Cutting slack

In middle school, I was invited to a friend's house for a birthday party. One of the gifts she received was a popular computer game. I remember being particularly excited when her parents said we could all take turns playing it, because my family had yet to get our first home computer. I was so excited, in fact, that I pulled out the classic guests go first routine so that I could play sooner.

At school the following Monday, my friend ignored me. I asked if she was mad at me, to which a go-between informed me that my antics at her party had hurt her feelings. I was utterly devastated (and unaware) that I had hurt her. Apparently, in my inability to articulate myself clearly, my excitement that she had gotten such a cool gift had turned into selfishness.

That girl and I ended up at different high schools, different universities, and lost touch. I saw her a few times before moving to Australia and we exchanged pleasantries, each thrilled for what the other had accomplished and glad for the opportunity to catch up. But I still had this itch to apologize again for that one time at her birthday party when I wasn't nice. She might not remember it, for all I know. But in truth, whenever I think about her, I think about that.

Silly, right?

I think we all have a little of this in us, though. Not just a tendency to what if, but also a tendency to think our mistakes have ruined everything. It's almost as if we'd rather look for reasons to hate ourselves than see easily all the ways in which we are loveable.

As my time as an au pair comes to a close, I find myself replaying moments and days over and over again. I wonder how I could have done things differently, more graciously, better. But why? Truth be told, I've had a fulfilling year. I worked hard and successfully. I grew up a little. I found a lot of joy I'd been hiding from myself. And all the little mistakes have taken little away from this experience, oftentimes even adding something I might have otherwise missed.

So let's just let them go.

Resting and rising

Over a long weekend, I enjoyed some Easter festivities. For me, Easter has always been a time of year marked by weather warming, swapping sweaters for t-shirts and jeans for shorts; this year, though, it was different in the best of ways. There was lamb roasting on a spit, eating lunch outside while the sun warmed the patio enough to keep the goosebumps at bay, and curling up underneath a blanket with a cup of hot tea as the sky darkened before dinnertime.

It was a grand five-day weekend. Lazy mornings with no wake-up calls before 9 o'clock, mugs of coffee in bed, old Fred Astaire and Judy Garland flicks. As Australia nears wintertime, I long for all things comforting and cozy, and as I discover and create and am given those things, this place becomes more and more my home.

Sipping coffee in Stephen's ute on our drive to Glenbrook, bright and early Easter morning, I was reminded of the greatness of this time. Of all that has come before to prepare this path for me, and of all that is working to prepare even greater things to come.

It's time to rise.

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?

Weekly things

 

On Mondays,  I change sheets. On Tuesdays, I iron three school uniforms. On Wednesdays, I work in the city. On Thursdays, I iron four school uniforms. On Friday, I sleep until the sun gently coaxes me awake. And once a week, on whatever night it happens to fall, I go on a date.

Every week, I do a lot of the same things. Don't we all? So much of life seems to be a steady stream of have-to's that have a way of running us ragged, no matter what our schedules are like. In the midst of this kind of urgent lifestyle, it's important to slow down.

When Stephen and I started dating, we talked about what sort of time we'd spend together. Since we live nearly an hour apart and we both work, it was a priority to both of us to make the other a priority. I'm glad he saw it that way. Now, we've gotten into a comfortable groove in our relationship. We see each other, normally, four or five days out of the week (I'm so grateful we get so much time together, believe me), but we work at dedicating one of those nights to something special. Whether it's going to the Opera House for a show, walking along the harbour with ice cream, or going out to dinner at a new spot, that night out is always a treat. It's a time to get a little dressed up, let him treat me, and wrap ourselves in romance. 

I told him the other day how glad I was that even though we've become so at ease with each other, we've managed to keep things fresh. And I know it's still early, and if we're lucky enough to make it together for years and years to come, these past few months will feel like nothing. But the thing is, they won't have been. Whether we're young or old, new or regular, date nights are teaching me to neither take any part of our relationship for granted nor discount any part of it.

It's a good season.

On celebrating myself

Today, I turn 24. It's an occasion about which I am wholeheartedly excited, one that I think deserves recognition. Maybe it's selfish and childish, but I'm a firm believer that birthdays are always cause for celebration, great and glorious, no matter the milestone.

