The Love Letter

Today I finished my fifteen month journey of reading the Bible in a year.

Obviously I didn't accomplish my original goal of reading it all in twelve months, but life happened and here we are.  It's weird to think that when I began, I was a whole year younger, with so many dreams and hopes for what the year would bring.  The journey wasn't anything I expected.

I struggled in the first few months to find a system that worked for me so that reading God's Word didn't feel like a chore.  Eventually I sucked it up and developed the habit of waking up fifteen minutes earlier every day so that I could take that time to sit with God and soak in His message.  Some mornings my heart was too heavy or too tired to read, so I simply sat in silence with God, or poured out my heart in my prayer journal.

Because I was no longer beginning my day with the stress, anxiety, and nonsense that often comes with scrolling through social media or watching the news, I began to feel more peaceful, and I noticed God's Spirit moving in me in a more real way.  I began to make better choices throughout my days and develop other good habits.

From the outside, my life hasn't changed much in the last fifteen months, but I honestly feel like I've been on a real journey.  I've had some beautifully fun reunions with old friends who are more like family, and I've been through some seriously dark times and struggled in silent desperation.  I've had deeply profound spiritual experiences at the beach, and had tearful meltdowns when circumstances led me to eat cold Chipotle alone in the car after a long, frustrating day at work.  I've had identity crises where I've tried to reconcile who I was with who I am with who I want to be with who God created me to be.

And all along in these growing pains and turbulent existential waters, the love letter that is God's Word has reminded me of His love, His peaceful ocean of mercy. 

And I've learned that what's even more important than loving God is recognizing this love He has for us.  His love for us is fierce and gentle, all-encompassing, unconditional.  He takes us as we are, and, if we let Him, he will make us new creations in grace.

Take this from 1 John 4:10 as His valentine to you:

In this is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the expiation for our sins.

He loves me.  He loves you.  He loves the cranky lady in line  at the grocery store.  He loves the person in front of you who failed to use their turn signal.  He loves the person in authority at work who continues to make decisions you disagree with.  He loves us.

He loves you.

It's not coincidence that Lent begins on Valentine's Day this year.  God's message of love for us is also an invitation to take the time to let Him tell us just how much He loves us.  One great way for women to do this is by signing up to receive daily Scripture readings with short reflections through Blessed Is She.  These have been a huge source of grace for me!

In addition to these daily dives into Scripture, I'm going to be re-reading one of my all-time favorite books, I Believe in Love by Father Jean C.J. d'Elbee.  Every time I read it, I am able to go deeper into the mystery of God's love for us, and He helps me to believe even more strongly in Love. I highly recommend it!

So, Happy Valentine's Day, Happy Lent, and take heart knowing that God loves you more than you will ever know!  He loved you first and He will love you forever!

The Winter Blues

Is it summer yet?

Just kidding.  But not really.  I need summer in my life.

This was actually going to be another post about how much I hate winter and how the first few weeks of every year leave me depressed and full of self-doubt and whatnot.  And then I was like, OR. . .

I could write about HAPPY things.  Like, what exactly, despite the horrific blanket of cold grayness that covers us here in Ohio during 97% of the winter

Is it 9 am or 3 pm?  Who can tell?  It's all the same sort of blah.
#DREARYANDDEPRESSING

I am actually excited about this year.  So here we go.  I have made a list of five of my favorite ways to ignore the winter blues this year without resorting to hibernation under an electric blanket with lots of delicious food and feel good movies about people who live at the beach because while that all sounds wonderful, it's not even remotely healthy. . . or possible:

1)  Love & Sunshine
A photo book by me in which I took advantage of a FREE Shutterfly photobook coupon by smothering the pages with my own photos of brighter, warmer days and happy moments of grace that I captured last year.  It's a good reminder that winter is only a season, and that spring will come again and be AWESOME.

Mmmm....I love sunshine.

2)  La La Land

It is romantic and beautiful and absolutely one of the best movies (if not THE best) I've ever seen.  It's like a dream with incredible detail and fun singing and dancing.  I left the theater in such a dreamy state that I hummed and danced my way through the street to our parked car, and Nick was in such a dreamy state that I could tell he almost considered joining me.  I've been listening to the soundtrack constantly and reliving the beauty, which has proven to be a fabulous way to rise above the winter blues!  "Here's to the ones who dream, foolish as they may seem..."

For the record, this is the FIRST screenshot I have ever taken on my phone. I'm quite proud of myself.  Watch out world. I can do technology now.

3)  My Best Friend's Wedding
Not the movie, but the actual event of the wedding of one of my best friends ever who is getting married in St. Louis in February!  We've been making plans and gearing up to celebrate and reconnect with old friends for a week-long getaway from work in the middle of the winter.  Just having something to look forward to helps brighten the days (even though, I'm sure I'll be dealing with post-wedding blues when it's all over, but that will be for another post!). ;)

4)  My new Curly Girl Planner!
If you haven't heard of Curly Girl Design (Leigh Standley), I highly recommend you check her out!  I have been obsessed with her work for years.  Her greeting cards are adorable and I simply love all of her designs!  I was just saying the other day how I wish I could have a book with all of her designs in it.  The NEXT DAY I came across this planner on clearance which is chock full of her adorably inspirational designs and quotes.  Hopefully it will make this year of adulting (which will include my transition from my twenties to my thirties *gulp*) a little more colorful!

Too. Cute.

