"You say grace before meals.

All right.

But I say grace before the play and the opera,

And grace before the concert and pantomime,

And grace before I open a book,

And grace before sketching, painting,

Swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing;

And grace before I dip the pen in the ink."

G.K. Chesterton

from an early notebook (mid 1890's)

the most important meal of the day + berry berry stuffed french toast

I grew up with a real distaste for breakfast. I went through phases where I simply wouldn't eat breakfast, I hated the nights where we had "breakfast for dinner", and the only kind of egg I would eat was a hard boiled egg. Then there were phases where I would eat food in the morning but it was more along the lines of cold spaghetti or pizza (seriously so good I would still eat it for breakfast). At least I was eating something for the most important meal of the day, right?

I have since acquired a better breakfast routine. While I would say my first breakfast is a simple cup of coffee, I eat granola with fruit and yogurt nearly every weekday morning. It is so satisfying.

One of my favorite parts about the weekend is that I have time to make a real breakfast and don't have to rush off to work.

About a month ago I made french toast for my very first time (with the help of this girl). I know, I know, it's quite ridiculous that it took me 25 years to make french toast, but, like I said, I used to hate breakfast.

Anyway, I'd been eyeing a few things in the fridge and while sitting in church Sunday morning enjoying my first breakfast (delicious Metropolis coffee), I began to dream up what version of french toast I would try making when I got home.

This is what I came up with: And here's a forewarning, it's quite the improvisation since I didn't have quite what I needed and there is little to no nutritional value to this breakfast ;)

First I brought out the kitchen aid to make some whipped cream. In my opinion, french toast must always be topped with whipped cream. (Combine heavy cream, a little vanilla, a couple spoonfuls powdered sugar. Mix until stiff peaks form)

I grabbed some close to being stale bread and dipped it in a milk/egg/cinnamon bath (For 2 pieces of bread I used 1 egg, 1/4 cup milk, a lot of cinnamon). If you happen to have a loaf of white French bread where you can slice a nice thick piece and make a pocket for stuffing, by all means -- do it.

For my stuffing (because, again in my humble opinion, one should never eat "unstuffed" french toast) I made a little blueberry sauce (combined a handful of blueberries, a tbsp of water and a few swirls of honey in a small saucepan and mashed it all together until it was nice and blue and saucy) and then combined the blueberry sauce with a little strawberry jam and mixed it with a bit of cream cheese. Now, I was a little over-zealous on the fruit side of things and this will cause the stuffing to be a bit runny. This is not ideal. It should be in the realm of "spreadable".

Now, if you had a nice thick piece of bread, cut a pocket and fill with the fruit/cream cheese stuffing. If you have regular 2-day-old bread, then take two slices and make a sandwich with the cream cheese goodness in the center. **Note I do brown the inner-sides of the bread before slathering the cream cheese on it.

Now throw this “sandwich” on the stove and cook both sides.

When it’s cooked to your desire, put french toast on plate, cover with more blueberry goodness, add a generous portion of that whipped cream and a sprinkle or two of powdered sugar.

(Optional: sit on front porch with large cup of coffee and people watch while M. Ward plays on the stereo and you indulge yourself in the yumminess of Berry Berry Stuffed French Toast)

Making space

I've been looking forward to this week for quite some time now: it's moving week.

The roomie and I have been throwing out and sorting and cleaning over the past few weeks; we have accumulated quite a bit of stuff living in this lovely apartment. Stuff that we will likely never miss after it's gone, stuff that has not seen the light of day in over a year. Stuff

like phone chargers dating back to 2006, old issues of magazines no longer in print, wedding invites, and taylor swift tote bags. And these-a-things-a-gotta-go.

I'm a saver, a collector, the sentimental-can't-let-go type of hoarder. I keep movie ticket stubs, cardboard coasters, business cards, t shirts I accumulated on trips out of the country, thank you notes and invites. Yep, I'm that girl (and I attribute this to being Tena's granddaughter). This really is not a quality I am so proud of. And a quality that makes moving a bit difficult.

