On family and the holiday season

Today, I dropped my mom off at the airport and we said a tearful till next time. She arrived in Sydney last weekend and we spent this week exploring and catching up. I was glad to have some good, old-fashioned Mama advice (not that it's been lacking, but there's just something about face-to-face that's better, you know?). She came loaded with Christmas presents and some of my favorite treats from home; I sent her home with gifts for my family and for her. To name a few adventures, we strolled on the beaches, fed and petted kangaroos and koalas, and wandered through gardens designed to imitate other countries. We drank over-priced lattes while she listened to my heart about work, relationships, and where I want to go from here. She helped me draw up a new budget for my finances, and I was so grateful to have a mother who is still willing to help me and build me up. My host family cooked us a beautiful dinner for her birthday, which is in two days, and also let us cook them an American Thanksgiving. I had the whole week off, thanks to a wonderful host family and grandparents, and really, it couldn't have come at a better time.

The holidays are right around the corner. So getting to spend some time with my mom was fantastic. There's a space in my life, no matter how dreamy Oz is, that's family shaped, and there are so often moments or experiences that I wish I could share with my parents and brother. Having Mom here was amazing, and I know that as great as the holidays will be, it'll be a little tough being apart this year. But I think what's hardest is coming to terms with all the things I've left behind for the time being. I've been putting a lot of thought and effort into what a temporary or permanent relocation to Australia would look like, and it's sort of daunting to look back home and see, truly, what it means to leave.

Moving on means everyone else moves on as well. And as you grow up, so does everyone else. And as much as you want that hometown to always be the same as when you left, it won't be. So this holiday season, as much as it is exploration and new opportunities, is bittersweet. Bittersweet because it's summer, not winter. Because it's a new family and new friends and new traditions, which are all lovely, but are not mine. Because it's the start of a new year and a new country, and I have close to no idea where I'll be living in the next 12 months. But I also know who I am and where I want to be headed, and I'm blessed enough to have family that will support me and love me through it, no matter the cost or the distance.

So to my mom, happy almost birthday and thank you so very much for coming to see me. It was a joy showing you my life here, and now more than ever, I am certain that being your daughter is an honor, to say the least. You are the most incredible woman and have given me everything I need to find joy wherever I am, and I cannot thank you enough for being my mama. And to my dad, thanks for sharing her with me. I'm not sure what this next year will hold for me, but I know I will carry you both with me, and that is a comfort like no other.

Here's to seasons that bring comfort and joy, in the new and the old, alike. To family, biological and otherwise. To life, whatever season you're in.

In other news, Olivia just turned 8 and Lachlan has a new set of words to learn, so things are quite exciting in the nanny world.

Seasons

Our lives, generally, are ruled by cycles. What's trendy, what's next, what's new. Recently, though, I've realized more than ever how much of our lives are ruled by the cycles that come with seasons. We associate certain times of the year with certain feelings and expectations, from fashion to tradition. It's a tender familiarity that makes even the most hectic of days a little more survivable. We always know what's coming, even if it's months down the road.

Moving to the other side of the world changes that. As November comes to a close, I find myself ready for chilly nights and hot cider. I long for weather reports that promise snow even though I know it's not likely. I want long socks and warm soups and miserably cold Christmas tree shopping. Instead, I'm getting a tan (Except the past two weeks which have been cool enough to convince me the hemispheres are merging). And it's made me wonder how much of my favorite things became my favorite things because of what I've grown to associate them with? Is Christmas only Christmas when your breath freezes in front of you?

The past few months have been a whirlwind, and I have enjoyed every second of this not-looking-back season. I'm learning to move forward by pushing forward. I've learned that a daily grind can be a beautiful thing, if you have the right perspective. And now, the desire to look back creeps up again. As the end of the year looms and brings a multitude of changes with it, I have to remember to look forward. To enjoy this hot Christmas and learn from it. Where I was one Christmas ago was different in a million ways, and it's a season I do not want to have again. So maybe the change in the weather is exactly what I need.

Beaches and ice cream and outdoor movies sound like the perfect way to send out this year, don't you think?

