hands, more or less?

Hands. Have you ever wondered why we have two? We wouldn't get through the day the same without them. Without those fingers typing, tying, pushing, holding, without our palms lifting, carrying, patting, pressing.

Now that the holidays are here, my hands have been in full force--Knitting, baking, stirring, wrapping. Simple tasks but without hands--open hands--impossible. And isn't it strange to think that the very things that create, that bring life and share love can also bring destruction? The same palm that hugs can hit. The same fingers that write words of affection can type words of poison. The same hand that reaches out to welcome can be folded in arms of frustration. The same hand that opens to His gifts can fist up against them.

And why just two? Wouldn't four be better for navigating airports or ordering coffee for a group? Couldn't Ashley or my mom use six or eight as they hold, pat, play, read to get through the day with three under age five? Perhaps if we had more we could be more.

But that's just it. Maybe, as is always the case, God gave us two on purpose. Because if we had more we wouldn't be inclined to reach out. We wouldn't need to ask for help. We wouldn't have to put down one thing in order to pick up another. We could have it all and do it all, but perhaps God did not intend for us to have it all and do it all with our own hands. Perhaps He meant for us to corral more fingers, find more open palms as we reach for His. Perhaps, as we stretch our palms, extend our fingers, open our hands, we can point to the hands that were always open for us--even to nails on a cross.

xoxo.

how does it know?

The question comes to me as I trim a sprig of basil. Deep, foresty green, its freshness filling the air as it fills my hand.

How does this plant know what to grow into? How, after each time its leaves are trimmed does it know to again spring forth, pushing through what was removed to give new life? How does it know?

All it requires is sun, water, soil. Such a simple equation. How does it know?

And then the answer whispers, it knows because it is fed. 

It is fed. 

Nourished. 

And it knows.

And if it were not fed, it would not know. Every effort to spring up would be thwarted, scorched, shriveled.

But when it is fed--not just once, but daily sun, refreshing water, roots in soil--it knows. And then, only then, will it yield freshness and purpose and beauty.

xoxo.

foreign places.

The suitcases are empty and the laundry is folded after a recent trip to Portland and Montana, but I’m still unpacking my thoughts.

At the end of our trip, my dad said that out of all of his kids, he would have thought I’d be the least likely to move far away. I had to agree with him--I am a homebody to the core. I love Portland, I love our families, and I love the familiar. It still surprises me sometimes that we’ve made our way across the country to places that were once foreign, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. God, in His patience and grace, has given me so many opportunities to trust Him as we’ve encountered new towns, different cultures, and unfamiliar faces. He has taken me to foreign places and shown me the depths of His provision, the beauty of His plans, and the heart of His people.

Though I once was afraid to venture beyond my front door, He has proved Himself faithful in all places. And now, I sense that there are new places He longs to take me.

His word says, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.” (Revelation 3:20)

Sometimes, often times, I open the door for Jesus, and then I ask Him to kindly make His way up to the attic of my heart where I can think about Him, know that He’s there, and call on Him when I need to, all the while quietly refusing to let Him dine at the table of my heart, refusing to sit face-to-face with Him and take in what He is calling me to do. It is safer, easier, to keep Him in the attic.

But God does not call us to a safe, easy life. He calls us to fling open the doors to the foreign places in our hearts and love, bearing all vulnerability, absorbing all risk, fleeing what the world tells us is good for something better.

God has led me to unfamiliar places, and my prayer is that by His grace, I will allow Him to invade the foreign places in my heart, that I might be emptied of myself and filled with Him.

xoxo.

truth for today.

This verse in Hebrews stood out to me this morning. God has been gently and subtly placing things on my heart lately, and I believe He's preparing me to produce vegetation, not just to cultivate for myself, but for others. As I came across this verse, I was reminded that part of the preparation is rain.

This week in Greenville has been filled with rain. We started our long run yesterday morning on a trail covered by trees, and they were already dripping from heavy rainfall earlier in the morning. A few miles into my run, I came out of the trees onto an open part of the trail just as the rain was picking up again. It came streaming over my face, into my eyes, over my mouth, making it difficult to see the trail as I wiped my face to keep going.