So I did my best to not think about things and threw a lot of stuff out. Just dumped it and tried to forget about it. Moving on a little lighter with some open space (to eventually collect new stuff). Gosh it feels good to lighten the load.

Roomie and I spent the afternoon at the new apartment cleaning and envisioning everything in its right place. We filled the bookshelves and pantry and left open space for the movers to deliver the big stuff on Tuesday and then started dreaming about new things to buy and create to make this place our new home.

Like this reading bed for the den/guest room and adorable duvet cover I want in my bedroom.

My space is really important to me. I want my space to

reflect who I am, I want it to be welcoming, comforting and inspiring. And then there is sp

ace in the form of time, and the figurative space and, man, my mind has been on overdrive really turning these concepts over this week.

There have been so many questions running through my head about how/what I choose to consume to fill my space, what I allow to consume my time, what I do and do not leave time and space for.

Have you ever thought about that? Probably. I've thought about this many a times. I was just reminded again this week. I was reminded that what we put in will, indeed, affect what comes out. The person I am is most definitely a reflection of who I surround myself with, what I invest my time in and what I leave space for...

Exhibit A, B, and C:

Listening to sad love songs will certainly evoke melancholic state, sitting by big sunny window at work equals positive attitude and high energy, spending time seeking Him and the person of Christ, making space and allowing the goodness of God will surely produce the fruits of the Spirit.

That's supposed to be good news. It is good news. But it's also hard news. I guess the trick is making that space and leaving that space open. Not so easy.

Red is in the Land Too

Good gracious I have neglected this blog for far too long. Well, I wouldn't say neglect, I've thought about writing several times over the past month, but I quickly become overwhelmed by just how much I want to share. In the spirit of moving forward, the past month will go, more or less, undocumented. I return the blogosphere in the here and now...

Tuesdays seem to be my preferred writing day. I find this interesting as Tuesday is my least favorite day of the week. Tuesday is my arch-nemesis. Seriously, I have my reasons.

This morning started off in true Tuesday fashion. One of the very first calls I picked up was an upset (to say the least) father who openly told me he did not feel the need to treat me with respect because he wasn't treated with respect by the department I work in. He explained this over and over agaign all in a very rational manner almost as if I should agree with him that he shouldn't have to treat me with respect. I mean, because that's normal, right? Wrong.

I had to pause here, roll my chair around and soak in the sunshine that was pouring through the large window behind me. *sigh* I returned to the phone to continue to accept, apologize, ammend, and try try try again to move forward in the conversation.

I cling to sunshine; I crave it -- just can't get enough. I find rest and comfort in it.

Tuesday I spend my lunch hour outside wearing sunglasses, taking off my cardigan and letting my shoes fall to the step below. I pop purple grapes while I re-read Susanna's masterpiece. Jagged with Love is beautifully unexpected...

"red is in the land too, is in the the way we look at eachother, the hardness

of our sleep, the need to fall down, to tell of the pox that swept Aunt Jess,

the drink that ushers Father, the path that never leads to wealth or rest

or health - the the one we always take. Shalom, we say Buena Suerte."

Susanna's words strung so perfectly, so effortlessly together hold meaning.

On my lunch break, during the busyness of Tuesday afternoon, I think of book club. I look forward to an evening with dear friends, a spring dinner, maybe an Allagash on the patio. It will be delightful. We might even talk about books.

And then I have a hard time remembering why I hold such a distaste for Tuesdays.

Whatever this day may bring

On the lunar calendar, it's a new moon (no Twilight reference intended!), it's March, it's daylight savings, it's spring.

On the church calendar, we are in the lenten season. A season of somber anticipation leading to the death and finally the resurrection of our JESUS.

I would say both of these calendars put us in a time of awakening, looking forward to what is coming next.

