I've moved!

After three years and 195 posts here in this little bloggy space, I have packed up my pile of rocks and moved to a brand-spanking new website!

Visit Cherise's new website HERE.

You guys, I can't even begin to tell you how fun it is to have my own space that is clean and fresh and new. I feel like a college girl who just got her first apartment, giddy over her first dishes.

The whole thing was a birthday gift from three of my favorite people in the world.

My husband bought the domain name and template, and our dear friends Kelsey and Avery camped out for hours on our living room floor, showing me the intricacies of widgets, email forwarding, backups, and installation.

To all three of you from the core of me--thank you for showing me love.

The new website has a sweet little email subscribe form so you can get my posts in your inbox--easy peasy.

Goodbye, Blogger! It's been fun.

Photo credit: http://www.prossersmoving.com/ 

Italy this year looks different

I *almost* posted this Wednesday, but it was the first of April, and the common wisdom says that nothing posted on April Fools Day should be trusted as fact.

I wanted you to believe me when I tell you this.

After much prayer and thought, I have decided to remain state-side this year while my husband goes back to Milan in May.

To explain why, let me tell you the story.

Around November, as I was praying for my friends in Italy and for the coming mission trip, I felt a hesitancy that was as unexpected as it was strong. Why does this year feel different? I wondered.

 The following week, my beautiful younger sister got a sparkling rock on her left hand. A wedding was quickly set for June. Only a few short weeks later, my other sister and her husband welcomed a sweet baby girl to our family. In our close-knit clan, babies and weddings are all-hands-on-deck affairs--a chance to pour love through action and presence.

I was torn. On the one hand, I could not wait to see my friends in Milan. I longed to grieve with the church there over the recent death of one of the missionaries, to continue the conversations about life and Jesus with those I met in the last three years, and to feel the joy of serving alongside my husband in a place we've both come to love.

On the other hand was a growing desire to grasp these momentous moments with my sisters. But it felt almost selfish to consider choosing family over a mission trip.

There was not enough vacation for both.

However, as I prayed, I became convinced that loving my sisters and their families was this year's mission. And, as I realized several years ago, even spiritual things like a mission trip overseas can be downright disobedient if the Lord is asking me to do something else.

So while it feels odd to reach March without a flurry of support-raising, I am filled with peace. When I get home and see the coffee cups from an Italy meeting cluttering the countertop by the sink, I smile, knowing that God has hand-picked these seven volunteers. It is a good team, and they will succeed.

And that's not all.

God has been dropping ideas into the now-peaceful pool of my heart. Each one sends excited ripples to the very edges of me until I can hardly sit still! I may be here, an ocean away from the team for two weeks, but those two weeks have a purpose. The purpose is slowly forming into a plan, but that will have to wait until the next post. :)

Stay tuned! 

From basement to palace

This is *way* overdue, but my office moved in September and I'm still excited about it!

Over forty people relocated from our basement "rabbit hole" beneath the Freshmen Commons to an elegant historical building with palatial columns, filigreed doors and watery colored glass. We are now on the first floor, which means that torrential rain will no longer flood our space with four inches of water. Yay!

Technically, it isn't a new place; the OGAPS office is actually returning home after a long displacement for renovations. In January of 2013, the University received a grant to restore our building to its original historical state. Here is an article from the TAMU times describing the renovation.

It's definitely an upgrade in every sense of the word, but I'm SO glad the actual moving is finished!

If you've ever moved, you know that a single person's accumulated do-dads, papers, and miscellaneous mess can be daunting. Multiply that experience by about 40, and you've got a pretty good idea of the task we faced. By God's grace we made it to the end with relationships still intact. :)

When the Jack K. Williams Building was built in 1932, its grandiose architecture would have made quite an impression. The Great Depression had made its paralyzing presence known across Texas by that time, and the farmer's sons coming to school from small, dusty Texan towns had probably never seen anything like it.

For many years, all of the University's administrative offices--from the President's office to the Registrar--were housed here. (Our suite actually still contains the original vault where student's cash tuition payments were locked!) For this reason, the building was originally called simply the Administration Building. In 1998, the name was changed to honor the work of former University president Jack K. Williams for his work to increase enrollment while preserving traditional historical landmarks on campus. 

