On the usefulness of flowers

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted a home filled with flowers. And for a long time, I thought that it made me high-maintenance (which isn't always necessarily a bad thing and most of the time is an excuse for partners to be lazy and selfish, but that's a whole other can of worms), so I tried to pinpoint what it was about flowers that seemed to speak, as it were, my language. To see if I could fix my obsession.

Is it because my dad would go into our garden regularly and cut fresh flowers to put on my mom's desk? Is it because in high school, when he knew I was having a rough week, he would surprise me with bouquets at the kitchen table? Is it because the most popular girls in school always had flowers delivered to their desks on Valentine's Day, from secret and sometimes not-so-secret admirers?

See, the more I thought about it, the more it felt like everything about me adds up to flowers on the windowsill, the kitchen counters, the bedside table. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that my insatiable desire to have a home filled with flowers is not so much about flowers symbolizing feminine normalcy as it is about flowers bringing life to a place.

I know some people think that flowers are pointless, that it's counter-productive to essentially kill something for the purpose of making something else prettier, but I'm not so sure. I see flowers and I think about life, in all its stages. I think about walks through parks and gardens and down to the neighborhood grocery store. I think about brightening that which is somber with that which is brilliant. I think that creating an indoors that incorporates the outdoors is not only nice, but that it is also purposeful, because we are creating spaces that allow us to breathe more deeply.

There are three bunches of flowers in our apartment right now; one fake, a leftover decoration from our wedding, the other two gifts from Stephen. When I see them, I don't just see romance and pursuit and all the too-cheesy things we so often associate with flowers. I see myself, reflected in each petal, full of life, flourishing and blossoming and sometimes, for a day or two, wilting.

Flowers are more than just tokens of appreciation. They're tokens of life. So I'm giving myself over, wholeheartedly, to this wish for a home filled with flowers. Because I want our home to always, always, always be filled with life.

A love letter to my city

Photograph taken by Branden Lee

Monday morning, I took a train across Sydney to my friend Amy's apartment. I needed to do laundry. I planned on coming home early in the afternoon to clean the apartment and write some thank you notes (they're coming, I promise). Instead, I stayed at Amy's apartment until 5:00PM, because neither Stephen nor I were comfortable with me taking the train.

Because just one train station away from our own home, there was a hostage situation. No one knew what was happening or if anything was happening elsewhere or when everything would be finished. You don't need me to give you the details; I'm sure you've either read about it already, and if you haven't, you can find articles easily.

The thing is, when my friends back in the States started messaging me to see if we were okay, I was a little surprised. This is Australia. This place is safe, right? We didn't just suffer the loss of 132 schoolchildren at the hands of the Taliban; we had one man, a convicted felon out on bail, bite off more than he could chew. It ended tragically, but with an outpouring of love, the likes of which I very rarely witness.

Here's the thing. In the middle of that Monday morning, I was a little bit worried and a little bit flustered, but I was not for one second doubtful that this place is a good one to call home. This city, where I've lived for such a short time, has made for itself a cozy spot in my heart, and days like yesterday remind me that my coming here is not situational.

My desire to live here is not situational or circumstantial or a product of Australia being the perfect vacation spot. This place, its people and its culture, even with all the ways it challenges my worldview and sense of normativity, is good for my soul.

It is like Christmas morning, every morning. You know, that feeling you get when you open the gift you really wanted but were afraid to ask for, and you got it any way, and it just doesn't seem real? For me, that's Sydney. That's Stephen and me making our home in Sydney.

And isn't it stellar when that feeling doesn't disappear in the face of fear or difficulty? Something Sydney has taught me, something Stephen has taught me, is that we know decisions are right not when they feel good for the most fleeting of moments. We know decisions are right when everything else seems to be going wrong, but we don't want to change our minds.

So here's to you, Sydney. For standing strong in the face of terror, for being kind in the face of prejudice, and for being a place I'm proud to stand with.

Here, today

Today, I'm in Georgia. My dad takes me to lunch and my mom, home early from work, chats with me during the commercial breaks of her television show. We break out our computers and work, not talking but both so glad for the company.