The myth of fresh-starts

At the beginning of this year, it became clear that I needed a fresh start. It brought me into a season of singleness, into a new job, into a new country. It brought me countless new friendships and adventures and the sort of self-discoveries and awareness about which people dream. This fresh start for which I fought so valiantly and steadfastly brought me more than I ever imagined, but beyond those things, it brought me a nugget of truth that I wasn't sure I wanted. There's no such thing as a fresh start.

Sure, we can move to a new country and take a new job and completely rebuild our community, but the fact remains that all those things we want a fresh start from will still be with us. Those things shape us, they change us radically, and we can't escape them. Our pasts are part of us, even as we move beyond them, and in carrying the weight of all the places we've been and people we've met, it's almost laughable to believe we'll somehow be able to throw them off and have a fresh start.

I came here needing a change, needing something more. But I also came trying to outrun something that had become part of me. Not just something that had happened, but something that had built a new part of me. Something that had become part of my story and my journey and any destination I find. So why did I think I'd be able to get rid of it?

This weekend, I went to see Romeo and Juliet at the Sydney Opera House with a friend of mine. The show was spellbinding and the company quite nice, and we spent the afternoon talking about life - where we've been and where we're going. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, he said something to me, and the gist of it was that this past part of me that I try to avoid has had an impact on how some people see me. And it wrecked my heart in the best kind of way. The I-really-need-to-deal-with-this kind of way, mixed with who-cares-what-anyone-else-says kind of way and I saw in myself a strength I didn't know I had. A strength to say my fresh start isn't just around the corner. It just isn't, and the sooner I stop chasing it, the sooner I'll be able to revel in the glory of where I am and how I got here. The sooner I stop chasing it, the sooner I'll be able to claim every nitty gritty part of my baggage and stop wondering if it will change things. Of course it will change things. But that's absolutely okay.

So here's to admitting that fresh starts are usually nowhere to be found, and maybe it's better that way. Maybe instead of trying to release the hurts and struggles of our who-we-weres, we should cling to them a little more tightly, allowing them to create in us glorious, tender hearts that are strong enough to come out of the storm better than we were before.

Who we were doesn't have to define who we are or who we will be. But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing for who we were to have a little say in the matter.

When one change isn't enough

It's been a little while since I've come to Australia, and while in some ways it feels as if I've been here for ages, I am frequently reminded that I'm still new. This is all still new. I'm wholeheartedly enjoying getting to know my surroundings and family and friends, and I'm constantly excited by what's happening and about to happen.

Being an au pair is a challenge. But it is one worth the effort and time and energy. I seriously love my job. It's easily the best job I've had, and I consider myself incredibly lucky to have been given this opportunity. In some conversations over the past week or so with a few of my friends here, we've come to the conclusion that the only thing left to do here is make the most of it.

It sounds so simple. Be grateful each day for the wonder it holds for us, for the things we'll learn from how we're being challenged, and the freedom we've been given to adventure and explore and gallivant. But sometimes, it's tricky. In the midst of missing family and friends back in the States and the craziness of our schedules and the everything else we'd like to try, the thought of just sitting back and drinking it all in seems a little daunting. Which makes us sound so spoiled. Which we probably are.

But today, I am grateful. I am beyond blessed by this experience, by the church I've become a part of, but the people I've met, by the family that has let me be part of their life, by the scenery and the freshness, by the challenge. And I am not taking it for granted. I think people in my relative age group have this general idea, whether we realize it or not, that we're entitled to a lot of things. We're not. So maybe the issue isn't that we don't have enough or what we have isn't good enough. Maybe the issue is that we don't realize we could have nothing at all, but instead, we have everything. The possibilities are endless.

What happens when you get a really good gift

This week, I got a present from a dear friend of mine. She sent me a journal. It doesn't sound like that extravagant of a gift, but if you know me, you know it was right on the money. Not to mention that the detail of this one, how it speaks to exactly where I am, was incredible. I stood holding it in my hands, passing it from one to the other, totally moved by how well she knows my heart, totally enamored with the feel of the paper and string and aroma of that which is my own personal flavor of perfection, and wept.

When you get a really good gift, you're reminded of what gifts you bring to the world.

It set me on fire for the rest of the week. I immediately started using it, writing down lists I found significant and moments that churned up something in my heart, and I encouraged a new friend to draw something in it. I have carried it with me everywhere. It's a really good gift.

