Words to live by

I have these mornings a lot. The roll-over-and-hope-it's-only-3am kind. The I'll-definitely-be-drinking-coffee-all-day kind. The mornings-are-the-worst kind. Recently, though, I've been trying to feel differently about mornings, to see them more graciously and greet them more eagerly and to use those five more minutes somewhere else in the day.

I think words, and how we use them, matter more than we usually admit. I think that when we wake up saying five more minutes, what we're saying, more often than not, is I'd rather not be part of this day. And even if that's only your thinking for a few minutes, I believe it has the power to impact the whole 24 hours.

When you wake up saying you'd rather not be part of the day, it's easy to see only problems, instead of successes. Mornings, like words, are gifts. They can encourage us or break us, and whether they encourage us or break us is largely our decision. And I get the not a morning person dilemma, because I'm not one, either. But if breakfast is the most important meal of the day, the thoughts with which we feed ourselves as we pull ourselves out of slumber are equally important.

There are countless words to live by. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. In order to have a friend, you must be a friend. Take the path less traveled.

Greet this day with love in your heart and be grateful.

Use five minutes, that could be spent sleeping, being grateful that you woke up. Use five minutes to be kind. Use five minutes to be patient. Use five minutes to spread joy.

In a day made up of five more minutes, how are you spending yours?

On the weight and lightness of life

In life, we spend a lot of time weighing.

We weigh ourselves on standard scales, and then we weigh our worth by means of that number. But I've noticed that we seem to weigh everything else, too. We weigh our lives by the size of the diamonds in our jewelry, by the amount of belongings in our homes, by our homes themselves. We weigh our lives by our friends, sometimes by their character but far too often, by how their lives and the weights within them stack up against our own. And far too often, we want to be sure that our lives weigh more.

In a world that is constantly pushing us (and by us I mean mostly women) to weigh less, we are strangely obsessed with having lives that are heavy. As if weight, the lightness of us or the heaviness of our stuff, is somehow indicative of identity.

Prospective partners have to have a certain amount of money, a certain set of traits, a certain level of aspiration. Our friends have to be similar enough that it's comfortable but different enough that it's interesting. We're supposed to be both trendy and individual, successful and selfless.

But truth be told, I think our lives would be more full (not necessarily easier, though the two are often confused) if they were lighter. If we unpacked our lives a little bit and allow ourselves to drop some of the weight. Because it was never about the weight.

I don't mean to say, lose weight and do it quickly. I mean to say, it was never supposed to be about the weight. I mean to say we spend our whole lives weighing, comparing, and trying desperately to figure out the best way to build higher and higher when, maybe, we'd be better served simply living. I mean to say all this focus on the weight of life takes away from the lightness of it. I believe, wholeheartedly and unashamedly, that our lives are meant to be elegant. That very few things we carry with us are actually necessary or beneficial, and that weight comes off most easily when we aren't guilted about keeping it.

Our worth is not measured in weight. Our worth is not measured by what a scale says, whether it's for our bodies or our jewelry or a cultural scale of comparison to the person across the table. There is freedom in choosing to cast off weight, or in keeping it, if keeping it can be done with the admittance that it doesn't make one's worth larger.

By what things are you weighing your life? And how great, or small, is the weight of them, really?

Something stronger

 

"White men are human garbage and should be rounded up into camps."*

Recently, my friend Erin Riley wrote an article for the Sydney Morning Herald about the prevalence of racism, sexism, and homophobia  in AFL (that's Australian Football League, for my non-Aussie audience), and it kicked up a storm like you wouldn't believe. She's received death threats, been called names unfit to print, been told to kill herself, and dismissed as a typical, over-sensitive girl who should stay away from sports if those attitudes make her uncomfortable. 

All of this makes me furious. Erin is a kind and well-educated woman, a fierce AFL supporter, and an intelligent writer. She wrote an article that was true to the core - athletics is one of the few places in Westernised culture, or any culture for that matter, where it's often deemed acceptable to act completely unacceptably. 

I'm totally #teamErin.

So imagine my surprise when what I found most upsetting wasn't the ridiculous trolling of Erin's willingness to bring light to an undesirable and intolerable problem, but rather how people chose to support her.

"White men are human garbage and should be rounded up into camps."

"This is why men are pigs."

"F**k these knobs."

Here's where I see an even bigger problem arising. Supporting Erin in her fight for people to embrace good sportsmanship and basic human decency has turned into rallying against men altogether. And this attitude is just as unhealthy and unhelpful as an attitude that suggests being a sports fan means accepting vocal harassment and abuse.

Gender equality, and the overall progression of the human race can't stop at fighting for the voices of women to be heard. We need to include men as well. The mindset that because some men are ignorant (and some men are cruel and some men are bigots and some men will never change), all men must therefore be ignorant is dangerous, and the idea that men don't suffer from gender stereotypes is naive.

I say we fight for Erin, and for all the Erin Riley's of the world. We fight to end rape culture and slut shaming and wage gaps and the exploitation of women. But that fight doesn't have to be, and shouldn't be, against men - it has to be with men. 

And while that fight may be against some men, it isn't against all men.

Dehumanisation, no matter what form it takes, isn't okay. I've seen my friend Erin take insult after insult with immense grace and respect, and in response, I've seen other people dehumanised on her behalf. If we really want to stand up for equal rights and gender equality (whether that's through sports journalism or anything else), we can't expect change to come by being exactly like everyone else.

We have to be different.

We have to be kind.



*italicised quotes are comments taken from Erin Riley's personal Facebook page. I am not acquainted with these commentors, nor did I ask them to comment on their remarks. They are simply supplementary to this blog post.