The sweeping staircase in the lobby makes our building a popular spot for bridal pictures. We can see the photographer's flashes through the filigreed door that fills our suite's front entrance, and it makes me remember the fun of taking my own bridal portraits three years ago.

My favorite part of the building is the wide shaded porch that faces the University's green front lawn like a benevolent grandmother. When I sit with my lunch on the cool steps, the smooth columns soar upward to the fourth story roof above my head.

Here are a few more pictures of the details!

Avoiding ministry burnout

Ever heard of Perspectives? For years, I've heard stories of life-change from anyone lucky enough to take this rich, intensive 15-week course on missions. We have a joke that no one can talk about Perspectives without using the word "perspective"...because, well, a new perspective on missions, on God and even--or especially--their own relationship to Him is what everyone leaves with.

 

So when hubby and I started Perspectives this spring, I was expecting to be changed on a global scale for global mission. But this was different. This was much closer to home.

 

Somewhere in Lesson 2, I arrived at the article by Tim Dearborn entitled “Beyond Duty”. He wrote about the tendency for many churches and mission agencies to motivate people into missions using “bad news”.  It all sounded so familiar:

 

Statistics of the hundreds of thousands dying without Christ.

Photos of malnourished children in Sudan.

Overwhelming numbers of martyrs dying each year for their faith...

and on and on.

 

Not only did it remind me of sermons and mission conferences, it reminded me of my own prayers in the past: full of heavy tears and a crushing burden for the lost and broken.

 

In Dearborn’s own words, I had “worked myself into exhaustion with exhortations to give more, do more, be more, care more, serve more, love more, sacrifice more,” but I always ended by feeling hopelessly inadequate for the task.

 

Because of course, I was.

 

And then, this:

“Mission is ultimately not a human response to human need. …Lack of interest in mission…is best remedied by intensifying people’s passion for Christ, so that the passions of his heart become the passions that propel our hearts.”

 

Wait, mission is not human response to human need? *mind blown*

 

As I sat with highlighter poised, God began to clarify truth even beyond what Dearborn had written. Human-centered motivations, because they originate in finite humans, will always be limited. No matter how earnest my compassion, no matter how much I immerse myself in knowledge of the world’s needs, no matter how much zeal I fan into flame with my own will, it will all fall flat eventually because I myself am finite.

 

An Infinite Source is needed.

 

Suddenly He whisperered to my exhausted heart. Cherise, this is part of why you felt burned-out in your homegroup.

 

Me: Ohhhhhhhhh.

 

I realized that I had served and lead from a dry well of self-generated desires and passions to serve human needs rather than from a simple, pure desire to love and please my Father. When the people I served became hard to love or did not return my friendship, I fizzled. I was counting on my own compassion and love to sustain me, but (shocker!) it proved a poor source for long-term sustainability.

 

It turns out that the same incomplete motivations for global mission are just as incomplete on the home-front.

 

BUT there is a higher motive that is a deep well, never running dry! It has nurtured and upheld missionaries in generations past, enabling them to give and serve for years without thanks, without praise, without the support of community or the comforts of home.

 

It is this: The glory of His Name. His honor. God receiving the praise He deserves.

 

If I live for His praise, I won't be living for mine (and won't be crushed when I don't receive it.)

 

I have a sneaking suspicion that this will be a lesson learned over and over. 

 

Ignite: Then and Now

Have you ever tried to water a potted plant that was bone-dry? The water beads up and splashes off the dust with no effect.

Only small drops, patiently dripped, get through the crust.

Just after Christmas, the hubs and I squeezed onto a bus with 56 other people and drove to Indiana’s capital for the Ignite Conference. Ignite is a bit like a family reunion for the several hundred college students and staff who gather every two years from all the churches in the Collegiate Church Network. For two days, we worship, barely sleep, hang out, and hear dynamic teachings designed to re-ignite our hearts with love for God and for people.

When I went to Ignite two years ago, I was like a waterless plant that had forgotten how to drink. Starved for friendship, terribly lonely, and laboring under a false weight of expectations, my hard protective crust blocked out the love I needed.

