The ebb and flow of friendships

I'm learning that college is a unique season in the realm of friendships.

Currently, I live in a 4-mile radius containing thousands of students, all of us possessors of time, spending money, and the energy to pursue relationships with each other.

None of us have kids.

Few of us work more than 25 hours per week.

Until I wear Depends and walk with a cane, I will probably never have so much time at my disposal for social activities again--and neither will they.

Four years can feel like an eternity, but it's really a blip on the timeline of life. We acclimate to the heightened social interaction, but suddenly--it's gone, and we have to trim our expectations to fit the scraps of time left over after work and family.

For me, the transition from college life to career isn't so sudden because I'm overlapping married life with student-hood. Also, the fact that my husband works in full-time ministry to college students means that we will never quite remove ourselves from the student sphere.

But things do change.  Even if I physically remain in a college town, my responsibilities and priorities shift.

The hardest part is the day a friend dons her cap and gown and finds a new address.  A friendship that was easy to maintain while we shared an apartment, class, or church might strain now for continuation because we simply have different worlds. No matter how good our intentions, it is simply harder to pick up a phone and call someone than it is to chat while folding laundry.

I'm waving my "guilty" flag high on this one. As much as I hate it, I often find that months--even a year--has slipped away since I called a dear friend.

I suppose it's the natural flow of life. We interact for a time, enjoy each other, grow, and then our paths diverge. And honestly, the mental weight of maintaining all friendships at an ever-increasing rate would crush me eventually. Surely a good friend will understand, meeting and talking when we can, as the flow of life allows.

But why does the change of seasons have to hurt so much?

Homeschooled? Why yes, I was.

"Really? You were homeschooled?" 

My friend's pale eyes widened in her pretty face on Sunday night when I mentioned the fact casually in conversation. 

"How..." she faltered. "I mean, what was that like?"

I love this question, because I love dispelling the myths that all homeschoolers are awkward, or shy, or had prom in their living rooms. Some are, and some do, but in my experience, homeschoolers are some of the most fun, interesting, and mentally alive people I've known. 

One of the most interesting effects of homeschooling is that the homeschooler usually doesn't see a sharp divide between "learning time" and "play time".  The two were so intertwined and overlapped that life is learning. Mom and Dad did a great job of making school fun, and even our vacations had plenty of teachable moments.

I suddenly realized just how true this is in my life the weekend that hubby and I were visiting his family at the beach. I was playing with our nieces, and we came up with a writing game. We made a crazy list of fun topics--vacation, puppies, swimming, gymnastics, ballet--and then rolled dice to pick one. Then I set a timer for 5 minutes, gave each of us a piece of paper and pencil, and...GO!

The idea was to write as fast as you could about the topic without erasing or correcting, and see what you could come up with.

Yes, this was an exact replica of something my college prof made us do last semester.

And yes, my little nieces loved it.

The topic we picked was "swimming", and this was the result of my five minutes (unedited!):

The nearest to weightless I’ve ever been was when I was submerged in the light-flecked water of the pool at the Wycliffe Center. My goggles pressed in around my eye sockets painfully, but I didn’t care—it was a watery forest of interesting legs down there. There were fat legs, skinny legs, lumpy legs, plump baby legs kicking near the top, and the big, hairy legs of dads. Everything had a pale, greenish tint.

 I prided myself on being able to endure the pressure of the deep-end to get the diving rings. I would grab them and then come up through the pressure zones to the breathless sunlight, gasping and wiping away the hair plastered to my face. On the ride home, my nose would be stuffy with chlorine and my eyes raccoon-like from the goggles, but I was a happy girl. 










* Addendum: While I loved homeschooling, it is only one of many good educational options. It's not the perfect choice for every family. The into on this mommy's blog is an awesome perspective on the flexibility I believe parents have in this area. As she says, "this is descriptive for our lives, not prescriptive for anyone else". 

Carnival!

As promised, here is the update about the carnival our church put on for the inner-city kids at SOS Ministries! It's more pictures than words, but we all know how many words a picture is worth. :)

Our booth was a good ol' fashioned ring toss! Grand prize: ring pops!

My old homegroup had the awesome idea of playing basketball with the kids using a garbage can as the hoop.  As you can see, they were having a blast!