Rain makes things unclear and uncomfortable. When you're caught in it, it covers you completely, offering no escape from its cold, wet heaviness. It is at times beautiful, and at others dismal, but it is always necessary. Without rain, there is no life.

My prayer is that I would welcome the rain in my life, knowing that even in its heaviness it is good, and trusting that at the right time, the rain will give way to the harvest.

xoxo.

pruning.

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. John 15:1-2

John 15 has been one of my favorite passages for many years. I revisited it last night, as I'm seeking to rediscover the words Jesus spoke just before He went to the cross. I imagine He must have had a sense of urgency to share all He could with His disciples to help them make sense of what was about to happen, and to give them insight as to how they should respond, how they ought to carry out His message.

After reading through John 15 last night, these words are spinning in my head: He cuts off. He prunes. Our Father is the gardener. We are the branches. He cuts off the unfruitful branches. He prunes the fruitful branches.

There are areas in my life that the Father knows are unfruitful. Parts of my personality that don't reflect Him. Sometimes, I don't even know they're there. I've become so used to my dead, ugly, unfruitful branches that that's just the way I am. I have flaws, so what? I have fear, don't we all?

But God wants to cut off those dead, ugly, unfruitful branches. He knows that behind the flaws and fear is someone made in His image, someone who was made to bear fruit.

And even the branches that are fruitful, He still prunes those. He gives attention and care to every branch, every ounce of me, pruning, cutting away, shaping, replanting, that I might bear much fruit.

Right now, He's in the process of replanting me. Uprooting me. And you know what happens when a plant is uprooted? The roots are exposed--my roots will be exposed. Those hidden branches, the dead ones and the unfruitful ones, more of those may show. But I trust that if I remain in Him, He, the master gardener, knows exactly what to cut off and what to prune as I grow, and as I bear much fruit. May I welcome the pruning.

This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples. John 15:8

surrender.

I've struggled with this word. Surrender. It's passed my lips countless times, and I'm just now discovering what (I think) it means to surrender. I've sang that I surrender all to you, and I've always assumed that surrender comes after brokenness. That to truly surrender, I had to first figure out some sort of self-inflicted pain to make me really feel like giving it all to God. Or that I had to first experience everything that I considered important before I'd be ready to give it up. In other words, surrender was equated with giving up. Reaching an end. Hitting a breaking point. Only then could true surrender happen. Meanwhile, I would sing the words and feel guilty that I wasn't there yet.

But I think God is showing me another path. He's showing me that in faith, we put everything on the table. Everything from my love affair with cake plates to the deepest, darkest parts of my soul. My politics, my earthly desires, my idealism, God can have it all. Our future, our finances, everything is His. I put it all on the table. And, in His perfect way, God will take each part of my life, and He will mold, shape, and even break those things to bring them closer to what He desires for me. And so I don't give up, instead I'm giving over, and I'll let God do the breaking.

xoxo.

Thoughts sparked by a recent sermon by my dad - Decided in the Heart (9/9/12)

diluted.

This post is mostly about questions, not answers. 

Lately, I've been convicted about the things I say, and the way I say them. And I'm starting to wonder if what I say is diluting what I mean. 

I grew up in a part of the country where many people don't believe in absolute truth--that is, that what's right for me isn't necessarily right for you, or anyone else. It's a great place for skeptics, independent thinkers, and your everyday, run-of-the-mill weirdos. And it's quite the opposite (with a few exceptions) from where we live now. Here, you can assume that most people have been to church and know at least the general version of the gospel.

But whether I'm in a culture of skeptics or followers, I tend to dilute the truth. I don't know how to say what I really believe, so I talk. I don't know how to deal with a frustrating person who is also a child of God, so I talk. And it's as though my words have their own form of non-absolute truth. That what I say is only valid right now. That when I speak out of frustration, pain, or greed, it's really just a momentary expression, and nothing to be concerned about. But as those tensions grow, so do my words. And as those words quietly take flight, my character--and honestly, my belief that God is for all--is slowly chipped away.