There is something about spring that compels me to connect with nature, to return to a very physical sense of this earth. The ground is softening, the temperatures rising, the grass greening. During Lent, we look at the last days of JESUS on earth; a very human JESUS (...which leads up to a very beyond-this-earth event). I grabbed a book of meditations for Lent from church a couple weeks ago, and as I read the meditation (below) on the way to work early one morning, I was struck by the last two lines of Bonhoeffer's prayer. Lord, whatever this day may bring, Your name be praised. This meditation encouraged me to cling to a heavenly presence, to let go of the stronghold I have on this earth. To submit my flesh to my spirit...

I Cannot Do This Alone

O God, early in the morning I cry to you.

Help me to pray

And to concentrate my thoughts on you;

I cannot do this alone.

In me there is darkness,

But with you there is light;

I am lonely, but you do not leave me;

I am feeble in heart, but with you there is help;

I am restless, but with you there is peace.

In me there is bitterness, but with you there is patience;

I do not understand your ways,

But you know the way for me...

Restore me to liberty,

And enable me to live now

That I may answer before you and before men.

Lord, whatever this day may bring,

Your name be praised.

Amen.

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Tomorrow is the first of March. March -- the month that marks the upside, the light at the end of the long tunnel I call midwest winters. Last night as I walked down a slushy North Avenue with a friend and so badly wishing it was 65 degrees and sun still shining, I realized how quickly this month has passed. I know there's still a great distance between today and consistent pleasant spring/summer weather, but I'm so pleased that we've already made it soooo far through this winter.

February has had its own treasures, however.

The roomie found a diamond in the rough over in Humboldt Park. The past few Sunday nights a few friends and I have wandered west to Rumble Arts and put a great end to our weekends with a little class called "Drink and Draw". A little nervous week one, not having drawn anything since high school, having a live model was a bit intimidating. But this

class has become a welcome part of my weekend. And I'd like to think that Simeon, our slightly evasive Bulgarian instructor enjoys seeing our lovely faces each week we show up...not having a clue what we're doing, but doing it anyway.

This class is so great for a few reasons:

1. It's something so fun to look forward to on a Sunday night...an evening that's usually a little bittersweet and could be otherwise spent feeling depressed that t

omorrow is already Monday.

2. Drawing is something I would never otherwise do. This makes me look at things in a new way, and forces me to respond in a different way, using a different skill set than I usually do.

3. This is a fantastic way to support and BE a part of the community. We've met some wonderful people who contribute in one way or another to the Rumble Arts community...and it's by donation only.

I'd bet there's something down the street from your home too. I'd bet there's a class, a book club, an activity group that's calling your name. Maybe March will be a good time for you to get out and start something new? It feels good, I'm telling you.

In my own little corner

Like most little girls I grew up watching Cinderella. Not the cartoon Cinderella, rather the 1960's tv version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella. I loved it, I suppose my parents recorded it on VHS and it was stored alongside the numerous tapes of Full House in the two drawers on the large oak entertainment center in the living room.

I remember my Mom liked it too, and she'd sing along to the song Cinderella sings -- in my own little corner in my own little chair I can be whatever I want to be...

I guess it's kind of a sad part of the movie. But at the same time Cinderella is in her happy place where no matter how awful her stepsisters might be, she's in her own little world and happy there.

This winter in the midst of cold and snow, I've found my own little corner. Thanks to my uber-handy dad, I have a great little workspace in the back porch of our house. I like to spend time in there making unnecessary but very lovely things. Hanging up garland and lights, listening to music and writing.

This morning was a beautifully sunny and warm morning (actually got up to 56 degrees back there...that's an all time high) so I decided to sew a few things, to organize my big pile of fabric and take a few photos to share.
I guess when you think about it, it's a little silly that I spend my time in this tiny room that lacks heat...but there's just something about having a little space, a little corner, a little chair where you can retreat and call your own and create whatever it is you'd like to create.

Hope you enjoyed a sunny morning where you live too. The two feet of snow we had is slowly but surely melting into large puddles here in Chicago. And this is just the glimpse I need to know that Spring will indeed come again.

Must be something about Tuesdays

Yesterday was not a good day. I swear someone was hiding and laughing at all the little misfortunes that added up to a no-good-very-bad-horrible day. Such a Monday!