5)  Reading the Bible daily

I wanted to read the whole Bible this year and to really understand it better, so I've been reading it every day.  Reading the Word of God has filled me with a subtle but real sense of hope, peace, and comfort, and plenty of questions!  I dug out my old notes from my college Bible study classes to help gain clarity on some things.  It has also made me curious to learn more about Judaism and Islam, and to see how our roots are all connected, so I plan to do some more reading on those religions as well.  #themoreyouknow

*To make sure I get through the Bible in a year in a manageable way, I downloaded a free app that breaks it down into easy-to-digest daily readings.  The app also offers cheesy little videos with overviews and insights to supplement each book or major section.  There are probably better apps out there, but this is the one I happened to pick--let me know if you've found a different one that you really like!  ALSO, while the app displays the readings on your phone for you, I choose to read from my actual Bible, mostly because I prefer the feeling of actual books, especially THE BOOK.  But when I finish reading from my Bible, I click the check mark on the app so it keeps track of my progress for me.

Anyway, that's how I'm managing the winter blues this year, because I don't want to let seasonal depression and self-doubt and stressing out about adult things take away from the simple joys of every day life.

Here's to the new year!

  

Winning at Home Cold Brew Coffee-ing

Today, I woke up winning.

I made my cold brew for today yesterday so I wouldn't have to make any coffee on my day off.  And this particular batch of cold brew was de-licious.

One of the newest coffees we have at work is Boston Stoker's Juan Carlos Organic from Honduras, and I am in love with it.  Its notes of orange, blueberry and brown sugar create a smooth and sweet citrus crispness.  Its complexity makes me want to sing Katy Perry's "Firework" and shove a sample at every person who looks even remotely interested in coffee so we can love on it together.  I've been excited to try this one as a cold brew, especially now that I think I have perfected my home cold brew method.

After my last post, my husband bought me flowers

I think he likes me.

AND I discovered an important tidbit about my homemade cold brew.  I made another batch of Dark Matter's Unicorn Blood and let it chill for an hour or so before drinking it.  It was so much better than the last time when I added ice to the room temperature brew.  It brought out so much more of the coffee's sweetness that I had missed in my other brew methods.  Maybe this is a "duh" for most people, but whatever, sometimes I'm impatient and I don't want to wait for my coffee, especially after already waiting 12 hours.  In any case, now I know to plan my cold brewing better.

So yesterday when I got up before 4 am to get ready for work after about three hours of fitful sleep (during which I dreamed solely of coffee), I started a batch of cold brew with this new, magical Honduran coffee.  The beans were ground the day before (I don't think my husband or our neighbors would appreciate me grinding coffee at that unholy hour of the morning) so all I had to do was measure out the grounds with the appropriate amount of water into my handy-dandy cold-brewer (which is actually an old Budweiser beer pitcher that we have laying around--don't judge me; it works really well).

Around 5 or 6 pm, after the cold brew had been sitting for 13 or 14 hours and I had worked a full shift of barista-ing, taken a long nap, and had my own throwback 'N Sync jam-fest on my search for food, I went ahead and strained the coffee, and put it in a pitcher with a lid in the refrigerator.  It was waiting for me this morning when I needed it, and I tell you what, it was as magical as I hoped it would be.

The first sip danced and rolled around my tongue in a taste sensation.  Even after I swallowed it, I continued to taste the different layers of goodness that lingered.  In a coffee professional's terms, it was like a crisp, bright orange with a sweet blueberry syrup body and a brown sugar finish.  In my own personal terms, it was like a beautiful, sunny day at the beach, full of love and tacos, crashing waves and salty breezes.

Perfection.

All around, it was a win.  If you would like to be a winner too, check out my cold brew recipe below and make it your own!  Let me know how it goes, and hit me up with any questions, comments, or suggestions.  I don't know if you know this about me, but I love talking about coffee.

Happy brewing!

Easy Magically Delicious Homemade Cold Brew Coffee
*Note:  it looks more complicated than it is because I like to be thorough.  #sorrynotsorry

What you will need:

• 1 cup of your choice of coffee beans
• a coffee grinder
  (*Note:   If you don't have one at home, don't worry. You can usually take your beans to your local grocery store or non-pretentious coffee shop or wherever you bought them and ask nicely for them to grind your coffee for you on a coarse grind, like for a French Press.  I do this all the time at work for people who bought their coffee beans elsewhere, and it is not a problem at all.)
• 3 cups filtered room temperature water
  (*Note: The water doesn't have to be filtered, but it definitely helps, especially if your city's water is as terrible as mine is. The room temperature thing is vital though, because if the water is too hot or too cold, it can cause the coffee to taste bitter or harsh.  I just keep a gallon jug of drinking water handy on the counter so it's there at the right temperature when I need it.)
• a pitcher or container of some sort large enough to hold at least 6 cups  (*Note:  A glass container like a mason jar might be better than a plastic one taste-wise, but I use what I have available, which is an old, plastic beer pitcher.  I also recommend something with a spout so that you don't end up with a splashy coffee-ground mess when filtering the coffee.)
• a lid or something to cover the above container (I use plastic wrap and a rubber band)
• a spatula or wooden spoon or something to stir with
• a kitchen strainer and/or some cheesecloth or nut milk bag
• (*Note:  I just use a standard metal kitchen strainer because I don't mind a few stray grounds in my coffee--I consider it a bonus!  If that bothers you, I suggest using cheesecloth or a nut milk bag to help catch the smaller ground particles.)
• a pitcher or container with a lid to store the coffee in the refrigerator (I got a cheap quart-sized Rubbermaid pitcher for 3 bucks at Meijer.)