Because if my words are only right for me, in this moment (which is just a cheap excuse to say them), the how can I trust that my faith can change those around me? And how can I be a witness when what I say gets in the way of what I mean?

We've been able to cut down on a lot of things this past year (clothes, driving, processed food, etc.). 

Next up on the list: diluted words. 

rest.

After a busy weekend doing photography and social media coverage for HSU's homecoming, I've had two days off. Two days to rest, read, sleep past 7am, work out, make slow, savory dinners, and even watch the Giants. 

It's been just what I needed.

xoxo.

nothing left to take away.

Isn't this quote stunningly true? It's been on my mind the past few days as I think about its relevance--to design, to consumerism, and to life, really. And while I put my thoughts and prayers toward sanctification and not perfection, I do believe that much of life's lessons (for me, anyway) are learned in the taking away and doing without. I find that I listen to God most (and best) when I remove distractions, and when I get past my feelings. 

My prayer is that as God molds my heart, He finds little resistance in the taking away.

xoxo.

loved and needed.

Isn't it strange how often we operate out of our fears? As I think of some of my decisions in the past, or even the things I contemplate now as we plan for the future, I'm realizing how much my thoughts come from from a place of fear. Fear that I won't be comfortable, fear that I won't be accepted, fear that I won't be loved, and fear that I won't be needed.

But the truth is, comfort, acceptance, and love should really come from my relationship with Christ. And while he doesn't need us to accomplish His plans, He can certainly put a willing heart to good use. And so that's been my prayer--that I will seek God and the ways He wants to use my life, and trust that his comfort, love, and acceptance are always with me, even when the comforts, love, and acceptance of this world are not.

xoxo.

[photo by yours truly]

the year that changed me.

My texagram (which I just invented).

After more than a week of traveling, we arrived in Abilene, Texas, on May 23, 2011. One year ago today.

Wow. One year. I'm already tearing up.

There's something that happens to you when everyday for a year has some element of the unknown in it. When it always seems like a surprise might be right around the corner. A bill you can't pay. A job you didn't get. A church you've never been to. Even simple things--like a phrase you've never heard (i.e. frito pie). But each day, the unfamiliarity and the worry and the fear wear off a little bit more. And you start to know a new place. You start to be known in that place. And you start to know yourself. And slowly, the surprises change their tune. A check you didn't expect. A job that seemed like a long shot. A church that welcomes you and keeps you. And even simple things--like a dining table for Thanksgiving. 

This is a thank you, and it's been a long time coming.

UBCAbilene, thanks for fooling us with your giant building. Without it, we may have never visited on that first Sunday. And even though there were only about 75 people there that morning, you hooked us with your welcoming Texas charm and spaghetti lunch. 

To our awesome lifegroup, which has walked with us faithfully for a year. Thanks for the conversations, laughs, meals, endless desserts, and prayer. Getting to know people in Abilene so quickly after our move has made such a difference. We treasure you all.

Dear friends in Oregon, San Diego, and beyond, who we miss and think about often. Someday we'll take you all to Fiji or something and all hangout together (that's a totally empty promise). Thanks to those who have called, listened, and laughed at how crazy Texas can be. And rebuked me for turning into a cat lady (ahem...Renee).

My cousins and siblings, who SOMEHOW managed to pull out a Turkey Bowl win even without Primetime (that's my name out on the field). And for live tweeting to keep me posted on the score.

My family (some of whom like to consistently answer the phone with "How y'all doin?"), for the support, advice, prayer and love, even from 1,600 miles away. And for Facetime-ing me during important events, like the Turkey Bowl and Browning Family Easter Egg Hunt. Special shout-out to my mom who, no matter how many times I call her, still picks up the phone every time. She can handle everything from tears and tiredness to questions about roasting chicken, and that takes a special lady.

Landon's family, who shared a special time at Thanksgiving with us that I'll always remember. It's also great that they think the Abilene Chihuahua Gangs (ACG) are as funny as we do. Thanks for your constant love and encouragement. 