Recently, a friend of mine turned 25, and I overheard her complaining about her age. I said she was lucky she was to be turning 25, to which she responded, You're right. I could be turning 30!

What?

I think birthdays are a source of unnecessary stress, particularly for women. We live in a culture that's obsessed with keeping us young, not only in our looks but in our hearts as well. But to be honest, I don't think there's anything wrong with growing up and getting old. To be honest, I think it's a privilege and an honor.

Being a kid was fun. Sometimes I miss being carefree. Sometimes the thought of adult life, of paying bills and loans and having a career are incredibly daunting and I want them to stop. But I wouldn't trade them in for anything, least of all adolescence. I like growing up. I like the added responsibilities and the new freedoms that come with them. I think that it's necessary for kids to enjoy their youth, to celebrate their childishness.

But I think it's good to grow up, too. It's good to become something more.

There are a lot of parents who wish their children had made the milestone I'm about to make. There are a lot of young people who know they likely won't ever turn 24, and they wish they could. 24 is young. Sure, it's the first year of my mid-twenties, but it is oh-so-young! I may sometimes find grey hairs (in my eyebrows, of all places) or notice that my face and body don't look quite like they did ten years ago, but I don't think for one second that I'm old yet. I'm nowhere near it.

And I seriously hope I get to be. Covered in wrinkles, grey from my roots to my tips, and fully old, I hope I get there. I hope by the time I do, old won't sound like an insult anymore. I hope the women around me won't be perpetually celebrating their 21st birthdays. I hope I will be happy and healthy and delighting in my old-ness.

So here's to 24. The celebrations have been good and the gifts have been nice, but even without either, I would be happy. My life has been an great adventure, especially recently, and I'm ready for whatever 24 will bring my way.

Endeavors

Sometimes exciting things happen when you least expect them.

Like your boyfriend breaking ground (virtually, for the moment) on his own company. Like getting to write e-mails and Facebook statuses for him and feeling like part of the coolest club. Like being given the opportunity to work for a non-profit launching in Sydney in a few months, doing work that directly relates to what you studied in university and is for a cause so worthy it overwhelms.

Like being able to do these things and still be an au pair.

Sometimes when you come into a season, you think it's too good to be true. Like there's no way you could be the person chosen for such great heights, entrusted with such great people. But sometimes, too good to be true is just good enough and just true enough and the taste of coffee in the morning is the gentle pinch you need to remind yourself that this is real life.

Check out Lankie on Facebook or here to find out what Stephen's doing and check out International Justice Mission Australia here to learn more about the non-profit for whom I'm serving as Communications Intern.

Holiday weekends and saying no

This weekend was a long one. I celebrated Australia Day (complete with a lamb on a spit and pavlova), said goodbye to a dear friend who has returned to America, drank coffee in a new-to-me cafe', and enjoyed some much needed time in my hammock. It's strange to me that so many people see the month of January as a time to start fresh, but by the middle of it, we've run ourselves ragged and are already seeking something else.

I talked to Stephen this weekend about time; how we use it to dictate not only our daily experiences, but also how it dictates our emotions. Whether we're tired or angry or calm so often has to do with how we're organizing our time. Regardless of where we live (country, city, house, apartment) or what we do or how big our families are, we become aware of time in a spacial way. If there's not enough time, we feel small and cramped. But the thing is, no matter what we try, there will never be more or less time between when the day begins and ends. We have what we've been given.

Learn to say no.

There's an importance in being more than just a "yes man." We have the privilege of choosing how we spend the majority of our time. And there's always enough time in the day for the things that are absolute necessary for you life. Consequently, it's not so much a matter of finding more time in the day as it is a matter of deciding to which things are we going to devote our time. The things we say "no" to create space in our lives for a more abundant "yes." A yes that is more than just a word, but a resounding heartfelt pleasure in the adventure or the dinner or the coffee or the book or the early bedtime.

This new year marks for a me a time of learning to turn opportunities down. When the right ones come along, I'll have time and space and zeal for them, but that means making choices now. Choices that sometimes make me feel like a stick in the mud, but that I know will benefit me later. Holiday weekends are perfect for this lesson; time to step back and soak in the perfect amount of laziness and to remind yourself of the deep rest you'll need every so often.

A gem of a candy store.

In Australia, an Americano is called The USA.

