Vanity

I don't like actually like running all that much. I get bored with it. 


I try to challenge myself with speed, distance, terrain. 


Then I ask myself, why?


And answer, to be healthier. To be able to run and play and laugh and compete all at once and better than I can now. 


The answer has only the most minor effect on my mindset.


Add to this the chorus of friends I haven't seen since I've started running consistently, each verse sounding something like, "Wow! How much weight have you lost?" "You look great!" "You're so small!" and my mind wants to stop my body from ever running again ever.


Counterintuitive? Yes. I was happy with my body before. I'm happy with it now. I don't want anyone, ANYONE to think I run for weight loss or muscle tone, because I truthfully don't. I run for cardiovascular and respiratory health.


I know my body will fail in looks before it fails in ability. I'm trying to prolong the abilities I have, not the looks. 


I also know it's an uncommon thing to be concerned with this. Yet here am I, concerned with it. I haven't been on a run in almost two weeks. 


Tomorrow morning, I hope to conquer my concern. I hope my friends believe my reasons.

Flying Tongue

This post will be short.

Yes, that's possible.

I only want to say that I don't cuss often. For comedic effect only, usually.

But when I run, especially when I run with my 9-month-old dog, you should probably plug your ears.

Most of it is directed at the dog, and I'm glad she loves me anyway.

That's all.

Running (To and Fro)

I've been doing a lot of writing. Not for a book. Not for a blog. 

I've been writing to run toward and run away.

It's a strange thing to admit that I've been talking to God in an effort to avoid hearing something from Him. I don't think He's going to tell me what I fear He will, but I was (am) filling silences just in case. 

He told me something in August that is ambiguous. I like clarity and certainty, because I like being in control. So now I'm waiting for the time He said to wait for, and flying between peace and restlessness in the mean time. 

What's been grand about waiting this time around is how I am beginning to own my emotions and distinctly feel each one. 

What's been less-than-stellar about waiting this time around is the extremity of each of those emotions. The time I'm waiting for will be cause for revelry or collapse. Not in the extremest of those extremes, no, not in the sense that I will be made or destroyed, simply overwhelmed for a time with joy or heartache. 

And of course, since I am a woman living in the age of Disney and Darcy, I may be building this up a tad.

I am trying to not glamorize anything in my mind, and not produce my own film of the outcomes. Some days are better than others. 

I'm both running to and from all that.

This phase of my life finally feels temporary and hopeful. 

I'm trying to run to Washington, DC. I want to go to graduate school for business there, ideally. 

I'm trying to run at least 3 times a week even though I don't have a race looming in front of me. 

I can easily run a mile. That's nice. 

Catalyst

Last Thursday night at house church I was asked what I would like to be remembered for. Not when-I'm-dead remembered, but when-I'm-no-longer-in-a-person's-life remembered. Slight difference.

My answer: I would like to be remembered as a catalyst for growth.

I am absolutely enthralled by growth in Creation. Plants, animals, humans. Height, knowledge, behaviour. Positive change entrances me.

I have had the exquisite pleasure of being able to spend the last 4ish years of my life in situations that blatantly encourage and spur on growth. And I've had the even more poignant experience of seeing my best friends become better than best.

One of those dear friends is Christopher Hunt. My very first AP, the one who successfully suckered me into believing in myself as a capable teacher and leader. He's moving to Vermont in a matter of hours. And although I don't often see or speak with him, it's a bit disheartening to know he's not going to be just a couple hours away, just in case. But that's my selfishness. I know he will thrive in the Very northern Vermont because that's just what God does with Chris: catapults him into unexpected situations that allow creativity, leadership, hilarity, kindness, humility, and strength to freely flow. Good thing Jesus also gives Chris those needed things in abundance.

So anyway, there you go. Chris, I know this will be difficult but fantastic. And as much as I want to steal your life as my own right now, I also know that God's writing my story just as fantastically as yours. You'll have frozen tundra while I have frozen yogurt...trade?

Rantin' Rampage

I just want to get some frustrations out. You can call this complaining, arrogance, impatience, a little gossipy, and other various terrible things and you'd be right. 

But as of this moment, I don't care very much. Another terrible thing.

I worked 3 shifts today. I was in a very small store, the same store I'm in almost every day, from 10:30am-6pm, and again from 9pm-1:15am. That's a lot. The morning/afternoon shifts went by fine. I worked with mostly friends and we got mostly stuff done. Tonight though...ugh. 

It felt like a wake-up call about my own generation and it makes me glad I'm not in school anymore.

