I'm not that loving.

I think one of the reasons why D's midterms and finals weeks are difficult is because they make me realize how selfless I'm not. I leave the short 10-minute conversations we have realizing I spent the majority of the time telling him what's going on in my life, leaving him very little space to speak. I assume things--that he must have no stories because it's all studying, for example--only to find out that there's more to his life than what I see. I still expect him to watch a video or finish a discussion with me, even when every minute is precious. And in the middle of this, I'm riddled with guilt, knowing that every half hour spent together could have been another page or two of lecture. Or wondering if all the stress built up now could have been lessened if I didn't contribute so much to his non-productivity earlier this semester.

Then there are the times that I am tense, upset, frustrated at the shift in mood, thoughts, and ability to engage. I think this is okay, that it makes sense that my attitude and life is affected because of where he's at. Yet it's been three years, but that doesn't mean I'm better at navigating the responsibility and understanding in a relationship. When are negative feelings understandable? When do I need to let him be? Where does the air clear up and we both say, "We're doing a horrible job at this"? If one of our lives needs to be prioritized at the moment, how much should be sacrificed for that period of time? I wish I didn't ask these questions. Wish I didn't count things as fair and unfair, run a list of "but how about this time" or "shouldn't we still be able to...?". Should I be able to be the unconditionally loving girlfriend in his most stressed of times? But I'm not, I'm not.

And I think that's the hardest things: I'm not that loving. I don't have that much grace with him. Even after all those years of him loving me well in my chaos, I find myself wanting to pout and have him sit with me in the middle of his. Too often, these high-intensity, stressful weeks show how much I would prefer his world and our relationship to revolve around me and what I'd like. I wish it were different, but for now, it's not. And I don't like who I am during this time...which of course, doesn't help anything.

Trivial packing question

In the back corner of one of my dresser drawers, I found a pair of socks with one pink-striped sock and one black-striped sock, solving the mystery of the other pink-and-black pair I've worn occasionally this past year. Question is, how did they get matched like this to begin with?

Plain friends

This week I realized there are some very important types of friends in your life: the kind that will do boring life with you. We know the importance of friends who will be with you through hard, tough times, and of course the friends who we love in our easy fun times. But I think what might be understated is the friend who does really plain life things with you: taking you to the mechanic, driving you to the doctor's, picking you up from the airport, helping you pack. Taking time out of  their day to just help you out.

The fun, challenging, and hopefully not disappointing part is when one of these comes up and you sort through the list in your mind, thinking of who you would feel comfortable asking. As a staff worker, I think I'm on the lucky side, because covering for each other and stepping in for these little things just kinda happens in your college phase of life. But I hope even years down the road, I will still find friends who will be there for these kinda boring but so practical things.

The follow-up question would be: How often are we willing to ask for help in this? Because alternatives are available--waiting the few hours at the shop, taking a taxi or rental, moving boxes by yourself--but maybe one of the reasons we don't know if we have these friends is that we don't think we need them. 

The bad ideas

I wrote earlier this week about making the too-big watch strap work for me, which so far looks like it will remain a success, though I'm still laughing a little at myself every time I look at the rough edge where I trimmed the strap narrower to fit.

But if that had gone horribly, it would have made it to the list of Not the Greatest Ideas, which I've been doing since as early as  first grade. Here's what I remember: My mom had bought us lunchboxes at the start of kindergarten, the square plastic ones that came with a matching thermos. Anthony's was a purple Barney lunchbox, mine was a robins egg blue Little Mermaid one. Well, come first grade, I decided that my Little Mermaid lunchbox wasn't what I wanted anymore, but I also knew it didn't make sense to ask mom for a new one when this worked just fine. So I took out a sheet of white paper and Crayola markers and drew myself a new photo; I think it was a dog or cat or something. Then I attempted to peel off the big rectangle sticker with the Little Mermaid graphic so I could replace it with my new creation. The result was what we've all faced with not-removable-friendly labels: streaks of paper that tear off, jagged lines, sticky spots.