So this morning, as I dragged by tired body out of my warm bed (thinking how can it only be Tuesday???), I hoped and prayed and wished that it would be a good day. I would enjoy my coffee eat my yummy granola and settle in at work (after a very cold but SUNNY morning commute).

Ahh the sun. If it weren't for the sun, I'm not sure what I'd do (I guess this rules out London and Seattle as places to live). Even in February with windchills below zero and over two feet of snow on the ground, the sun brightens my day.

And then, behold an email. An email on a Tuesday. On a Tuesday that marks the release Over The Rhine's newest album. An email from Linford (who I'd consider the better half of OtR) who also looks on the bright side, who writes a beautiful message about the ice on their Ohio farm, the birds, the glinting sun, the "deafening and fabulous" and the beautiful and dangerous...

I highly recommend checking out their newest album "The Long Surrender" it is streaming on their website for free { overtherhine.com }. It's beautiful. I love the last track and wish it was longer. Of course I do, because I'm always tempted to hold on to things even after they're gone...

On another note. I'm also very excited that our newest book club book arrived in the mail today Essays of E.B. White.

And tomorrow is Wednesday and I'm beginning to think it may not be so hard to make it over the hump.

An email on a Tuesday

I don't know if any words can express how much I love the store anthropologie. It's probably a good thing that there isn't one in my nieghborhood or I would spend way too much money.

Last week on the way to an appointment downtown, I was walking by their new location on Chicago Ave and like a small child I found myself peering through the window at their big sale table in the front of the store. I walked by slowly convincing myself that I didn't have time to go in, but then quickly turned around because I had at least five minutes to spare. So I turned around and walked through their enormously large wooden front doors. It's heavenly. My senses are always awakened when I walk in. The capri blue candles that are lit all over the store tickle my nose. The fun ruffles, corduroys, wools all of them whispering for me to come touch them and feel how soft they are. Oh the sounds, the sounds of One Fine Frenzy, Ingrid Michaelson, or Martin Sexton playing overhead -- always deightful. And the sights, my goodness, I've never been somewhere so visually pleasing.

It's magical, really. Maybe even miraculous.

So when I got my weekly email from Anthropologie today with the subject line of {{{ outfits more than the sum of their parts }}} I smiled. I smiled because that is the exact way Frederick Buechner describes a miracle in The Alphabet of Grace. I recently finished reading this book (that was originally a lecture series he gave at Harvard years and years ago). One of the greatest things, I thought, was the way Buechner speaks of miracles -- because how can one begin to define them? And this is one of the lines I jotted down as I was reading: [a miracle] is when the whole is greater than the sum of its parts....when one plus one equals one thousand.

Wanna know something else that's a miracle?

This little guy.

We welcomed Chandler Edward to the world last week and I was so privileged to witness it and capture it in a way that will help his mom and dad (and everyone else) to remember how special that day was.

It's also a miracle that there's yet another little one growing inside my oldest sister and we so look forward to welcoming him/her into the world in June.

Expectations

Monday night I spent a bit of time in the kitchen. I received a new cookbook for Christmas and seeing that all of my leftovers from the holidays have dwindled, it was finally time to put it to good use. I looked silly, I had my running shoes on with leggings a tshirt and a brown polka dotted apron folded over and tied around my waist. It was Monday, the holidays were over, I had all night and nothing on the schedule....ahhhhh.

The lima beans soaked all Sunday night and it looked as if I may be eating this dish all week…I really hope I like lima beans… This American Life played on my ipod while I chopped the celery, onion, parsley, garlic and tomatoes that would eventually be added to the beans and placed in the oven. With my ear buds in, it sounded like I was in a kitchen with 12 foot ceilings. Isn’t it strange that when you put something ears the sounds just get larger? The knife hitting the cutting board, the celery crisply cut. You wouldn’t expect it.

