Part of the Club

My husband and I joke that our street is a tiny slice of ghetto in a suburbia pie. There are old cars and weeds instead of sculpted lawns, and the cracked concrete probably dates to a time before my birth. But none of this stops the kids of our street from turning our neighborhood strip into a half-mile play zone.

I love the kids. They run and bike and scooter and clump noisily in driveways and stairwells, taller ones toting toddlers. If you stop between car door and front door to talk, shyness will evaporate, brown eyes will sparkle, and suddenly you have a friend.

google pic

Ever since I moved in over a year ago, I've daydreamed of building relationships and even organizing a simple Bible Club with stories, games, and snacks. What could be easier? I live here, right? But my student life left no margin, and I've found time just as scarce now that I'm a working woman. God, I prayed,  I want to be involved somehow, but the thought of starting something from scratch feels so overwhelming. 

Enter: the awesomeness that is answered prayer. Boom. 

I wanted to work out at a nearby gym, but instead of driving, I decided--for the first time ever--to walk.

I was halfway down the street, when I heard an excited female voice ask"...And what do you think Joseph did then? He went right to his brothers and told them his dream!" Who is telling a Bible story? I wondered.

As I rounded a group of parked cars, I saw a tiny crowd of children, all giving rapt attention to an elderly blond woman who held a picture for them to admire. Another elderly woman sat nearby with a curly-headed girl in her lap. I quietly came close and sat cross-legged on the edge of the blanket. This was so much better than lifting weights.

At the end, as the kids smeared their mouths red with popsicles, I introduced myself to the women. I discovered that the Bible Club that God had placed on my heart had already been in progress every week for fourteen years! Their faithfulness humbled me to the core. Ms. M actually lives on my street, and though she usually leaves the storytelling to her friend, it is her willingness to host and fund the Club that has kept it going for over a decade.

Yesterday, I went back, and I feel so encouraged! Here is a place for the dream I've held so long. Here I can meet the kids, show them love, know their names and stories. Here I can use the puppets that have languished, unused, in my old trunk for three years. Here I can learn from the faith and faithfulness of the older women, and begin to make love a tangible verb on my street.

(AND, if you live on my street or anywhere nearby, you should come! 4pm, Wednesdays.)

2 > 1 (Two are Greater Than One)

Have you ever visited Enchanted Rock?

The giant pink granite boulder rises 425 feet above the surrounding landscape, and is a popular site for campers, hikers and bird-watchers in the area west of Austin.

In the past three or four years, it has become a Thanksgiving tradition in my family to scale the monolith early in the morning, just in time to watch the sun spill golden over the earth's edge. This past weekend, I made the traditional climb with my parents, my sister, her husband, and my own sweet love--the first triple date the six of us have ever had!

Laced, jacketed and gloved against the dark cold, we left the sleeping campsite and drove an hour to the base of the mound. By the time we arrived, the coming dawn gave hint of the graceful, curving mass looming above us. We started walking.

Because all was dome, there were no edges to fear, but the higher we climbed the more we fought against Lady Wind. Our ears became aching holes on the sides of our heads and I wished for a scarf.

Then, halfway up, Mom almost turned back. She had stolen a glance behind her, and suddenly realized just how high she stood above the tiny trees and cars below.

Dad and sis quickly took her arms and gently, steadily encouraged her forward. One step, then another, and another. I was so proud of her when we all reached the top!

To be honest, I have had many moments of near-retreat just like Mom's. The mountain may have been less visible, less touchable, but no less real. I remember the many sharp twinges of terror and fear that have threatened to paralyze me, the overwhelming urges to lay down, and simply...quit.

I am so thankful for people like my parents and my husband who laced their arms through mine and lent me the courage to take another step.

"Two are better than one, 

because they have a good return for their labor. 

If either of them falls down, 

one can help the other up. 

But pity anyone who falls

and has no one to help them up." (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

Doing the dare

Last week, the week of thankfulness, I began the joy dare. I resolved to notice the gifts He gives and make the noticing real through writing.

In the silent moments at work usually filled with mindless boredom or discontent, I wrote.
In the seconds before the green light as the car hummed, I wrote.
And let me tell you, it felt good. Fresh wind through my thoughts, carving new channels of thankful joy.