What you will need to do:

1.  Grind 1 cup of your choice of coffee beans on a coarse grind and dump the coffee grounds into your container of choice.
2.  Add 3 cups of room temperature water and stir for about 10-30 seconds.
3.  Cover the container and let the concoction sit at room temperature for about 12 hours.
(*Note:  Keep your sitting cold brew away from excessive light or heat--like windows and stoves.  ALSO, 12 hours is relative. I let mine sit for 12-14 hours, depending on what I have going on. I wouldn't let it sit much longer than 14, though, or you will end up with more of a concentrate.  However, if a concentrate is what you're going for, I recommend letting it sit for 24 hours.  I haven't experimented with concentrates yet, though, so I don't have much advice on the subject beyond that. . .)
4.  After 12ish hours, remove the lid and give the coffee a little stir to loosen the coffee grounds.
5.  Set your strainer (and/or cheesecloth/nut milk bag) over the opening of the pitcher or container you plan to store your coffee in.
6.  Slowly pour the coffee through the strainer into the pitcher.
(*Note:  If you can manage it, it helps sometimes to use your spoon/spatula to hold back the coffee grounds and let more liquid come through so your strainer doesn't get overloaded with grounds and your counter doesn't get covered in coffee splatter.)
7.  Put the lid on the pitcher and let sit in the refrigerator for at least an hour.
8.  Enjoy within 3 days for best flavor (will technically last a week or so).

Yields:  about 16 oz (2 cups) of magically delicious cold brewed coffee.
*You can easily make more, just make sure you keep your coffee to water ratio at 1:3 and have a big enough container to hold the coffee and the water with at least about an inch of room at the top so the coffee can breathe.  Otherwise, it will overflow like a volcano.

Snow Glow

It's as if my life has been made up of a whole bunch of different compartments of sh. . .stuff I have to deal with.  Like time was moving me neatly from one compartment to the next, and I dealt with each one the best I could then moved on.

Then I flew across the country, to the side I'd never been to.  The grass was definitely much greener there, the trees taller, the mountains higher (obviously, since we don't exactly have any here), the people nicer, the coffee better, the food tastier, life slower. 

Out of my comfort zone I stretched and reached and dreamed for things I never dared consider from my bubble.  The world was bigger, brighter.  The light shone differently so that things that were once in shadows were now in the light.

Sunday morning sunshine in Portland.

The best thing I brought home was not, in fact, the t-shirt with the pine tree on the front (although that is pretty fantastic) but a new perspective and a renewed mind.  I am so thankful for the opportunity and the experiences I had!

Especially considering the fact that shortly after I arrived home, all of the compartments of stuff I had to deal with decided to collide.

I suppose it's just another side-effect of Adulthood, that the to-do lists only become longer and more detailed, that for every item you check off, three take its place.  Or perhaps it's simply the fact that practically everything in my life has been in the process of changing since this past April when I moved out of my parents house and my dear work friends told me they were moving away, followed by my engagement in May, followed by the decision in June that I would keep my position at work but switch companies, followed by all of the changes and absurdities that go along with keeping your same job but switching companies, management, and teammates in July, followed by painful goodbyes in August, followed by a month of mourning and adjusting in September, followed by my first ever business trip in October, and now here we are, knee-deep in marriage prep and snow, just in time for the holidays.

It's been a busy year, busier than I realized.  And I don't see it slowing down in the near future.  But at least I have a slightly better grasp on my sanity than I did even a week ago.  I'm learning to roll with the punches, to not over-think things too much, to leave work at work, to enjoy the little things about these crazy days of my entrance into Adulthood.

It's so the little things.  Like my car battery dying on my day off instead of on a morning when I had to be at work at 5:45 in the morning.  Like the sun sneaking its light through the crack in my curtains to form a perfectly golden exclamation point on my wall.  Like the ridiculous beauty of this early onset of winter in the Ohio Valley.  

Yes, I think I am just going to surrender everything and let this glorious sunlight melt the cold bitterness in my soul.  

Mallows

On New Year's Eve we drove to Minnesota for a wedding.  The new year dawned somewhere between Indiana and Illinois.  It had started snowing and he was focused on keeping the car under control so that we didn't die.  I was marveling at how quickly the roads had gone from black to white.

As we slipped between time zones without a countdown or a ball drop or waiting around watching the clock, the new year slipped in without fanfare, just a continuation of the year before.

But then, aren't they all anyway?

I think about last year, how I considered it The Unexpected Year.  I had no real expectations for myself or the year.  I had no idea what it had in store, but I offered it to God with my trust, knowing that all I could do was change my attitude.  I call the result growing pains.

I was promoted at work to a manager in training, then when my former boss quit, I got her job.  I achieved a new level of barista certification.  My old college roommate got engaged.  My brother got engaged.  My friend from school got engaged to my cousin.  I turned another year older and I realized that I was too focused on what would happen next that I forgot to enjoy the moment.  From then on, I let myself enjoy the moments and feel the pain.

I learned to take stress at work in stride, to do everything in my power to handle stressful situations, and let the rest go.  I learned so much from the incredible women I work with.  I learned to do my job the best I can, but to not take it or myself so seriously.

I took a road trip to the mountains of Pennsylvania with the man I love.  We took a road trip to Baltimore for my brother's wedding where we had a great time and I gained a sister.  I took a road trip with some family to Iowa for the wedding of my friend and my cousin and I was so happy I kept crying.

I came home and celebrated two years with the man I continue to fall deeply in love with everyday.  We geared up for the holidays and our big road trip to Minnesota at New Year's, but tragedy hit.  A close family friend was diagnosed with stage four cancer.  He fought bravely, and I prayed that he would be able to at least have a peaceful Christmas at home.  God took him to his eternal Home for Christmas, and we mourned our loss.

The holidays carried on, as did the wake and the funeral.  Family I hadn't seen in years came in town to visit and that bittersweet week was one of the longest of my life.

Then came the epic road trip to Minnesota, the one we'd been gearing up for for quite some time.  It was an adventure through snow and ice and negative temperatures and the stomach flu, and the culmination of an unexpectedly action-packed year.  It was a beautiful wedding and a chance to see friends I hadn't seen in years.

