To Brighten Your Day

My sister wrote this wondrous song about her Glorie.  I figured I would let Glorie be a cute part of your day, because she makes everything better.  You're welcome. :)

Simple Victory

A short post today. I was inspired by Brianna to share something with you. Actually, it's a dare.

Ladies, if you are anything like me, you have fought tooth and nail with self-hatred. The thoughts, the come so easily, don't they? Comparing the size of you with the size of the girl you just passed. Always sure dropping 5 pounds would be useful. My story is for another time, but I've skirted the sidelines of disordered eating and this battle is more familiar than I want it to be.

One could write and write and write about the trap of self-hatred and the truth that vanquishes it, but for now I have one thing.

Your words are powerful. Seriously. "The tongue has the power of life and death." -Proverbs 18:21

So I challenge you to speak life.

What if, for the next month, you looked in the mirror every morning and said (out loud): "I am beautiful." It can be that simple, or you could add in an "I'm perfect just the way I am" or a "Dang, God, You did good here!" if you want to, but whatever you do, say it out loud.

Your tongue has power, use it.

Me, Crammed between two car seats.

I have just arrived in Kansas City.  Be still my beating heart.  It's like my world world just stopped at a wonderfully blissful spot.  Kansas City is home in so many ways, and I love being here.

Getting here involved an 8 hour road trip in which:

• I developed what I call the "blanket tent" over the high chair and baby went to sleep.
• We got redirected onto the back roads of Iowa, as the state patrol completely shut down the interstate, and funneled hundreds of cars onto random highways which no one knows how to maneuver.  I'm glad we made it.
• I remembered that thing I talked about yesterday, the thing I shouldn't be qualified to do.  SKIING!  Who in the world would take me to the top of the mountain and decide it was okay to leave me there to slide down on two little pieces of plastic?!  Unqualified, I tell you.
• Soon after we crossed the Missouri state line, we saw a man walking down the highway.  That's strange.  What's even stranger is that he had his pet pig with him. 
• I ate lots of Trader Joe's White Cheddar Corn Puffs.  J'adore.

The good news is, I've forever secured my position as necessary-child-wrangler on all my sister's forthcoming road trips.

I think I missed a step

Isn't it funny that they just let us grow up?

I was thinking the other day about something...what was it...wait for it...okay, I can't remember.  Basically, it was some basic part of life, which, when I thought about it, was surprisingly shocking that I am allowed to do.  My line was something like "like, who decided that all of a sudden I am qualified to do this?"  You know, it was something like climbing a mountain or picking out my own outfit.  Sheesh.

I mean, I was a kid.  We were just kids.  Now we're adults (at least legally) and don't live at home and can ride a horse or drive to the store or go on vacation or cut our hair all by our lonesome.

I decided that I have seen a definite sign of aging in my life: when people who used to be *ahem* interested in you are now getting married I think you've reached a whole new level. 

Yesterday?  Yesterday my hair was lighter red and still curly, I was missing three teeth, and I didn't know how to spell beautiful. ("BEE-AY-OOTIFUL")

Today, I am gradually realizing that I can go on vacation when I want to and it's okay to have a brownie right before bed.  You know, just 'cause I want to.

And tomorrow?  Tomorrow I'll have 10 children and live in Estonia somewhere.

It's funny how you just grow up.

Hold the Leafy Green Stuff

Today, I told someone that I liked cilantro. 

They went on to say: "Is there such a thing as too much cilantro?" I murmured an assent, and was left to my own thoughts.  While I twirled a fork through a lemon (I learned today that that gets the juice out full and fast) I had an "Annie, what are you thinking?!" moment.

I don't like cilantro.

There can DEFINITELY be too much cilantro.  

Now I have to put cilantro in my guacamole.

I am just not a fan of conflict. I suppose it could be a symptom of various things (fear alert!), and it can result in any number of situations. Apparently, one of those situations is guacamole not quite the way you like it.

This avoidance of conflict, it comes out of fear.  Fear of disappointing the people I'm around, fear that they won't like what they find.  What they find...that nebulous thing that I am afraid will disappoint them, I've come to realize, is me.

After the cilantro incident, I ducked downstairs to take a nap.  It's never easy for me to fall asleep in the middle of the day, and this afternoon was no exception.  I laid there, with Kim Walker bursting in my ears: "He loves us, Oh how He loves us..."  In my mind's eye, a picture popped into view.  

I saw myself, standing dressed in a beautiful gown, picked out just for me by the Lord.  It fit perfectly, it fell gracefully, and it was the best kind of beautiful, that which is natural.  The scene unfolded as I imagined people approaching, taking ownership of the masterpiece I wore, and making parts of it theirs.  A gray flower pinned here, a purple patch stuck there, and so on and so forth. Soon, the dress the Lord had designed for me was covered with patches of other people's ideas of what would look good.