Here are a few of my jotted thoughts. Hope it encourages you today to notice the true, the lovely, the admirable, and whatever is excellent or praiseworthy.

1. Piercing sunrises that stop the heart with their beauty

2. Floor-to-ceiling windows at work that let the outside in

3. A unique wedding ring that allows me to brag on my husband often. ;)

 4. A chance to hike in the gray dawn with my love.

5. The cheapness and yummy-ness of oatmeal. 

6. Quiet pockets of wilderness next to the office

7. Firesmoke, laden with happy memories of past campouts

Teller Tales :: Fortune Cookies

Conversation overheard at work:

"My fortune cookie says that Fortune is smiling at me."

"That's kinda creepy. Who is Fortune and why is she smiling at you?"

"Why didn't you get a cookie?"

"I always eat too much when I go there; I never have room."

"That's why you're supposed to get ten of them--to eat one hour later when you're hungry."



There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: the secret musings of bank tellers when there are no customers in the lobby.

Thanksgiving :: A Hard Discipline

Honesty time, ya'll.  Last Friday night, I had a world class emotional breakdown. (Or, as my friend would call it, an "EBD".)

Every abrasion of my heart felt like it had just received an alcohol bath, all my failures were hanging out on the line for the world to mock, my eyeliner was at clown proportions from tears, and the last thing I wanted to do was eat a cheerful Thanksgiving dinner with my homegroup. The last thing on my mind was thanks.

But I went. Mainly because I was bringing the salad. Teeth clenched, expectations nonexistent, I gripped the glass bowl and stomped out to the car.

And...of course, the pecan pie and laughter and paper football shenanigans softened my crustiness.

Give thanks in all circumstances.

Seriously--this is a hard lesson!  Can there be anything more difficult than thanksgiving when the car won't start? Does anything rub more against the natural grain when you and your hard work feel invisible and unwanted, when the card declines, when the future is murky, when your energy bottoms out and you get a paper cut on top of it all?

I'm learning that discipline can be a mercy, that the very thing that puckers my mouth may settle my stomach, that obedience is always best, even if I go kicking and flailing. Thankfulness--like love--is a choice, not a Norman Rockwell painting or giddy emotion.

I've read about a life brimming with "eucharisto thankfulness" in Anne Voskamp's book. I know that no other life is fuller, even if poverty is the discouraging reality of the bank statement, the pantry, or the social calendar. But if I'm going to stick to honesty, I have to admit I'm out of practice.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds...

So here we go: I'm going to practice this week. I'm taking the Joy Dare, and I hope it extends past Thursday.

Post-makeover Pumpkins

Remember a few weeks ago before all the wedding craziness when I told you about my new orange canvas?
Well, here are some belated pictures of the finished product!

A pumpkin patch on a pumpkin. :)

 I even took some pictures of my co-workers pumpkins, just so you could see the incredible variety that half a dozen bank tellers could produce. 

An ombre creation, complete with colored glitter and spiders. 

I thought the dots looked like jelly beans. 

Definitely the scariest!

With sharpie-drawn face, this was the pumpkin version of Annie Oakley. 

The blind, purple LSU pumpkin. 

Minnie!

Currently, the cowgirl pumpkin (without her hat and gun) and the glittery pumpkin (sans spiders) are chillin on my front porch as interesting fall decor. I would have kept mine, but it got moldy. I guess that's what happens when you cover a pumpkin completely in paint?

His first look

*Google Images

I have this habit at weddings. The crowd will rise and their heads will twist back, eager for a first teary glimpse of the bride on her father's elbow. But in that moment my attention is drawn to the groom.

*Google images

Eyes moist or dry, chin quivering or still, his face is always a study. In the safety of universal (or so he thinks!) focus on his bride, his deepest joy, love and tenderness for her come surging to the surface undisguised.

She is here, this is my beloved. At last. 

I have been the bride. I know her joy as the one presented, the one beloved, the one treasured by father and then groom. I also usually know the bride personally and have walked with her on the heart's journey from first butterflies to final soul-binding committment.

But when I look at the groom, I see his amazement at the gift before him. Can she be for real? She is. Wow. 

With every step she takes toward him, he seems to become more of a man. Not in the stoic American way, but in the noble, tender way of Aslan, ready to lay himself down for the beloved.