And as we drove home through a dark Indiana night after the snow had stopped falling and traffic had lightened, the wind kicked up and in the distance were red blinking lights.  They were the big white windmills, eerily lighting our way, and I thought the same thing I do every time I see them:  wouldn't it be fun if instead of being white they were colorful, like giant pinwheels?!  (If you disagree, you're lying to yourself.)

And it reminded me of something he had said in one of our many conversations during that 15 hour road trip, how some people are the campfires that bring other people together.  "I was not the campfire," he said.  "I was the weird kid with the marshmallow stick."  I was the weird kid who avoided the campfire altogether and hid in the cabinet to stuff my face with marshmallows (or so my mother tells me. . .I was four).

So even though this year was off to a weird and rocky start, I am determined that it will be a good one.  We will paint the windmills to look like pinwheels, eat marshmallows and be happy.

Open Fire

He builds a fire like the boy scout he is--

newspapers, matches, planks of wood

that turn flames green and blue and purple.

The light autumn breeze blows

smoke in the face

but we are fine:

content.

He busts out a cast iron pan to make us a snack,

drops popcorn seeds in,

covers it with foil and we wait.  

The butter catches on fire,

and we watch the sad popcorn burn,

then try again

a different way.

It's edible this time, so we eat

content.

Sirens wail and we wonder if the drunk kids on campus are at it again.

The sirens don't fade into the distance;

they come closer.

The sirens wail for us.

The firemen come around back, 

say they got a call that a fence was on fire,

but they see that all is contained.

"What are you cooking?" one asks.

"It was a sad, half-ass attempt at popcorn."

"Glad to hear it.

You're not allowed to have an open fire in Dayton 

unless it's for cooking.  

Always make sure you've got some marshmallows handy in case we show up."

He winks, they leave, we laugh:

is that true or was he just saying that because he wants toasted marshmallows?

The Fountain Pen and the Crayon (part two)

Continued from The Fountain Pen and the Crayon (part one) by guest writer Nick Scott.  I hope you enjoy this concluding piece to our adventures in Baltimore as much as I did!

Ah the open road. . .anything can happen on a road trip. Everything is fresh, new, and filled with excitement around every turn. I have always found driving to be a passive form of amnesia. Forget where you’re going, forget where you've been. Allow the wind to whistle through open windows, let the sun shine from above and fill the cabin with music. Days like this are meant for cruising and not blind speed. 

Dear God, this is a beautiful country!

Climbing up the mountains through the clouds, we pass a scenic overlook where all we see is fog. On a sketchy road through uncivilization we seek food and fuel but only find fog.  Then the clouds break and the sun shines and suddenly we are surrounded by water—a mountain lake shimmering deep blue diamonds beneath green slopes, and boats--lots of boats. This then becomes the highlight of our drive--such an oasis of beauty could not be found on the turn pike or toll road.

Our arrival in Baltimore was without trumpetis convocation.  You see, Baltimore isn't really a roll-out-the-red-carpet kind of town. It’s more smile-and-compliment-as-you’re-stabbed-in-the-side--“Charm City” it’s called. Still though, we were together and not in Ohio for a full weekend.

Back home, my Fridays are usually spent at the corner seat of a finely established Irish bar in Dayton, Ohio. Myself, a man named Jackson, Shamu (like the famous orca whale), Rob, Whitey, our benevolent host Mr. Flanagan, and occasionally countless others all seem to cross paths on Friday afternoons. We discuss life, fullfillingly meaningless things, topics of good nature, and just enjoy the breaks from the ordinary before the avalanche of the weekend crashes down upon our heads.  Occasionally Jackie will receive a pass from the purgatory of her day job and swing in wildly like Quasimodo yelling "Sanctuary!" (*editor's note:  this is only a slight exaggeration. . .) cornering up for a Guinness with the rest of us.  Given that Friday was our only semi-full day together in Baltimore, we felt compelled to carry on our Dayton routine to settle our souls before the wedding festivities began.  I had heard from the man named after a famous whale of a place in Fells Point in Baltimore called Leadbetter's.  Since you should always follow the orders of men named after famous whales, we went off in search.  

Fells Point  is an oasis from the grime of the city. I imagine that since it is filled with countless bars, restaurants, and old television landmarks, it is populated by a decent kind of people, the kind who don’t stab you in the side, but rather smile and just steal your wallet. We walked along the water's edge enjoying each other’s company as we searched for our original destination and the purpose for our adventure to Never Never Again Land.  We found the hole in the wall called Leadbetter's only to discover that on a holiday Indy race weekend in a major metropolitan city a bar didn't open until 4pm. What manner of hysterical nonsense is this? I see the people on the loose in search of food and beverage and this place offered none. We were desperate now, our plans thwarted, time was short and we needed to act quickly to salvage our day. Back-tracking toward the car we noticed a place called Slainte on the horizon. It seemed yuppie-Irish but for sure they would have another culture's good food. We popped in, settled up to a table, and placed our order.

I must be honest, as I don’t even remember what we said or if either of us spoke. I felt we were the silence in a storm; people flying by in all directions surrounded us.  Our thoughts were on the day to come, and, distracted, I left my wallet on a bench by the water.  I realized when we had returned a half hour later to the hotel.  Sure that someone would have taken it by now, but hoping for the off-chance that it was still there, we made the thirty minute drive back to the water.  Much stress and prayer later, the wallet was found exactly as I left it.  In the 8th most dangerous city to live in, my wallet sat safe on a bench in public for over an hour--a Baltimore Miracle!  But now we were late for the rehearsal. . .

Racing downtown we were dressed to our best ready to stand in support for these two preparing for their day of celebration. I was semi-instructed to put my normal nonsense aside. We would from this point on direct our focus toward the one we would soon call Krevin. Intrigue is my only feeling this wedding eve. When it's close family or a couple you know well getting married, you understand what’s happening and in many ways it can almost be boring and uneventful. Not the joining of two as one, but the motions of the days leading up to the big day. This was different, strange being a wallflower at this lovely occasion. It was clear from my view that this evening and the next day would wrap around these two like a thick cocoon and fill them with God, love and excitement.