I'm reminded by the friendly hellos I receive at the coffee shop that I'm always welcome here, by friends not seen in months. I'm reminded that it's possible, in all the best ways, to have more than one home, more than one place where the heart rests.

I had plans for a different blog, one that I considered better. More thought-provoking, more intelligent, but when I sat down to write, it was this. Quite possibly a product of jet-lag, of being nourished by peanut butter m&ms and basking in the comfort of the place I've lived for most of my life, but far more likely the realization that sometimes, less is more.

Sometimes, we need to stop being so thought-provoking, so intelligent, so precise, and start being more gentle. More open.

Today, I miss Stephen, and it thrills me to see that even these 24 hours apart are hard. A confirmation of sorts, if you will. And I am equally thrilled to have this short time here, today, with my parents. With my friends. With my other home, the one that nurtured and prepared me for the new one.

What places do you call home, and how are you celebrating them today?

On the notion of home

On Friday night, we at dumplings and ice cream. We took the ferry across the harbour, and I saw Luna Park up close for the first time, and we talked about how we'll spend summer nights there.

We drove home and it was late and the car was quiet, and Stephen said that soon we can go to the drive-in theatre. The back of our new-to-us car will be weighed down with blankets and the front filled with food.

On Saturday we registered for our wedding. I was discouraged by the prices, and Stephen pulled me close and reminded me that this should be fun, that people want to bless us, that it's okay to receive. We tried our first ever cronuts and shared an umbrella and laughed about how Stephen loves the rain and I am aching for some sunshine.

I think often about the notion of home, of what makes one. I used to think home was just a place or a time, but now I see that even though those things are important, home is more about the people in that place and the people with whom the time is spent.

There's something to be said for the homes we make that thrive off of spontaneity and John Hughes-esque romance. But right now, I'm happy to speak on behalf of my in-progress home, in all its glorious reality. There's something to be said for that, too. That's the home I'm choosing.

My neighborhood is the family I'm gaining, the community we're building, and all the adventures we're having. And if home is a person, mine is certainly Stephen.

Australia + all the things that matter more

Stephen and I arrived in Sydney early Sunday morning. We were exhausted from the flights and eager for a good night's sleep and I was surprised at how difficult I found it to adjust.

When I came here last year, I was immediately home. I knew I'd found my place and that no matter what happened, there would be joy and provision, and Australia did not disappoint. I was sad to leave when my visa expired, and I was counting down the days to return.

But then I spent an overwhelmingly precious few months in Georgia and I realized that I have two places my heart calls home. One in the States, with my family and friends, and one here in Australia with the community I've been building over the past 12 months. And the home that transcends both of these is with Stephen, my person.

And so I thought it would be simple, coming back here. I knew we'd be tired and the next few months would be those of transition, but it seemed easy. Until the plane landed. I was struck by the reality that for the next little bit, even though this is undoubtedly where I want to be, things are unsettled.

It's hard to move to a different country. It's hard even when you have plans and preparations and people supporting you. It's hard for countless reasons, and it's hard to admit that it's hard.

And then you wake up to the news of Robin Williams' death and Mike Brown's death and updates on the crisis in Iraq and you start to feel really insignificant and selfish.

I believe it's just as important to admit our weaknesses as it is to rejoice in our successes. I believe in times of worldwide tragedy and confusion, it's important to remember that we all suffer and we all flourish, and even when my place of trial seems like a molehill in a world of mountains, it's still okay for me to feel its weight. I believe it's important to find the balance between being intentional in your own life and being aware of the lives outside of yours.

Today, it's winter where I am. I get to dress warmly, spend time with my almost in-laws, and cook dinner with my almost husband. Today, my life is dreamy even in its unexpectedness and today, I get to matter even when other things matter more.

On being courageous

Summertime is the quintessence of ease - the days are longer, the fruit sweeter, and there's just something that soothes the soul about catching fireflies on nights where the warmth lingers.

But sometimes the heat gets to you. There can be too much sweat, too many expectations, and not enough spare time. And it's in the middle of those sweltering dog-days that it can feel like we're losing some sort of battle with what aspires to be the easiest time of the year, like our words aren't good enough or strong enough or frequent enough.