I guess I'm just enamored by any glimpse into the heart of Jesus.

This weekend I had two different vantage points from which to view the groom: from the stage on Saturday, and then from behind the carved pillar of a tiny chapel on Sunday. In the first, I peered around the pastor's shoulder and saw the groom's mouth open, half laughing and half crying for the joy of it.  In the second, our friend's eyes shone wetter and brighter as he unconsciously sighed several times and clasped his hands nervously.

One of the brides was the wonderful girl who rented a room from us this fall. We will miss her, but they're not living too far and I am sure some of their new adventure will run parallel to ours. (Yay for game nights and hangouts!)

Pumpkin Project Ahead

In the spirit of cooler weather and healthy competition, my boss handed each of us a pumpkin at yesterday's meeting.

"Get these decorated by next Monday--any way you like."

Ooooooooo. :)

As much as I've bucked all my life against forced creativity required for school projects, this is one time when I feel liberated by the mandate to make something pretty. No, I can't do laundry or cook right now. My boss told me to decorate this. 

Here are the links to my current sources of inspiration:

• A black and white design
• Finger-painted flowers
• Following the geometric trend
• A slew of cute ideas from Better Homes and Gardens

We will display them in the lobby until Christmas is more in style...and then I have a feeling hubby and I will be eating pumpkin pie. :) 

Being Like the Blond

It was the year I turned five, and her hair was bottle-blond. Blond and curly.

That’s all I can remember about my Sunday School teacher’s appearance, but I vividly remember the love I felt in her class. She gave soft, frequent hugs, and her excitement about Jesus was magnetic. She probably didn't have a great singing voice, a perfect figure, or a seminary degree, but she loved two people well: me and Jesus.

Flash forward to another teacher, a taller, ganglier me. This time I remember the lipstick. It was sunset orange, and whenever she saw me it was stretched wide into the most welcoming smile. Ms. Kay had sadness in her life—I found out later—but she was full of Jesus’ joy and it spilled out on all of us.

(found on the website for iHeart Radio)

Even as a kid, I saw the impact that their love and willingness had on my own attitude toward Jesus, the Bible, and ministry. Jesus wasn't only for adults. We worshiped him kid-style: with fun tunes and hand motions and wiggling that exactly expressed how I was learning to know Him. We were kids and He was the One who held kids on his lap, who loved us and our Picasso-esque attempts to color him.

So why share the memories with you today?

After years of being a kid in the class, a teenage helper, and more recently a volunteer teacher, I'm humbled and thrilled to take on the role of Sunday School Coordinator for the older classes!

I will be working under one of our pastors, helping to choose the curriculum, stock the supplies, and train our awesome volunteer teachers and helpers. We're even dreaming of how to use the puppets and costumes that I have stashed in a box in my living room!

I don't have a degree in kid's ministry or elementary education, and I am the first to admit that any parent will probably know how to manage their kid better than I will. Honestly, when I let myself dwell on my inadequacies and the magnitude of what I've signed up for, I start to tremble a little in my new Chacos.

But God loves to use small stuff and weak people. Like the beloved ladies of my past, I don't have all my junk together, but I'm learning that God cherishes willingness and humility more than talent. May I be so.

Salty and Everlasting

One of my best and longest friends got married this weekend!  But before we all indulge in the gorgeous photos, I have a question: Have you ever heard of a salt covenant?

Instead of a unity candle, my beautiful friend and her new husband poured salt from two containers into a common one as part of the marriage vows.  Just as you could never return every grain of salt to it's original owner, their covenant will never be broken.

This might sound similar to the newly popular unity sand that some couples choose to do, but because the salt itself is a throwback to ancient Biblical offerings to the Lord, it means far more than inseparability. In the Law of Moses, it says:

"Season all your grain offerings with salt. Do not leave the salt of the covenant of your God out of your grain offerings; add salt to all your offerings." Leviticus 2:13

The pastor explained that in ancient Middle Eastern culture, salt was essential for curing wounds, preserving food, and was even used as money. Soldiers were often paid in salt rather than gold, which is why we still refer to a good worker as "someone worth his salt". (You always wondered, didn't you?) Wars were fought over access to this essential mineral, and it was seen as a symbol of permanence and purity.