I was peeling the tomatoes and was prepared to laugh as the previous segment of Ira Glass’s public radio show had me laughing out loud in the car all by myself as I drove over the Skyway to I 90 up 196 to Michigan. I was expecting to be entertained, to learn a piece of unnecessary but interesting information. I was waiting and anticipating and wanting to laugh.

Instead, I nearly cried.

Act II of this weeks show was a recording, an interview between two friends. One friend who had recently attempted suicide and the other who was hoping that by listening to his own words would change his mind, realize what he was saying, and somehow from that would regain the will to live. His plan didn’t work, and in fact, some time after the recording was made, the friend again attempted suicide, this time succeeding.

Not what I was expecting.

It's interesting to think about expectations and where they come from. I mean, how do these ideas even come about?

When you follow a recipe chopping things up and sticking them together and baking them, you expect it to have a tasty end product, when you invest time in someone you to expect to have a relationship grow, when you go through rounds of chemo, you expect the cancer to be gone.

What if we were rid of expectations. What if we learned to let them go?

Last week I visited a candle lit yoga class where the first position was sitting on your knees with your feet under you and toes tucked -- for four minutes. This may sound like a fairly simple task, but trust me, four minutes is a long time. The instructor made an analogy early on about expectation. Simple expectations. Expectations that you have for yourself, your body for others....and letting go of them.

In that situation it worked, it created a peace within the body to let go of disappointed by it's inability to be in a certain position or holding a certain pose.

Dissappointment, is that what failed expectations bring? Sometimes...

But what if we didn't have any expectations? What if I had no idea if I soaked dry beans and stuck them together with tomatoes and garlic and onion it would be edible.

If I didn't think my body was capable, would I even make it to yoga class at all?

If you didn't think a procedure would work, would you just not try at all?

I guess the question I'm getting at is is the process in itself worth it even if the outcome is less or different or not at all what we expected?

Cultural Heritage II was one of my favorite courses I was required to take as I attended a liberal arts college. I took a section that was a combination of literature, philosophy and religion. This was really the first time I studied philosophy and I only remember little snippets of what we studied. One concept I held onto and stored in the back of my mind -- Kants moral philosophy of people, places, things being a means to an end verses an end in itself.

Is the process an end in itself or is it simply a stepping stone to our expected end?

I'd like to think that everything has a purpose, should be appreciated for what it is, can stand alone. But I think in reality, most of the time without an expected end there would be no motivation to experience any of processes, people, meals, conversations that we find along the way.

This is a very lengthy post and am very surprised if anyone is stiiiiilll reading my ramblings, but these are just the thoughts buzzing through my head. Even in my writing, I'm not usually satisfied by the end product, but gosh, all the epiphanies and realizations and discoveries I make along the way -- the twists and turns they end up being more than what gets put onto paper.

So, until next time...

The first, last & inbetween

I feel at peace with 2011. I have no harbored fear, angst, anxiety....I welcome what is to come with open arms and usher 2010 out with equal contentment.

Within the hour I've rung in the new year, made my way to the home where I grew up, fulfilled the munchies and have snuggled into a big bed in my parent's guest room.

It is within this beautiful hour where strangers meet, friends toast & lovers kiss.

An hour, a day, a year. I've been reading Buechner who says [Today] is the first day because it has never been before and the last day because it will never be again. Be alive if you can all through this day today of your life. (from the Alphabet of Grace)

This is one of the many ideas that led me to choose my word for 2011 : {{{mindful}}}

Mindful -- present, connected, attentive. This is something I so admire in others. Being mindful of self. Being mindful of others, the world. Mindful in the here and now.

I welcomed 2010 in a similar way. Ready to reclaim, explore and cleave to a deep rooted joy. I was ready to let go of 2009, a year that held a lot of stress, loneliness and anxiety. And 2010 was indeed filled with joy, but also uncertainty and change. It was incredibly scary and refreshing. With joy I re-established my ability to respond positively to unfavorable circumstance. A year later, I feel as if I'm in a whole other world -- a completely transformed mindset.