Is there a more beautiful setting for two people to join hands than a well sorted old church? It’s like having the home court advantage, it has to help the occasion even if only slightly. Friends and family are gathered, music is playing and it’s almost time. I must point out however that I fear some who were in attendance might focus on the heat of this sweltering August day. Was it actually heat? Or was it something greater, far beyond our understanding? I was there and I felt something else:  love. This same wedding between these two people in the middle of winter would have felt the same. I truly felt like God was warming each of our souls in attempt to share the feelings these two had for each other. 

The parties have assembled and the music has heightened--it’s time. At that moment, whatever anyone felt about the thought of “heat” was gone. Stricken instantly from the conscious mind all our focus was on the celebration. Music filled the air accompanying a liturgy that felt like a floral breeze. We should all be thankful to have savored this brief moment in time. I’m a man of top tens and this one was up there.

Ah wedding receptions, a reason for guests to be appropriately drunk. Just a short trip downstairs and we as guests were treated to what could have passed for a hidden Tuscan hideaway. Lights circled the space with laughter and smiles filling the air. A unique calm settled over those of us in attendance and we were treated to tales of each half of Krevin past. We sat, chatted, and enjoyed the most delicious dinner one could ever have. I mean that in all sincerity. Our meal felt homemade and that is something special. A homemade meal is like a lighthouse on a shoreline, it will always lead you home. I believe strongly in the power of a meal, the combination of family and friends around a table creates an impenetrable force. It reminds us of what is really important, and will always warm the soul.

I should emphasize one thing about this entire tale of nonsense, fountain pens, and drunken crayons.  It's not the sights or sounds that any of us will remember, not the words that were spoken or the delicious food we ate.  What each of us will remember is how these two made us feel.  For a few special days in August, two people were kind enough to share their love for each other with their closest friends and family.  To Krevin I say, may your days be filled with smooth seas and calm breezes.

The Fountain Pen and the Crayon (part one)

"Sometimes I use a fountain pen, other times I'm a drunk three year old with a crayon." So says Nick Scott about his writing.  The following is the first part of a series of creative nonfiction guest posts he's been working on to describe our latest adventures.  His creative prose weaves a descriptive story of our excursion to German Fest and preparation for my brother's wedding in Baltimore with a social commentary based on our everyday ponderings of the American Dream.   It began as Fear and Loathing in Baltimore, inspired by Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by his favorite author Hunter S. Thompson.  Editing was my job, and I loathed it, because it was all so good, but for the sake of brevity, I kept only the main points.   Enjoy! 

        The air is positive this day, strong and willful. Surrounded by an unflappable presence we are guarded. Strange how those around us don’t seem to notice. No time for this strong presence to be wasted on the herds. We are absorbing all greatness and through glory we would prevail.

       We can be found sitting full and fat, a glutinous mood we are enjoying. People talking, children running--are they finding enjoyment in the finer things in life, or blocking out the darkness for a quick glimpse of happiness? We are here for purpose: this is a day of exploration. Together we are finding our balance of love and togetherness. These are pigs free on a weekend pass. Slaughterhouse Monday can be spotted on the horizon and soon they’d all be butchered, sold off for another week of blood letting in corporate America.

     Gentle horn-blowing of oom-pah music rounds out the senses as we sit strong like pillars of society enjoying the fruits of Bavarian flavor. Wondrous feelings of longing and intoxication on this sunny afternoon. An effervescence of flavors sight and smell consume the conscious mind. Who has created this unique layer of festive flavor this cross between beer, almonds, sunshine, happiness and love? Our discussion swings wildly between love, displeasure in our work, and upcoming wedding travel but it's clear love is the root of the grand tree that is growing strong. We stand tall meeting the sun with our faces and march toward another location.  How will we survive this unfortunate circus? Where is the love and the longing? Is it there or here, we shall see where this journey leads and wonder how it will end.

    On the journey we often find ourselves fighting against Corporate America--where is the American dream? What has come of possibility? Today’s future is ripe with uncertainty and hopeless doubt. Many of us are told to chase that collegiate immortality and then when complete we stand before an elderly robe handing us a certificate of completion. Go forth and forge a prosperous path through a labyrinth of bottomless debt. Some manage to tackle this tower head on and come out the other side with the appearance of being unscathed. Prices will be paid with bits of the soul if not careful to maintain a sense of purpose and humanity whilst forging ones path. We see this everyday as the good or former good rise and fall with the changes of season.  Finding balance between want and need, desperation in the mind and desire in the heart I see as the ultimate challenge to survive in this new world. . . We don’t know what tomorrow will bring but we will through faith and love walk on. . .

      Our destination was Baltimore for a wedding, a joining of two souls into one. What frivolous family frolicking fun we will have. I have never attended many out of town weddings, but I understand the trauma that can befall anyone involved with an at-home wedding. I fear then that these emotions can increase rapidly the further from home one travels. My only real worry was our sanity. A human mind is a powerfully fragile thing and we were already under an increasing emotional strain. In order to protect ourselves we would need a mountain of prayer and strong defense mechanism to fall back on. Prayer is an easy and effective way of settling ones mind. It keeps us from becoming too over whelmed. Yet when suffering under the strain of what would undoubtedly be a wild family trip, sometimes the simplest defense mechanism is childish narcotics:  we had 2 pounds of gummy bears, four bars of imported chocolate, bags upon bags of mini bags of chips, and gallons of sugary sweet tasty beverages. Would more be necessary? Perhaps not but during long trips its best not to take any chances when dealing with matters of the mind.