As I finish up this blog, I've been sitting in my bed with the lights off for nearly three hours, because it's technically my day off and sometimes that means doing absolutely nothing for the afternoon.

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.

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.

 

 

This is water

This week, something popped up on my Facebook news feed that caught my attention. It was a link to something on Upworthy, a website filled with emotionally charged videos and articles pointed at bringing out the best in people. Things that make you think or laugh or cry or wonder. This video in particular is a speech, made into a video, given by David Foster Wallace at Kenyon College, nearly 10 years ago. The point was to wake up a group of soon-to-be-graduates and help them realize that while "the real world" is a place for which we're all reaching, it's also a place where many of us fall flat on our faces. And we fall flat because we aren't well prepared. Life, up into our mid-twenties, teaches us a plethora of lessons, ranging from when to not take a joke too far to how to appropriately conduct yourself in a job interview, but all of these things create this idealistic "adult world," where, once you're out of school, your life becomes whatever it is meant to become. But let's be honest...that's not how it works. Life is tough, whether you're in school or working a 9-5 or backpacking across Europe, and whether your life is good or not depends much more heavily on your perspective than your circumstance.

It made me think, long and hard, about my own life. I was incredibly blessed to have parents who taught me to be humble and considerate. I was incredibly blessed to be part of a university department with four professors whose collective wisdom is absolutely mind-boggling. I've learned a lot about how little I actually know, and how that doesn't diminish my value in society. I've learned that the world isn't my playground, because it belongs to and was created for so much more than my own desires. I've learned that what I want is a lot different than what I need, and if I'm too focused on the former, my version of the latter will always be skewed. Being an au pair is hard. When a child decides that "Please go get dressed for school" means "Throw a water balloon at your sister" or when at 10:00 at night, you realize you forgot to make lunches, so that's an extra 20 minutes of your morning or when the laundry won't fold itself and nobody likes green beans and you start to see yourself in those kids just enough that you wonder how your parents didn't go insane. But this has still been, hands down, the most monumental five months of my life. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

It isn't because my job is perfect. All jobs have benefits and downsides, and if all you're looking for is the perfect job, you'll probably end up quite disappointed, time and time again. It's because I wake up and am glad to be in Oz. I am glad to be part of this family. I am glad that I have a strong community and excellent friendships and a kind gentleman. And sometimes, I get frustrated too easily and I have to remind myself, this is life. This is not just about me.

We forget that the world doesn't revolve around us. We forget that the traffic jam isn't out to annoy just us or the delayed flight isn't ruining only our holiday travels. We make mountains out of mole-hills far more easily than we celebrate the little things, and in doing so, we seriously discredit the greatness of our existence. Get this: Your whole life is overflow. The world doesn't owe you anything, and unless you work really really really hard, your big dreams will rarely come to fruition. I'm not saying minimize your potential or want less for yourself. I'm just saying the only things you'll achieve are the things you're willing to suffer for. The things you're actually grateful for. The things you can truly step away from and realize aren't about you, but about things beyond you. The world is bigger. You are a part (an important part, to be sure), but not the whole. So be a part worth having.

Here is the video that reminded me I'm not a clueless fish. I know where I am. I know what's around me. And I have the freedom to choose how I react to every situation in my life. Maybe growing up doesn't happen when you get a diploma or buy your first suit or have a steady income. Maybe it starts when you're confident that your life won't happen when you've reached some proverbial destination. It started when you were born. This is it.

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?

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.

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.

On living high

Yesterday, I went for the first time to the Blue Mountains with my friends Courtney and Stephen. The Blue Mountains are both well-known and popular, subsequently hosting countless tourists a day, particularly now that spring has sprung. Lucky for us, Stephen happens to live close to the mountains, so Courtney and I got to see a different view. Not only did we enjoy a hike that finished with the most spectacular view I'd ever seen, but we were also able to explore some gardens where parts of the new film "The Great Gatsby" was shot. Undeniably cool.