Awww....

Such a cutie...

This homegroup had a giant slingshot for water bombs! 

Homegroup Connect had the most creative bowling game I've ever seen. Instead of pins, kids rolled a ball to knock over little paper cups of watered-down paint onto squares of clean fabric. The result: ART!

Yeah, I'm collecting awesome ideas to do with my own kids someday. :)

Goofiness after the carnival just melted my heart.

Pentatonix

After the family carnival our church is putting on for kids in Bryan tomorrow night, I'm sure I'll have plenty to share (teaser!!), but for now, here is a little video of my new favorite acapella group: Pentatonix.

This is a mix of "Since You've Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson and "Forget You" by Cee Lo Green. Last year, they won the grand prize and a recording contract for the singing competition, The Sing Off. Enjoy!

Big Changes Afoot

This post may come as a shock to some.  It may seem long overdue to others. I’m feeling a mix of both, with a good dose of nervous anticipation.

Here it is: I will soon be looking for a new job.

For the past two years, I have worked as the Administrative Assistant at the church office under Pastor Rodger.

Translated, this means I’ve been the grocery-shopper, the floor-mopper, the resident CPA, the bookkeeper, the phone-answerer, the accountant, the retreat coordinator, the check-writer, and the official Keeper of the Storage Key. 

I’m on a first-name basis with everyone at the bank, the guy who delivers the printer ink, the lady at the local conference center, and the deacons on the church board. 

I know the reason we book an entire week at a retreat center when we only want the weekend, the best way to contact a particular leader who never answers his phone or email, and I can find the address of a member in 3 seconds flat.

I feel so incredibly thankful that I've had the blessing of this job. The people are awesome, and the experience is invaluable. 

Why am I leaving? There is never any simple answer, but if I were to try to boil it down, I’d say “well, it’s just time.”

I plan to graduate from the University in less than 60 days (wow!), and I never pictured myself as a permanent accountant. I’m itching to use my freshly-minted Communication degree before our little family expands.

The fact that hubby and I are going to be AWOL this summer has made the job issue more urgent, since someone will have to do the basic, physical paper-pushing while I’m in Colorado. Obviously, it would be awesome to only have to train one person, so we’d love to find someone that could stay on and replace me after the summer. This also means that I'll be in the job for most of this year, but the process of fazing out has begun. 

I’m sure I’ll blog more about this as it develops—until then, pray that we find someone for the summer!

Risks worth taking

I fervently wish I was a better listener.

I've been trying to keep my mouth shut more often, to listen more intently and remember details. I've been asking God to help me really hear what people are saying.

To that end, this blog might be working against me. Learning to listen is rarely accomplished while delving into my own thoughts. But at least it forces me to honestly examine what I find there, and honesty—if it pricks me in the right places—might pop the pride bubbles that I blow for myself.

Two weeks ago, the whole Italy Mission trip team met in our tiny blue living room for cultural training. As we discussed the many ways that we could embarrass and be embarrassed in a foreign culture, I was struck by the realization that I don’t dedicate nearly enough effort to the study of my own culture.

And culture isn’t the crux of it, as if I could buy a guide book and sail through without snags. The heart of the matter is people.

Sometimes I think, wouldn’t it be great if every person you met came with a user’s manual?  

This is what this person means when they say X.

Here is a list of this person’s likes, dislikes, etc.

Here is how to avoid offence.

But a person is too beautifully nuanced to reduce to a spreadsheet or chart. They are not static, as if the same words would affect them in exactly the same way next week, let alone next decade. They are living, growing, reactive, infinitely interesting persons, and fully worth the risk of embarrassment inherent in getting to know them.

On the flip side, being known is risky too.  I think both are risks worth taking. 

Letter to Louise

Dear Louise Erdrich,

The fact that you are a living author makes it very hard to write your biography. 

Please don’t get me wrong; I want you to have a long happy life! But it’s the nature of the thing. However popular your work may be, no one knows nearly as much about your life while you’re living it as they will when you’re gone.

Fame is ironic, isn't it?

Of course, it’s better this way.  You’re a normal person who deserves your privacy. You want to choose how much of your life to reveal.