     Route planning is important for any trip. An appropriate discretion of time must be allotted for each variable within the journey. When to leave, which direction to take, where to eat, and when to rest. Avoiding the uncommon (communist’s) states would be a priority for safe travel. I once got food poisoning from a Pizza Hut in lower Tennessee. I was discovered by friends lying near a water runoff from a nuclear power plant. Absurdity of this level would not be tolerated, and I knew it.

   We were set then--5 am Thursday morning we would depart Dayton bound for the disaster of Columbus, Ohio and The Ohio State University. Our passengers would be the best man and his keeper, Jan and Den, I call them. Our plan was to arrive early load up and be gone before the corporate zombies had time to endanger our lives by being late for work. If all goes to plan we will be out of Ohio before 10:30 am.

to be continued. . .

Summer Reading

Pages worn and weathered, yellowed on the edges, spine crinkled in half and splitting at the ends--a book well loved and well read:  my copy of Ella Enchanted* by Gail Carson Levine.

It's my favorite book of all time, even now in my mid-twenties.  I read it every year, at least once, usually in the summer when I feel like going on an adventure with an old friend.

You may find it strange that of all the books this English major has read, a children's book is her favorite, but this book changed me.  It tells the classic tale of Cinderella, but with depth, believable and likable characters, humor, seriousness, and charm.  It transported me in the sixth grade to an enchanted place where even I, shy and awkward as I was, could rise up to become a heroine.

I'm sure feminists everywhere love that this heroine isn't just a timid good girl waiting for her prince to come along and save her.  She is brave, clever, and determined and takes her destiny into her own hands.  She doesn't win the prince over simply by her beauty, but by being her spunky self.  Their love grows naturally, and in the end, she sacrifices everything to save him.

Reading it now, I recognize how the simple but rich telling is similar to Ernest Hemingway's "less is more" style that I love so much.  I notice how and why the author's choice of descriptors enchanted me so much.  I pay attention to the mechanics, and wonder at the brilliant simplicity of it all.

Ella's narration heavily influenced my own voice in writing.  I realized early on that I would never conquer ogres, or amaze anyone with my quick wit.  But I could use my words in my writing to say what was in my heart, to use my power of the pen to fight the good fight.

I aspire.

*I know what you may be thinking:  "Isn't that a movie with Anne Hathaway?"  The answer is yes, and at the same time an emphatic NO.  There is a movie starring Anne Hathaway with the same title and same basic concept, but an entirely different story, different characters and blatant disregard for the brilliance of the book.  I saw the movie once in theaters when it first came out, and I was traumatized.  I had such high hopes that here, finally, people who hadn't had a chance to read the book might be able to have at least a glimpse at one of my favorite stories ever.  But it was not to be.

I realize now that this comes to mind (I try to block out the movie and pretend that it doesn't exist most of the time), that this is the real reason I never liked Anne Hathaway as an actress.  Because in my heart, as a young impressionable woman, she destroyed my favorite character on the big screen. It wasn't exactly her fault, since she didn't write the script, but she completely misrepresented my favorite literary character--something I was unable to forgive her for until she played the desperate prostitute in Les Miserables.  (I couldn't not respect her after that.)

If you have seen the movie Ella Enchanted but never read the book, whether or not you liked the movie, please do yourself a favor and read the book.*

A Simple Life

It was definitely time for a vacation, so we ventured forth on

(1)  an epic road trip.
          We hopped in his silver Saturn and split out of Ohio.  Skies were blue, summer was near, and we were burnt out.  Ohio became West Virginia became Pennsylvania and we stopped to clog our arteries with sandwiches topped with french fries and coleslaw (#Primanti Brothers #totallyworthit).  The sinking sun painted the sky lavender.  The earth around us rose until we were surrounded by dark peaks.  The road became winding and I fell asleep, only to wake and see how many more stars there were out here to wish on.
           Days of new scenery in a place where life is a little slower but also a little fuller.  It was an escape from the daily grind and perpetual fake-it-til-you-make-it service, a chance to volunteer and explore and spend time with family and friends.  We ate super-fresh ice cream and possibly the best pizza I've ever had, went treasure-hunting, and found new inspiration.
          The 7 hour trip home became 12 because we didn't want to come home.  We stopped whenever and wherever we wanted--Emlenton, Muskingum, Tlaquepaque to name a few--and returned fresh and ready to tackle

(2)  this thing called life.
        Funny where life leads us when we follow Christ--on greater adventures than we ever could have imagined for ourselves.  Through the twists and turns, two old friends/roommates/household sisters reunited to share our stories and our faith over a meal of Mexican food and margaritas--a communion.  She told me about a book, how her life was changed by

(3)  Our Lady of Kibeho.
        My friend gave me a copy of the book and I was enthralled.  It was such a simple, beautiful, moving telling of the apparitions of Our Lady to the African people.  She appeared in Rwanda and warned about the genocide that would occur if the people didn't change their hearts (not their religions, their hearts).
        She spoke of the importance of kindness, forgiveness, love for each other and all of humanity.  She spoke of the importance of suffering, that we can't reach heaven without it, so we should be thankful for it, because it means we're on our way.
        She spoke of her love for all mankind, that she desires us to come to her Son through herself, and I marveled at the way

(4)  Mary constantly reveals herself to us.
         She has appeared to Bernadette at Lourdes, to the three children at Fatima, to the young women at Kibeho--to name a few.  When I was in Austria, she kept quietly revealing herself to me, leading me closer to her Son.  She called me to serve as a handmaid in Lourdes and help guide people to her by

(5)  Marian grace.
          Marian Grace also happens to be the name of a Nashville-based music group that aspires to transform the world through beauty.  Their albums Marian Grace: Ancient Hymns and Chants and What Wondrous Love have become the soundtrack of my life these days.  The beauty and the glory in the music elevates my soul and turns my heart and mind to heaven.  Listening to their music has truly inspired me and helped me find that