I'm not saying love was not offered--it was. The sweet women in our group welcomed me, sat by me, chatted as we made coffee. But the wounds I nursed were so painful that I was unable to soak it in. Love splashed off, ineffective. 

This time was so different! The acceptance got through this year and soaked my heart. 

To all the women who loved me that weekend, thank you!
When your engagement secret was shared, I squealed as I anticipated your joy to come.
Adoption hopes whispered over our pillows thrilled my heart for you and your future family. 
You came on an impromptu picture-snatching adventure with me in the bright cold, and I felt like your sister. 

You sat beside me for hours in the dark on a swaying bus, just to talk and listen. 
You prayed with me, 
You smiled at me, 
you weren't embarrassed to worship beside me. 

But the real thanks welling up in my heart is to the One who has patiently dripped love into my crusty heart. Dripped and dripped so persistently and long. And then He gave me a milestone like Ignite. A two-year bookend--something to hold side by side for the difference--so I could compare the soils of me then and me now. 

He used some of you, and my heart is so thankful!

If you feel like your own heart is impermeable, that it is too dry for love or friendship, take heart. He is a Spring of Living Water, and He doesn't give up that easily. 

If you feel like you are the water, continually poured on a hard one that won't receive, take courage. The softening is His job--yours is to be the pipe, the spigot, that He pours through. 

Five Minute Friday::Fight

A new year, and I'm linking back up with Lisa-Jo at her online writer's party, Five Minute Friday! The basic idea is this: a one-word prompt, five minutes, and the courage to see what comes out.

Ok, ok, this took me WAY longer than five minutes. It was typed between phone calls with grad students and faculty, my lunch break, and conversations with student workers. Every time I turned back to the screen, my mind had to take a minute or two to regroup.

And then the prompt was just so GOOD this time, or maybe the things it stirred were so good, that five minutes just wasn't enough to sift through it all.

PROMPT: "Fight"

Three days ago, the year quietly turned over.

In Decembers past, I have knelt on the floor with the pieces of the previous year and made better plans. The lists have gotten longer each year, the sense of failure harder to sweep into the trash. But I have fought on, doggedly. I craved a sense of control, something to fight and strive for. It scratched my performance itch, that old wound that wondered “am I enough?”

But three days ago, there were no lists. There were no pre-failure tears. There were no crowding ambitions to stroke my pride.

The birth of this New Year carried the same peace as the Birth celebrated five days earlier. A miracle.

In 2013, I was glaringly inadequate. Far from the familiar realm of academic success, the working world was harsh to this newbie who didn’t understand the sarcastic culture of unkindness in which I found myself.

Gone were the grades, the part-time job where I knew what I was doing, the leadership role that was defined and comfortable.

But I was held.

My brokenness devastated me, but not Him. At the end of my striving, there He was, the same Savior who captivated my little-girl heart. I was tired of the fight for sanity and acceptance and rest and blog hits and emotional stability, but when I collapsed I found myself caught. Caught by the arms that had already streached out to me and the world two millenia prior.

I am realizing for the first time in experience what I have long known:

He Himself is my peace.

Not my ability to bring order to the chaos. Not the cleanness of my counters. Not whether friends remember my birthday or I remember theirs.

He. The Prince of Peace. The baby who folded small into a teen mom and yanked Heaven into our messy world so strangely.

He still holds the helpless (me), still accepts the unacceptable (me again), and still meets my mess with love.

My brokenness will only find wholeness when I rest in the hands that were broken for me.

My ceasefire can only come when I believe the fight he won was sufficient. Before 2014 begins, it is finished.

And I can rest from the fight.

 

 

SCW: Aware of Cellulite and Grace

She was standing there, young, athletic and ridiculously beautiful, the mascara wand forgotten in her hand as she appraised me. She turned back to our shared mirror.

"It seems like there sure are a lot of married people in this group. Lots of y'all are older."

It was such a tiny comment, dropped like an afterthought into a whole conversation, but it stung.

I think I responded with a laugh and a fumbled something about people who choose to stay and help other lives change after they have been impacted themslelves and yadda yadda. (Which, by the way, I totally believe!) Suddenly, I was very aware of my cellulite and the new little lines around my eyes. I hoped she didn't think I was creepy or weird or that she had stumbled into a group of old people.