But for all of us poor college students who have to write 5-page biographies about you, could you please reveal a little more?

-That Poor College Student

[picture credit]



[I have put in about 4 addtional hours of research since originally writing this letter of mild frustration. Since then, I've found enough about her life to easily fill five pages. I was simply looking in the wrong places. 
Lesson learned: don't blame the subject if your research is bad. :) ]

Beach Living

I love travel and adventure, but I could have been content to continue puttering around my house for the rest of this vacation.  For example, I have a certain closet that REALLY needs de-clutterization, as well as a truck-load of research to do for a paper due next Thursday.

But instead, I’m sipping a Dr. Pepper while looking at this view:

(Actual pic)

Yes, you city-dwellers. Be jealous.

Sometimes my own sense of obligation to productivity would rob me of treats like this.  But we promised hubby’s family that we would join them at the beach house, and I’m so thankful we did! God really knows how to give me rest when I need it.

We arrived Thursday night, driving through a thick, salty fog that made a granular paste on our windshield as we neared the coast.

We stayed up with our nieces and taught them how to play Monopoly Deal—a card version of the traditional game that has the advantage of being both packable and faster to play. They loved it, and I loved watching my sweet, patient man explain the rules and encourage them as they learned. He will be a great dad someday.

Since then, we’ve been purely, delightfully lazy:

• Waking up after 10 in low-beamed bunk beds to the aroma of coffee.
• Dancing to the CD of our wedding music with my mother-in-law (hilarious!)
• Laughing at the squabbling seagulls as they fought over an unidentified piece of food near our porch.
• Eating homemade caramel corn.
• Stealing kisses from my hubby while the nieces were busy with crafts.

Yes, it's been wonderful. 

Some observations: 

The culture here in this beach-side community is slower, sunnier, and even more individualistic than most parts of America. I say more individualistic because it’s a perpetual vacation. Most residents are retirees, enjoying their golden years in a golden zone of sun, surf, and sand.  Hurricanes are never mentioned except in hushed tones, as if mentioning them aloud will jinx the paradise they enjoy.

There is one main street, one grocery store, and everything is festooned with the same ship-styled paraphernalia. The color scheme reminds me of a Mexican restaurant: coral, aqua, yellow and mint green. Shame on the beach-home owner who dares to pollute the neighborhood with a color like brown or tan!

Salt makes a gritty slime on all the windows. It makes you imagine that the waves have actually come close enough to spit their froth on the homes and cars. The salty wind turns even flat-ironed hair into an organic cloud of untamed curls—my nieces wear them permanently.

Conclusion--Beach living is a lot like sleep: a total escape from all responsibilities. I need it periodically, but only to recharge for the demands of everyday life.  

I feel refreshed, and but today I’ll be glad to go home.

The future is deceptive

That's what I said. Deceptive. 

Big milestones like driving, college, marriage, or a career hover hazy and distant on the horizon, fooling you into thinking they’ll never come, and then WHAM! They’re already here.  Then you blink, and they’re already past!

This morning, I was reminding myself of this truth because I was one of two childless women in a room full of young mommies.  Now there's a milestone that is way out there on some distant horizon. Not gonna happen for a while… Right?

They were discussing lactation, nipple cream, birthing pools and stools, Bradley Classes, sonogram images, baby names, relaxation techniques involving ice water (sounds painful!), and losing modesty during labor--and those are only a few of the ones I can remember!

I had a brief moment when I felt like the oddball because I’ve never lactated or ripped my peritoneum, but then I remembered:

The future is deceptive.

It feels hazy and distant, but it'll be here before I know it. 

In light of that realization, I'm so thankful to be surrounded by other godly young women who are already there, in that hazy unknown. Hearing their stories is like borrowing a telescope.

Now the future doesn’t feel so fuzzy.

Rich man, Poor man

Two nights ago, hubby and I spent a hilarious night of goofiness with another couple and friends from their homegroup. With six of us crowding close around their kitchen table, the sugar rush from the homemade ice cream compounded the goofiness factor several times over.

The game we played was one of those hybrids that combines a standard deck of cards with the individual silliness of the players.   For a group of un-selfconscious people, (or for people who become that way when hyped on sugar), it is the perfect game!