This summer, I'm neither working nor on vacation. I'm in the dreaded in-between of this and that, here and there. I'm neither home nor away from, and I find myself wondering, in quiet moments, if I'm wasting this time.

But.

Courage doesn't strike when things are easy. It sneaks up on us when, even if the little things are going as planned, the big things seem all too out of reach. Courage whispers to us as the sun rises, in the few, first, cool moments of the day not held by humidity. Courage isn't the necessity of success but rather, the attitude following failure that says boldly, I will find the favor set aside for me. It is tasting peaches and coffee, when all the world sees is unplanted pits and unroasted beans.

And damn, if those peaches aren't the best you've ever had.

Southern charm

 It's been not quite a week since I returned to Georgia. And somehow everything is both the same and different. The town feels the same, a familiarity that I can't escape. But things are different, too. There are new businesses and old businesses in new places. A lot of my friends have moved to different cities. My parents' house is exactly as I left it, but it isn't mine anymore. Just as I changed while I was away, so did this town and its inhabitants.

My home has become Australia. And it's as if I knew this, but it didn't seem real until I came back to Georgia and missed Sydney.

Don't get me wrong; I'd been counting down the days to Georgia, and it is as lovely as I'd hoped. Seeing my parents and friends, making plans, frequenting my favorite coffee shop, sharing this part of myself with Stephen - these are all gifts for which I am grateful. I am overjoyed to visit. I am happy to be home, but it somehow isn't home anymore.

It's humid here, as Georgia summers are, and the air is like a weight on me. It reminds me that this places anchors me, gives me a foundation for the person I have grown into and am growing into. But foundations are meant to be built upon. On mine, I am building a new home, a new place for myself.

What are you building on yours?

A change of pace

This weekend marked my last in Australia until August, and it was the perfect opportunity to venture into Sydney city for one last jaunt. Luckily, the famous light festival, Vivid was well underway and Stephen, Grace, and I were able to see what all the hype is about.

Vivid is an annual festival that takes over Sydney's central business district (CBD), Darling Harbour, Circular Quay (home of the famous Opera House), and an area called "the rocks." Each year, the festival draws hundreds of thousands of tourists to the heart of the city and features everything from light displays across buildings to light sculptures placed throughout the streets. There are also food trucks and featured bands, which makes wandering around an already extravagant city all the more delightful.

The three of us met in Sydney Friday night, and even the rain couldn't dampen our spirits. We spent a good few hours strolling down George St, stopping to look at each display in between heartfelt conversation and delicious ice cream. We finished the night looking across the harbor at the Opera House, which simultaneously allowed for an amazing view of a skyline decorated with intricate light designs dancing across a few of the skyscrapers.

Although I only got a handful of phone quality pictures, Vivid was the perfect reminder that Sydney has become my home, that its beauty is quite inexplicable, and there is so much here for me. The past week was one of rest and preparation, stepping aside from work and organizing for my trip to the States. Somehow my heart is not quite ready to leave this place, and yet it is bursting with excitement for all that's waiting for me stateside. Soon I'll be reveling in the dog days of summer, but for now, I'm living vivid[ly].

(Read more about Vivid here)

On being in transition

The past year and a half has been one of the least predictable. It has seen me both stumbling and steady, and it has seen me both wandering and unwavering. And now, everything is about to change again.

I think it’s altogether natural, and not necessarily conducive to a specific age, to be in a place of not knowing. Of knowing what’s come before, but not being confident of what’s coming next. There are the days that are thunderous and gloomy, days that need both coffee and naps (and for some reason, they seem to be in short supply), days that remind you of what’s lying underneath the familiar. But then there are the days that are startlingly encouraging, days that need neither coffee nor naps (although you’ll take both anyway), days that remind you that the whole of life is uncertainty wrapped in comfort. 

And every season, every circumstance, holds both.

I’m not sure of what’s next, what exists beyond au pairing and interning and Australia-ing. But I know that it will be more than okay, that life is not actually a map of what is supposed to happen, but rather simply what is. My perspective has changed, and I think more often than not, that’s the biggest change we face. 

I will find a job. I will find a place to live. I will find that more things are familiar than I’d anticipated, and I will grieve the things lost in between. I will find that the change itself wasn’t the scary part; I just couldn’t see it clearly. And then, before I know it, everything will change again.