And to Landon, for having the faith, wisdom, and insight to bring us here. I think he was a little uneasy about moving to a small town in West Texas with a girl who spent a year being homesick in San Diego of all places. But I wouldn't change a thing. God has given us so many opportunities to grow, and I'm so very grateful to be able to experience that with Landon. A year ago, I remember assuring Landon before we moved that I didn't want a man who was committed to keeping me comfortable. I wanted a man who was willing to help me change and grow, and who would change and grow with me. He's been that, and so much more.

To my faithful Savior, your love, provision and grace never fails. I am yours.

Here's to another year of trials, blessings, and God's faithfulness.

xoxo.

all i need.

Monday, again. I didn't start last week off on the best note. I was tired after working most of the day Saturday, and I felt like I had a million things to do. And as the week went on, it became clear that I needed to relax, take a step back, and look at the bigger picture. I'm learning (albeit slowly) that things are best when I take a moment to recognize the blessings I've been given. When I spend my time being mindful, and not controlling.

These are my prayers as I enter this week...

All I need is your love

To come and fill this heart of mine

My heart is a desert that has gone dry

And I need your love to carry me by

[Shawn McDonald, All I Need]

Blessed is the man who fears the Lord, who finds great delight in his commands.

...Surely he will never be shaken; a righteous man will be remembered forever. He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. His heart is secure, he will have no fear. 

Psalm 112:1, 6-8a

xoxo.


[photo via thisisor.com]

a year ago i wrote this...

We were the plane ride home from a trip to Virginia...

There are days when I feel nothing. When all is routine, predictable and life is simply a pattern to follow. But today is not one of those days. Today is full and I feel everything. I feel hope, love, pride, strength and possibility. I feel like a kid at Disneyland, with no lines. I can choose any ride and it will undoubtedly be the time of my life. So I choose the big one. I don't choose "It's a Small World," because I'm over predictability. I've been there before. I choose Thunder Mountain, or Space Mountain, because I will be thrilled, scared and overwhelmed with joy all at the same time. And so it is in our lives right now. With opportunity opened up to us, we can choose to take the big ride--with all the unknown and the fear as well as the possibility of great joy and new heights--or we can stay circling in our pattern, singing "It's a Small World," and wondering what the big ride is like. And so, the two rides before me, I choose the big ride for us. I choose change, a rarity for me, and yet something very necessary, so crucial to growth. And undoubtedly there will be times when we're just crawling along, creaking up to the top, overwhelmed with fear and anticipation because we don't know what's on the other side, but then there will be downhills too, when we're riding free with our arms in the air, saying, "It doesn't get any better than this." And so I'll choose the big ride, for all it entails. For joy, sorrow, growth, discouragement and accomplishment. 

Hang on, cause this is the wildest ride in the wilderness.

We had just decided to move to a little town in Texas called Abilene. The idea of moving somewhere for Landon to go to grad school had been a "what if" for a while, and we decided to go through it. We hadn't been in Lebanon for very long, but it just seemed to be the right time for a change. The months that followed were some of the most scary, exciting, frustrating and rewarding months I've ever had. And you know what? God knew what he was doing all along. 

We moved with no jobs, a little money, and no fair warning about the weather. Now, I have a job that I love and Landon is a straight-A go-getter. We still only have a little money. And, for now, the weather is perfect (I'm denying that summer is just around the corner). 

In between, though, there are a thousand stories of how God has proved Himself faithful. Life is not perfect, but I praise the one who is. And I'm glad we threw our fears aside and chose change. Because not a single moment when I've thought, What in the world am I doing here? has gone unanswered. He is faithful.

xoxo.

the stars look so pretty from so far away.

What do you expect of yourself? Do you ever get caught up in thinking that one day you'll have it all together? That one day you'll buy a gorgeous silk chiffon dress (because you have the money) in a color that flatters your sun-kissed skin and frolic through a meadow for an afternoon (because your to-do list was completed ages ago and you have nothing else to do!)? Maybe that's an exaggeration.

Do you ever think that one weekend, you really will finish doing every DIY that you've pinned? Or at least half? Or at least one?

