[just another autumn day]

The rain that I love gradually lets up. The yellow leaves on the ground are now soaked and the water makes them shine. The sun peeks through and warms the view- children in rain boots, leaves clinging to the branches that have held them since spring, puddles that ripple under the still-misting sky.

Isn't it thought provoking that, that amongst a literal season of death in the world of nature, we feel such excitement of life happening? Perhaps it's because we agree with the truth that in order for new growth to happen, old things must die off, clearing space for us to curl up in a cozy blanket of introspection to renew and refocus.

Sarah Dubbeldam, "Darling" Issue No. 5

It is during this season that I feel my soul awaken like never before. Autumn brings me such newness, such life. I feel free. I feel sure.

Yet how often in the past weeks have I been reluctant to notice the autumn-ness? I have ignored the quiet voice that beckons me to stop and see. I push it off, for seeing can happen later. When I'm less busy, less stressed, less preoccupied.

And yet the very seeing is what stirs up my soul and gives me Life. The Word experienced.

The color of the day is scarlet- the red of the leaves in the vineyards, the old brick buildings that seem to carry extra charm this season, and the coffee cups that hold scrumptious gingerbread lattes. Cheers to autumn and the reminder to keep my eyes open.

[home is where the heart is]

As soon as the plane landed, I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding since May. Every single moment during the too-short visit to San Diego felt like home. I was struck by the beauty of the life I had created there- the relationships that more closely resemble family than friendship, the church that convicts me to live a life of intention and action, the ocean walks that fill me with awe and reverence.

"Do you feel like you're where you are supposed to be?" I was asked.

Sonoma County is breathtakingly beautiful, and the redwoods make my heart soar. My family is here, and I can see my grandparents and cousins within a five minute drive. {Yet it isn't a question of the merits of my hometown.} My soul longs to be elsewhere. I am in a waiting period, biding my time until I can leave. I rush through every day, wishing time would pass faster. I have spent much of my life waiting to live: waiting to move to college, waiting to find the right career, the right man.

But is that how my life is meant to be lived? Hurried through to get to something hopefully better? Not noticing the beauty around me, the work God wants to do in me right here, right now?

We may be fairly happy now, but there's always tomorrow and the prospect of a happier place, a happier life. So all options are left on the table. We never fully commit. That is, I think, a dangerous thing. We can't love a place, or a person, if we always have one foot out the door.

[Geography of Bliss, Eric Weiner]

I feel like I'm in a desert. A place of forgottenness. But looking back at my times of waiting, I know that deserts aren't that at all. They are times of tremendous growth- fresh buds popping up all over the place. It's a time when I learn to be humble, when I learn that I have limits and am fragile, and when I learn where true strength comes from.

The color of the day is sea green. The color of the ocean on a sunny San Diego day, of the bracelet that travelled to me from my best's adventure in Nicaragua, and of the succulents that sit on my windowsill who thrive and grow in arid conditions.

Can these dry bones live? They can, and they will. There is still beauty in my life, every day, that I walk right by. {And I can choose to not only see it, but celebrate it.} To be aware of these tiny glimpses of heaven in my life. To be all here for the time that I am here. To know that while I may or may not end up in San Diego, that my life doesn't stop, or pause. That this is my life right now. And I must notice it.

asking for wonder.

Salutations! I hope this evening finds all of you well. I'm currently snuggling in a warm blanket, drinking chamomile  tea and listening to the rain fall on my tin roof.

I had a friend ask me one time: "Why do all girls love the rain?" Now I don't know about all girls, but I do know that rain is one of my favorite things in the entire world. First of all, it's cuddle weather. Which means it's perfectly acceptable to curl up with a good book or movie and not feel guilty about wasting a sunny day. And it gives us puddles to jump in and rainbows to gaze at. But it's more than just a good excuse. Rain is so refreshing- the sound, the smell, the feel. It washes away... it cleanses. 

Rain reminds me that we're not in control. It reminds me that there's something bigger. In short, rain gives me wonder. wonder... the capacity to see and feel awe at beauty in the everyday. It's so simple, so accessible, yet how many of us have it? 

If I could ask for one gift for the world, I think it would be wonder. It may sound small, but I don't see how callousness, impatience, or anxiety could coexist with true wonder. Wonder could be the gateway drug to kindness and compassion and connection and love. 

I would choose a color of the day, but how could one choose a color for wonder? Perhaps a color that changes from the deep blue-green of the sea to the bright yellow of a sunflower to the purplish grey of a mountain and back again. You get my drift?

Praise be to the Lord, for He showed His wondrous love to me.

Psalm 31:21

I can't.

"I can't" is a phrase we're taught not to say from a very young age. We're encouraged to focus on things like "I can do anything if I put my mind to it!" "Reach for the stars!" "Believe in yourself!"

