Train Trestle in Northport, Ala.

Me and Paul Simon, we're escape artists. We're always looking for a way out of discomfort. I've sat on my couch a handful of times in the last few weeks as this song spun on my record player. I've sung along, and laughed at the inventive ways ole Paul conceives to flee a scene. And only recently did it occur to me that I adopt the same wiley ways when it comes to figuring ways to make changes in my life.

Back last year, I read this article. It struck a chord. I adopted the author's suggestion to not get stuck in the now. Move, travel, take a class, take a risk. There is a season for wildness and a season for settledness, and this is neither. This season is about becoming.

Taking that to heart meant not being afraid to do something drastic. I decided that I was willing to take chances. Settledness has a way of creeping in. I was keeping vigil to make sure it wouldn't find it's way through my back door. Hurt, frustrated, lonely, bored. One thing after the other just drove my desire to want to get the H out of the place that I felt was leaving me longing.

I justified it all in the name of fighting complacency.

So, I carried on with my infamous scheming. I wanted to pen a great plan for my life, and I wanted the Lord to cooperate. Waiting on the Lord, I see now, maybe isn't quite so active as I thought. 

I don't know what the He has in store for my life, but I do know that I need to cool it. I'm going to practice being still for a while. No scheming, no list-making. When I'm chopping a carrot, I need to just be chopping a carrot.  Because, quite frankly, I don't think I've ever really tried that. 

source

For as much time as I spend thinking about the future, I've never before taken the time to speak to my to-be self. Thanks to futureme.org, that just changed. Through the site, you can opt to have a note-to-self sent at any date in the future. Chances are that by the time my letter rolls into my inbox, I'll have forgotten all about it. I'm hoping that it'll be a good reminder to the me-of-next-year of just who I was today, what I struggled with, what my fears were. I hope that when I read it, I will be glad for the ways that the year will have grown me. I hope that I will be proud of the life I am then living.

image from here

I'm twenty-seven years old today. 

Twenty-seven years young, rather.

Time has a funny way of running backwards. When I graduated college five years ago, I was so anxious, so certain that I needed to make decisions to solidify my future. Career, home, friends. I was setting precedents, I was settling. So, I thought. 

But, the older I get, (by grace alone) the wiser I become, the more I realize that I have more time to figure it out than I ever imagined. I'm in my fourth job, my fourth home. Over the last five years, my personal style has totally morphed. I've added entirely new columns to my resume. I'm a work in progress. And, that is a-okay.

I don't have to lose sleep at night about figuring out my days, my path, my progression. Life has this way of making one thing, one misfortune, turn into my next great passion or stepping stone.

Today, as I think back on the days I've been given, I'm grateful to a God who gives me sure footing in knowing Him. I'm grateful for family, for friends, for the church that always points me back to the Truth. 

I'm glad that my age doesn't dictate how settled I am supposed to be. I am who I am. My experiences have brought me here to be just who I am supposed to be on this June day. 

In My Words

For me, understanding has always been in writing. I only truly process when I hear or read, ruminate, and then write. God's Word is no different. A friend of mine recently challenged me to take some of the Psalms, and put them into my own language (whoah, watch out Eugene!) This, she said, was a way to engage my heart in reading Scripture. So, I gave it a go. And, what do you know? The Lord is meeting me in it. 

The below is my take on Psalm 77. It's His words, with my pen—His truth, with a bit more of my understanding. I pray that God would use whatever means possible to get to my heart with His Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love. I pray that for you, too. Because we need to hear it.

I shouted God's name. 
I yelled so loud so that He couldn't miss my voice.
When I was in trouble, I started toward God.
At night, I'd open my palms to Him,
but He didn't give me what I asked for.


I didn't stop. I remembered Him, and cried out to Him so much that it hurt.
I thought on Him, and became tired.
But He kept sleep from taking over.
I was way too upset to even form words.
I thought about the good old days.
I remembered those nights, and let my heart think before it asked:


"Is God always going to turn me away?
Will he ever treat me with kindness again?
Has that Never ending, Upstopping Love run out?
Has he gone back on His word to me?
Has he forgotten the meaning of grace?
In his anger over my sin, has he overlooked mercy?"