Ready?

On being an explorer

One of the things I embraced when I moved to Australia was a spirit of adventurousness. I was ready to learn more about the world than I already knew, to step into things that frightened me, to become more than I had been. I was ready to see every sight, from the tourist attractions to the hidden treasures, and I felt limitless. As I've settled in here, though, that spirit has waned just a little bit, making way for a more at-home sort of adventure.

I find that I become more adventurous when I meet new people. We go to see things I've not yet seen and I'm reminded all over again of why I love the adventure. Sometimes we go to see things they've not but I have and I discover newness in the familiar and I feel that spirit well up inside of me.

There's something to be said for going somewhere totally different, for immersing yourself in a brand new journey and discovering everything you can. But there's something to be said, also, for learning how to explore what you think you already know.

 

When I don't feel loved

This thing has been on my mind a lot lately...what keeps us feeling loved and happy. In the middle of a season that is so fruitful, I still find myself frequently thinking about what's next. What's after Australia, if I can't get the proper visa? And this worry has caused me to seek as much preparation as possible, to make sure I am taken care of, and this seeking has caused me to temporarily lose sight of a lot of little pleasures I have in being here. Mostly what's happened, though, is I've spent a lot of time wondering if everything will be okay. But what's hiding underneath all of this thinking is a girl who's not sure if her flaws make her better or worse.

Sometimes, I don't feel loved. I think that it happens for everyone. When life is busy and things get hectic and we're worried about being perfect in every detail, our fears become greater than our faith. But when your fear is greater than your faith, you have to remember what's true.

When I don't feel loved, my fear is based on a lie. When I don't feel loved, I'm believing a lie that I'm not worthy of love. That something in me has failed to live up to an invisible standard of loveliness, and since I've fallen short, I won't be loved. I won't be good enough or smart enough or successful enough.

When I don't feel loved, I wonder if I'm too much. Too bossy, too easily annoyed, too stressed, too tired, too talkative, too honest. And all those worries feed into that fear of falling short of the standard I think was meant for me and I'm left wondering how in the world anyone could love me.

But today, my faith is greater than my fear. There are a hundred reasons why people mightn't love me, but there are a thousand for why they might, if I can let them.

Even when I don't feel loved, I know that I am loved.

I am never too much. And I am always enough. And while I don't know if my flaws make me better or worse, I know that they make me. They make me into someone who is loved and someone who is capable of love. That is more than enough, so the rest is sort of arbitrary.

I hope that you feel loved today. But if for some reason, you don't, I hope that you'll remember in spite of how you feel, you are loved.

We are always more than what we feel.

Being loved doesn't always look like this, but I'm so grateful that some of mine does.

Just a reflection this week, on the things that I'm coming to realize are perfectly normal but rarely spoken about. I'm happy, I'm whole, I'm learning.

What I know

I go back to America in 98 days.

98 days until I see my parents, until I eat Chick-fil-a, until I can drive the familiar roads around my town and my college. 98 days until I can sit in Blackbird Coffee and drink deeply, not just of my drink itself but the atmosphere. 98 days until I can hang my hammock by the river and spend the day drowning in a book and being interrupted every so often by the casual "Hello" of someone I know passing by.

98 days until I leave behind my for-now family. 98 days until I leave behind these kids that sometimes drive me crazy but whom I love dearly and deeply. 98 days until I'm done interning at International Justice Mission Australia. 98 days until I'm apart from my gentleman for awhile. 98 days until I leave in the hopes of returning, but only 98 more days of being here, certainly.

It is a strange thing, to be ready to be home but not ready to leave.

The more I learn the more aware I become of how many uncertainties are left. But what I know is this: Australia is home. Georgia is home. And it's kind of amazing that I have the privilege of loving both of these places, their sights and smells and sounds and people, equally. So in 98 days I'll say see you soon to Oz and hello for now to Georgia.

And wherever I am and whatever I do, I will be home, so long as my heart is lifted and my feet are planted.

