiveness. It worked for a few months. Now I am angry again. I am full of the same anger and passion I used to feel in college and I am relieved. For a while I was scared I would turn into someone who went through the motions of life. I am trying to find a balance between overwhelming anger that consumes me and turns to hatred with an anger that is born out of love.

Martin Luther King, Jr. preached about the danger of a well-adjusted life. There are some things in our world to which we must be maladjusted. He also said “human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted.” I believe the racial prejudices and discrepancies in our world is something to which I must be maladjusted. I am angry about these injustices out of love for my neighbor and my love for humanity. I will remember my love for my black neighbors, my brown neighbors, my white neighbors, and my neighbors that are police officers. This not a fight of black against white, or black against cop. This is a fight for the future of our country. The future that does not depend on a military strength or a police force that is given more and more “draconian power” without being held accountable.

I hear white people say, “civil rights happened over 50 years ago.” I say, “Wake up.” Yes, we have made strides in many ways, but we have backtracked in others. Don’t ignore white privilege. Don’t ignore the need for a hastag such as #blacklives matter. A lot of people want to criticize the hastag #blacklivesmatter and say #alllivesmatter. Yes, all lives matter but you are clearly missing the point. It is unfortunate but true that we must say #blacklivesmatter to remind people of their humanity. I saw a tweet that said, “WTF is the impulse behind changing #blacklivesmatter to #alllivesmatter. Do you crash a strangers’ funeral shouting I TOO HAVE FELT LOSS!” This is funny but accurate. Please don’t invalidate the experiences of your neighbor. We can close our eyes to their pain and suffering, but Dr. King also said, “A riot is the language of the unheard.” We can not treat people of color as third rate citizens and not expect something to happen.  People can only take so much.

Don’t live as a conformist. Please don’t adopt a worldview that is ambiguous and scared to make a statement. Don’t fill your heart with so much anger there is no room for love. Don’t look at people as entities or things. Don’t look at individuals as a collective. Look at them and see their humanness. Have the strength to understand your neighbor’s pain, their loss. Have the strength to speak out, to act with your neighbor. Have the strength to love. Not the fake, self-serving love, but radical love. The kind that brings you tears full of pain and joy at the same time. In the words of an Aboriginal activist, “If you have come here to help me, you are wasting our time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”

Food Day

October 24 was Food Day. Somehow, I missed it. I missed it because I was preoccupied snuggling my sweet little niece and nephew. Since I missed this very important day I am celebrating today. What is Food Day? Food Day happens every year on October 24 and not only encourages people to make healthy changes in their diets but also to take action to solve food-related problems in our communities at the local, state, and national level. This year Food Day was focused around food justice and farm workers.

While I was in undergrad I was busy developing pretentious but naive worldviews that came crashing down the moment I graduated. I was devoted to a variety of social justice movements but I must have slept through the lecture of food issues. I’m not sure how that happened. I grew up in an area where the majority of the population are either farm workers or food service workers. But somewhere I missed the connection between what I ate and the effects it had on others.

It took moving to Guatemala for me to see and understand the importance of food issues. When I moved back to the States the first lifestyle change I made was in my diet and the way I viewed food. The first breakdown I had was in the supermarket when I became utterly overwhelmed by all the stuff. As I looked at the food I thought about all the farm workers who contributed to those products. I thought about their working and living conditions and the never-ending cycle of modern day slavery. I thought about all the energy being used in the overly air-conditioned building with it’s too bright lights. I thought about the underpaid employees of the store. If there was a swooning couch in that store I would have gracefully swooned while dramatically throwing my arm over my eyes. Instead I ran out to the car cried with a snotty, runny nose. Much less graceful but equally dramatic. So I changed the way I viewed and bought food in the United States.

Supermarkets make it easy for us to forget all the work that goes into growing our food. We forget to think about the millions of farmworkers who allow us to eat. Essentially, we forget about the people who nourish and provide us with life. Farm workers are invisible in our society despite the fact that there are about three million farm workers concentrated in California, Texas, Washington, Oregon, Florida, and North Carolina. Farm work is the eighth lowest paid job in the country. Workers make an average income between $10,000 and $12,500 per year even though farm work is one of the most dangerous occupations. Farm workers are also among the most exploited in the U.S., which is not solely due to the fact that more than half of all farm workers are undocumented. Farm workers have to endure wage theft, sexual harassment, intimidation, and in some cases, physical beatings.