Which I will now share with you. Ahem. 

"Rich Man, Poor Man"

SETUP:

The dealer gives cards to every player in the circle, starting with those on his/her left. If the number of cards does not deal evenly, those on the left will have more than the rest...and this is part of being "poor". :)

GOAL:

You want to get rid of all your cards as quickly as possible.  This is called "going out". 

PLAYING THE CARDS:

1) In your hand, arrange the cards by number, with 2 being the highest card, three being the lowest. (Example: 3, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, Jack, King, Ace, 2)

2) The dealer places a card (usually a low card) on the table, face up. The person to his left must then match that card (by playing the same number) or beat it (by playing a higher card). Obviously, you want to get rid of your low cards if you can, while keeping your high cards for later. 

3) 2 is the trump card! If a 2 is played, the one who played it moves the pile of cards to the side and plays whatever new card they choose.

4) Sometimes, the first one to play a card may choose to play 2 of the same card (eg. two sevens). If they do, the person to their right must play two matching cards that are also sevens or a higher value.

5) If you are unable to play a card, you must say "pass".  There is no penalty for passing, but you lose the chance to play a card. 

6) The first person to "go out" will be the "rich man" for the next round and will sit in the chair designated for this position. The next person to "go out" will be the next richest, and will sit to the rich man's right, and so on, down to the poorest person. 

7) At the beginning of the second round (as in real life) the poor get poorer and the rich get richer. The poorest person gives their two best cards to the "rich man", while the rich man gives the poorest their two worst cards.  The second-richest person also exchanges one card with the second-poorest person. 

THE FUN PART:

When you are "rich", there are certain privileges...and these can be as silly as the imagination of the rich person.  

For example, last night, I was richer than JC, so I made him sit for the rest of that round with his knees up close to his chest, looking pretty silly.  Another dude who likes to wear his hair long was told by a richer person that he had to put his hair in pigtails. (see pic!)
At one point, I had to make, um, farting noises every time I "passed" in the card game.

Obviously, these privileges are not limited only to the single person who is "richest". Anyone sitting to your right is poorer than you, and you can order them to do silly things. (One caution: DON'T make anyone do things that would make them sick, injured, or do something that goes against their conscience.)

You can imagine the chaos as we played. Pure awesomeness.

Quieting down

Who has been eating delicious peanut butter cookies, sleeping in, working out, reading encouraging stuff, watching movie marathons with her awesome hubby, and being generally spoiled on her Spring Break? Me. J  Ahh, vacation is always sweetest when it’s needed the most.

It’s interesting: I’ve had less interaction with my laptop in the last three days of vacation than I had during the three prior weeks when I was actually trying to cut back on media. Go figure.

I’m discovering that periodic times when I avoid the normal definition of “productivity” can sometimes actually produce the best results. One result is that it is definitely effective at cutting back on all the “noise” that fills my head most of the time.

I’m realizing that I need stillness.  Even in the flow of necessary responsibilities and the inevitable crush of deadlines and to-do’s, my heart needs moments when I simply

Sit.

Or belly-laugh with friends.

Or lift my hands in silent adoration to Jesus.

Or stand still in the WalMart parking lot to admire the streaming colors of the sunset.

When my heart quiets down, when I stop the volley of anxious, ping-ponging thoughts for a moment, then—surprisingly—I start hearing the smaller noises that usually don't make the “urgent” list. 

I notice the tone of my friend’s voice and the tremor in her mouth as she shares instead of just taking mental note of the bare facts. 

I remember that another friend has a birthday coming.

I allow myself to giggle over a pair of squirrels being…um, frisky in a tree next to the Physics building on campus. 

I hear the voice of Jesus saying “Come talk with me”, and my heart answers “I’m coming” (Psalm 27:8)

I want to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a college student who felt like she was going to drown in papers and books and verb conjugations.

Her writing hand was claw-like from clutching the pen.
Her shoulders had grown together from hunching.
Her computer was overheating from research.
Her eyes were scratchy from staring.
Her clothes had wrinkled into a sitting position.

And she missed the outdoors.

Spring Break was shimmering in the future, glowing with the promise of long nights of sleep and the certainty of exercise. Sweet vacation would soon be here. Then the tension would ease, the books lie forgotten for a while.