Sometimes I picture myself as having it all together. That we'll follow Dave Ramsey perfectly and this college debt will be paid off in no time, all the while eating kale chips for a snack and caramelized onion galettes for dinner. Oh, and we'll also have an adorable red-headed little girl who has curls like her mama and a little boy with legs like a Kenyan (he'll win the NCAA Division I XC championships, too). At that point, Landon and I will have also written a book on marriage because we're perfect to each other and can't help but get the word out. Also, my hair will no longer be frizzy. And Landon will have learned that as far as cream cheese go, Philadelphia is worth the extra .75 cents. 

And you know what the truth is? We'll follow Dave Ramsey, my cooking will improve, we'll have some kids (Lord willing) and we'll continue to learn about each other and each other's cream cheese preferences (my hair, however, probably won't change). 

The thing is, that first lifestyle sounds great to me when I find a stain on both pairs of my khaki pants in the same week, when I overdose on cheez-its and when Landon comes home with whipped/stabilized/corn-starched/off-brand cream cheese. But last night I spent some time sitting in a room with the lights off, candles burning and The Weepies playing (cliche, I know, but it does wonders for the soul). Is that really what I want? Nope. And even if I did, I'll never have perfection, so it's best to give up now. 

Because you know what's better? Being present. Trusting that my imperfect life will be more pleasing to God and more rewarding to me than an attempt to live a perfect one without Him. The great thing is that God is perfect so that we don't have to be. So forget frolicking, I'd rather have a toasted bagel with stabilized cream cheese.

xoxo.

[photo by nasa]
[title taken from this song]

twenty four [the things i've figured out, and the things i haven't]

In honor of turning 24 yesterday, here's 24 things I've learned in my 24 years:

1. Change is good. Uncomfortable, but good.

2. Having perfect attendance for 6 years (7th-12th grade) was mostly pointless, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Worth every second of panic, nightmares about tardiness and the rolling of my sibling's eyes.

3. You have to get the spatula entirely under the piece of bread before flipping an egg-in-toast (thanks, Ryan). 

4. You also have to hold the handle of the pan when flipping an egg-in-toast (thanks, Mom).

5. Practice your first dance before the day of your wedding, unless you want to look like awkward jr. highers at a Sadie Hawkins (like us).

6. Most people are nice and reasonable if you act nicely and reasonably with them (this goes for DMV employees, airline representatives and waitresses, among others)

7. Your parents are usually right.

8. Never turn down a chance to listen to one of your grandparent's stories.

9. If it doesn't taste right, it probably just needs a dollop of sour cream (my weakness).

10. Sometimes the details don't matter, and sometimes they do. 

11. Cranberry Almond Crunch is the answer to most stressful situations.

12. Moms can always tell if you're tired just by hearing your voice (I'm impressed with my mom every time she does this).

13. Trust Landon's intuition. It's good.

14. Finding work that you enjoy isn't really about doing what sounds the most fun. It's about finding a place where people are motivated, the cause is important and gossip is minimal.

15. Taking photos is great, but being present is best.

16. Trust the process.

17. The Damascus, OR Dairy Queen makes the best blizzards. The one on 10th and Willis in Abilene is a close second.

18. God's plan is better than mine. Waaaaay better. Crazy better. His plan also involves more tears of joy, and I like tears of joy.

19. Read the entire recipe first.

20. Scallions and shallots are not the same thing.

21. Scallions and green onions are the same thing

22. God answers prayer.

23. He who finds God, finds life.

24. I've got a lot to learn.

xoxo.

[letters via daily drop cap]

it's the end of the year, and what a year it's been.

Wow. 2011 has come and gone. What a year. Honestly, I start to tear up every time I think about it, because this year has been so full of change, growth and unexpected blessings. And my only conclusion, my only theme as I look back at this year is that God is so good. God is so good.

Last year at this time, Landon and I were just barely thinking about looking at grad school opportunities for Landon. We hadn't told anyone, but we would spend our nights researching and wondering and praying. We were both ready for a change. In January, we started applying to different places. Different schools, job opportunities and graduate assistantships as they came along. 