If this sounds like a familiar refrain, you're probably remembering an earlier post about my mid-twenties crisis. Yeah. That.

But there is a reason that this post's title isn't "Crisis #2"--because it wasn't. It stung in the moment, but I was able to take a deep breath and keep talking, keep listening, keep loving.

I think this means healing.

One of the best parts that weekend was the sweet camaraderie between us four.

We sat together in the dark on the cooling ground, watching constellations turn imperceptibly overhead. We slept with our heads close together on air mattresses. We talked over cocoa and coffee.

There was silliness.

There were ant bites.

There were marshmallow smears on my jeans from fireside s’more making.

There were heartfelt prayers for students by students at the back of the worship hall.

And even though my insecurities are still there, there is healing happening in my heart and I feel so glad for the chance to be an auxiliary part of this thing we call college ministry.

Back on campus

Somewhere above me, the sun is warm. The desk curves spacious to my left and a new sticky pad perches next to my complicated phone. It rings. I catch myself because the old greeting no longer fits.

"Office of Graduate and Professional Studies, how can I help you?"

There. I said it without stuttering. 

If you haven't heard the news yet, here it is: I GOT A NEW JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After thirteen months in banking, I am back on our beautiful, bustling, homey campus. A shiny new parking pass swings from my rearview mirror like an old friend and I work in the basement heart of a dorm lounge, which is a strange place to process paperwork, but renovations will be beautiful she says. Her glance swings over the boxes and cramped filing cabinets that line the walls of our underground office, and I'm thankful I wasn't hired yet when they moved here.

Two weeks ago I was greeting customers; now I greet students. They come with varying degrees of anxiety of their faces, handing in wrinkled papers that have passed through five different hands as they collected signatures. Even though I have very few answers to offer, my favorite moments have come when kindness, costing me nothing, earns me a look of sheer relief and gratitude.

I feel a lot of gratitude these days!

For work at eight, instead of seven.
For the chocolate cupcakes that my boss brought to my last day at the bank.
For the eight luxurious days I'll have off at Christmas--stuff bankers can only dream of.
For jeans on Fridays and free coffee.
For access to thousands of books and online journals through the University library.
And best of all, I'm on campus.

Ever since graduation, I have missed the easy accessibility to the student world that made conversations with them between classes over coffee or luches a more-often thing. I was working only two miles away, but it may as well have been fifty. Now I am literally working fifteen feet below some of my friends' dorm rooms!

Let the lunches commence!

"He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me." (Ps. 18:19)

The Point of Bridesmaids

Seven times.

I counted this weekend, and was amazed to realize that I have been a bridesmaid for seven beautiful friends. How can I have been so blessed? These girls considered me close and wanted me there on their special day. They wanted me as a witness to sacred vows, to their new beginnings.

This weekend I stood as a man and woman made a forever promise to love, honor and cherish each other. (Isn't she stunning?)

As I looked at the list of women, I felt a growing resolve to continue to stand with them. Because we don't need friends only for pretty faces in the wedding album, or to help us bustle the dress. After the cake is eaten, after we're no longer newlyweds, after student loans and stretch marks and burned crock pot meals and PTA and decades of living life, we will need them more than ever. I will never outgrow the need for women beside me, for sisters' prayers, for witnesses that will hold me to my vows when they no longer make sense.

In the ceremony, my friend spoke of waiting eleven years for this day. I had only been her friend through half of that waiting season, but I had seen the tenacity and love and endurance of her heart.

A hope fulfilled is so beautiful. But even more beautiful was the beauty produced in her heart because of hope long deferred.

Switching gears...I have to share the funniest moment of the ceremony. (Because remembering these stories is another reason bridesmaids exist.)

Get the scene in your head: the bride and groom are on stage, each taking a turn kneeling and washing the other's feet in a ceramic bowl, symbolizing their commitment to serve each other in the manner of Christ. Her feet are washed, shoes replaced; no problem. Then the groom sat, and the entire room began to realize that his well-heeled, well-socked feet might be more difficult than her simple slippers.