I am so grateful for these human beings that provide our nation with fruits and vegetables. Gratitude has always been an important binding factor in my life. It helps me empathize with people. I have to visualize their suffering and feel compassion and humility. Often I feel angry and other times overwhelmingly sad. No matter which emotion is evoked I am filled with a need to act. In different situations those actions vary, but today I want to support the rights of farm workers.

The Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW) is a pretty inspiring organization. CIW has a Fair Food Program where participating corporations pay an extra penny per pound for their tomatoes, which doubles the wages of workers who pick the fruit. It also demands a Code of Conduct in the fields, which ensures the human dignity of each worker. The Fair Food Program has six main elements which you should check out here along with other ways you can take action on behalf of those workers that allow the rest of the nation access to food.

There are so many ways we as individual consumers can make small or larger changes that have far-reaching impacts. We can support farm workers that work on large farms and we can support our small local farmers. We can chose foods that are environmentally sustainable. We can cut back on certain foods that are bad for our own health and the health of others. These actions bind us to others and humble us. They unite us as human beings and make us more caring and consciousness individuals.

Embracing Sorrow: Part 2

My friend Leron died. I wrote about my initial reactions in this blog post last week. I wrote about how I needed to embrace the sorrow and suffering I felt.  I wrote about it.  I knew I needed to do it but was unable.

I was in the car with my sister when I heard he died.  I went into shock.  I wanted it to be untrue but I knew it was. I barely shed a few tears.  The next day I flew out to Arizona to help a friend drive across the country.  We talked a little bit about Leron but I felt numb. As soon as we arrived in Maryland there was a beautiful memorial for Leron. I wanted to be there but I was nervous.  You see, I'm usually uncomfortable in large groups. In the past Leron was always the person I looked forward to seeing in those types of situations.  When I saw Leron I felt lighter; he did that to everyone. I went to his memorial and he was not there. I mingled.  I struggled to talk about Leron.  I had not processed his death and I had not processed his life.  The words I had felt shallow and overused.  Leron deserved more than my superficial words. I cried for about 2 minutes on the ride home and wrote my first blog. My words were true but I had yet to really connect and feel those words.

I went through the rest of the week in a haze.  It was a long week.  I was a grump at work.  I went home and sat on the couch.  I barely went to the gym, studied or played with my dog.  I talked to people but I was numb. Every time I had to do something, anything really, I just did not have the energy to care.  It was so strange that I did not care.  I am an introvert and I keep my feelings inside but I feel things deeply.  I knew things were supposed to be happy, funny, sad, etc but I only felt those emotions on the surface.  I wanted to mourn but I was stuck.  And terrified.

Leron's funeral was yesterday. As I walked up to look at his body I saw his profile in the coffin.  It did not look like Leron.  I could not bring myself to look at the body.  I went and sat down and was afraid I would go through the entire funeral without crying. But as soon as the music started I lost it.  I started sobbing.  It was cathartic.  It was needed.  I cried through most of the service.

After the service we went to a local bar and I saw people I had not seen in years.  In high school my sister and I used to have people at our house most weekends.  We decided to have everyone over to our parents house to reminisce. It was joyous and sad and perfect.  We told stories about Leron and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.  We talked about the kindness of his soul.  Leron had life figured out.  He loved people.  He never judged.  He did not care who you were, what you had done or what you were going to do.  He did not have acquaintances; he only had friends. Not many people have that gift. When we were seniors in high school Leron was interviewed.  He was asked how he thought our graduating class would be remembered and he said he thought we would be remembered as, "a squad of unity."  I never thought about our class that way but that was how Leron saw the world.  There was no difference or barrier that stood in his way when it came to relationships.