I feel like I thought, Bad idea. Shouldn't have done that, should have left it as it was, shouldn't have tried to do things the quick way. Maybe I did, maybe I'm projecting that memory from the numerous other times I've thought the exact same thing:

• thinking I could successfully redo my doll's hair in third grade
• getting too tired of sewing so deciding to staple the remainder of my mini project in fourth grade
• cutting my own bangs in seventh grade
• making tacky two-story origami boats (a mini-summer tradition for a few years) with scotch tape while Anthony owned me because he took time to cut grooves and pieces that slid into each other
• all the times I accidentally tear a small hole in my shirt because I don't want to find scissors to cut off the price tag.

There are more embarrassing stories, but it's easier to share the ones of the past and not remark on the ones that are still happening every week even as a 23-year-old. Needless to say, "story of my life" doesn't seem like an overstatement in these cases.

Celebrating Life

It's your birthday week, D. And as much as both us say it's not a big deal and we don't really celebrate it, I think the truth is we both love it. We're pretty normal and predictable, but birthdays are an excellent excuse to pull surprise after surprise out of the box. To gaze at each other with eyes that know love and appreciation while trying not to give away the secret we have waiting.

The past two years have kept me from celebrating with you. First I was on an urban trek and completely out of communication, so I left a gift and a video recording with your roommate. Then I was on the intern trek and exploring the Grand Canyon on your birthday. I had snuck a card and some pictures into your car, then I called you while we were driving through Arizona with five other staff members singing their Happy Birthdays to you.

This year, I'm finally in town. And I've known since a year and a half ago that you've got me beat on birthday presents for life. When I turned 22, you had an album of photos and personal notes from friends ready. Not hastily put together, but planned, sincere, and heartfelt from students near and friends afar. Somehow even the contributions were more sincere than an average birthday scribble in a group card. You had contacted some of my friends who you've only met on occasion, you had students I had just met that very semester contribute. I cried and thought nothing could top that (I also don't tell anyone, but once in awhile I pull that album out before bed just to read the words).

Then last November, I returned from my first regional staff conference tired and grateful to unwind with you. It was a strange birthday, one raw with emotional fatigue after an intense few days, and the only celebratory event so far was buying a carton of strawberry ice cream with the staff team.  But somehow, you had arranged for a group of friends to sneak in with a gift that I think I'll always remember. You and Harrison  had managed to pull together more than enough cash to replace my dying laptop. I remember both feeling speechless but also being unable to stop chattering in surprise. I remember my hands were too shaky to open the box, and my brain couldn't seem to function enough to find the charger or the power button. I ran my hands over the new keys (no letters were worn off), exclaimed that I could now Skype others (finally, a webcam), laughed that their was a number keypad (yes, I've missed it). I thought about all the productive nights stalled by a frozen computer, of the times I rolled my eyes in staff meetings as I waited for the screen to catch up with my scrolling. I thought about the projects I've put on hold: photo edits, videos, websites--simply because my old laptop could never handle it.

But I digress. This is about you. You and how you make the excuse that those past two years don't count, because those gifts were from friends. You downplay the fact that it was your idea and you coordinated it, but I also know how proud you were to see me so happy.

I'll never beat those birthdays. And this year, your surprise was a small birthday dinner when you thought it was a date night (sound familiar?) with nothing fancy at all. Oh yeah, that and a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts. We say that we love birthdays because it's an excuse to love the other person especially well, to do things they know they'll love, to let them know just how special they are.

But as it turned midnight on your birthday and I played a cheesy birthday song on youtube while dancing around in circles, there was something else. This year, I was so excited for your birthday because it wasn't just about doing things for you. It was about celebrating you. Your life and how grateful I am for it. An amazing, beautiful life that's hand-crafted by a God who...well, had the best ideas ever when it came to you. I ask you a weird question sometimes: Are you real? It's such a strange question and it usually leads to funny expressions and solid laughter, but it captures my disbelief that sometimes, you are really too good to be true. The things you love, the way you live, what you know about me, how you treat others, and the infinite values, interests, and habits that run around in the backstage of your life.