Oh to be mindful of what brings us from one day to the next, from the first to the last. Mindful of the falling snow, toasting bread, and ideas lurking overhead, mindful of habits, passing time, and laughter, and mindful of expectations, conversation, and perception.

What's your word, resolution, theme? What's it's worth?

Untitled

I'd like to say I was in bed right now wearing a turtleneck, leggings and my smart wool socks.

I wish I could see the fallen snow from the window in my bedroom where it is 72 degrees. I wish You've Got Mail was playing in the background (maybe the part where the Joni Mitchell song is playing) and I'd be reading my newest old book checked out from the library. I wish the smell of coffee was still lingering from my morning cup and my insides still warm.

Maybe later, if I had the energy, I would get up and do a little sewing. Warm up a little bit of the ham & lentil soup that simmered on the stove last night.

I'd like to say that in a few hours when it really is time for me to go home that I won't have to venture out in the snow, I won't have to pick up my clothes that are scattered all over my bedroom, and that the garbage was already taken out. Yes, I'd like to say.

Oh I wish I had a river so long...

Comfort, Comfort Now My People

The rain turned to ice last night and this morning we woke up to snow. And wind. Brrr.
I warmed up at yoga this afternoon with Lauren. As we lay in savasana, we were instructed to let all the static fall by the way side. To be fully present, mindful of our breathing, but to not let all the background noise distract us.


Friday night, I stood in a hot dog shop next to Pippin's. While the guys got my order ready for two Chicago dogs and two dogs just ketchup, I had a moment. A moment where Vince Gauraldi filled my ears, where I watched couples and friends walking about down the city streets with christmas lights lit all over. A moment where I felt like I was in a holiday movie where the cameras were panning out and there I was standing alone.
But I wasn't alone. In fact I was in very good company. The Koster's were in town. And we were enjoying a beer at a hole-in-the-wall bar downtown that was playing Christmas tunes and decked out with boughs of holly. Since I had never tried a Chicago hot dog and we were all getting the munchies, it seemed appropriate to run next door for some grub. I found out I hate Chicago hot dogs. But now I can say I've tried them. Check. And I had a moment with Vince Gauraldi and the city lights.


Tonight, at the end of a fun filled wintery weekend, Elisabeth & I ran, literally, to Missio Dei at St. Paul's. We followed the advent liturgy and heard the words of Isaiah 40. We were reminded again to let all distractions and busyness fall by the wayside and to simply rest in the knowledge that we are loved. Again, reminded to be fully present and aware of why we are here and to whom we belong.

Reminders. Hmmm sometimes they can be so redundant, unwanted. Like when you're in high school and every time you leave the house your parents tell you to be good. (Or when you're 25 and your parents still tell you to be good :) ...) I hesitate to say, however, that reminders are unneccessary, because I often think they are just what we need. Reminders that we're not alone, in fact we are in good, comforting, loving, faithful company.

Bring me a white horse for Christmas

I've begun writing several posts that are now sitting in my saved drafts. There are so many ideas running around in my head. Bits about life at the hospital. About lunch breaks spent down in the Wood Chapel. Lunch breaks where I spend my time reflecting on advent themes, where I can't put down my used copy of Franny & Zooey, where the same man comes in everyday to pray in a certain direction.

Posts about scurrying home from the Wicker Park early morning service to start decorating the house for Christmas. Even though Missio Dei doesn't light advent candles, I can still visualize how quickly Christmas is coming. Back at Bethel there would be two pink candles lit on the wreath with the big white Christ candle in the middle...

I've started writing about music and how much it plays a part in my life. About incredible experiences at the Congress Theater seeing Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes as well as Grace Potter banging her long blonde hair all over the stage and then in a different realm the incredibly still and haunting voice of the petite brunette who helped lead corporate worship last night.

I wanted to share a conversation I had with a near stranger who if nothing else introduced to me a simple way of describing a complexity. That is for those things that don't fit in a box or under one label. Those people or ideas that you can't quite grasp....because they are not an 'either or', they are 'both and'. Because, for example, there are those people who are both calm and intense -- and it's not necessarily contradictory, moreso, I'd say it's a fusion of two things.