One person commented that Leron was the glue that held us all together.  A lot of people do not live in the area any more and said coming home will forever be different.  They talked about how they have mourned Leron.  They were open about the pain they have suffered and helped me mourn. I laughed last night and I cried.  Yesterday I finally embraced the pain and sorrow I was feeling and I hope it will make me a better person.  I made real and true human connections last night. I suffered with people in a way I have never experienced. My heart hurts in a way I have never felt before. I want to live my life more like Leron.  I want to make connections everywhere I go.  I want to accept people as they are.  I also want to cultivate the relationships I have.  I want to tell people that I love them and I want them to believe it.  I want to love more people.

I also want to thank everyone that helped me yesterday.  I'm finally moving forward.  I am becoming more compassionate and humble.  I am really working on the vulnerable thing but it is going to take some time.  Maybe I am little wiser than I was two days ago.  I'm not sure I would have been able to embrace my feelings without you.  Even though Leron is gone I think he will always be the glue because we will never stop loving and learning from him.  Leron, I loved you so much and I will miss you more than I ever realized.

Embracing Sorrow

I am struggling. I am struggling and stumbling to understand the death of a friend who was so young and so full of life. A friend who brought so much joy to the people around him and had a soul full of love and laughter. This friend had an infectious personality and when you were around him you had a smile on your face. Leron was friends with everyone because he invited friendship. He had the gift of making you feel comfortable around him; the gift of putting people at ease.

I don't form friendships easily and there are very few people in my life with whom I am open. Leron was not one of those people with whom I am close but I love him. I will always love his laughter, goofy antics, and joy for life. You see, I felt comfortable and at ease around Leron and I can not say that for many people. Leron was my prom date. He spent countless weekends sleeping on my couch in high school. Leron, for me, was one of those friends that even if I had not spoken with him in months, or years, I felt like I could pick up where we left off. There is not one unkind thing I could say about Leron. I saw him live out his life with kindness and lived in the moment. When you spoke with him he payed attention to the conversation. He lived his life being present. It is not that he was perfect, he was full imperfections because he was human. And now he is gone.

There are so many people suffering Leron's death right now. He is never coming back. I will never again pull on his elbow skin or give him a crushing hug. I will never awkwardly stroke his cheek. I'm sure that sounds strange, and it was. But with Leron there were not many boundaries which is part of what made him so wonderful. All that is left are the memories. Life will move forward without him and that seems impossible to to so many. Leron's close friends were his family and I am sure they can not imagine that their children will never know him. Leron ran in a pack and it is weird for me to think that when I see his best friends I will not see him pop around the corner.

I have experienced loss in my life but Leron's death has been harder on me. Honestly, I am still in shock, one week later. I have only shed a few tears when I know part of me wants to sob myself to sleep. I feel directionless anger, sadness and confusion. Mostly I feel confused. I don't understand why this happened. I don't know how to deal with my grief, with the injustice of his death. I want to find closure but I don't know if I ever will. His death feels irrational to me and I want to make sense of it; I want it to fit into my worldview. I want an explanation. I want an explanation beyond the results of an autopsy. My rational mind wants this explanation but my heart wants one too.

Deep down I know that explaining or blaming his death away will not help me escape the pain I feel. I am a fixer. When I don't like something in my life I simply change it. It has always seemed simple to me. This pain is not something that I can escape, resolve or fix. Deep down I know I must embrace this pain but I am pushing back against it. I am pushing back hard. Every time I feel myself breaking down I try to occupy my mind with something else. But this pain must be suffered. I have to allow it to crash over me and allow myself to feel the sadness, the anger and the confusion.

I believe this sorrow will make me better. It will allow me to share common grief and common sorrow with others who loved him as well. Embracing my feelings will make me vulnerable and humble, two traits I resent. Maybe it will also teach me wisdom. Hopefully it will make me more compassionate to the struggles of others. It will help me move forward. Life is sometimes cold and cruel. It is full of pain and heartbreak. But it is also unfathomably beautiful, and generous, and good. It is also full of love and joy. Leron is the proof of all those things.

I don't need a hero.

I’m a pretty lucky person and am grateful for many things.  Mostly, I am grateful for the wonderful people in my life.  I have never been the type of person who knows a lot of people or has a lot of friends.  Instead, at different stages of my life, I have had a small group of really close friends.  As I have moved on to different stages of my life I have lost contact with old friends but I can always call up those people and pick up our friendship.  That is one of my greatest blessings.