Okay, so this totally isn't on your birthday-birthday, but it has candles so it's close enough!

But you are real, and this week, we celebrate two dozen years of life and pray for many more.

Happy Birthday, my favorite.

DIY fixes

Sometimes I do something dumb like order a watch strap 2 mm too big.
And then I do something not-so-smart like try to make it work anyway, by switching the spring attachment and trimming the strap width.
Couple it with accidentally putting a strap in backwards, and then creating a new hole because otherwise, it would fit too large.

The other alternative would be to return it and purchase one in the right size. But that would be way too simple. And take too long.

The saddest part of this story is that I've been doing things like this since I can remember. Fiddling with my hands to do a not-too-great job of fixing something. Cutting things too short, using a stapler, glue everywhere...I can remember trying these kinds of shortcuts as early as third grade. 

I am an impatient person. But maybe no one will pay close attention to my watch strap.

How are you feeling?

About twenty friends and family gathered in Maggie's home this afternoon. Two hours of mingling, small catch-ups, and moving from one conversation to another. Classmates, alumni, small group friends, mentors, professors--all in the same place. Some I see weekly, a few I haven't seen for awhile.

My friends have been asking me how I'm feeling about the transition, the move, Sacramento--however you want to call it. And my long-winded response this afternoon can be summarized into this: The afternoon was good. Good. Not deeply emotional, neither sad nor overjoyed. Just good. Good to acknowledge that I was leaving. Good to really know that I am going. Good to have the people in the room know that they have been important to my life.

Sometimes I'm sad to be leaving the places I love, whether it's my quiet time bench by the rosebushes on campus or my favorite corner stool at Empresso. Sometimes I'm excited about being in a big city again, about driving on freeways and knowing different parts of town. Mostly, I think I just know it's going to happen so I'm waiting for each day to pass along. Although I have a feeling these next two weeks will speed by like nothing, and all of a sudden I'll be loading up my car and heading out.


We've finally put in an application for a place, and if that gets approved, then I'll officially have a place to live, and my mission of making it a home will begin. Many times I have to answer the question of when I'm moving, and the answer now is soon, oh so soon. Back in May, I had a rough night after I had picked up furniture from Linda and felt the urge to start packing. I didn't really, but I did start rearranging stuff in my room, and before I knew it, there was a stack of boxes sitting in my corner, waiting to be packed. When Darrell came over that night, I dramatically told him that everything was changing, everything. He shook his head in confusion and wondered why I was packing when I had two more months to be here.

Well my friends, I'm proud to say that I've held off for this long. I've collected packing boxes and I've mentally planned how to pack, but I haven't put together boxes and haven't put things away. Until today. Today, after I got back from the goodbye party, I read some heartfelt cards and thought, hey, let's put some things away. I taped together a couple boxes and put away my binders and moved my board games from my over-sized Rubio's tote bag to a box (Don't worry, still easily accessible for a game night). I started clearing my walls: the scripture paintings I had done on a Sabbath last semester, timelines and collages that contain expression of life at that point, race bibs from the half marathon and 10k last year. And other than the three huge chunks of paint I accidentally took out of my wall, it just feels right. Not a frantic impatience, not a rushed closure. Just a recognition of the change that I'm sitting in.

I'll have to hold back from packing up the rest of my life just yet and make sure I still focus on work to do this week. I haven't decided on some of the things to keep and to get rid of. My trio of half-insignificant but favorite glass bottles: Starbucks Mocha Frappucino, Pomegranate Izze, and Martinelli's apple cider (D and I shared this on our 3 year anniversary last year)--they carry so little weight except that I love the size and I've had them sitting on a shelf this past year. Do I get rid of it for the convenience, or keep it for the piece of home that it is? Is it time to lose the discounted black photo frames I bought three years ago in lieu of other decor?  When do I look for furniture that I know I'll probably want (I'm currently working with a lot of extra surface area from the extra dresser and wall shelf)?