Then, I thought, I'll make this case:
I'll just remember the years when the Lord was so good to me; 
I'll remember his faithfulness, his miracles, and powerful displays.


The things you do, God, and are so OTHER.
Who is like you?
You do things that no one else can do.
You're just bigger.
You were the one that made sense out of Jacob and Joseph's story.


The water acknowledged you, though it stirred.
A storm brewed and raged, 
but it was all by your power, your hand.


It was marked-out path that took your children through the waters,
though no one acknowledged you as line leader.


You never stopped taking your people by the hand—Moses and Aaron, 
it was YOU who led them.

Journey of the Heart

He may let them rest in a feeling of security, but his eyes are on their ways. Job 24

I've been away from home, in all senses. I've been travelling like a fiend lately. First, the Carolina coast, then the Big Apple, and now the honky tonk capitol of the world. I've been invigorated by life in each place. The quiet gentleness of a cool waterfront wind, the ever-evolving energy of the City, the sights and sounds of the South. I find beauty and truth in each. I'm grateful for the chance to experience scenery change. It's good for the soul every now and again to see the way the world spins in different corners of this map. 

I could go on and on about what I saw, tasted, and experienced in New York. That city has a way of weaseling its way into my heart more and more with each visit. Creativity inhabits every square inch of that place, and it's life-giving simply to breathe its air. I had the chance to attend the National Stationery Show while there this go-round. I met folks whose blogs I've only ever read from my Southern station. I saw paper goodness galore, gained a bit of confidence in my craft. It was nothing short of a gift from God to be able to walk among the folks I did. 

In all my travels, I've realized, too, the wandering path of my own heart. No matter where I go, what He is doing in me is steady. He is at work in the shadows and shame of my sin. He is digging into my insecurity and wrong-thinking. No matter where I turn, He is there. 

I've been reading this book lately. I wasn't expecting it to pierce me the way that it has. But, it has deeply affected my thoughts, my conversations, and my dealings with the Lord in the last few weeks. Larry talks at length about how people tend to seek peaceful pain-free easy lives rather than God. We pray, weep, and gnash our teeth when things go poorly. We pray our way out of rough patches, and then come into seasons of goodness, thanking God for His love.

Larry all but uses me by name. 

I've been so focused on getting past the pain of heartbreak. I've wanted to feel better way more than I've wanted to know God. Fact. Only recently was I able to admit to myself and others that for a long time, I have wanted marriage/success/happiness more than I have wanted to be in His presence. It's tricky, sometimes. It feels like God's goodness equates to His blessing. Not so.

Job was one who walked that road. Stripped of every good thing, He came to the end of himself. Out of emptiness, out of despair, he declared:

God understands the way to [wisdom] and he alone knows where it dwells... When he made a decree for the rain and a path for the thunderstorms, then he looked at wisdom and appraised it. And he said to the human race, 'The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom, and to shun evil is understanding. (Job 28)

I'm being honest with myself, those I love, with God now. I've been away from home. Wet from thunderstorms, I want to find shelter in Him. I want trust that rain is grace. I want to understand that the point of life is not my comfort. I want to palms-open-wide assert that I want Christ. No more, no less.

What's new again

In a few days, I'll head to the inspiratio-land that is New York. I'll savor the tastes, sights, and smells of a place that, time and time again, has brought new parts of me to life. I'll visit with friends, make some new ones, and open my eyes wider to the growing, changing world. No doubt, I will have some things to share about my time there. I simply cannot wait.

Relishing the Small Things

source

This spring has been a great teacher. The gentle season has bestowed no small amount of wisdom on the importance of easing pace, of looking for beauty everywhere, of valuing the simple-ness of life as it is ordinarily lived. These pages have supplemented the message that joy can be found around the table, in a spoonful of kitchen's craft, in a morning ritual. I'm so grateful for the way the Lord has drawn my attention to the truth in Ecclesiastes 8:

So I commend the enjoyment of life, because nothing is better for a man under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany him in his work all the days of the life God has given him under the sun (v. 15)


It's easy to notice crumbs, imperfections. It takes more awareness to see what's good and downright art-ful in the everyday. Lord, thank you for flavors, and for friends to relish them with. Thank you for truth, and for slow mornings used to soak it in.