I am also grateful that I have had a lot of strong women in my life that have taught me many important things.  Today I want to tell you about one particular woman who is pretty awesome.  Her name is Lyssa.  Lyssa is a dog groomer and we call her the dog whisperer.  Lyssa approaches dogs, people and life the same way.  Slowly, with kindness, with love, and with intention.

I have known Lyssa for as long as I can remember.  My first memory of Lyssa is when I was about 3 or 4 years old.  She worked as a receptionist for my dad and she let me sit up front and help her check clients in and out.  Lyssa gave me real tasks to do and did not treat me as a child. Lyssa babysat for us kids and was around a lot during my childhood. Lyssa always talked to my sisters and I as equals. She never underestimated our intelligence or ability to understand. She treated us as adults and we probably behaved better for her than most people. She let us make and learn from our mistakes. Even if that meant hitting our heads while we tried to jump from one bed to the other (that was my sister, Corey). She taught me, from a very young age, that I could be independent.  And independence is good.

Lyssa also taught me that I am not just one thing.  I am mixture of many things.  I am mixture of some really awesome things, some okay things, and even some bad things.  She told me it is okay to be all those things, as long as I recognize and work on the not so good things. I don’t need to identify with one or two traits.  Society wants to tell us who we are; who we are allowed to be.  

Lyssa has showed me that I will continue to develop new traits and weed out old ones my entire life.  I am not just one thing.  I am many things.  Some good and some bad. I don't need to look to others for a role model.  I can be my own hero.

For the past few years I have said the best compliment I could ever receive is for someone to tell me I live my life with intention.  With integrity.  Lyssa has lived her life with intention and integrity. She has lived a life of simplicity focused on the things and people she loves. She has taught me, and her own children, that material items are not important.  In fact, we need to recycle material items.  Lyssa is creative and always making something beautiful out of used or unwanted items.  She taught me to love the earth and love farming.

Lyssa is genuine.  She is a great listener.  When she asks, “How are you?” she actually want to listen.  And she responds thoughtfully.  She does not tell you what you want to hear.  She gives you her opinion but recognizes you might make a different decision.  And she is okay with that.  She taught me to distinguish between my truth and others truth.  My choices and decisions are not right for all people and their choices are not necessarily right for me.  But I should at least listen to what other people say and then make my decision.  Lyssa is slow to anger and quick to love.

Lyssa has taught me about sacrifice. She is an incredibly hard worker who has battled illnesses and personal tribulations.  It is rare that you find Lyssa without a smile on her face. She could be having the worst day but she still shows kindness to others. I have watched her make sacrifices for her family and others. She does this because she loves deeply. Lyssa has taught me it is okay to let people into your life.  Sometimes they will disappoint you.  Sometimes they will surprise you. Sometimes you just have to brush their words or actions off and not let it get under your skin. Sometimes you need to be honest about your own actions and be the one to apologize. Sometimes you need to sacrifice your own wants for someone else.  Sometimes, after a lot of effort and forgiveness, you need to walk away and move forward. 

How did Lyssa teach me all these magical things?  She never lectured.  She never instructed.  She never demanded. Most of these things she never even said explicitly.  She taught me these things through her own actions, by encouraging me to rely on myself for my own self-confidence. In a few days Lyssa is moving to California.  I’m beyond sad.  But I am excited for her new adventure. I’m excited for her children (whom I love as siblings) to have a new experience that will challenge them in new ways. I am jealous that her sister, mother, and father get to have her in close proximity again. I am excited for Lyssa to meet new people and touch their lives. I know that when I have a million questions about crafts, gardens, animals, and life I will just have to pick up the phone instead of holler at her through my office door.  But most of all, I hope Lyssa meets another 3-year-old girl and teaches her how to grow into an independent, intentional, and loving woman who will make sacrifices for others and will be her own hero.

Risk Death

I have seven different half started blog posts on white privilege and racism. I believe you get more with sugar than vinegar and I try hard not to belittle people or guilt them into the feelings I want them to experience. It is not effective. It belittles people and no one wants to feel belittled. I try not to point finger or offend. So, all my attempts on this topic fall short because my posts end up not saying much of anything. If I offend you, I am truly sorry.  Yes, I am speaking to my white audience. Most people who read my blog are white.  I am an upper-class, 27 year-old white girl. I was raised in the center of white privilege.  This post is not about belittling; I want to explain what I see everyday.  If you feel angry or guilty I ask that you investigate what you might be holding on to that is invoking those feelings.