In mid-February, we were eating dinner at Air Thai (if you're ever in Lebanon, Oregon, be sure to stop for some pad thai!) when Landon got a phone call. He stepped outside to take it, and ended up missing the entire dinner, so I knew it must be important. It was a professor from Hardin-Simmons University. Landon had sent him an email the week before inquiring about a possible grad assistant position at HSU. From there, Landon was put in touch with the head track and cross country coach at HSU, and things started to fall into place. We waited another month or so to tell our families (partially based off of the philosophy in this TED talk, and not wanting to jinx ourselves), and I announced it on The Bright Life in early April. We were moving to Texas in May. 

We decided to only take one car and whatever we could fit inside. And fit we did. I sat on two blankets in the front seat, with one bag under my legs, one at my side and two on my lap. There was a lot of stress while we were packing, and a lot of, Are we really doing this?

The second night of our trip, we stopped for burgers just outside of Sacramento. We weren't in the restaurant more than 20 minutes, but when we got back to our car we found a shattered window and four missing bags. Our computer, our wedding video footage and my baby blanket, among other things, were all gone. 

Our Christmas Eve service this year was based on the idea of God's interruptions. That God's timing may not always make sense to us, but that His plan is always best. At one point, the question was posed, "How has God broken into your life this year?" It brought me to tears, because I think our break-in, in some ways, was actually God breaking in to remind us that He's in control. That we may spend hours, days, years accumulating things and memories, but they don't matter in comparison to His plan. 

We made it to Texas after over a week of traveling, and settled into our little house. The summer stretched us in many ways, but God's blessings were apparent in each challenging situation. We had to find a new church, so we visited the closest one to us. We were overwhelmed by how welcoming the church members were, and we continue to be blessed by our relationships there. We survived a summer of crazy hot temperatures, which made the fall and winter even more of a blessing. And we learned to rely on God, and not our bank account, because our bank account clearly wasn't going to sustain us. And again, God's blessings and provision carried us through. 

I have more joy and more of a sense of God's presence and plan than I ever have. I love, love, love seeing Landon pursue something that he has a passion for, and I really enjoy my job. I don't know what 2012 will bring, but I'll try to plan less and trust more, because God is so good.

Happy New Year!

xoxo.

places.

Places are strange, aren't they? There's tons of obvious differences in the places we live--weather, architecture, culture. But there's lots of subtle differences too. Phrasing, driving habits, food. It always takes a while to catch on to those little differences when you move to a new place, and I'm starting to go through that here in Texas. 

A year ago, I would have been perplexed by the phrase "I'm fixin' to get me some lunch." Now, I hear it often, and I'm starting to like it. It's different. It reminds me that I'm in Texas, and it makes me grateful to experience another place. I rarely heard the phrase "I'm laying out this afternoon" until I lived in San Diego. And I certainly never wore a swim suit to the beach until I lived in San Diego, either. I had never seen a man pulling a trailer on his bicycle until I lived in Lebanon. It used to only take a few steps to the garage to sort the recycling...now it's a half mile drive. 

Places are different, but then the sun rises and sets on each of them, and I like that.

Which reminds me of this song. 

Photos: a mix of the places I've lived: Happy Valley, Ore., Wenatchee, Wash., San Diego, Calif., Lebanon, Ore., and Abilene, Texas.

xoxo.

P.S. You better believe I'm wearing a black turtleneck and jeans today. You know why.

simplicity.

I need more simplicity in my life. That is to say, I need less complexity in my life. I need less things and more people. I need more time and less distractions. I need more of God's word and less of the world. I need more wonder and less sarcasm. I need to talk less, and say more. Because Jesus was simple, and his love and grace are very straightforward.

Thoughts inspired by Josh White's "Why Simplicity?"

Image via Bosworth Hoedemaker

xoxo

he is able to do...

Happy Friday.

xoxo.

when there's no time.

Sometimes, there's just no time for a post. Because in between sleeping a few minutes way past my alarm (because I've started this new lying in my bed awake for half the night thing...what's with that? It's no secret that I'm turning into my mom, and so far this seems to be the only downside), a full work day, dinner and Seinfeld, designing announcements for TylerBright and helping Landon measure out the course for his team's early morning cross country workout tomorrow (as seen in the above photo), I'm only left with a few spare minutes.

And as a result, you're only left with this puny little post. Maybe tomorrow?

xoxo.