And all of these things stem from this inexplicable amount of contentment and joy that have decided to dwell in and around me this season. And for this, I am incredibly grateful.

Lessons I Learn from Lauren

I have a new ritual on Sunday afternoons.

Lauren, this fantastically grounded and energizing woman, teaches yoga at the studio around the corner at 12:30. I usually am scrambling out the door for one reason or another and make it just in time to throw my mat out on the wood floor along side 5 or 6 others, get in my cross-legged pose and chant a single "ohm" while we mind (but don't control) our breathing.

It always makes me laugh a little when she has to remind us to breathe. In addition to needing the reminder to breathe, last week I had to be reminded a few times to stop biting my lip. Apparently I do this when concentrating, when in pain, when holding something in.

Today, Lauren reminded us that we shouldn't be in pain, but it was okay to feel discomfort.

I thought this was just so profound. For so many reasons. Reasons I will elaborate on in another post.

Lauren also wanted us to focus on being thankful and accepting of where we are today. To let go of yesterday and not worry about tomorrow, just focus our thoughts on thankfulness and gratitude for today. So simple.

Being the week of Thanksgiving and all, I will share just a few things I'm thankful for:

Rosie Thomas's A Very Rosie Christmas

Gingerale

Video chat with Mom & Dad

Roomie/Friend dinner at The Piggery

Used books

**Something I am not thankful for: the centipede that just dropped from the ceiling on to ME. Don't worry, after it tried to escape into my sheets, I captured it and smashed it on to the floor. Sadly, I have a lot of practice dealing with centipedes...

Acorns: A Poem

I remember last year about this time, Maureen gave me a piece of paper. On this piece of paper was a poem by the German author, Goethe (whose name I love to say since I learned the correct pronunciation riding the Clark 22 bus).

Last year about this time I was working through questions like "why am I choosing to stay in a job where I am so unhappy?" and "why am I not able to respond to everyday and not-so everyday challenges in a positive way?"

Maureen thought it might help to take a look at things in a different light -- I think she was right.

Until one is committed

there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back,

always ineffectiveness.

Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation)

there is one elementary truth

the ignorance of which kills countless ideas

and splendid plans:

That the moment one definitely commits oneself

then Providence moves too.

All sorts of things occur to help one

that would never otherwise have occurred.

A whole stream of events issues from the decision

raising in one's favour all manner

of unforseen incidents and meetings

and material assistance

which no man could have dreamt

would have come his way.

Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it.

Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

Begin it now.

Goethe

Acorns: A Story

Another acorn --a bit more of a story...

I nearly missed my train stop on Saturday morning as I was reading an old journal entry. I was taking a moment to look back at a list I had made. Kind of an "honorable mention" list. People and experiences I had been so thankful for over the past year.

I laughed as I read John's name and that "I [would] forever love him for his tangents about the Twins, snatching food out of my hand and sprawling his entire body across my desk".

I had written that I was thankful for Josh at Missio Dei for "being the voice of God speaking reason and joy". I was thankful for my dear friends for being my community & for challenging me, to my family who doesn't always understand my day-to-day life, but loving me unconditionally.

I stopped as I was reading this list because I couldn't remember Maureen's last name. How could I not remember the last name of the woman who played such an influential and empowering role in my life last year at this time. It was on the tip of my tongue.

But I had to get off the train, because I had an open house to get to.

I walked into Loyola's Corboy Law Center (no, I'm not looking at law school, I'm considering this program) and went straight to the 15th floor. I was a bit late and didn't know what the format would be like for this open house (an open house that I wasn't quite sure was worth going to). I grabbed a folder, made a name tag, helped myself to a cup of coffee and sat down at a table next to a woman named Tiffany. I scanned the room, I was one of the younger ones there, there were more women than I expected, and I was glad I wore a skirt, I thought I had maybe over dressed. My eye caught Susan, yes Dr. Rans, and I momentarily felt as if I were sitting in her Metropolitan Seminar at the Chicago Semester building nearly 4 years earlier.