Practical Common Sense isn't so common anymore. One of my coworkers was having what seemed to be legitimate mental struggles in trying to figure out how and why we refill the syrup bottles every night. 
Why? So the morning shift has one less thing to worry about. And no, it's not unsanitary if you do it the right way (meaning: hey, the syrup comes out the bottom of the bottle, so refill it from the top and it naturally cycles through in an appropriate amount of time. she's been filling them from the bottom this whole time, turning the bottles upside down.)
How? In the top. But the syrup is so thick and has been refrigerated!! How do i get it from the can to the bottle? Hmm..this is difficult, I know...let's see. We work..where again? 3 Spoons? ohh...duh. Think, woman! 

The other coworker: hey, we're kinda busy. one of us is working the register, one is cutting fruit to replenish our rapidly diminishing supply of strawberries...i know! i should make waffle cone triangles, and forsake my responsibility to keep the toppings clean, yeah! because those are in high demand and are definitely NOT the distinct responsibility of the morning shift. (last sentence, sarcastic to me, a legitimate thought to him)

Maybe I was just tired and that made me frustrated. Maybe I just know that every time that one guy closes things get half-way done. Maybe I just know that the girl is like too many girls I knew at Liberty. Maybe tonight was a reminder of just how insanely broken I am.


Especially because I come home to a very excited puppy when I am not excited in the least. And she wants to play while I want to cry and curl up and either write-to-express-it or read-to-escape-it. And she greatly dislikes her crate, so she spends 20 minutes barking and whining at 2am before she tires herself out/realizes I'm not going to take her out, all while my roommate yells at her about 10 minutes into the barking session. This does the opposite of quiet the dog down; it gives her hope that someone is coming. It's called self-soothing for a reason. 


You can stop reading if you want, but I'm not going to stop writing just yet. Another couple paragraphs should do it, though. Persevere!


I think the real source of my inner-tantrum is my impatience with God. I feel like I've been waiting for a long time for something, anything to happen in my life. I've sought out opportunities. I've taken what opportunities have come my way. I have failed in righteousness and returned to grace. And still...I'm here, in the same place. 


Two part-time jobs. One of which is mind-numbing, and irksome. Tiny house which doesn't even feel like mine enough for real home-ness. Dog that I love but is being quite the brat lately. Emotions leaving me anxious and disappointed, again and again, despite my highest of hopes. Hopes that I really thought were based on reality this time. Not seeing my dearest of friends often enough to encourage the sharing of all such things. 


I want so badly to live a real life. This is not the life I want. I want to work with middle school students. I want to help men become men and women become women. I want to have enough room to dance. And yes, to be quite honest, I want the freedom to love a man and to be loved in return; I want to be someone's helper, someone's Eve. I want Jesus to tell me where to go, what to do next and now. 


But I'm still....freakin'....waiting....


It's supposed to be sunny tomorrow. That's good.

5 kilometers is 3.1 miles

I'm running a 5k on the very last day of March in Atlanta.

I've never run a 5k before. 

Here are 5 things that begin with k or k-like-sounds describing my training:

1. (k)ontinuous bad weather: Supposed to run today? Yeah? Well, here's some rain! and Wind! woo!

2. (k)ompetition: with the 295734 runners in the Clemson/Central area. I definitely live in a college town.

3. (k)omposure: because I run with my pup, who is only mostly leash-trained and afraid of real trains.

4. (k)ravings: I forgot about this part of exercising. Who knew burning calories made you hungry?

5. (k)ounting: Miles, minutes, muscles, and other (k)onvenient things that start with "m" I'm sure.

None of those words actually began with "K". 

January is a bad time to begin training if you do not have a gym membership and do not wish to invest in one. Noted.

On the bright side, I've discovered that I don't hate running as much as I used to. Running outside helps that. Also, running without music actually is better for me. It leaves me free to think instead of focusing on the music. I think it's because I normally listen to music while doing something else, so when I run with music my mind gets bored because I'm not writing or reading or painting or driving or anything-but-just-running.

On another and brighter side, I've realized that I'm running this 5k to have fun and train my body to perform better. I can't believe I'm about to say this, because it's never happened before, but I am satisfied with how I look. I am content and I know God has made me beautiful. 

I have come to love my particular "imperfections" and actually revel in them because I know that if a man ever calls me beautiful it'll be (mostly) aimed at those things that will not droop with age but rather grow stronger and more refined. 

I'm running THIS 5k! 

A List. Of things I haven't been doing.

 1. Taking a Sabbath.
 2. Tithing.
 3. Caring about what I read in the Bible if the Spirit doesn't reveal something to me in the particular words of the day.
 4. Being still.
 5. Being patient.
 6. Reading books consistently. 
 7. Being open in spite of my fear.