On taking a break

Last week, I went to Melbourne. It's about as far South as you can go in Australia, in the state of Victoria. It was a dream, and while I didn't write or read much, I drank excellent coffee and saw excellent sights in excellent company and I got to wear scarves, which was excellent. I even saw the smallest penguins in the world (This is not a hyperbole. It's fact), and while we weren't allowed to take photographs, it is something that will be etched into my memory for the rest of my life. There is so much beauty in the world, and sometimes it takes the ridiculous waddling of a tiny animal to remind you of this truth.

As we got closer and closer to Sydney, though, I found myself restless. Not in the wanderlust sense. More in the I've so enjoyed this holiday and now I'm back and having to face the daily grind again and what if I can't handle it, and I was oh-so worried that coming back would be stressful.

It wasn't. I stepped into the doorway of my host family's house and it was like coming home, all over again. Like July 1st, 2013 when I stepped out of the airport into the crisp, Australian air for the first time and in spite of everything swirling around me, I just knew that I was in the right place.

There's something to be said for taking breaks. For sleeping much later than necessary and eating breakfast at lunchtime. For walking along beaches and perusing in new bookstores and taking breaths that are so long and sweet you're not exactly sure how your lungs are managing it. I don't know much about this year, but I do know this: It will be great. One for the record books.

I'm not one for resolutions or yearly "reflections" (which I think it a poor word choice, but that's a different story altogether). I think that the last day in May is as good a day as the first day in January to turn over a new leaf or start a new project or talk about how your life is shaping up. But I get it. I get that we live in a time frame dictated by a calendar that says this month is the beginning. I'll take it.

Give me everything you've got, new year. I can take anything you throw at me. I know how to breathe deeply between punches.

Bathhouses down by the seaside

We stopped in Ballarat to watch part of a cycling race. This is the peloton.

This is Stephen. He is a gentleman and makes a stellar travel companion.

On Christmas

A few days after the big celebration and even longer since I've last written here, I've settled back home in Sydney after Christmas in Cootamundra. This Christmas was unlike any I've had previously, and not just because it was beer in the pool rather than hot cider by the fire.

Lots of things were the same. Too much food, lots of laughter, excitement for presents and impatience from excitement. Family was celebrated and conversation was, mostly, light. But instead of being with my own family, I was with a new one. One that has taken me in and made me feel perfectly at home and perfectly welcome, but with the traditions abounding, I was reminded that they are not, in fact, mine. Christmas was disconnected.

I spent the morning opening gifts from both my families, host and biological. I slipped away quietly during tea and spent an hour Skyping with my family back in Georgia, for whom it was still Christmas Eve, before rejoining the Australia Christmas. I went to bed exhausted and content, but also sad in a profoundly new way. Celebrating Christmas this year was a stunning reminder that for me, this season is not nearly as much about the traditions or the locations or even the people with whom it's spent as it is about the One I am celebrating. But even with this knowledge in hand, the insignificant things still matter. And the holiday season half a world away from one's family can be a discombobulating thing.

Moving to Australia is a marvelous thing. It carries opportunities and adventures unmatched by any other I've had in my soon-to-be 24 years. But it also carries a heaviness, a bittersweet acknowledgement that new hello's do not exist without gravitational goodbye's. As the 12 days of Christmas count down and a monumental year approaches, I am joyful beyond compare, but I miss my family. And I am learning that the two things are strange puzzles pieces. They might not fit together easily, but they are both essential corners. Unless I have both, I won't see my big picture clearly. And it's a picture I desperately want to see.

A very Merry Christmas, from Australia to wherever you are. May your 2014 ring in with a resounding yes for whatever path you are choosing. The things that matter, the people that matter, the places that matter, you will carry with you.

 

These last 10 days

...have been a whirlwind of frustration and satisfaction, stress and relaxation, holiday bustle and slow summer heat. Between the end-of-school rush, Christmas shopping and celebrating, and making the transition to sundresses and shorts (in December no less), I have to remind myself to breathe. I have to remind myself that this is real life; I came to Australia almost six months ago and I'm still here. Happy, content, joy overdosing.

This is a season of acceptance. Of knowing both where I am and where I'm headed, and realizing the perfection in both. With the new year approaching quickly, there rarely seems to be enough time to accomplish the daily routines, let alone leave time for a complicated thought process about resolutions or reflections or whatever. There is only this place, this day, and the promise that it is all getting better and better, up and up.