It was valuable, which meant that it cost the giver something.
It was used to heal.
It was used to season and preserve the goodness of food.
It could cleanse impurities.
And it created thirst.

My friend and her husband were charged to be like the salt of their covenant, and I, listening, was stirred to do the same.

Here is a link to the blog where I believe the pastor got most of his information about the salt covenant. 

The Best Fruit Tart in the World!

Soon after I got married to a husband who can't tolerate gluten in his diet, my family decided--independently of our influence--to try life without gluten. After finding that they had more energy, less allergies, and less digestive problems, they made the switch permanent. I certainly don't mind; it makes it easy for us when we visit!

The last time we visited, Mom made this mouth-watering fruit tart for my birthday that is quickly becoming my favorite dessert of all time. I asked her for the recipe, and then realized....hey! My bloggy friends might enjoy this too!

So here you go: I'm sharing the love. 

INGREDIENTS:

• Gluten free cookie mix. (We used the Betty Crocker GF chocolate chip cookie found at WalMart in the regular cake section)
• 2/3 c. sifted powdered sugar
• 12 oz. softened cream cheese
• 1/2 c. whipping cream
• 1 T. orange juice
• Various fruits--whatever is pretty and in season
• Glaze:
• 2 T. apricot preserves
• 1/2 T. orange juice

Make the crust using GF cookie mix. Form it on a pizza pan with parchment paper under it. Bake according to box instructions.

Whip together cream cheese, powdered sugar, whipping cream and 1 T. orange juice for the filling.  Spoon onto cooled crust and chill 1-4 hours.

Arrange fruit on top such as kiwis, raspberries, strawberries, papaya.....

Heat topping ingredients until liquid.  Drizzle over fruit. Enjoy!

NOTE: for those who are not gluten intolerant, you can of course use a normal cookie mix for the crust. :)

My 25th Birthday!

This post is now more than one month overdue. *sheepish grin* Who knew that being one-quarter century old would bring with it so many time-consuming responsibilities?

As a special calendarial treat, my birthday fell on the long, Labor Day weekend. So of course we had to celebrate with a road trip to see my family. Bank holidays cannot be wasted when one is a bank teller!

We drove...

Upon arrival we devoured my mom's FABULOUS gluten-free fruit tart instead of birthday cake.

We finished the evening with an excellent indy film that was simultaneously edgy and heartwarming. Not the best for young kids, but the perfect discussion-sparker for highschool and college students.  If you haven't seen the movie rendition of Don Miller's popular book, Blue Like Jazz, then you should!

The next morning, we enjoyed a traditional tea-party breakfast that is usually reserved for Christmas...

And took a few whacks at a pinata with some good old friends before driving south!

Oh, and I can't forget the awesome present my hubby gave me. Yes, I have caved and joined the free-trade granola brigade. I am now the proud owner of Chacos.  You can blame Colorado.

Pinteresting::Jewelry Board

Remember this project that I considered doing back in January?

This weekend, I made a simpler, more functional version that didn't involve lace or an expensive frame.

I began with JC's old corkboard. After I freed it from a 10-year layer of photos and push pins, I gathered these supplies:

• Leftover wall paint from the hallway
• paintbrush
• 1/2 yard of pretty fabric
• Wood or Elmer's glue
• One 1/4-inch wooden rod
• small package of hook screws
• hammer
• small nails

First I applied the paint, lavishly, since I knew the fabric would cover any mistakes. After measuring the face of the board within the frame, I cut the fabric to size and glued it down inside the edges of the frame.

The next phase was the fun part! I created racks for my hook earrings by inserting the hook screws as supports. Once the rods were threaded through the hooks, it looked like this:

I then hammered nails into the board for each necklace and bracelet, being careful that they didn't poke through the back. Voila!

God-Glasses

Did you know that James has often been called the "Proverbs of the New Testament"? Neither did I, until last week.

Perhaps it is because James is intensely practical, much like Proverbs. While the Apostle Paul spends a great deal of time expounding on doctrine and the mystery of our union with Christ, James cuts right to the heart of our complacency in short, concise phrases. "Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says."

I find it humorously ironic that in one of my homegroups, the topic is James; in the other, it's Proverbs. Hmm...a theme? 