It followed me this week on an amazing adventure. For the first time since college, I stayed up till past 4 o'clock in the morning. I drove somewhere completely new and played board games and made new friends and allowed someone to catch my eye and I laughed so hard my stomach hurt and my eyes brimmed. I wrote down moments where I felt absolute clarity and moments where I felt entirely too much. And finally, I slipped that journal back into its hiding place so I could wander through rows and rows of merchandise being sold at a market that opens so early we simply didn't go to sleep. And I didn't even think about this blog.

Glory. I didn't even think about what to write here. I just thought about my life and the beauty of this season. I thought about what I'm really, truly feeling. I thought about where I'm headed and how, for the first time, I feel like where I'm going is where I want to be going. I thought about my heart and the strength the Lord has placed in it. I thought about my friendships back home and how I cannot wait to see those people again. And I thought deeply about the relationships I'm cultivating here and how absolutely stunned I am by their greatness. I thought about God. His Hand on my life.

It's a really good gift. And it spurred me on to a really good week. And so it continues. 

 

On being reminded

I spend a lot of my time with the same four kids. I've only been with them for two glorious months, and already, I can see their personalities clearly. They're obviously family, and they're obviously different. They are distinct. They are themselves. They each have their strengths and weaknesses, their preferences and dislikes. It's sort of incredible to see how people who are all related (and all under the age of 15) can be so unbelievably different. But there is one thing in particular at which that they are all excellent.

Competing. These kids, young as they are, understand hierarchy. They live by rules of first and last, best and worst, favorite and least. I remember learning about this is college and wondering if it was a taught or innate mindset. If I ever doubted it before, I can say certainly now, it's innate. We are born competitors. We want to be the best and have the best, and most of the time, we don't care about the cost. We don't care about the means, as long as the end is to our liking. It's dangerous.

How do I teach these kids that it's not a competition? That when I don't play along for the millionth time, it isn't because I'm disinterested or upset, but because I know that sometimes it's healthier to let it go. More importantly, how do I remind myself of the same truth? Because I can't teach anything that I don't live out myself, and as much as I wish it weren't true, I struggle a lot with competing.

I came to Australia wondering what this season would hold for me. So far, so grand. I am learning so much, am being shaped so well. I'm coming to terms with not only who I was created to be, but also what the desires of my heart are. It astounds me. But what astounds me more was that as many of my friends back home assured me that I'd find an "Australian husband" basically the minute the plane landed, an equal number of people here have told me that I shouldn't get my hopes up because there's too much competition. There are too many other eligible women here for me to compete with, so I won't meet a man.

How sad, that the culture and generation I'm part of, even in the church, are so wrapped up in this mindset of hierarchy and competition and winning that I've been told I simply will not be able to find a man. I won't be able to compete. Let's be real here. It's not a competition. Just as I'm striving to show these beautiful four children that they don't always have to win something, they don't always have to have more, the twenty-somethings of the world need to be reminded that when it comes to love, it will never be a competition.

Ladies, if you feel like you're competing for the attention of a man, he's not the right man for you. Even if he's good, even if he's Godly, even if he meets all your "criteria" (which is a whole other can of worms), if he makes you compete or if he makes you feel like you should have to, walk away. And men, if you have women competing for your attention, don't make them. Walk away. When we stop competing, we find ourselves standing next to the people with whom we are truly equally yoked. When it comes to the person with whom you'll spend your life, there will never be competition. You're his or her standard. And that will be reciprocated. Even in those early, terrifying stages where nobody is sure what's going on, the right people end up together regardless of challenges and circumstances and other people.

Gently, He reminded me this week that it's not a competition. That I will never have to compete. Where it truly matters, I have already won and as long as I continue walking faithfully and steadfastly, the competition will not be my concern. The people who are drowning in competition will not be my concern. The people who are telling me that I can't compete are not my concern. That mindset is not my concern. My concern is things above.

So let's stop competing. Let's stop acting as if we need everything in order to have anything.

On being well-rested

I don't have nightmares anymore. Which, you know, doesn't seem like that grand of an accomplishment because I'm 23 and have slept alone and without a night-light for years. Believe me, it's a big deal.