The American dream is built upon hard work and self-reliance. I was raised to be a strong and independent woman. I am grateful that I was taught how to stand on my own two feet, but in my independence I have learned to keep others at arm's length. Because being authentic and real is scary. It's risky. But living as though I have it all together all the time isn't the answer. It's a major obstacle to connection: with others, with God.

Unlearning self-sufficiency has been a hard lesson to swallow. Accepting that I can't do anything, no matter how much I put my mind to it, is hard. To know that no matter how hard I try, how much I strive to achieve perfection, it's impossible. I am a fallible, broken human. And the crazy thing is, that I am loved and accepted with all of my inadequacies. My flaws. My scars. I don't need to strive for that perfect image. In fact, hiding my inadequacies is probably the worst thing I could do.

It's funny actually, that I could sing "Jesus loves me, this I know" for years and years of my childhood, truly believing it, yet 20 years later I am flabbergasted at this basic truth: Jesus loves me. Me. Not the person I try to be or strive to be, but me. Just the way I am.

Sometimes going back to the basics is hard work. Taking down my walls that I've built over the years- walls meant to keep people at a distance, in case they might run away when they see me vulnerable and weak. Ignoring the lies that tell me I'm never good enough.

It's a daily struggle for me to come to God and say:

"I can't- without You." 

To live in my weakness so that moment by moment I might experience His power, His love- the kind that doesn't love someone because they're beautiful, but loves them in such a way that makes them beautiful [Rob Bell, "Sex God"].

The color of the day is Dandelion yellow. Some might call a dandelion a weed, others call it ugly. But a dandelion is delicate and vulnerable. And it is also beautiful.

If you have time, listen to this sermon podcast. It's number 8 on the list: "The Beauty of Weakness" by Pastor Matt Moore. 

channeling Forrest Gump.

Day 3. Of what? one might ask. To which I would reply, oh my training for a marathon. Well, technically a half marathon, but considering my limited running ability it might as well be a million miles. The goal feels a little far at this point.

I mean, I consider myself an active person. I'm a fan of hiking and camping and having dance parties by myself and even going to the occasional exercise class. But somehow no matter how "active" I am, I never quite reach "athletic." And this marathon thing... it's for athletes. 

I started with a two mile run with a friend who is helping me train. She has successfully completed FOUR half marathons despite being a self-confessed "non-runner" before. Inspirational. So we ran- her with her light feet and unhindered breath while I dragged my feet and sounded like the Big Bad Wolf. Just call me Beowolf. Growl.

Color of the day is blush- the red color of my cheeks an HOUR after my run. Yes, an hour. My entire body hurts, but I shall prevail. 

Countdown to athleticism: 11.3 miles, 129 days.

I got this.

Pupukahi i holomua.

(unite to move forward)

With a sunburnt nose and about 1,000 new freckles, I returned from a family vacay to Maui, Hawaii. During our week on the island of the valley, my adventuring spirit delighted in ATVing all over a red dirt mountain, swimming with a sea turtle friend, and speeding through the air on a zipline. I owe my daily enjoyment of the sunrise to the time difference and I discovered that I love macadamia nuts.

It was a battle for me to go on this trip... I was nervous about requesting vacation time so soon after taking three weekends off for Africa. What I hadn't anticipated was my struggle with the sharp contrast of the luxury and indulgence of a vacation in Hawaii with the need and poverty I saw in Africa last month. Why do we get to splurge on ourselves for an entire week when there are people who can't afford their basic necessities for a day?

It's easy for numbers and statistics regarding the poor and needy to seem cold and distant. Orphans are easier to ignore before you know their names. They are easier to ignore before you see their faces. It is easier to pretend they're not real before you hold them in your arms. But once you do, everything changes.

[Radical. David Platt]

It's a question that, unfortunately, I don't know the answer to. I don't know if it's okay for us to spend frivolously instead of using the resources we have to meet others' need. I honestly don't know if it was okay for me to be in Hawaii.

My inner tension was coupled with tension from some very un-fun family dynamics during the trip. However, I believe there is a certain beauty in allowing our loved ones to see us at our weakest. To not hide the tears. To acknowledge the hurt. Though there was pain, revealing those wounds gives us the opportunity to heal them. To learn how to not hurt each other. To be aware of the way we love each other.

Color of the day: pacific blue. the color of the warm island water, the color of a water that washes away hurt, tear, and questions; of a water that hopefully gives us clarity and healing.

thunderstorm on beach day.

today was great. rain on a tin roof and the thunder rolls. hot cocoa in the backyard patio, talking boys and love and God and church and water heaters. beach: brighten the gloomy day with conversations about nothing: sing. rex and ryats. riots. surfers. not funny. laughter. kart wheels. impromptu banana bread baking and card tournaments. amazing.

it could have been a bad day. easily. but it turned into the best day.

blue gray: the color of the ocean and the clouds blending together. calm. beautiful. sweet stillness.

You make beautiful things.

You make beautiful things out of the dust.

You make beautiful things.

You make beautiful things out of us.