 Looking back, a lot of it could have been avoided if foot-washing practice had actually happened at the rehearsal. That's what a practice is for, right?

The socks came off inside out...and then utterly refused to go back on damp feet. We in the bridal party started to giggle. The band started the refrain again, to buy time. As both bride and groom tugged on the stubborn dress socks, the giggles rippled out and engulfed the entire chapel. The photographer was laughing so hard she could barely hold her camera steady, but if she was able to take pictures of the hilarity, I'm sure they will be awesome. 

My Mid-Twenties Crisis

Yesterday as we prepped for our homegroup's pizza night, I had a moment of crisis. Why? Because my 26th birthday is next week. 

I know--I'm still young...but I panicked, wondering if passing that milestone would suddenly make me un-relatable to the eighteen year olds we are welcoming to our group. I mean, that's an eight-year gap!

My thoughts went something like this: I'm married. That instantly puts me a world away from them. Then they'll figure out my class year was 2010...the same year most of them were just starting high school. When I was babysitter age, they would have been the age to babysit! I can't even stay up late to hang out with them...I'm so lame...

I was feeling this even though my husband is over thirty and still totally relevant! Even though I could point to a generous crowd of young mommies who are encouragement powerhouses to the dozens of college girls who flock around them, I was still feeling like my expiration date was about to start flashing red. 

Because it's true; I am no longer the student who frequents coffee shops, has five sets of flip flops, and carries a backpack in lieu of a purse. 

But there is another truth: I'm also no longer the college student who crammed six discipleship meetings into every week, who strove to perform so well as "mentor" that she missed the chance to be "friend", and who carried a lump of lonliness and its consequential resentment. 

So much healing has happened since then. So much humbling, and still I need more. 

Today Jesus showed me that my desire to be relevant should take a back seat to a better goal: to love them well. 

I'm starting to realize that the thing a student needs may not be another friend who has the same struggles, insecurities, boy troubles, and lives at the same stage of life. What they really need is Jesus. And Jesus can use me--at any age--to listen, to encourage, to talk about the serious and the silly, to share rides and meals and life, and to bring them back to the relentless love of the Savior that I myself need desperately and say, "I've been there. And Jesus is still good."

Because there are some things that transcend generations X, Y, Z, and beyond, until He returns. 

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.

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. 

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.

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. 

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.

Identity and my Job Search

If you know me, you'll be excited about this news! If you don't, maybe you'll at least be encouraged by what God is teaching me about his goodness.

When I got back to hot and humid Texas three weeks ago, I leaped headlong into the job search with all the intensity and drive of an Olympic swimmer. Translated, this means I came home each night from training my replacement at my part time job, perched on the couch with laptop and a bowl of dinner, and systematically searched and applied for any opening that remotely interested me.

For hours.

I edited cover letter and resume for each application. I kept detailed files of everything I sent. I even took copies of said cover letters and resumes to the taupe-colored offices in person, just to give it a personal touch. There were blisters on my feet from the flats I wore that day, but I didn't mind. And as you might have noticed, I hardly blogged. The computer was otherwise employed.

I was serious, and I was eager for the job market to take me seriously.

This employment hunt reminded me of my research papers in college.The harder I searched, the more blisters I acquired, and the less I slept, the more likely I would be to find a job, right? The underlying assumption was this: the grade depends on me. 

Then, about two weeks ago, I was at work, training my replacement in the art of balancing bank statements. Except...they wouldn't balance. I dialed our bank, and C___ answered. We've had a great working relationship for years now, ever since I started handling the finances for our church over two years ago.

"How's your summer been?" she asked. "Great! I've been in Colorado, and now I'm job hunting." I paused, and on a whim went on: "Are you guys hiring?"

"Actually," she said, "we are! Go online and apply, and make sure you put my name on it."

I sat across from them in an interview four days later. Two days after that, they called to offer me a full-time position at the bank!  Not a single employer had responded from any of my hard, Olympian work in the previous two weeks. But here, without me hardly lifting a little finger, God had dropped an offer into my lap.