As we plopped elbow-close on the floor, discussing and laughing, my friend said something about wisdom that startled me into new understanding.

“Wisdom” she said, “is seeing things the way God does.” “Like God-glasses?” someone asked. We all laughed, but the picture fit. *

We are born with faulty vision; distorted, warped. In our eyes, evil can look like good, people are devalued, and our own self-importance can inflate like an over-filled tire. We need some corrective lenses.

If wisdom is about accurate sight, then it can’t be merely a collection of facts and tips about how to behave, like a cheat sheet to whip out of your pocket when you don’t know what to do. I like systems that make sense, which can be codified like math. But God’s wisdom can’t be reduced to a code of conduct, though some have tried. If I use a cheat sheet enough, I might develop street smarts, but never true wisdom.  God says that “as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:9)

OK, but how do I get his way of seeing things into my own head? I was wondering because I, like James, can be intensely practical.

“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Psalm 111:10)The words suddenly scrolled like a newsflash across my memory.

 Someone once explained to me that if we see God accurately for Who he is—majestic, resplendent in untrammeled power, fiercely beautiful, Judge of hidden secrets—this true sight will produce in us the healthy respect and awe he deserves. To know him is to see him. 

Knowing produces accurate sight.
Sight produces accurate fear.
Fear is the beginning of wisdom.

When I set heart toward Him, resolving to spend time with Him, honor Him, know Him, my vision will clear toward Him first. I will see Him as He is, and the clarity will travel outward, like ripples on a lake.

Yep, it goes against every insta-fix instinct. Every urge to reach for a cheat sheet. Wisdom, like the relationship with wisdom's Source, takes time to foster. But it will be worth every moment.

*My friend got her definition of wisdom from a class taught by our Pastor, R.M. #tryingtocitesourcesbetter :)
  

Housemate :)

I have always wanted a home with a revolving door, like the one in my home growing up. It was a home where the table was large and well-used, where privacy was more like privilege than like constitutional right, and where fun took priority over fastidiousness. (Awesome word, look it up here)

Even during our engagement, we toyed with the thought of one day renting a bedroom in our home to a missionary on furlough or to anyone needing a short-term place to land for a while. In theory it would be an awesome situation, giving emotional and/or financial benefits to both parties.

This fall, we are getting an opportunity to put the theory to the test! A good friend needed a short-term place for the few months between the end of her lease and the start of her life with her new husband, which will begin in November. The fact that she is a close friend and has asked me to be in her wedding has only made the situation even sweeter.

Clearing out the front bedroom required some hefty consolidation since it had previously served as an office and catch-all storage room, but I have always believed in a good, periodic junk-purge. (Yay, Goodwill!)
Now it has been transformed into a friendly place with paintings on the wall and verses written on cards over the doorframe.

I love to chat with her in the evenings after work, discussing the things on our minds that have been waiting all day for a girlfriend with whom to share them. We are opposites in nearly every way, but, rather than conflicting, our differences complement, encourage, and sharpen.

The three of us feel like a family, especially when her fiance comes over and makes himself something to eat and then wrestles my husband in a grand tickle fight and we fold each other's laundry and our mail comes in a single stack.

I will really (and I do mean REALLY) miss her after November 3rd.

So give me your thoughts! Would you and your spouse ever rent to a friend?

Double Dipping

This fall, JC and I are taking a scandalous, groundbreaking step. We feel like rebels, cheating the system. It's so revolutionary that it just might start a trend. It's the thing your mom always frowned upon when she made chips and salsa or put out the ranch dip for veggies.

Yes--we are double dipping. But not in the salsa.

Instead of attending only the student homegroup, this semester we are also joining the homegroup for young, graduated adults. Appropriately named Segue ("SEG-way") because of the transitional stage of life in which most of the members find themselves, this homegroup has a mix of grad students, recent grads who are working locally, and even a few married couples.

But we've always loved Avalanche, our student homegroup. Everyone in it, from freshmen to super-seniors is a precious friend. We love the worship, the discussion, and the goofy, fun times. Why double dip?

One reason is that, at age 31 and 25, we are feeling the age gap a teensy bit. I've read that the stage between age 18 and age 24 is formative, which means that it is chock-full of change and transition. When I got to college I was single, almost always broke, still very connected to my family, and my greatest sources of stress were homework (ohhhh the homework!) and paying for gas. Now, half a decade later, I am married, have a full time job, and my evenings are filled with people, not papers. It's just different.