Sunday, August 10, Michael Brown, an unarmed African American man was shot by a police officer. On Monday, August 11, Ezell Ford, an unarmed African American man was shot by a police officer. On Tuesday, August 5, John Crawford,  an unarmed African American man was shot by a police officer. Thursday, July 17, Eric Garner,  an unarmed African American man was placed in an illegal chokehold by a police officer and died of asphyxiation.  These are

only a few examples among hundreds. They are not isolated instances and it is not a police problem. It is a societal problem and the burden falls on us all.

Maybe you are thinking, “I’m not racist!”  I put an exclamation point there deliberately.  I used to be that person. Then I opened my eyes. I have racist tendencies. We all do. People who have spent their lives working on race issues will tell you they have racist tendencies. Racism is everywhere in our society and we have to acknowledge it, no matter how painful and uncomfortable it might be.

I’m going to give a personal example about my family. My sister has been dating the same man for ten years.  In January they had the most beautiful baby in the entire world. Dajuan is black.  Lauren is white.  Laila is perfect. When Lauren first started dating Dajuan and friends would ask about her my mom would always say, “Well, Lauren is dating a very nice black man.”  I am not using this example to belittle my mother.  My mom is awesome and one of the most welcoming people in the world.  If you have ever met her you have felt her love.  But it is an example of my white upper-class world.  I asked my mom, “If Lauren was dating a white dude would you say, ‘Well, Lauren is dating a really nice white dude?’”  Of course not.  First, Mom felt she needed to warn her friends that Dajuan is black, and then she had to preface the fact that he is black with, “he is very nice.”  The implication here is that most black men are not nice.  Dajuan’s niceness is the exception.  My mom had to justify Lauren’s relationship to her white friends. This is not because my mom’s friends are mean or openly racist.  It is what society expects her to say.  To explain when no explanation should be necessary.

This is one example in my life among thousands. I used this one because the one small comment has so many implications.  I have had to catch myself multiple times not to say the same thing. I have to remind myself that racism sneaks into my words everyday and I have to be better. I have to acknowledge the implications of white privilege in my life and that is scary. As I have been reading different articles and blog posts different questions have been posed and my answers made me uncomfortable.

    1. Do you have any neighbors that don’t look like you?  No, I don’t.  

    2. Do you have anyone on speed dial that does not look like you?  No, I don’t.

    3. Have you talked to your kids about how to behave in the presence of police?  I don’t have kids but I don’t remember my parents ever having that conversation with me.  I bet Lauren and Dajuan have talked Dajuan’s 10 year-old son, Marquise, about it.

    4. When I go shopping, am I followed around the store?  Nope.  Only when the salesperson is hoping for a big commision.

    5. Do people assume you are intelligent?  When you use big words does it invoke surprise?  Yes.  No.

    6. Are you worried the police will shoot you or a loved one?  I have never once worried that the police will shoot me but I think about Marquise everyday. Marquise is an incredibly intelligent (he skipped two grades) and respectful young African American male.  Despite his intelligence and respectful nature I worry about how society treats him.  I worry he will be shot by the police.

I also have to acknowledge that the privilege that allows me to answer no is at the expense of people of color.  I also have to acknowledge sometimes I close my eyes to the suffering of others.  It would be a lot easier to lay on the floor and snuggle my dog.  But I am drawn to a quote from Martin Luther King Jr. In this quote MLK is responding to a question about his mistakes as a civil rights leader and he replies: "Well, the most pervasive mistake I have made was in believing that because our cause was just, we could be sure that the white ministers of the South, once their Christian consciences were challenged, would rise to our aid. I felt that white ministers would take our cause to the white power structures. I ended up, of course, chastened and disillusioned."