Nightmares are as common for me as ice cream cones are to hot summer days. I crept into my parents' bed for safety until I was at least 8, and it wasn't until my mom told me I'd have to sleep on the floor next to the bed that I stopped (monsters would have had much easier access to me from the floor, obviously). When that fateful day came that Mom and Dad gently insisted I learn to stay in my own bed, I gradually got used to the nightmares. I learned how to recognize when I was dreaming and how to wake myself when my subconscious got too intense. I stopped trying to sleep through the night and got used to waking up three or four times, at least. I stopped thinking people were actually in the room with me when I woke, realizing they were just figments of my imagination, appearing almost like holograms when I was awake enough to realize I had had a nightmare but still sleepy enough to have the images persist. I stopped thinking it was unusual to sleep so restlessly.

Suffice it to say, nightmares and I know each other quite well. I can tell you all about the ones I've had multiple times, from the age of 4 up to my twenties. People are shocked when I tell them I've never slept through the night, I can't sleep without my back to the wall or against a pillow, I have to have a stuffed animal with me to get to sleep. It's just become a part of who I am. So when I got to Australia, I didn't expect it to change.

I sleep through the night now. And I haven't had a nightmare in two months.

At first I attributed it to simply being more tired. Dealing with children can be exhausting, and having such a busy and hectic schedule makes for early bedtimes. But the longer I go, I begin to see that it's more than just weariness.

My heart and mind are at peace, in a way they never have been before. It's not to say I was chronically unhappy before now. Because I wasn't. But something inside me is different, cleaner, newer. I never thought my body would stop battling itself, never thought my mind would be reconciled to the night. But it has, and it has. I am so grateful.

I finally know how to rest.

Here lately

 

Sometimes, I don't know what to write. I had lunch today with another au pair who lives nearby. We went to the same university in the States, have the same name, the same circle of friends, and we happened to meet here. Over lunch, she mentioned my blog and all I could think was that I don't have enough to write about. But truth be told, I just don't write enough. 

I used to journal every day. Not just for devotionals or quiet times, although those are now the most prevalent sources of my writing. I used to write for the sheer pleasure of having created something, for the sole reason that I could not contain myself unless I was writing. Ironic, maybe, that the only way I've ever known to contain myself is to release myself on paper.

Now, though, I want a reason to write. I want exciting stories and breathtaking photos and all the things that "professional" bloggers seem to have in abundance and I feel like I am lacking. And then I wonder why my blog isn't more successful, why my writing isn't more purposeful, why my journals aren't more weathered. 

For the past month, I thought I'd moved to Australia to start fresh, but maybe the reality is I came here because I need to get back to my roots. So here's what's happened lately.

I went to Bondi Beach on Tuesday with my lovely new friend Melissa. We enjoyed a leisurely walk around the beach, snapping pictures as we felt so inclined and taking in the beautiful scenery and weather. After a while, we made our way back to a coffee shop where we had sub-par coffee (I've had two decent cups in the last five weeks, and I'm seriously missing Blackbird of Milledgeville) and delicious banana bread and carrot cake. I made it back to Baulkham Hills in time for Hillsong's chapel service and a quick lunch on the front lawn of Hillsong before sitting in on a Christian Doctrine class that several of my friends are taking. I spent the afternoon with my friend Gina and her lovely housemates and finished off the evening with an overwhelmingly delightful small group. The things I am learning about myself, the things the Father is revealing to me about myself and His plans for me, they manage to comfort and excite me all at the same time. This week has clarified for me the difference between seizing opportunities and obeying calls, and I am so glad to know my time here is about more than just what I can do for myself; it's about the plan that has already been set in motion for me. Delightful.

This weekend will be spent adventuring with new friends and enjoying the community the Lord has blessed me with.

Here lately doesn't seem so exciting when it's on paper. But in person, it's breathtaking.

At Bondi Beach, enjoying the immensity.

This girl has been such a good presence in my life. So thankful.

Tourist.

Pounding the rock.

Childlike.

The life in this place seriously amazes me.

Community.

A little background

 

Sometimes when I'm getting ready for bed and the house is so quiet you can almost imagine there aren't four children upstairs, I stop and wonder for a moment what it would be like if things had gone the way they were supposed to.