I thought about being myself, and how easy it is to let what I expect others want of me to become who I pretend to be.  I know a lot of people, and they know me.  But they don't know deep, deep down.  They don't know all of me like He does.  But I know my own tendency is to work to fit to be who other people expect that I am.  When you actually try to explain it, it's a bit of a mind bender.

I want to be who He made me to be, rather than tweaking parts of me here and glances of me there.  When I am the way He created me, I become an expression of Him. I'm created in His image.  One of my favorite parts of who I am, if you're allowed to have those, is that parts of my personality reflect parts of His.  Simple things, like I'm learning that it's okay to love adventure - because Jesus is adventurous, and He made me that way. 

So away with this fear.  That nasty, sneaky lie that says what He created doesn't fit the mold.  It tells me I need to adjust myself to fit other people's expectations. The truth it that they have a slightly skewed view of who I am simply because they don't have the time or the scope of vision to know me fully, to know me the way He does. Rather than accept the patches other people project on me, I want to wear the dress Jesus gave me.  It will draw others into being who He made them to be, it will point others to who He is. I don't have to be afraid it's not good enough, and I can be me even if other people don't expect it.

Let me say, I feel like I have written the word "I" in this post a whole lot.  This isn't to say that I'm a big deal; I just believe the Lord made each one of for a reason...you are not a mistake.  You have a design, and He pieced you together deliberately and specifically.  Ask Him how He made you, and live that way, because it reflects something about Him.

And, I'll take my guacamole without cilantro, but you can put some in yours if you want.

"O Lord, you have searched me

and you know me."

~Psalm 139:1

What I Don't Deserve

I don't deserve to be given conviction that is full of mercy.

I don't deserve that every wrong thing, every wrong thought, ever selfish motive, every prideful inkling would be covered by the blood of an innocent Man.

I don't deserve to be drawn to repentance by lovingkindness. Not harsh demands, not condemning threats, but by kindness. Kindness!

If you're anything like me (as in, if you are a human being), you want to be something particular, something special. You want to be irreplaceable to someone. You want to be known, be called by your name, have that look in your eye be understood, that tone of your voice perceived. You want to be someone's first thought.

Well.

WELL.

You are what He wants. He gave everything to have you. You are the joy set before Him, You are the dream of His heart, and gaining your love and your life was the aim of His. You are on His mind and that longing? You were made with it, and He is your beautiful, beautiful fulfillment.

The Dresses in the Window

Whoever said you can't just walk into a couture salon and look at their dresses needed a bit more boldness.

OhmywordIalmostmeltedonthefloor. The lace! The silk! Someday Ima get married and Ima wear a purdy dress.

I digress. This blog is actually meant to be a list of "hopefuls."

"Hopefuls." They sound like "unspokens." If you didn't attend a Christian school or youth group or what have you, an "unspoken" is probably a mystery to you. It involves a time of sharing prayer requests, where someone has a prayer request, but doesn't want to share. Hence, the irony of it all. You can multiply them too! Two unspokens, three unspokens, ten unspokens.

I'm digressing again. At this point, I have two hopefuls to share with you.

I hope to go to New York City.

I hope to have a nice camera with which I take nice pictures.

I'm happy without these things, but I think they would be fun.

And that was the end of the letter.

Midway through the Midwest

Here I am, painting, 'cause that's just what I do.

Actually, it's what I do at my parents' house. I arrived back in Chicago for a two week visit on Tuesday. My parents are moving (!!) to Kansas City (!!! again) and so I am here to help with various and sundry projects like painting the dining room trim, dusting the piano, and avoiding deadly spiders in the garage.

My mom was worried that I would be nostalgic about them leaving the house I grew up in, but I think I am just so overjoyed that they are going to Kansas City that my heart has no space to be nostalgic. Moving to Kansas City is, so far, one of the best things that has ever happened to me, and I am praying it will be the same for them. The day I arrived marked the beginning of a new season - of healing, of the Lord's kindness, of overflowing, bubbly, uncontainable joy; I am hoping for the same for them!

Being in Chicago also means screaming, melt into each other's arms reunions with some heart sisters and wonderful, steaming Indian food with so many dear people. It means seeing Noemi's face for the first time in a year and eating at the Peterson's table again. Being in Chicago means wandering the halls of my old school and finding old cds in my drawers. [Steven Curtis Chapman Christmas! Holla!]