Then sure enough, another familiar face. It was Maureen, the woman who was on my list -- whose last name I couldn't remember. And there she was at the front of the room with her full name in large print on the projector screen as one of the panelists.

I was a little dumb-founded and probably had a smile on my face, the kind where my jaw is slightly dropped because I am not even aware of my own expression.

It was in that moment I was so glad that something, whatever it was, got me out the door and to that open house on an early Saturday morning. This was enough for me to know I was meant to be there.

Acorns: An Analogy

I was writing an email to my my bestest pal this week and there was just so much to say. I told her I felt like a squirrel who had been saving up all of her acorns in a hole in a tree some where and I was inviting her to come and look in this hole because I wanted to share them with her.

I've had this same feeling all weekend long as I have encountered new people, friends, opportunities and I kept on thinking I need to write this down!

So, here, I'm writing it down and sharing it with you. And for the sake of coherence, I will go in chronological order, and so that I don't overload you, I will show you one acorn at a time.

(I promise I'm not type A...not that that's a bad thing, if you happen to be type A)

My acorns:

I got a job. Technically this means the premise of this blog has come to an end. But I think that in a sense my searching and discerning will continue. This job is a good job, but this job, more importantly is in a place where there is room for movement & will allow me to continue my formal education. This job allows me to continue to work with the doctors and nurses that I have begun to get to know over the past three months, just in a different capacity and with different responsibilities. It is a great feeling -- a feeling like I can finally take my jacket off and stay a little while. It's also a little scary to transition into something that is permanent, long term when I have been trained to look at this time as disposable and temporary. Overall, I'm excited to delve into this new role.

Years back & Someone in front of you

5 and a half years ago I was so excited to move out of a dorm that most people on campus so kindly referred to as the 'Virgin Vault' and into an apartment downtown Holland with five of my closest friends. I was 19 (omigosh that's young). I wanted to be a journalist. And I had just taken the best course in my whole career as a student...learning from this guy.

Five and a half years ago I was working a summer job (thanks Dad!) for a manufacturing company inspecting small parts that would eventually be key components for car airbags. I had my nose pierced but I did not yet have a tattoo on my foot.


I went on a trip called Wilderness five and half years ago with 10 high school girls. I hopped on a bus and ended up in Colorado a day later in the middle of nowhere. This was the kind of trip where we carried everything on our backs including meals, pots and pans --we slept under the stars, ate our meals out of a 2-cup. The kind of trip where we shit in a hole -- the same hole everyone else in the group did and we didn't shower all week long while we hiked up a mountain.

(the kind of trip where you get to be in the middle of this beauty all day long)

I was a leader on this trip (along with another Young Life leader). A 19 year old college student with a couple guides and ten high school girls who complained all the way up and down the mountain. I was supposed to be the one to offer comfort and encouragement when they were throwing up from altitude poisoning or crying and wanting their mom on the second day when the guides went off in another direction in search of water. Hah. I wanted MY mom. I wanted to sit down and wait for someone in a motorized vehicle to come pick ME up and take me home. How was I supposed to be the support for these girls when I wasn't so sure I could hold myself together?

Sometimes it's hard to believe I ever did this (and survived). There are a lot of things I don't remember very clearly about this trip. But one thing I will never forget is the advice one of the guides offered us after day one. She told us this:

whenever you feel your pack getting heavy or your blisters on your feet are hurting -- whatever it is -- keep walking and pray for the person walking in front of you.

(our lovely guides who did eventually find us water & gave great advice)

She may have shared this with us because she was even more sick of the complaining than I was. And I'm not going to lie, I still heard a lot of complaints, and in my head I was still complaining, but it helped. It helped a little. And sometimes a little at a time really does go a long way.

Something New & A Thank You

A new monthly post kicked off yesterday on we re{knew}

Check it out!

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also....a little something that touched my heart to be included in this inspiration list.

Thanks JodiMichelle!