But I have a hard time with easy gifts. They feel too easy. This whole week, my mind has spun with doubts.  I wondered if God wanted to encourage me with the offer, but wanted me to hold out for something ideal, something awesome and exciting. Would I feel trapped, doing something that didn't involve writing, teaching, or children? What if I got stuck there for twenty years! And what if the "ideal "job was waiting just one or two weeks away? What if's are torturous.

And then a friend tweeted a cool quote about identity that stopped my "what ifs" in mid stride:

We have been conditioned to find our identity in what we do. However, Scripture tells us that we are children of God adopted through the grace of Christ, through whom we derive our identity. My identity is not what I do; I do out of my identity. - Brad House

This reminder of truth was like salve to my heart. I'm not an actress, who, when she chooses a role as a ditz, will never be cast as anything else. I am also not living in Huxley's dystopia, where I was bred for one thing, and one thing only. My role simply does not equate to my identity. It doesn't come from my performance or my job title, or anything else self-generated. Instead, my identity rests in the fact that I am created, loved, and forgiven by the only One whose opinion matters.

If you know me, you'll know this is a familiar refrain. How many layers of performance-driven identity will Jesus have to peel away before I rest in Him? I'm not sure, but it's really reassuring to know His persistent love doesn't fail, even if I do.

So, long story short, I took the job.

I'm resting in the truth that it doesn't define me, limit me, or make me. Instead, at least for now, it is a good gift from a good Father who takes good care of me and my heart. 

Facing the mirror

You know that embarrassing moment when you get home after a long day, go to the bathroom, and see a huge black or green something between your teeth from lunch?

Ugh!  How long has THAT been there?  

And why didn't anyone tell me?

That's the best analogy I can think of right now to describe the soul-searching I've been doing lately. It's hard to face the mirror, so to speak, and see ugly things in myself. Hard, but necessary. 

And thankfully, I had a friend to act as my mirror and show me the crud between my proverbial teeth. She had been there before, and could recognize the nasty for what it was. And she had the guts, and the compassion, to pull me aside and show me myself. As embarrassed as I felt in the moment, I love her more for it. 

After she handed me the mirror, Jesus has been refining what she said, making the image clearer. I am unique...and so is my crud. 

I'm finding that it takes guts on my part too, to keep on looking steadily at reality. I would much rather simply believe I was ok, you know? 

But humility leads to healing, and I know my heart has broken places that need it. And all summer, like a movie soundtrack on repeat from the next room, I've heard about the way our loving God uses pain to get our attention, humble us, and ultimately heal our brokenness. 

I'd actually love to hear your feedback. Have you had to face a mirror, or get up the courage to hold one up for a friend?

"Mal De Debarquement"

I know I'm not the only one who's felt it: that sense that you’re still jolting, falling, vibrating or swaying even while you know you’ve stopped.

I’m having flashbacks to Velcro light-up shoes and sleepy car rides home. Orange streetlights flick by my window in rapid succession, reminding me of the giddy, whirling displays we just left. The glass is cool against my forehead. 

My sister spills her cheerios between the seats as her head nods drowsily.  

She looks sunburned.

I close my eyes too and at that moment the motion of the car tricks my senses—suddenly I am back in the red molded seat, hurtling down the polished track toward a sharp downward turn into nowhere.

 My stomach hovers, suspended—then down! The vibrations of our Toyota become a roaring clatter, and my insides lift themselves delightfully at every small pothole.

There is actually a fancy medical name for this condition: ‘mal de debarquement’. In other words, ‘illness of disembarkation’, or feeling unwell when you get off a boat. For us non-sailors, insert the word “rollercoaster”.

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the best description I have of today. 

This morning, at 9:36 am, I disembarked from that crazy ride known as American Education. I conjugated my last pluperfect subjunctive, turned in my test with a grin, and walked out of there lighter than air. 

But when I close my eyes, I trick myself into thinking there is another paper, another test, another class next semester. I think it's going to take a while to get used to this new pace of life, especially since I'm not exactly settling into a routine. 

Graduation is Friday. Mission trip to Italy on Sunday. Driving to Colorado two weeks later, only to fly back home for job-hunting adventures and friend's weddings. This new ride sounds awesome to me!

But I'm not so sure I've left Academia behind for good...maybe I'll go back for another ride someday. :)