If in January, my heart hadn't been broken by a man who wasn't ready for the ring that was already on my finger. If the month that followed hadn't spilled over with texts I shouldn't have been faced with. If he'd been faithful. If he'd been honest about the depth of his sin, with anyone. If the most private details of my life hadn't been considered public knowledge in a town so small that I had virtually no secrets. If the next man I met hadn't disregarded me because my life, as a consequence of things out of my control, was too dramatic. If people hadn't been passing judgements. If we'd been right for each other. If I hadn't been passing judgements. If I hadn't been hating myself for not being enough. If I hadn't decided to move away, to clean my slate, to have people know about my life at my own pace instead of all at once.

But all those things did happen, and it's August, and here I am in Australia. Confident that I made the right choice in ending things, in not taking him back when he decided he'd made a mistake, in telling the truth even when it hurt even more.

If things had gone the way they were supposed to, I wouldn't be here. I'd be married, I'd be in Georgia, I'd be working a job that I hated. Instead, I'm completely at peace with the woman the Lord has created me to be, joyful in the knowledge that the man He has for me will be beyond my wildest dreams, content with myself and my worth and my identity. Instead, I'm in Australia, working a job that teaches me so much and that makes me so incredibly happy. Instead, I'm serving at Hillsong Church and building up one of the best communities I've ever known. I've learned that it's okay that this happened; we weren't what was best for each other, we didn't bring out the best in each other. I've learned that it's okay for me to say I'm happier without him, as he is without me, and that just as I will meet someone better suited for me, so will he.

Who cares that my life got a little off track? This thing, that I have fought against, kicking and screaming and agonizing over, is a part of my story. An important part. It has helped me seek the Lord more fervently, wholeheartedly understanding His goodness and mercy and desires for me. It has created in me a strong and gentle heart. It has shown me all the things about me that I loathe, and it has shown me how to change those things as I can and learn to accept them when I can't. Maybe most importantly, it has reminded me that my story isn't just about me. It is also about the people who will hear it, who can grow from it, be comforted by it, avoid mistakes because of it.

It got me here. And that is truly the way it's supposed to be.

[to that guy: thank you for allowing me to share part of our story here. thank you for not being my future. thank you for setting me free of being yours.]

What I've decided about homesickness

People keep asking me if I'm experiencing it. Homesickness, that is. And I keep saying no, not really, I don't feel homesick. I'm happier than I've been in months. I'm busier, but more peaceful. I feel a stronger sense of purpose than I've known for a long time. I'm making friends, I'm getting settled, I'm beginning to make plans for the future, outside of being an au pair. I'm growing in love for my host family while maintaining healthy relationships with people in Georgia. I feel utterly confirmed. I feel at home.

Then it turns to evening and then dusk and I realize the people I want to share my day with are miles and miles away and hours and hours different and I think, maybe I am a little homesick. Not in the traditional sense, not in the sense that I desperately want to be in Milledgeville or am depressed without my family and friends, but in the sense that I yearn for the things that make a place a home. Because in learning to make Australia home, I miss the things that had built it for me back in the States.

I miss having people to text and meet up with in five minutes. I miss having the opportunity to see my family. I miss living in close enough proximity to others that time spent together could as easily be spontaneous as planned. I miss having a cat, having an apartment of my own, being known. And I've come to realize that these things I miss are not things that are particular to Milledgeville but things that I will cultivate here as well, in time.

So yes, I guess I'm a little homesick. But I know it will pass, as do all seasons. And in its passing, a new home will be built up and strengthened and fortified with the same courage it took me to come here.

In other news, being an au pair is an incredible thing. Apparently, I'm bad at blogging about it. More on that later, maybe.

The road ahead is a good one.
[from Lane Cove National Park]

Overwhelming.

I met these women at Hillsong recently. They're both from Georgia.
They help make this place more home-y, and I'm grateful.