Also, as I've mentioned in earlier posts, saying goodbye each year to friends as they graduate has been difficult for me.  Many wise people in my life have counseled me to form friendships with people who are planning to stick around for a while.

The final reason is the most powerful for me. We want to follow the same model of discipleship that Paul gave his young friend, Timothy in the time of the early church. It is a model of balance. We need to surround ourselves not only with young believers, but also with peers and mentors so that we continue to be challenged and encouraged toward maturity. If we stagnate, it will end up being a bad thing not only for us, but for the younger believers who see us as leaders.

I'm learning that I am responsible for my spiritual health. Sometimes this means I must be proactive, even slightly aggressive in the changes I am willing to make.

If you, like me, have been feeling out of balance lately, ask Jesus and some wise friends. Maybe double dipping is a good idea for you too. 

I can take a hint

In the spring, I did this Bible study on the book of James:

I never got around to blogging about it, but that was partly because it (and life in general) was so intense. We had daily homework, and every week we watched hour-long videos of Beth Moore's teaching that unpacked the verses even more.

By the time we finished, I had decided that the apostles James and Paul were not contradictory, as I had always secretly feared. I also had a fuller picture of what my life should look like as a follower of Jesus, and a deeper appreciation for James'  Jewish style of writing and reasoning.

Now, five months later, guess which book of the Bible my homegroup has decided to study for the fall?

Ok, God...I guess you're wanting me to REALLY study James this year, huh?

I can take a hint, and when it's a hint from my Savior, I don't really want to respond halfway.

So I decided to commit James to memory.

I've memorized scripture before, but never an entire book, so I'm going to need some encouragement from all of you! Now that I'm not in school, I have more free brain cells, and I can think of no better employment for them than to memorize words that give, rather than take, life.

We'll see how it goes!

Word Fun:: Kerfuffle!

Ever been in a kerfuffle?  

Say it: "ker-FUFF-ul". 

Say it again, faster. You're smiling, aren't you? I can't help but grin absurdly when I say kerfuffle. There are certain words in the English language that tickle the tongue, that come out Dr. Seuss-esque and make me feel like I'm five. 

The online Merriam-Webster dictionary defines kerfuffle as "a disturbance, a fuss." Something like an ado, a bother, a bluster, a ballyhoo, a furor, or hoopla. 

For example, "When my co-worker found out that they were out of Pumpkin Spice lattes, she raised quite a kerfuffle." (FYI, this is a true story from Wednesday.)

It's a chiefly British word, but the origin is probably Scottish Gaelic, a combination of cearr (wrong or awkward) and fuffle (to become disheveled). I am becoming increasingly convinced that the ancient Gaelic and Celtic languages might be the coolest on the planet. 

Apparently, I'm not the only person who thinks kerfuffle is a fun word. Google revealed that there is a website devoted to kerfuffles, a slew of rather cheesy memes, a musical band, and even a board game by that name!  Family game night, anyone?

But my favorite definition of kerfuffle comes from urbandictionary.com:

Kerfuffle: a cough that makes you fart. 

A New Season: "Real World" Edition

After two decades of school, and a lifetime of planning and preparing for adult life, I'm here!  The fabled "real world" at last. *deep breath* 

It's been a crazy two weeks since beginning my new full time job at the bank. This is partly because I've been waking up two full hours before school buses even start roaming the neighborhood, and partly because the first weeks of the fall semester are inherently insane when you do college ministry. A plus B equals no time to do laundry, let alone blog.

Now that I have a moment, here are some first impressions: 
This "real world" is a world of hazy morning drives, herbal tea steaming at my elbow.
It's a world of pencil skirts, paperwork, procedures and numerical passcodes for every door, computer screen, cabinet and vault.
It's a world of complex office culture that I'm just beginning to decode, and a world of constant sweet-tooth temptation.

(Did you know that the kolache guy, the donut guy, AND the cheesecake guy all bank with us? Oy vey. The fact that hubby and I just joined a nearby gym is probably the only thing that will keep me in check. More on that later.)

A secondary thought: I really miss studying.