The first two are related. I'm highly anxious about my finances, even when I know they are fine. I've not been very generous, and even when I've been scheduled for an entire day off, I tend to pick up an extra shift to make some more money. What days I have left completely off I have spent traveling and with friends/family. 


That's it. That's all I have to say. So long!

Called Out.

Yesterday I was straight up called out on the lack of effort I put into this. Thanks, Andrew Sims. 

But really, thanks.

I want to write, and let everyone know how I am, who I am, whatever. But I often find myself starting a post then not publishing it because I don't think anyone will care enough to read it because it's not earth-shatteringly important, essential to the understanding of life, pertinent to the increase of wisdom, nor does it cause instant smiles at well-timed-and-focused photography. 

It's just me. Living my currently just-so life. Which even I find boring. And if my life seems boring, I MUST be boring, right?

Maybe I am, but just right now. Only right now. 

I say that because this has been a very silent few weeks. I went through a rough spot about a month ago, but things have eased up a bit mentally. Since then, and truthfully during then, I have not heard anything distinct from the Spirit. He's revealed wisdom to me and given me what seems like peace but hasn't really told me anything. The peace scares me, because it doesn't fit with my previous convictions and that gives me pause as to whether I've forced the peace or it's been given. I hope that makes sense, because I can't be very specific on the worldwideweb. And peace is usually, well, peaceful. Yet here I am fretting about having peace and wondering just how much control of things God allows us.

So I feel boring because God hasn't said anything to me in a while.

I feel boring because I have a part-time job at a frozen yogurt shop in a college town despite having graduated with a 3.97 GPA and Summa Cum Laude with a B.S. in Counseling and Clinical Research Psychology almost 2 years ago, with another part-time job at an after-school program at which I serve as monitor/math guru. 

I feel boring because I see my friends so rarely, and I actually have fun with the people with whom I work at said shop.

I feel boring because I'm not in school, and not trying to be in school again, like most others.

I feel boring because I have no direction for my life. I'm simply doing what I know to do.

I feel boring because the few dreams I have for my life are exceedingly simple and seem very far-off due to lack of resources/connections/outlets. Ask me about it, I'll tell you. Just not here.

I feel boring because I'm waiting on something to happen, someone to follow, or...something. 

I guess it all comes down to me feeling a little lost, a little alone in my situation, a little desperate for joy, and a little like someone who had to grow up before most of her friends without the particular relational perks that some of her other grown-up friends have. 

Well, yeah. I'm fantastic at being uplifting, I know, you don't have to tell me. 

I suppose contentment and productive use of waiting-time are my goals.

(absolutely nothing to do with) Heaven.

I don't often do this.

Really. I don't.

But it's been a solid month without any gainful employment, and I get bored sometimes.
Yes, even bored enough to do this.
An iTunes shuffle answer-these-questions-with-song-titles quiz.
Don't judge me; believe me, I've already judged myself sufficiently enough.


Surprisingly, some of the shuffles were truffles, treasures, truths. And some were plain out funny.
Yep, it sure has been a long month.

1. If someone says, "is this okay?" you say:
 For the ladies [KJ-52]

2. How would you describe your personality?
 Remembering [Disciple]

3. What do you like in a guy?
 Sweet Misery [Michelle Branch]
 
4. How do you feel today? 
 The Call [Regina Spektor]
 
5. What is your life's purpose?
 Back Here [BBMak]
 
6. What is your life's motto?
 Runaway Car [A Goofy Movie Soundtrack]
 
7. What do you think of your parents?
 Deathtrap Daisy [Staple]
 
8. What do you think about often?
 On Fire [Switchfoot]
 
9. What is 2+2?
 Gotta Get Thru This [Daniel Bedingfield]
 
10. What do you think of your best friend?
 Barlow Girls [Superchick]
 
11. What do you think of the person you like?
 Not What You See [Kutless]
 
12. What is your life story?
 Until You Rescued Me [Dizmas]
 
13. What do you want to be when you grow up?
 Love (so beautiful) [DJ Maj]
 
14. What do you think when you see the person you like?
 Grounded [The O.C. Supertones]
 
15. What do your parents think of you?
 Let's Go Back [Everyday Sunday]
 
16. What will they play at your wedding?
 Sick Boy [MxPx]
 
17. What will they play at your funeral?
 Touch [Delirious]
 
18. What is your hobby/interest?
 Adding to the Noise [Switchfoot]
 
19. What is your biggest secret?
 Raindrops [Regina Spektor]
 
20. What do you think of your friends?
 Beautiful Disaster [Kelly Clarkson]
 
21. What will you post this as?
 Heaven [Derek Webb]

Loud Laude

I still don't remember that vocab word. 