 In the meantime, I'm also slowly figuring out what's helpful and what's not in all of this. We had a three-part goodbye shindig when the students were still around, and while it was tons of fun, I realized in hindsight I didn't quite get the goodbye I needed. I didn't realize I needed to be able to say, "Life together has been good, and I am thankful for who you are. You are important to me." I thought implicit would be enough, explicit would be too cheesy...but it turns out that that would have helped a lot. So we did that today, cheesy and awkward as it probably was. And I'm learning to just go with my gut in some of these other friendships and circles. To say, "Hey, I've loved getting to know you, and I'm leaving in a couple weeks, but could we have coffee before I go?" To have hangouts and stay out late with friends and to soak up all this good company.

Two weeks really isn't a lot of time. I feel like I have enough goodbyes to last a month, and yet there's a part of me that's already ready to go.

The Art of Announcements

A friend once asked me why I liked emceeing, and I responded with the juggling act between strategically organizing the information you're presenting, reading the audience, and adjusting to respond to where they're at. There's also an element of freedom and deviating from the plan as you're going with your gut and the Spirit, this dynamic and exciting yet pastoral role. While I don't think I'll ever has as much emcee swag as Greg Jao, his sharing on Urbana is a pretty good snippet of why I enjoy introducing or closing a session:

"I love the challenge of capturing the participant’s attention after a long session, of reinforcing conference themes and capturing the Urbana experience when I offer participants summaries of the past 24 hours, of communicating details and logistics in helpful ways, and of responding to the needs of the conference from the platform as I go...Mostly, though, I love the challenge of trying to cast vision, pastor the participants, and serve the conference leadership in 5 minutes each session."

 And that, my friends, is what you think about when you have the mic in hand.

It happened!

A year ago, I was packing up to head to Arizona and New Mexico for our Intern Trek. I had just started fundraising a month prior to be on campus with InterVarsity that fall and had seen a couple little gifts trickle in, but nothing regular. I hadn't been spending a whole lot of time on it, but I had had sent out a stream of letters and had a few meetings and phone calls by that time. 

I remember checking my staff account a few days into the trip. We were at the home of a lovely woman who loved InterVarsity and fed us lots of food with green chile (that's the thing in New Mexico). I accepted her invitation to use her computer though it was late at night already. Signing into my staff account, I looked at the number sitting at the midpoint of the screen on the right side. I had hit it for the first time! $1400, the amount my supervisor wanted us to hit monthly! 

That night was a small victory. It was the first month of the fiscal year, and I felt that, maybe, raising a staff budget was possible. Over the course of the year, my faith in this area fluctuated, as did the amount I received and the energy I put into it. Sometimes I held my breath and followed up with a person who said he was interested, and I left the conversation with encouragement and hope. Sometimes I prayed in fear and other times in faith; occasionally I muttered prayers while asking God if they were true. Sometimes I chickened out, gave up, and simply ignored this area of ministry. 

But the year kept going. And now that the fiscal year is over, I can confidently say: I surpassed the budget I was supposed to raise. 

Yes. Dance in a circle. Throw a party. Praise Jesus. Eat ice cream. Give thanks. 

I have a stream of excuses that, if you listen carefully, translate into This-is-why-it-won't-work-next-year Fears: a lot of one-time gifts, a great supporting church (that I am leaving), a generous sending gift from the missions board that put me over the top in the past few weeks. But it the end, excuses aside, I was funded. 

And if I listen carefully, I can hear a faint sound of hope for the next year: a dear friend and a beloved brother eager to give once they are employed, the opportunities for new networks in a new place, and most of all, the promise that our God is faithful. He reminds me of the tangible grace scattered through my life this past year: a new laptop from friends, random red envelopes that let me celebrate life and hobbies, encouraging conversations that warm the deep parts of my soul, a job that accommodates ministry life so perfectly, promises in his word that I have held to as the year wrapped up. 

Next year may or may not look like that. I have neither more funding nor a job lined up. But the God who walks with me through the flourishing fields walks with me through the valleys. Either way, He is good. And may He be glorified.