Last week, my "work" consisted of observing the other tellers and poring over the training materials. It was a tantalizing taste of school. After work last Wednesday, I wrote this in my journal and realized afresh that I'm a nerd to the bone:

 "My little heart has warmed over the chance to study again, even if the textbook is the new-associate manual.  I am already making mental connections to the financial procedures at the church, and it's like going behind the scenes of a familiar movie. Lots of "aha!" moments."

Of course, all that has ended now that I have my own cash drawer and set of keys. I still have much to learn, but gradually, through mistakes and slow skill building.

My thankfulness swells when I think of the blessings attached to this job. I have work that I can leave at work, a timely and generous paycheck, a commute that barely touches three miles, the hope of friendships just begun. I will simply have to fan my own curious flame, studying for the equipping class at church, reading strategically, intentionally.

For now, we have a fun weekend planned! Resting, visiting family in Dallas, and celebrating my 25th birthday. :)

Goodbye, Suite 140

A friend asked me the other night how I've been doing lately.
"In a nutshell?" I hesitated, looking for the right word. "It's a season of transition."

I'm pretty sure she couldn't guess just how much transition was packed behind that little sentence.

I know I already blogged today about last week's planning retreat, but today is a red-letter day! Today I said goodbye to a job that has been a constant in my life for the past two and a half years, and I'm feeling the need to commemorate the closing of such a significant chapter.

I admired L.E.'s sassy, purple-hued bangs next to me as I explained things from my seat at her side, and realized, with a nostalgic twinge, that this was the last time. I held another co-worker's baby, and thought "well, this won't happen very often at the new job." I snagged a hug from Neva as she walked by on the way to the copier, and took a moment to savor the closeness we've built over the past few years.

This is the job I took as a green, insecure 22-year old whose only experience with Excel was in her high school computer class five years earlier. At that ancient gray steel desk I learned how a corporate budget operates and developed the perseverance necessary to not give up when that same budget simply WOULD NOT make sense. I've learned the quirks of all four pastors, and the soda preferences of every one of the staff. I've learned that prayer really does help computers/printers/copiers function when all hope is lost. I've learned never to take an administrator for granted; without them, nothing can function! And I've learned that there is grace for the mistakes I will inevitably make.

All day long, I was feeling thankful for the experience of working alongside people who really follow Jesus, not just with their words but in the way they walk down the hall and interact with people. So many of them came by the desk just to say "congrats!" and give a hug.

And then they threw me a little goodbye party! I felt so loved.

Goodbye, church office. It has truly been wonderful. 

Please be praying for L.E. as she takes over a challenging position, and for me as I dive into this new season. New job, here I come!

Staff Retreating

Q: What were 90 of our church leaders doing at a dusty retreat center last week?
A: The annual Staff Retreat!

Let me give fair warning: the word "retreat" is misleading. While we do go to a camp location outside of town with bunkhouses and a dining hall, it's more accurately thought of as a boot camp--a boot camp of meetings. Along with our pastors and full-time staff, about seventy student leaders show up to pray, seriously evaluate their personal lives and their small groups, and make concrete plans that will direct them in the coming year.

My first retreat was in the fall of 2009. I was a rookie leader, scared to death by the intensity of holding my life under the microscope, but amazed that over seventy people would take leadership so seriously.

Like most Americans, I had spent half an hour every year--maybe--on those doomed goals that everyone makes the night before the January 1st. But really, aren't those more like wishes? I resolve (hope/wish) to lose ten pounds. I resolve (hope/wish) to be more patient. But here I was, spending an entire week making goals that actually seemed...attainable. Wow, what a concept.

Now, 3 retreats later, I find that the time spent in planning on this retreat is one of the most valuable things I do all year. Ok, ok, it could always be MORE valuable (for instance, if I actually reviewed those goals on a regular basis), but at least the process of taking a good hard look at my habits, attitudes, and goals doesn't crush me into a pile of weepy tissues like it did in '09.

Last week, seeing my flaws was not painful, but honest. I'm not a failure; I'm a forgiven work in progress. And now I feel encouraged, inspired to approach the challenging fall ahead with some fresh perspective.

I know that the goals I made are still too ambitious for me to do on my lonesome. But that realization is healthy because it leads me to the One who never gets tired, burnt out, or discouraged.