About being Chosen, and Seen, and Set Apart. It put the fear of God in me. I was elated, finally to have realized my identity, but suddenly timid, finally to have realized how important my identity makes me. 

Wow that sounds arrogant. 

I mean that Father has set apart some destiny for me, some life that isn't along the same path as any majority of travelers. I am one among few, and I don't yet know where we are but I think I've met a few of those few, and we've been charged with a mission. It's good to know that I'm not alone in this, but it makes it even more essential that I find some of those few wherever I go. I cannot be alone. I've been Alone before. Nothing good comes from Alone. Nothing.

singled out, but not alone

I began holding back, trying to more and more understand precisely what He means when He calls me by my names. I retreated into the uneasy comfort of my mind because there were very few, sadly few, people on Summer Staff this year to whom I could speak and expect understanding and wisdom beyond what God had already given me. (Wow. Still arrogant...) 

I have to say, Father and I make a pretty efficient pair: Summer 2k11 allowed more immediate internal and personal growth than any of my other summers. [Disclaimer: the more recent the memory the more vivid and thus the more seemingly powerful. So I don't really know if that last statement is true. More than likely it was simply a continuation of past learning and God had prepared me for middle school rather than elementary.]

An unfortunate but natural result of all that time as an Us instead of a Them was a lack of deep connection to all but those few that I brought in close or that sought to be brought in. Ninety-four point 7% of my time was spent out in the stairwell of chapel instead of in the Bear Den where I couldn't hear Greg or the Spirit teach. It was the ultimate Distraction Destination. In there it was easy and I didn't want easy (gasp!). I wanted challenge and growth and yeah, I wanted fun. But I didn't want fun at the expense of the other two and that's mostly what I saw when I was passing through. 

Please, I don't mean to sound completely judgmental because I'm only being a little judgmental. 

Okay. Here's an explanation: I like to fill in gaps. Wherever something is needed, I want to supply it. A balance-keeper, a jack-of-all-trades, a mound of clay am I. This summer had an overabundance of frivolity; I balanced it with sincerity. This summer had an overabundance of on-a-whims; I balanced it with intentionality. This summer had an overabundance of laughs; I balanced it with tears. I've lost you, haven't I? Now you think I'm being dramatic and artsy, and that's because I almost went there.

When you're the reality check, the voice of wisdom and experience, the elder...guess what happens? People don't call you fun, exciting, adventurous, and they don't yearn for the very moment you walk into a room. 

Hello Summer 2k11. I'm Stacy. I don't think you know all that I am because at most moments I am required to be one facet of myself: PARENT.

Green Hill Park, Salem, VA

In a world of abbrev.'s why haven't we come up with one for "To Be Continued"? 

It's okay. I dislike abbreviations with the same passion with which I dislike the phrase "To Be Continued."

Summa Cum...1.5 years ago.

I really wanted to impress you with my knowledge of psychological terms.
(That is, after all, my area of study.)
Unfortunately that language is not colloquially used,

(Who knew?)

See the lady?

so I forgot the words.
Also, notice that I still managed to use an uncommon word. Score.

The principle I was looking for was from developmental psychology, when a child is gaining some healthy independence from the parent but continues to maintain visual and auditory lines of communication for security purposes.
Yes, there's one word for all that. Would've been nice.

Grow that toddler up by about 19 years and you've got what I was all summer. Indeed, what I still am and hope to be for ever. I'm not sure that I told you for certain that I was working at Look Up again this summer: I did. I was the first gal to work 4 summers in a number of years. No, I do not know that number.

I was frightened of this summer until it actually began. Frightened because Summer '10 was so powerful and enjoyable and distinct: I would have been satisfied leaving my legacy like that. I was at peace. Frightened because I thought Summer '11 was going to be powerful and miserable and wanting-to-be-forgotten because that's how things work, right? They go in patterns, in cycles and usually the best things that happen to you are the hardest things. Or so I thought.

See the algae?

Paradigm shift within the first week. Yeah, that happened. The powers that be at LUL had a guy come in and teach us some things, and this guy had us ask Father what His name for us was. You know, what He calls us, kind of like a pet name but way more like a True Name between He and us as individuals.
 

He calls me His Intended, His Chosen One. Ideas of being a bride and a messiah flood my mind when He calls for me this way. (No, I'm not claiming to be the second coming. Just coverin' that right now.) 