I’m a white Christian.  I have a lot of problems with the white church and it’s (non) stance on race issues.  Many issues for that matter.  But in this quote I think the white church can be symbolic for white society. Reading this makes me feel ashamed but white society is not ashamed of our non actions or privilege.  We hold on to both with a death grip. We dismiss slavery. We claim credit for ending Jim Crow. We ignore incarnation rates which has rightly been termed the New Jim Crow. We ignore the ghettos and deny segregation.  We do this because we silently benefit.  And then we deny those benefits.

We fill our newsfeed with the ice bucket challenge and Robin Williams. We feel offended by black bodies.  Some of you may be screaming at me.  Many might have stopped reading.  But it’s true.  We can continue to ignore this truth and white media will continue to demonize color. We will continue to assume black and brown equal bad. We can convince ourselves we don’t have room for African American experiences.  We have no room to feel ashamed. But we have to feel a collective shame in order to chose to be something better.  What can we do? I have read a lot of lists that were good and challenging but there was one challenge that struck me the hardest as a Christian.

Being a Christian is not supposed to be easy.  It should be really fucking hard.  I don’t curse often but I felt it necessary to emphasize my point. The challenge I heard was “risk death.” Maybe that sounds extreme but if we are to seriously consider the Gospels that is exactly what Jesus tells us to do.  Over and over again.  Risk death in the face of injustice.  This does not have to be literal death.  It is the death of our reputation.  There are a lot of people who will not like what I am saying.  They might defriend me on Facebook and in real life. It means risking the death of our worldview and privilege. Risk the death of our comforts so we can try to understand what people of color risk everyday by simply existing.

I want to be committed to racial justice but I am guilty of simply reading and writing.  I am guilty of having a few “token black friends.” Reading, writing and thinking are important but it is not the journey.  It is a step and now I have to really step outside of my comfort zone if I want reconciliation. I have learned and grown the most when I have put myself in uncomfortable situations. I want to be better. I want a better world for my niece and nephew. I want a better world for my own potential children. I want a better world for my neighbor. I want a better world for the stranger, who is my neighbor. A just world will not create itself; I have to be apart of the movement. In order to create this I have to be better

Summertime = Love and Sparkles

Remember when you were little and summer felt as long as the school year?  When you woke up in the morning and stayed outside until it was dark and caught fireflies and went to bed with dirty feet?  The most responsibility you had was trying to convince your mom that swimming in the pool or the ocean should count as a bath.  When I think about those summers I remember how everyday was a new adventure with no expectations.  My sisters and I lived everyday full of joy, laughter and love.

This summer has been almost as great.  The only difference is that it has flown by so fast instead of lasting forever.  I have spent everyday simply living in the moment without expectations.  I have laughed harder and caught more fireflies than I have in years.  I have gone to bed with dirty feet and fingernails and decided swimming in the pool counts as a bath.  I don’t really like sand in my bed so I just jump in the pool after going to the beach and call it a day.

The magic ingredient is love.  And sparkles.  You can’t forget the sparkles.  The weird thing?  I have been surrounded with as much love as I have any other summer.  The difference is this summer I have focused on family and friendships instead of plans and objectives. I started my summer with a hectic Memorial Day weekend full of nothing but family, friendships and love.  

Corey, Chloe, Katie, Whitney, Christine

My friend Katie was married that weekend and my sister and I danced the night away with two of our oldest and best friends in the world.  I have been to so many weddings where I spent the night talking about how pretty the flowers were or how beautiful the bride looked.  Katie was a beautiful bride but I don’t remember if she even had flowers.  I was focused on catching up with old friends
and talking about how Katie and Dustin will have to look at each other every day for the rest of their lives.  You know what I will remember most from that wedding?  Feeling genuine joy for Katie and Dustin.  I will remember celebrating a joyful event that was focused on a union instead of an open bar.  Although the open bar was pretty great.  It led to a full dance floor.  I will also remember
sore legs the next morning.