But the college student needed rest now, or at least a substitute.
Snacks?  Nope, tried that already.
A to-do list? Those only made her knotted shoulders tighter behind her neck.
How about a nap? Too large a risk; she would sleep for a week.

Then, the student stopped still. She had felt a familiar sound. Yes, she felt more than heard, for this Sound reached beyond soundwaves and caressed her heart under the armor she wore. The sound was a Voice, and it spoke from a well of deep rest, deep comfort, and a deep knowing. It invited her to sit close. She was still clutching her pen and her books, but she sat.

The Voice said her name, and she softened, but she still held the pen and books.
"Daughter?" said the Voice. "Do you know that I loved you before you had accomplished anything that you consider worthwhile or valuable?"
The college student held her pen tighter.
"And do you know that I would love you if you completely failed?"
She shuddered at the thought.
"I am the source of your rest, my lovely one," the Voice continued. "If you try to satisfy yourself with other things, you will feel like you're drying up."
"I feel like I'm drowning," she mumbled.
The Voice laughed, warmly, and she could imagine smile creases forming around tender eyes.
"The water I offer never drowns," He said. "It quenches. And the rest I offer isn't limited to vacation. I am always with you, and I don't run out or get tired."

She sat a long time. Gradually, a little bead of realization began to trickle slowly through her thoughts. The water swelled into a sturdy stream, eroding the fears of failure and the tiredness that had crusted there. He could be trusted. He was a deep well that never ran dry. The water soaked her, and her tears of relief flavored the deluge with salt.

And she let the pen fall from her open hands.

Sisters make the bestest friends

The little sister who used to sleep beneath me in our bunk bed just started her 3-hour drive back home after a wonderful weekend visit.  I am absolutely LOVING this season of sisterhood!  Even though the four of us are becoming more and more dispersed, we are also at liberty to drive ourselves to each other's homes.  We are post-independence, but pre-pregnancy, and the friendships have never been sweeter.

I'm realizing more and more that Mom was right: sisters truly do make the bestest friends. When sisters are together, old jokes come bubbling up and out, surprising you both with a flood of memories and silliness that tastes like nine years old again and sunshine and peanut-butter-banana sandwiches in the backyard forts we used to make.

This weekend, her clear, fluted voice made me remember how much fun harmonizing can be, and we jammed out to Avalon's soulful rendition of "I'll fly away" as we drove to the restaurant for dessert. Smack in the middle of the work day on Friday, my boss allowed me to spend three refreshing hours with her, eating fajitas, browsing at World Market, and sharing the things God is teaching our hearts.

That night we went with the homegroup to enjoy the "First Friday" exhibits and late-closing restaurants in the historic downtown district.  There were street musicians, face-painters, indie bands, and even several elderly representatives from the spinning and weaving guild who fascinated us with the whirling bobbins of their spinning wheels. Unlike past visits, my sister was now the age of the students in the college group, and her sweetness and energy lent an extra element of fun to the hangout.

And then, yesterday morning, she and Jordan both held me as I cried over the death of my friend, Dana, snuggling close in our big bed. There is no pricetag big enough for understanding like that.

Kare-bear, I am so glad you came this weekend!  Here are some pictures and a video of the time:

These street drummers are members of the University's percussion team. Aren't they awesome?

We had a great time playing Phase 10!

This is NOT a magazine clipping; it's a picture of the gorgeous flowers Mom sent down for us!  Thanks, Mom, for being so thoughtful!

My friend, Dana

I had planned to write a happy post today. My sister is in town for a rare visit, and we had a blast last night in historic downtown Bryan. But today, I am grieving the death of my dear friend, Dana Ciumac. This morning, at around 3 am, Jesus took her home to heaven.

Though I lost both of my beautiful grandmothers to cancer, my heart is feeling a deeper, sharper sense of tragedy because this was a friend who had not yet reached her thirties.

I met Dana in the fall of 2006. With my high school graduation only months behind me, I had flown to Europe for a six-month mission trip with Operation Mobilization. I was such an eager, skinny twig, excited to be abroad where nothing was familiar except the Latin sounds that the Romanian language holds in common with Spanish. Dana, who was Romanian, was one of perhaps 3 people on the team who spoke English, and her accepting hugs and smiles made me feel at home almost immediately.