 

 

On taking ownership

There's a lot to be learned. We spend years in school, being trained not only in specific disciplines but also in the discipline of learning. We grow up being taught to know. And while there are seasons where we'd rather not do homework or get up early for school, I would venture that for most of us, there comes a time when we see the benefits of gleaning. Learning becomes a treasure, whether it's in the classroom, from our parents or peers or employers, or a by-product of being a person. And while there are countless lessons that I consider invaluable (use cash instead of your card, give without expectation, see your own worth, etc) one of the best lessons I've learned is how to take ownership.

There are plenty of things of which I enjoy taking ownership. Plenty of things of which I excel at taking ownership. But the more I do life with people, the more I begin to see shortcomings in this areas as well. I can take ownership of my job and its responsibilities and my attitude and my growing friendships and my time here and the effort it takes to make my time here more permanent. But I realize more and more that I rarely take ownership of my feelings. I don't talk about them. I shy away from them at all costs. I avoid them.

But what's the fun in that? I'm learning this week, by the grace of God and His hand on my life, to take ownership of the way I feel about certain things and certain people, and to believe that this ownership will do nothing but cultivate more health for my heart. And this means finding a balance between not caring what anyone else thinks while still being considerate. Not always an easy task, but if I can move to Oz, I think I can do pretty much anything.

When the seasons change, things happen. For most of my friends and family, that change is bringing autumn; a coolness that's felt not just in the air but also the soul. Comfort, found in warm food and cozy sweaters. Everything starts to smell a little different. But here, it's spring. So instead, everything is waking up. Everything is blooming and discovering and the warmth stays in your cheeks a little too long. It's a season for something new.

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.

Details

A lot of what I post here is vague. Things I'm learning and growing in, bits and pieces of things I'm struggling to push past, glimpses of Oz, but for the most part, what I write is lacking in the details. Here are some.

Last week and this upcoming week are different that usual because the kids I look after are on holiday from school. Last week started in Brisbane and is now coming to a close with a long-awaited Skype call with my sweet parents. My friend Grace and I flew to Brisbane on Saturday and spent a long weekend exploring the city and beaches, all while couch surfing with an awesome couple. Saturday night found us eating tacos and burritos in the city, followed by tiramisu ice cream and a walk by the river that runs through the city. It was spectacular, and though the day of travel left us unbelievably tired, it was so good. On Sunday we got to experience Hillsong Brisbane. What a blessing, to be part of a church that reaches so many parts of the world. We spent the afternoon wandering through more of the city and enjoyed homemade Mexican, brownies, and the movie Australia with the couple hosting us. On Monday, we traveled to the Gold Coast and spent the day at Surfer's Paradise, where I fell asleep and got a little too much sun. That evening, we were able to not only see kangaroos in the wild, but also eat delicious kangaroo steak. It was incredibly tender and well-flavored and I loved it. For our last adventure, on Tuesday morning, we toured the brewery where Queensland's state beer is brewed before flying back to Sydney. And funnily enough, on our flight we met an Australian who happens to be an Atlanta Braves fan.

I arrived home to my host mom and kids, plus the first au pair they had and my host mom's mom, both of whom were visiting for the week. Jella (pronounced Yell-ah) worked for the Kowals roughly four years ago, and it's been really cool to hear her stories of the kids and see the relationship she still has with them, after all this time. It reminds me that even though I'm a temporary installment in this home, I can have a lasting impression on this family, if I choose my words and actions wisely and if I am deliberately loving and kind. At the end of the day, I find myself wanting to retreat to my room and enjoy moments of peace, but I'm learning that I need to step out a little bit more, even just for an extra half hour, and be more than just a nanny.

On Friday, my host family went to Canberra for the weekend to visit a family friend, so I had the house to myself. It was weirdly quiet, and while I enjoyed it for about five minutes, I found myself wanting to fill the space. So, I went to one of the Northern beaches with a group of friends on Saturday. The weather was close to perfect, although the water was unforgivably cold, and we had a blast sunbathing, tossing a frisbee, frolicking in the waves (let's be real, I barely dipped my toes in), and eating chicken burgers before heading home.