Then today, Courtney and I sprawled out on the beach, soaking in the sun and talking about the beauty of that hike and boys and Australia and life in general. Our conversation eventually turned towards where we're headed after this year and I remember saying that this season has taught me the priceless lesson of true contentment. That in realizing what I want to do with my life, I've come to realize that I don't care where I live, as long as I'm doing what I love with people whom I love, and there is an unmistakable joy in that revelation. In this season. Later, over dinner with an old friend of hers, the same sort of question arose. But it was more along the lines of understanding why it's necessary to move on from each part of your life to another. In reminiscing about high school and college days, someone mentioned that there are always those people who make you feel like you're still in college or still in high school, and I pointed out that college is sort of where you find yourself. But then you've got to go and be yourself.

Australia has given me the gift of myself. Each day, each adventure, spurs me on to the next and in spite of the constant motion, I am not growing weary. I am learning to run with endurance, to have more perseverance. I am enjoying not only my successes but also the things that are being made clear to me through my shortcomings. Standing on the edge of that cliff brought to my attention the reality of my smallness, and I felt the presence of the Lord and I felt like a giant. We were high and we were mighty and it was righteous.

Hiking this weekend brought an ache to my legs that brought a wave to my heart, crashing over my soul in a strength and tenderness that made me light. I love to be outside, to feel the heat of the sun mixing with the chill of a wind that could knock you off your feet. It's a cicada summer here, and it reminds me of home in the sweetest of ways, and I find that all I want is to keep walking. To keep living high.

Childlike

Knowing this girl has brought me so much.

He's really really tall

Joy.

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.

When things don't go as planned, and being a "twenty-something"

Tonight I got lost. I was planning on going to a small group at 7:30. Instead, I drove around until 8:00 and upon finding the right apartment complex, couldn't find the right room and ended up driving home at 8:30, unable to contact anyone. I was frustrated.

See, it's hard enough moving to a new country and making new friends. I've done those two things. Now the new struggle is figuring out how to manage new friends while maintaining old friendships and having not a clue where anything is in this city. I get lost weekly. Sometimes bi-weekly. Sometimes twice a day, if I'm really lucky. As much as I love it here, as much as I feel at home and am confident this move was the best decision I could have made for myself, life has a way of throwing those dreaded curve balls that catch me off guard and fill me with fear and doubt. Like getting lost.

I have a choice. I can either let the frustrations that come with the weight of a move to Australia overcome me, or I can step out in faith and believe that this season is twice as rewarding as it is challenging. I can believe that this season is enriching me in ways I both see clearly and will never understand. I can sit in my car and choke back tears because, yet again, I couldn't get somewhere and nobody called to see where I was. Or I can let it go, laugh about how good I am at going nowhere, and realize that my friends here don't treat me like my friends back in the States did for two very legitimate reasons: They don't know me as well, and they aren't the same people.

On top of this, I've been reading a lot lately about the challenges of being a "twenty-something." There seem to be two sides. There are those of us who are out of school, living sort of on the cusp of everything. Some days we feel like we're waiting for real life to start and other day we realize we're living the dream. We have the time to be open to any opportunity or call. Then there are those of us who are newly married, starting "real" jobs, and beginning to see what stability tastes like. And whatever side we're on, we want the other. If we're on the fringe, we want the marriage (or at least a relationship) and the stable job and better income and new apartment or house or car or whatever. But if we have that, we want the freedom that comes with singleness, from being able to go wherever you want to being able to do whatever you want. And we all feel like we're the only ones struggling through it.

Here's what's up. Neither of those seasons is better than the other, and until we come to terms with this, we won't be happy with what we have. I long for the day when I'll be a wife, when I'll have a steadier income and my own car and place to live. I long for the day when I figure out what I want to be "when I grow up." But I love where I am now. I love having a job with flexible hours that supplies me with a place to live, a means of transportation, and a community. I love being able to spend my free time with whoever I want, being able to explore or sit at home, if I feel like it. I love everything about this season, even the things that momentarily upset me or make me wonder what in the world I'm doing. I love how this time in my life is shaping me. Guess what? If I had gotten married or started a different job, I would not be being shaped the way I am. Because everything about this season, from my singleness to my adventurousness, is both preparing me for what's next and allowing me to enjoy what's now. This season is not what I expected, but it is wonderful all the same. There's no such thing (within reason, let's not get crazy) as a bad season; there are just seasons, and they are as beneficial or detrimental as we make them to be.

I choose to make this one beneficial. And because this season will be beneficial to me and glorifying  to God, so will my next season. Whatever it may be.