Becoming + settling

There was a season in my life (think adolescence) when anything my dad said to me would have been inclined to go in one ear and out the other, but now? When my dad takes the time to advise and counsel me, to speak about the talents he sees in me, I consider it a treasure. While I was visiting my parents in Georgia, my dad took some time to talk to me about this space. How he loves what I write, but thinks I have more to say.

This space has changed a lot since I first started documenting last year. I write with more focus but less detail, more the lesson and less the experience, per se. And while I would argue that the things I write about carry a lot of weight, they're sort of (somehow, also) superfluous. It means something, but there's not much to it. I think my writing speaks for itself, which is good, but that means there's rarely room for a broader conversation.

A few weeks ago, after a day that left me feeling lost, Stephen reminded me that one of the hardest things in life is becoming who you were meant to be. Some people never get there, but I want to. I thought about the upcoming months of my life, and what I want to make of them. I thought about my online presence, and how I want it to speak to people. How I want to speak clearly and with integrity, but I also want to be welcoming and compassionate, and I don't want to measure my worth by means of likes and pageviews. And how do I combine all of these things?

I don't think I'll ever fall into the category of "lifestyle blogger," as much as I enjoy reading them, but I'd like to do more than review books and talk about my weekends. I'm not sure where I'm going with all of this, or what I'll be writing about in the near future. Of course, I want this blog to have a cohesive feel, but I know that change can be incredibly good, if we're open to it.

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.

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.

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.

A Portrait of Australia

Recently, I made a new friend. Her name is Courtney, and she looks after two kids in a suburb called St. Ives, about 15 minutes from where I am. We have a lot in common. We're both graduates of universities in the United States, we're both 23, we both have tattoos and nose piercings. We both enjoy bad jokes and late nights and good deals. We're both artists.

She, in the more traditional sense. Courtney studied art at Oregon State University, and while she has a shockingly wide range of talent, she has a preference for portraits. I student Rhetoric, and I while I can barely draw a stick figure, I write for my life. One of the first times Courtney and I spent time together, we discussed our lack of inspiration since being in Australia and the subsequent disappointment that we aren't as saturated in our respective creativities as we would like to be. I suggested we keep each other accountable to either write or draw every day, no matter what.

We decided, after talking it over and squealing (as girls often do over lattes), to collaborate. The project is called A Portrait of Australia, and it's a partnership of our talents. As often as possible, we pick a coffee shop, we sit, we people watch, and we pick someone. She sketches and I describe, in separate journals that we'll later combine. When we're finished, we trade and check out what the other is accomplishing. Guys, it's awesome. We got so excited that we immediately went out and bought new journals/sketch books specifically for this. So far we've only had opportunities to try our hand at it twice, but it's pretty cool. To see the difference in our talents, the ways in which our minds see the world and translate it onto paper, how we are somehow so alike and still so different, is astonishing.

I am really thankful for this friendship. This girl, who reminded me that being a free-spirit isn't so much what other people see in you but what you know exists in you. Alongside the gift I recently got from Shelbie, a second new journal, and an app that tracks my sleep schedule, I've become alive in my words again. I got up at 5:30 this morning specifically so I'd have time to write, and I am so excited to do it again tomorrow.

Sometimes, when you have a gift, it seems heavy. But all it takes is one moment, one person, one idea, to release that gift into lightness, and your entire perspective changes. In spite of the every day stress of life, of being a nanny, of being far from my family, there is a definite lightness of being. Praise the One in Existence for the gifts He has given me, and for the provisions He has made for me to flourish within them.

This is Courtney.

This is how she sees me.

Writers are typically neither as photogenic nor pretty as portrait-ers.

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.

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.

Macaroons and life lessons

Last night, we had a sleepover. In addition to my usual four kiddos, there were two other girls staying with us. There was lots of screaming and giggling and sliding across the kitchen floor in socks with music (American hits, I might add) playing just a bit too loudly. We made cookies with the little kids and after they had gone to bed, we sat down on the couch with our salted caramel macaroons and gummy bears and put on a chick flick.

About halfway through the movie, Georgia, one of the girls who lives just around the corner, turned to me and said, "You could be a model." My response? I'm not tall enough. Immediately, Hayley lit up, because at 13 she's already a few inches taller than I am and still growing. But this news had the opposite effect on Georgia, who is much shorter. The conversation that followed this exchange had a lot to do with the girls saying they all wanted to be models because they're beautiful and me encouraging them to strive for careers that don't place their identity on what they look like or wear or eat. It was as if no one had put into words for them the truth that who they are as girls, and someday women, has very little to do with their outward appearance.

It's hard, teaching girls that while it's okay to look nice, there is so much more to a self. Especially when the conversation is happening in the middle of a movie that translates a message almost completely the opposite. It got me thinking about the things that I've learned, even just this year. I was lucky enough to grow up being taught that my dreams should never be limited, largely because my mother is a woman who balances a successful marriage with a fiercely independent spirit. Life takes its toll, though, particularly on young girls throughout puberty and high school and the ups and downs of college. Then this morning, I asked a friend back in the States what he's doing nowadays, and he said that his life is pretty repetitive right now, not at all exciting like mine. That kind of threw me, because as a nanny, my life is pretty repetitive, too. It's just different than it was two weeks ago, and it's an adventure because I've decided it will be.

The grass isn't greener on the other side; it's greener where you water it.

So what's the connection? Girls think they have to hold the interest of men, of the world, of everything around them. But that's not our responsibility. I started this blog because I felt like my life was suddenly worthy of interest, but truthfully, it always has been. It always will be. Knowing that, knowing my life is and I am worthy of interest, is my responsibility. I'm not so far off from those four girls I talked to last night, realizing little by little that my worth as a woman is not tied up in how many people are interested in me, in how many people keep coming back for more. Just as it's not their job to be pretty. As Katie Makkai said in her slam poem Pretty, they will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But they will never be merely pretty. And the same goes for me.

I don't know if this post makes much sense, but I know it's important to realize that what I want to accomplish this year, at least in part, is helping the children I invest in realize there is greater Truth than they know. We are chosen, we are loved, we matter. And I'm so grateful that the things they bring to my attention help me see what I want them to see.

Seriously, so so good.