My niece, Laila, and nephew, Marquise

The summer proceeded with visits from family, trips out west, farming, kayaking, beach days and baseball games. My sister, Lauren, had her first baby six months ago and as cliche as it sounds, being an aunt has changed me.  I have called my sister's stepson, Marquise, my nephew for years and he is witty, hilarious, affectionate and overall the best 10-year-old I have ever known.  But it was Marquise's personality that caused me to love him. Watching Lauren go through her pregnancy with Laila was amazing. I loved that baby before she was born and when I hold her I know I love her unconditionally.  Before Laila I was unsure if I knew how to love unconditionally.  I knew what unconditional love looked like, and I tried really hard to model that, but I was unsure what it felt like.  Now I know it feels like spit-up and hair-pulling.  Good luck, World.  Since her birth I have tried to incorporate the feeling of unconditional love into all my relationships.  Some days I accomplish this better than other days.  I'm only practically perfect; I still have a little work to do.

Keatin, Olivia, Elisabeth, Ellie, Whitney, and some dude

I have laughed so much this summer I think I'm starting to get some abs.  I have a group of friends from college with whom I go on a trip every year.  We are the 4Pack.  Our hashtag is #adventuresofthe4pack.  You should follow us every year.  We are highly entertaining and create general mayhem and chaos everywhere we go.  We are pretty and sparkly.  Yes, I know there are five of us.  That is another story for another time.  This year we went California to explore the Redwood Forest, discover wine caves and bring laughter to those we meet.  I'm not actually sure if we bring laughter or minor panic attacks.  I choose to believe we bring laughter. I never laugh harder than when I am with these girls.  What do we laugh about?  Everything and nothing.  We laugh because we are happy and living in the moment.  These girls remind me to not take myself too seriously and to laugh at myself.

What I am trying to convey with this post?  That you should live your life just like me of course!  I'm suggesting that you take a few days and slow down.  Stop and smell the roses.  Catch a firefly barefoot.  Go to bed with dirty feet.  Laugh.  Drink wine (only if you are 21 or over).  Dance in  your underwear.  Kiss a baby or three.  Love unconditionally.  Add a sprinkling of sparkles.



 

Baby Steps

*This post is very disjointed and not very coherent.  That is because I don't really know what I am looking for nor what I want to say.  I'm posting anyway because it is a start and I all have to start somewhere.

I started this blog when I moved to Guatemala as a Young Adult Volunteer in 2009.  I was not very good about blogging while I was there and today I only occasionally update it with new posts.  Mostly my posts are for myself; a way to sort through my tumbled thoughts.  I gave up Facebook for Lent, not because I think Facebook is bad, nor because I spent too much time reading status updates.  My goal was to be more thoughtful during the season of Lent.  I wanted to send handwritten cards to people instead of "Liking" a post or writing a hurried a comment.  I wanted to spend time reading and writing on my blog.

Well clearly I have done an excellent job.  All my other blog posts were incredible, well-written and insightful.  I'm so sorry the evil blogger fairy deleted everything.  Okay, so I have not updated my blog.  I have mailed handwritten notes and delivered baskets of baked goods but I have not really fulfilled my Lenten intention.  On Sunday I made myself sit down and read scripture and be alone with my thoughts.  I realized what I was really looking for was an "encounter" with God.

I don't like the phrase "encounter with God."  Maybe because it reminds me of the weekend encounters where my evangelical friends would try to take me.  They succeeded a few times and they were memorable but maybe not in the ways they were intended.  I also imagine sitting on a rock in the woods or on a mountain cliff praying and doing zen-like things.  Neither of these images really appeal to me but I am looking for some sort of interaction.  For the past few years I have felt stuck in my faith.  I have not really felt it grow in the way it did during college, while in Guatemala, and after returning.  Last year I went to Colombia and that experience challenged and pushed me.  I have some amazing friends that challenge and push me.  But I have not challenged and pushed myself.  Well, not very hard. 

I try really hard to live a good life and be a conscientious person but I can be a lot better.  I allow myself to be lazy too often.  Don't get me wrong.  I love lazy days where the most important thing I have to do is brush my teeth and feed my dog.  I think they are necessary for the soul.  And your knees/joints if you enjoy running.  I don't like to run but I do enjoy jogging (which means I never time myself and runners always pass me).  I need to find ways to be more active in my very small community.  I need to challenge my mind through reading difficult texts and researching current events that are important to my morals.  For the rest of Lent I am choosing to be an active participant and whoever out there is reading my blog will get to read about my new discoveries.  That is unless the evil blogger fairy decides to sabotage me again.