She was young--only 22--but I was only nineteen and deeply admired her. She was so gentle, so cheerful, and if there was a joke or party, Dana was probably in the middle of it. Kids in the villages we visited would flock around her, glowing under the individual attention she gave so freely. As I greedily learned every Romanian word I could, she would patiently help me with spelling and correct my pronunciations. She led teams of young people as we served widows, created puppet shows for kid programs, and told people on the streets about the freedom and joy of knowing God personally.

After I left Europe, she continued to serve on the team, and I would receive emails, facebook messages, and even precious letters from her in Romanian. In November of 2009, she married a young man who had also been our teammate, and I celebrated with her by oooing and ahhhing over her wedding pictures online.

For approximately the last nine months, her husband Eugen has served and loved and encouraged her as few men could have done. He kept hundreds of supporters and friends informed as the cancer gradually took its course, always with unwavering faith in God's goodness and love. Only God could have known that a healthy young woman like Dana would die so soon, and I am so glad that He brought such a wonderful man into her life.

Even this morning, Eugen wrote: "I know that this is a shocking news for you, but I thank God that He released her from all the pain she had...Please pray for our families and all the friends that kept Dana close to their hearts.

Be blessed and don’t forget, God is good!"

Dana, goodbye, my beautiful friend. I will see you someday again soon.

Coolness

What does a resourceful husband do when his food is too hot and he is in a rush? He uses his wife's hair dryer--on the cool setting--to blow on his food.

May I please call your attention to the fact that very few men know about the cool setting. Yes, my man is awesome.

Art Update

For those of you trembling in anticipation on the edges of your swivel chairs, wondering what I finally decided to create during Girl Craft Night (all 2 of you), the answer is NONE of the options I considered. That's life: we make our plans, but sometimes they just don't happen. 

Happy are the flexible. :)

My first choice (thanks to those who voted!) was the jewelry rack, mainly because my poor little jewelry tree is staggering under the weight of too many mismatched beads and baubles. But...I wasn't about to shell out 50 bucks for a frame at Hobby Lobby. Why can't shabby chic ever be shabby cheap?

Second choice: the painted ceiling medallions as wall decor. Same problem, only the cost would have been around $80. Also, the ones at home improvement stores are made of foam and plastic, which is very hard to paint unless you buy additional primer.

So here's the great reveal...please don't laugh. I never claimed to be a professional artist.

The idea was to create four paintings, each representing one of the four types of soil in Jesus' parable. (Obvioulsy, an evening was not enough time to finish all four, which means that I have an excuse for another artsy night!)

If you were ever in Sunday School as a kid, you'll remember that in one of his stories, Jesus described the average farmer as he scattered his seeds in a field. The farmer's strong arm would have thrown the seeds in a wide, graceful arc to cover as much ground as possible. Of course, that meant that seeds went everywhere, and that not all of them grew well.

The seeds that fell on the path were eaten by birds.

Those that fell on rocks withered under the sun because they had shallow roots.

Those that fell among weeds got choked.

But those that fell on the plowed, rich, deep soil grew and produced a crop.

But Jesus was a carpenter, not a visiting lecturer on agriculture, and he was speaking to our hearts about our hearts. The seeds represent the Word of God, and the soils are the hearts of people who hear it. 

The parable of the soils has been part of my mental library since before I could read, along with Grimms Fairy Tales and Bambi. Even though I've understood that Jesus was speaking beyond mere seeds and dirt, it's so easy to stop there and not ask the hard questions. Is my heart hard and unwilling to let God's truth penetrate deeply, like the rocky soil? Is it so full of noise, anxiousness, and other concerns that His truth is choked? 

To be honest, I have times when both are true. Just this week, God was showing me his goodness and telling me that he forgives me more freely than I do, but there was a part in me that was unwilling to believe he could be that good. At that moment, the lie, "God holds grudges like a human" was like a stubborn rock in my heart, keeping his truth from coming in. At other times, I think my heart-dirt is getting softer, and I can see the results.

Which of the soils do you most identify with?