(6)  inner peace.
           No matter where I go in this life, I am confident that God's loving hand is guiding me.  I am slowly learning how to let go of my own whiny needs and wants to live for a greater love and glory. I've stopped comparing myself to others and started accepting my own faults and weaknesses.  I've stopped wasting around watching lame TV shows on Netflix and started spending my time doing more constructive things.  I've stopped worrying so much about getting eight hours of sleep every night and started making sure I maintain a balance of work, rest, exercise, family-time, catching up with friends, prayer, etc.  I'm working on being over-prepared but also able to go with the flow, having a lot to do, but also making time to play a game with my little sister when she asks.
           I've found that these little adjustments make a big difference, and allow me to maintain inner peace while I struggle to find my place here, to be in the world but not of it, to stand up for what I know is true.
           It's a simple life I lead, but it's rich and full, and I am thankful for every moment.

Ruah

It's the wind that kept on blowing that mid-May afternoon--
as shadows stretched across bending grass,
and leaves sprinkled sunshine over shivering grins--
life in its full,
joy that is complete
when you simply be.

So real it's like a dream
and you never want to wake
to find that the sun shining through the leaves
is a lie.

He takes a picture of the sun, the clouds, the sky,

and you drink it all in.
You think he's fascinating,
he thinks you're drunk.

Maybe you're right (you are),
maybe he is (he's not),
either way the bells toll for you both.

And the wind,
the wind just keeps on blowing,
and your grin begins to tremble.
As you drink the day in you begin to giggle
and think, maybe he's right--
wouldn't that be fun?

It's that moment you can't forget
when He smiles
and you are shaken
to the core
that One so Good
should love you,
that, even though
you drive west in the morning with
the sunrise in your rear view mirror,
the Wind,
that Breath of dreaming and Spirit of truth,
keeps blowing in your ear.

A Simple Moment of Beauty

My whole world was changing.  I had crossed the state of Ohio to go to college--my first experience branching out into the great unknown.  I loved it, but I was beginning to question everything--who I was, where I came from.  Everything I'd always been so sure of seemed to be shaking uncontrollably beneath my feet.

I was hurrying upstairs to my room one day (I lived on the fourth floor of the dorm building, and those endless stairs thankfully helped stave off the freshman fifteen.  However, moving down to the first floor the next year resulted in sophomore seventeen) when I saw it through the window on the fourth floor landing.  I laughed but didn't quite register what I'd seen.  I stopped halfway to my room, and doubled back for a second look to be sure I hadn't imagined it. Nope.  There it was.  I walked closer to the window and took in the scene.

There at the edge of campus on the old golf course past the rugby fields and the water tower, stood a line of trees bare in the dead of winter, and in the middle of them stood a lone evergreen, slanting slightly to the right, holding its ground in stable instability.

It made my day.  I laughed about it and showed my friends and they appreciated it, but didn't seem to understand why I thought it was so funny.  I'm not entirely sure either, but it reminded me of Charlie Brown's Christmas tree ("It really isn't such a bad little tree. . . it just needs a little love."), and it reminded me of myself a little bit, but mostly, it just made me happy.  I was struck by the simple beauty of its nonchalant absurdity.

Eventually, at the end of my sophomore year, I took some friends on an adventure to meet "my" tree.  I had been nervous about going up there, afraid I wouldn't be able to find it, or that it wouldn't be as great in real life as it was from afar.

It was, though.  It was wonderful.  I gave it a hug (yes, I am a real life tree-hugger) and explored the field where it lived, vowing to come back and visit.  It was another year before I made the trip again, but it became a place of refuge, a place of peace, almost as dear to me as the Port (the Portiuncula chapel on campus modeled after St. Francis of Assisi's church where perpetual Eucharistic adoration goes on throughout the school year 24/7).  The tree had become a symbol of hope for me, a friend to keep me sane, a constant source of joy.

I am so thankful for the "friend" that tree has been to me.  It can't speak, and no I don't think trees have feelings, but I believe God uses such seemingly insignificant things as trees to speak to us, to show us His love for us.

I've had several different trees in my life that stood as such reminders of God's enduring love, like the giant pin oak in our front yard that sang me to sleep with breezy lullabies (until it was struck by lightning for the second time and we had to cut it down), or the umbrella-shaped flowering dogwood in our neighbor's yard that bloomed white and snowed petals in August (until they cut it down).

I do worry about my tree.  As campus continues to grow, I am fearful that one day I'll return to campus and my tree won't be there.  To help immortalize it, last year for Christmas my boyfriend had an artist friend of his paint my tree with me sitting underneath it reading a book.  There aren't words to describe how much that meant to me.  Last week, my boyfriend finally got to come with me to meet my tree.  There aren't words to describe how much that meant to me.

I could go on and on about the way God speaks to us through trees and the beauty of His creation, but I'll finish by telling you about a movie.  This past Christmas, my aunt and I discovered a delightfully sweet movie called The Christmas Tree about a nun who has befriended a Norwegian spruce.  I love the story for many reasons (I mean, it's about a nun and a pine tree--a few of my favorite things!), but mostly because I relate so much to the simple spirituality of the nun, the way a lost love led her to find God at her center, and her quirky relationship to the tree.  The movie ends with her saying:  "That's what a tree is, a simple moment of beauty."

This is my simple moment of beauty.

See You In The Eucharist

It was my first road trip in My Little Red Car, and I was itching to escape Ohio.

I headed North and wondered again why it is that the sky seems so much closer in Michigan than it does in Ohio.  The countryside I fell in love with a few years ago--the green and gold and blue that stretched forever, dotted by red barns and silver silos and fluffy white clouds so close it seemed you could touch them--was less romantic this time around, more worn, yet still just as loved.  Nothing had changed but me.