The Gathering and other gatherings

One of my friends texted me a few days ago and asked if I had yet to see a kangaroo. Sadly, my answer remains no. Between working and trying to settle in and serving at Hillsong Church, it's hard to find time to go adventuring, but I felt like a disappointment for not having done anything exciting in my first three weeks here. It took me back to what I blogged last week or the week before about realizing my worth and worthiness of interest, regardless of the circumstances, but it also made me see that my threshold of adventure has shifted slightly. Yesterday, the youngest girl I nanny, Olivia, lost her second front tooth. And we celebrated. And that was enough. When Lachlan spells all his words for the week correctly, we celebrate. Yes, I am living in an extraordinarily beautiful country, and I cannot wait to experience and explore all it has to offer (and hopefully that starts this weekend with a girls' night out!), but I'm just as thrilled to be part of a new family and share in their small joys. Being here is great. The things I'll get to do here will be great. But that doesn't discount the worth of my time here without them. If I never see a kangaroo this year, I will still consider this trip worthy and wonderful.

This thought process led me to this gem, which talks about recognizing the purpose behind our blogs. It was such a treat for me to take this in. Naturally, my hope in starting this blog was to share my time in Australia, whatever that looked like, but it's a story I want to be read often and eagerly. As people, when we take ownership of our narrative, it's because we want them to be seen. We want them to be grand. We want them to be monumental. So what if nobody ever reads this? What's the point, then?

My first instinct is to say that while I'm relatively crafty and a decent cook and baker and I have an eye for design and an offbeat fashion sense, I'm a writer. But even before that, I have to say that I'm a professional communicator, and my favorite avenue happens to be the written word. Communication is what I've studied. It's what I love. It's what I do. It's how I live. This blog is about communicating, to however large an audience, pieces of my life, in hopes of encouraging every reader to live hopefully and eagerly. The purpose behind this hope is hard for me to type out, because I know that a lot of the people who will read this will be related to me, and have different beliefs. But I'm learning now more than ever that family is family, that my family has taught and shown me acceptance and love in spite of our differences, and greater than my desire to be someone my family can be proud of, what I believe demands to be proclaimed.

The purpose behind this blog is to communicate the hope of Christ, through my job as a nanny, through my time serving at Hillsong, through the friendships I am building. Last night, our young adults ministry hosted an event called The Gathering. It was, simply, a night of worship. It was not simple. I spent the day in Baulkham Hills, helping my sweet new friend Melissa set up a concierge service to host guests from other churches in the area. I spent the evening surrounded by men and women ushering each other into the Throne Room. It was spectacular. A turning point, if you will.

I'm learning a lot here. About who I am and who I want to be. It hasn't been easy and I know it won't always be easy, but it is a joy. Whoever this blog serves, whatever it accomplishes, it is my hope that it would exude kindness and gentleness and acceptance. And that it will soon host pictures of kangaroos. Because believe it or not, I'm in Australia!

A snapshot from The Gathering. Power House all day, for the Kingdom.

An introduction.

Women over-think. It's what we do. It comes as naturally as eating copious amounts of chocolate or crying for no explicit reason or finding it impossible to respond to the dreaded "are you okay's" with anything other than "I'm fine." And much like those innate qualities, over-thinking never really helps. So why do we do it?

I think it comes easily for me because I've studied words my whole life - from books to soulful music to writing to rhetoric, truly, all I do is consider. Lately, I've been considering this next big step. Moving from a small town in Georgia to Sydney, Australia, by myself, to work for a year. No, to succeed for a year. To thrive.

I consider why I made this choice. Was it because I was heartbroken and running? Or because I hated my job? Or because I felt the need to prove I could strike out on my own and be okay? Maybe all of the above, a little. But moreso, I think it was because I didn't know what I wanted or where I would find it, but I knew if I did something wholly terrifying, I would come alive.

But now, I consider the next nine days, a number so small it demands to be spelled out. I consider what it will be like to be away from my family, my friends, my favorite coffee shop, the boy I like (naturally, some kind of romantic entanglement is required). I consider how it will feel to be literally on the other side of the world, starting fresh, as they say. I consider all the things I could do to stay here, to stay still, to stay safe. At the end of all my considerations, though, I feel an excitement that is so rare I know I have to hold on to it.

So I will move to Australia. And it will be good, in a multitude of ways. And maybe things will turn out exactly as I want them to, but it won't be because I am brave or fearless or have contracted wanderlust to the nth degree. It will be because this is just life.

Here's to living it, and sharing it with all the right people.

My current vantage point, downtown Milledgeville.