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.

A belated Mother's Day

 

My mom has taught me a lot. 

She taught me how to do my laundry and change my sheets. She taught me how to mow grass (or was that Dad?). She taught me how to bake cookies and knead dough and wash dishes. She taught me how to get the temperature of my shower just right.

She taught me that books are better than television or movies, but that it's okay if you like both. She taught me to be diligent with my passions, and to never assume that loving something or someone will make things come more easily. She taught me to have high standards for everything in my life and to never feel guilty for expecting of people what they're capable of giving. She taught me to cut a little slack sometimes, because no one is perfect. She taught me to be respectful and reasonable, but to never discount the worth of drama or hyperbole when you're telling stories. She taught me that romance is wonderful, but it doesn't take away from your worth as a single person. She taught me that a good work ethic is important, but that a job should never compromise your morals or well-being.

She taught me that independence and strength are good things, beautiful things, necessary things, but that they should never come at the expense of other people. She taught me that being remarkable has a lot to do with how often your existence is worthy of recognition and very little to do with how often you are actually recognized.

She taught me that moving across the world takes courage and perseverance, and she taught me that I could do it. 

She taught me that all these things, and so many more, are better taught with actions than words, and in doing so, she taught me how to be effectively quiet.

My mom taught me how to use my voice.

Happy Mother's Day, Mama. You are beautiful and wonderful, and I am so privileged to have a mother like you - someone to teach me everything and still leave room for me to learn on my own.

Remembering

I think we’re all born with a song. There's this thing in all of us, right from the start, that's an intensely important part of our existence. It shapes us, helps us experience the world, sets us apart. It flavors our passions and choices, from the literature we choose to the places we make our homes.

Somewhere along the way, though, our songs get lost in the industrialization of life. We start thinking we have to sing for somebody or something else. Our songs become career-focused or finance-focused or relationship-focused and the idea of having the ability to sing inwards, just for yourself, feels wrong.

But one day, after you've stopped singing and can barely remember what it even sounds like, finally, finally, finally, someone builds an alley and puts up a birdcage and reminds you to hear your song. And you find yourself thinking, How ridiculous, to think this song wasn't enough.

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.

Valentine's Day and my two cents

There are always plenty of opinions floating around the media this time of year. Whether it's better to be single or in a relationship, whether you should celebrate or not, whether the whole idea of Valentine's Day is a corrupt, commercialized waste, and articles about the actual history of the day, to name a few. With so much stuff in our faces, it can be hard to decide how we should feel, let along how we actually feel.

Here are my two cents (since you asked for it).

Valentine's Day is, in the eyes of social media and popular culture, a lot like beauty. There's been a lot of talk about it, especially in the past several years. But it's basically a lose/lose situation, because people don't typically talk about the fact that you can't absolutely quantify things like beauty and holidays. When we talk about how beauty is on the inside and we need to teach young girls to care about more than just makeup, we neglect to remind them that it's perfectly acceptable for them to care about how they look. It's 100% okay for little girls to want to be princesses or moms, instead of scientists and doctors. And it's fine if they want to be both. We forget to tell them that feminism doesn't necessarily mean they can't embrace femininity, and we forget to tell them that it goes both ways. When I read letters from parents to their daughters and sons about their future spouses or how to properly date, we forget to assure them that being single won't mean they're incomplete. In all this talk on all the things we can be, it ends up feeling a lot more like of list of things we can't.

I have a man in my life that I adore, and I chose to spend my Valentine's Day apart from him, celebrating with a dear friend of mine instead. It doesn't mean I hate Valentine's Day or that I think I'm better than couples giving and receiving romantic gifts. It just means that this time around, my celebration with a friend is more pressing than a dinner date that I'm supposed to have. But if I'd chosen to make plans with my gentleman, it wouldn't have made me any less of a woman.

Here's the thing: If you like Valentine's Day, celebrate it, even if you're single. And if you don't like it and all the things that it arguably implies, let the day pass. It's just a day. And while it's definitively true that love, all kinds, can be celebrated any day of the year, it's just as true that it's nice to set aside a special day for it. Because it's nice. And just like your decision to wear dresses over jeans or heels over sneakers doesn't give you the expertise to comment on the woman or manhood of any other person, neither does your affinity, or lack thereof, for this day give you the privilege to scoff those who feel differently.

The world is a big, big place, but it somehow manages to feel really small. There will be more voices in it than you could ever imagine, and there's not much we can do to change them. Today, though, you can choose to which voices you're listening, and you can choose what voice you're sending out.

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 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.

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.

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.

East coast sun sets

 

I've heard a lot of people say that they don't like overcast or rainy days because they feel as if they're trapped in a box. I think that's natural, in some ways, to feel a little more closed off when we can't see the immensity of what's above us. But I think it's also a little ridiculous, like we somehow forget that the sky is still blue. It's as if we believe the clouds haven't just covered the sky; they've occupied it completely. They haven't. It's the same sky, just hidden under a different blanket.

Perhaps the same can be said of East coast sun sets. We think they won't be as glorious because since they aren't on the West, you don't actually see the sun. But the sun sets, regardless of where we're standing, and it is just as magnificent.

Here's the thing about life: there will always be a place that seems better than wherever you are. Richer, fuller, a greener patch of proverbial grass, if you will. 

But the grass isn't greener on the other side. It's greener where you water it.

Here lately

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At Bondi Beach, enjoying the immensity.

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

Tourist.

Pounding the rock.

Childlike.

The life in this place seriously amazes me.

Community.

A little background

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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