In Michigan and Illinois, I explored small towns and churches and coffee shops--Ugly Mugs and Cheeky Monkeys and All Chocolate Kitchens--with some of my best friends.  We talked and laughed and my heart healed from all the time in-between our last goodbye and this hello.

The goodbyes came around again, like they always do, and  most of us didn't know when the next time we'd say hello would be.  The last goodbye was to a dear friend after morning Mass, and then I hit the road home.

It was a long road, full of traffic and construction (and a really slow Megabus hogging the left lane for way too long).  But the sun was shining and the trees were swaying and I stopped at Fair Oaks Farm in somewhere, Indiana just because their advertisement "dairy-ed" me.  And then they "double dairy-ed" me.  I can't resist a good play on words, or a latte made with super-fresh whole milk, or cows.

I let the joy and laughter and memories of the weekend follow me home.  I was so thankful for my adventure, and so glad to be back.

I can't help but wonder again at how different it is, those three or four or five years of life at college compared to the rest of our lives. How unfair it all seems that the people we grow and experience so much with suddenly aren't there anymore, at least not as often.  Still, I hold these people in my heart--anyone I have ever loved or have ever come across, I hold them in my heart.

When I went to Mass the day after I came home, and my heart was bursting with thanks for the last few days and for the re-connections it had made, I felt my friends with me, and it's no surprise really.

My household sisters say goodbye with the phrase "I'll see you in the Eucharist."  And it's true.  When we participate in Mass, we participate in the heavenly feast, with all the angels and saints and souls.  When we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we receive His whole Body.  We are the Body, and so we receive one another.  The love that binds us--Love Itself--is there on the altar, ours for the taking, for the receiving for the giving.  When we receive Communion, we are in communion.

So, though I miss you all, my dear friends, I will see you in the Eucharist.

once upon an adventure

the world is yours so take it over.

take over the road and find a farm 

in Lima

where lies the piece of your heart you've been missing.

soak in the shine

of the best monday you've had in a decade

then eat the famous burgers

and sweet sugar pie.

stick your arm out the window and let your hand fly

in the rush of the country breeze.

this road leads to anywhere

somewhere you've never been

so take it and find yourself

in Bell-frickin, Ohio,

heading toward West Libertarianism

until you stop for ice cream

just because the sign is hot pink flashing

lights lined with lime

and the best butterscotch milkshake

ever.

spit your gum out the other person's window

just because it's fun to watch them jump

and hear them squeal.

then drive

and watch the sun dust the golden rowed fields

with a brush dipped in rose and lavender, 

light dripping over treetops

and you know your heart is free,

and safe.

drive--

sing old 90s music and be young--

until the end of the road.

then turn and drive

back home where you began

because tomorrow is tuesday.

inertia

an object in motion wants to stay in motion

but not me

i fly and flit then come back down

and burrow in my happy.

pass by a gas station late at night
and hear the murmur of souls filling up
to keep on the journey.
there they are but i am gone
and keep moving
in my little red car driving
with the windows down
and i keep moving--where does that mean i am?

opportunities make themselves known,

but we remain faceless friends.

the future about to take shape goes back to what it always has been--
i am tired and oddly relieved

to be out of control and in the familiar.

i would have stopped time watching shooting stars in a boat on a lake,

but then i wouldn't have lived for months in the alps with my second family.
i would have stopped time riding for freedom in the country,
but then i wouldn't have splashed through sprinklers in a moonlight serenade.

these are mere moments--

sprinkles

of grace
in a cup of black coffee
in a heart beating fear.

The Best Latte

The sun shines over Vatican walls, the snow and smoke rise and fall, but we are gone. . .It was the best latte I'd ever had, and I drank it in that holy Roman morning.  Drunken confessions forgotten, now I was drunk on Mercy.  And in the days, months, years to come, it was the Mercy that sustained me.  The memory whispered happiness in my heart--joy beaming from a forgiving face.  But I wasn't there yet.  Mercy still had work to do in me.  And I drank it in.

The memory is a manifestation in my heart of the words "His mercies are new every morning."  (Lamentations 3:23)  But Mercy takes different shapes.  Sometimes it's a reprieve from hardships, a moment of grace that allows us to catch our breath and regroup.  Sometimes it's an opportunity to try again and do things differently this time around.  Sometimes it's straight up humility that reminds us of our faults, imperfections, and weaknesses.  Always though, His Mercy presents us with hope and the comfort that He is everything we are not and, since He loves us so much, He will do what we cannot. 

As I lived and learned this "tough love" of God, I struggled through classes and work and the self-inflicted emotional stress of my life by drinking lots of coffee.  Because the coffee I was drinking couldn't compare to that Roman latte, I decided to add a little color one day by grinding up some rainbow sprinkles with my black coffee beans.  The taste was unaffected, but there was a little extra pep in my step, a spark in my soul.   

Then there was a dark, quiet coffee shop in my hometown where I went to drown in sorrow with my old friend.  We were searching for answers, for our place in this world, this fast-paced society so contrary to our own characters.  We wanted to change the world but didn't know how.  We sipped our lattes and suddenly I felt that Roman morning flood through my veins:  Mercy.  Somehow, this local coffee shop had produced the best latte I'd ever had this side of the Atlantic.  This was coffee for my soul, a spark of liquid happiness to push me forward, to give me courage and strength to take on life in all its obscurities.

I got a job with the company that owned that coffee shop, and thus began my education in the world of coffee.  I've learned that each cup of coffee is so rich with stories and enough character to hold its own, even without adding sprinkles.  Coffee is colorful, like the people who grow it, the people who harvest it, the people who process it, the people who roast it, the people who brew it, the people who drink it.  Every cup is a communion.