Watching the kids for a whole day, without the break of having them at school, is a totally different ball game. This upcoming week will surely present its challenges, but I'm excited to take them on. It gives me an awesome opportunity to know these kids beyond schedules and assignments and just enjoy the people they are. Not to mention with the beautiful weather, we have every reason to spend our time outside. The mantra is Anything you throw at me, I can take.

Anything you throw at me, I can take.

One of the many gorgeous views in Brisbane

The Fourex Brewery

On injuries and adventures and holidays

A lot has transpired since I last visited this little corner, due largely in part to an accident that left my unable to use my right arm for a few days. What an achievement, to have had my first Australian mishap! See, I decided that I was going to learn how to skateboard, which I did. It just so happens that I simultaneously learned that I'm good at falling. But regardless, I learned how to skateboard, and I learned that in spite of torn up knees and hips and a dislocated shoulder, I can't wait to do it again.

I traveled to Brisbane with a friend of mine for a short holiday. We left on Saturday and returned late Tuesday evening, and oh, what an adventure it was! From couch surfing to bus and train rides to meandering through markets and ice cream shops to relaxing on the Gold Coast to touring a brewery to seeing and eating kangaroo, it was a wonderful way to spend my first vacation. But at the end of that last day, when our plane touched down in Sydney, I was relieved to be home. To drive my car again. To see my house again. To sleep in my room again. To be with my family again. This is becoming more and more my home, and it was an incredible blessing to be reminded of that through a weekend away.

This and next week are school holidays for the kids, so there's lots of time to be spent out in the sunshine. Spring is slowly turning into summer, and the sunshine and heat are positively glorious. My skin is tight with the aftermath of days on the beach and walking through the streets of different cities. There are times when I receive not-so-good news from back home and I yearn to be in two places at once, but my heart is light and free here and I am constantly encouraged that here is the right place for me.

Seeing Brisbane for the first time, from the airplane. There's an inexplicable joy in exploration, and I love discovering more and more of that, and my own adventurous spirit, while I'm here.

Let's talk about abundance

Overflowing fullness. An extremely plentiful or oversufficient quantity or supply. Wealth. 

Among all the issues I have with society, one of the biggest is beauty. Body image. Self-worth. And in particular, in regards to women and girls. Our society puts so much pressure on beauty that it starts to create this weird dichotomy, that by saying beauty is subjective and looks aren't where we should place our greatest values, we make it wrong for women to be beautiful. It's as if we're so caught up in teaching girls that it isn't about how they look (which is true) that we forget to remind them that beauty and vanity are not the same thing. And that it's perfectly healthy to embrace femininity and beauty. Let me be clear. I believe that outward beauty if fleeting. I believe that my worth is not based on how I look or dress, but my character. I believe that my image and identity have very little to do with my physical being. I believe that real men see past the superficial. I believe that real men crave women with more to them than a pretty face. I believe real men want women to more fully understand and appreciate themselves. I believe that men like that exist. But I also believe that it's okay for women to desire beauty. But let's be real about it. Beauty is strength. It is kindness. It is a gentle and honest modesty that grows from within and consequently shines outwardly. I struggle with these things daily, but I believe them just the same.

There are so many cultures in our world. So many systems of belief, ideas about life, categories for people to try and fit. But one thing all these cultures seem to have in common is the idea of having an abundance. Having more than enough, by whatever means. I say there's more to this idea.

I say we are the abundance.

I say I not only live in a spectacularly beautiful place, but I came from one as well. Whether it's Georgia or West Pymble, the States or Australia, my world is beautiful. And I say that I carry that beauty with me. It spills out from my heart and creates abundance wherever I go. So maybe it isn't these places that are magnificent. Maybe it's me, maybe it's us, instead. Maybe it's the Love and Truth and Glory I hold in my soul. And maybe it isn't a bad thing to venture to say that I make my life beautiful. We are so beautiful that it cannot be contained in our bodies and has to bubble out of us and into the places where we experience life.

I carry beauty, because I am carried. I am an abundance, because I have been given an abundance. And there is nothing wrong with taking ownership of these things.