Last night, some friends and I went to a coffee shop that turned out to be delightful...Ipsento. We had read rumors of a nutella mocha, and it did not disappoint. The two baristas talked jovially with us, and it turned out they loved Jesus! The guy who made my drink asked what my favorite coffee shop was - I said Peet's in downtown Seattle. He promised to write a haiku on the spot for us if my drink wasn't better than Peet's. I tasted, proclaimed it to win over Peet's, but he wrote us a haiku anyways. It was about loggers. If a haiku about loggers doesn't make you want to go there, I don't know what will.

Hi Chicago. Thanks for being...authentic.

The Finish Line

I figured that since I posted a picture of myself on my last day of finals last semester, you might like to see one now.

I'm not wearing a fantastic $2 sweater, as you can so, but I do have greasy hair and glasses which, let's be honest, is slightly more realistic.

I'm almost done! I can't believe it! A whole year of college... I need to finish up a paper, run it to my professor's office and do all the fun things like going to work for the last time and returning all my books to the library and selling back the ones I still have.

I should go finish that paper. In the meantime, I would like you to know that today is the 399th anniversary of the bovine arrival in America. Cows arrived in Jamestown, Virginia on May 14, 1611. Go drink some milk and be merry.

Almost...

I can taste the finish line. I can see the baked cake. It's almost time, people.

One paper on Indian politics.

One paper on John Reed.

Two final exams.

One paper on Plato.

One presentation entirely in French.

Then...FREEDOM.

Once I have been freed from these educational fetters, I would like to:

• Dress up and go out to dinner.
• Watch the Young Victoria.
• Stay in Parkland until 1am, just because I have no homework to do.
• Spend the night at Carly's house on a weekday.
• Read books (which aren't listed on a syllabus)
• Go out to coffee in the middle of the day
• Oh, and I can't forget to visit Chicago and hopefully KC because Jesus just provided the plane tickets I needed.

I don't know about you, but I am looking forward to May 15.

Him and Me.

There are parts of me that only He sees. He made the depths of me, and I figure that's the way it should be.

The other night I went to bed with a familiar longing revisited: "Jesus, I just want to be beautiful."

Something so simple and straightforward and...obvious...and yet somehow the reality of it was surprising. Bethany Dillon inspires me to want to write the real things.

When Peter talks about the hidden beauty I am called to have... This week it struck me that hidden implies that it is real even when it's not seen, and it must be sought out to be seen.

And when I come to Him, with my list of complaints against myself, I insist: "Jesus, this is what I see."

He replies: "Annie, that's not what I see. Which of us has clearer vision?"

He makes me beautiful.

Not for me.

I am so incredibly thankful for my dad.

Today I called him, freaking out, ten minutes before my piano lesson. "Dad, would I be crazy to drop piano right now?" He calmly replied: "Right now, three weeks before the end of the semester? Well, at first it does sound a little...crazy..." After we talked over the whys and the what-fors, he affirmed my choices and advised: just decide what you need to do and do it confidently. If you're overwhelmed and something has to go, drop piano. Or if you can do it, do it.

It all turned out alright, and my professor was extremely encouraging, and as for piano, I'm going to finish the semester and do my best and hey! Lord-willing, in 3 weeks, I will still be a pianist. This particular Bach sinfonia may still not be perfected, but the piano will still be my instrument.

But that confidence from my dad and the encouragement that my life is not falling apart and I am not a failure means more than you know.

There are only 12 days left of classes, then finals. Sometimes I look at these next weeks and think: "YES! Almost there!" Other moments, I look at them and want to curl into a ball. How am I going to get everything done? What am I doing next year? Why is my whole school not saved? How do I give a French presentation? When am I going to start that paper? I'm serious, that Politics reading just multiplied in length by a quadrillion paragraphs. WHERE'S MY COFFEE??

Then I have a moment. It's kind of like the one with my dad today, only it's with my heavenly Father.

Annie, you're not a failure. This is my burden, let me carry it. You're going to finish strong. I'm with you. I'm for you, and if I'm for you, who can be against you? You're doing great, just keep going. You're not alone in this, and grades really aren't the end of the world. You're not a failure, You're not failing me, You're not missing the mark.

So for you...I don't know what your area is. Maybe it's not homework or school. Maybe it's your job, or your parenting, or your house that needs to get clean. Take a second and realize right now that the voice telling you that you're failing and you need to be doing it better...it's a liar. As my dad says: "If it's not from God, it's not for you."

My intimidation over school and my feelings of failure are not from God, so they are not for me. Mmm-mmm. No way. Not for me.

What have you been carrying that's not for you? Lay it down, let it go. He'll take care of the rest.