He says that I am pure and beautiful and seen. That one word: Seen. It holds such power in my heart, probably because I have long struggled with feeling adequate in the visual realm, probably because I don't meet the standards for physical beauty by any comfortable stretch of the imagination. Father sees me, completely SEES me and has chosen me out of not-quite-but-seems-like infinite amount of other people. He has set me aside for some reason, elevated me and prized me, placed on me a crown and rings and a fragrance.
 

See how proud of this photo I am?

To be continued. Whenever I'm not so sleepy and you've not just read half a novel's worth of my writing.

I found this.

After 4 months of absence from the blogging world, you'd think my first post would be significant, reflective, and insightful.

Instead, here's a list I found on my computer of some of my favorite things (coming soon: a list of my unfavorite things):

1. chipped fingernail polish
2. composition notebooks
3. bare feet
4. showers
5. handicap toilet stalls (because the door swings out, not in)
6. the southern twang
7. saying movie or any other “mo” word (because evidently I say it oddly)
8. laughing
9. stories
10. rides in any sort of vehicle
11. birds (including chickens and ducks)
12. farm animals
13. history
14. the number 2
15. trees
16. footprints
17. warm snow days
18. waking up rested
19. tan lines
20. scars
21. anything that glows in the dark
22. cereals hot or cold
23. the idea of theming a camp after a hallucinogen (which I did when I designed my own program)
24. the french language
25. big cats
26. wolves
27. the bible
28. music
29. writing
30. making posters
31. my art tub
32. being and getting messy
33. eating
34. reading
35. sports
36. card games
37. building blocks
38. little kids
39. big kids
40. bigger kids (adults)
41. slides
42. grey hair
43. spelling things with the british spelling
44. pictures
45. dreadlocks
46. not matching clothes
47. meeting people who know people you know
48. meeting people who know where you live/work
49. jesus
50. clocks
51. keys
52. bugs
53. blankets
54. psychology
55. anatomy
56. microscopes
57. learning
58. walking
59. playing
60. being sore
61. smelling things
62. swing sets
63. trying food you didn’t like before in order to see if you like it now
64. string jewelry
65. bread
66. picture IDs
67. water guns
68. geography
69. road trips
70. asking why not
71. filling in gaps
72. blogs
73. conversations
74. tye-dye
75. free stuff (especially food)
76. t-shirts
77. ice cream
78. milkshakes
79. gym shorts
80. jigsaw puzzles
81. being loud
82. water
83. dancing
84. watching other people be talented
85. coming up with new ways to say old phrases
86. surprises

And Dogwood trees and their flowers.

 

I'm quitting so I don't care if I get fired.

If we are going to run after the Christ, we cannot only go half-speed and half-way. That mentality and that lifestyle is what killed my generation’s faith. We saw our parents and grandparents simply going to church, praying over meals, and trying to be decent, honest people. Does not Jesus call us to something so much more than that? What He calls us to is so much deeper, so much more difficult, and to be quite honest, something so much more fulfilling. His call is divisive. Have you paid attention to how many scattered from Him when He taught something hard? He had lots of followers, but most were around to see the miracles and to have something to talk about later at supper. His true disciples were those that lived under Him, followed Him in the sincerest manner of the word.

Jesus wouldn’t give so many warnings or question so many motives if mediocrity was acceptable. He asks His potential followers if they would become poor for Him, become ridiculed for Him, die for Him (in spirit and in body). He doesn’t want comfortable, Southern Americans who happened to be cultured into Christianity. He wants believers, followers, revolutionaries who happen to live in the American South. We do not believe in a culture, or a church for that matter. We believe in a God who did some insane things to get us back, to begin the process of Restoration towards the Created Order.

We cannot take the kids to church, prayer breakfast, devotional times, etc. and expect great and good things to come from it. Those things may happen, I’ll not limit God. But even the C.A.R.E. training is relationship-focused. How many kids respond to preaching versus teaching? How many kids respond to hearing how to live versus seeing how to live? How many kids respond to verbal acknowledgement of beliefs versus the acting out of beliefs?

They can read falsity. They know when we don’t act on what we talk. We emphasize this so much in the cottages, follow-through on our words. We cannot, should not, expect them to acknowledge Jesus, know Jesus, love Jesus when we do not acknowledge, know, love Him ourselves through our actions.

He tells us to “work out” our salvation, our faith (Philippians 2:12). Surely you know that our physical muscles must be worked else they weaken, they atrophy. It is the very same with our Jesus muscle. If we don’t act on faith, by faith, in every aspect of our lives, we will lose our muscle, our faith in that area. We’ve given God no chance to show up there, so we assume He isn’t there. In the Southern culture, gosh, we’ve just gotten so good at covering our weakness with strong tongues and cautious actions.

(And have you ever thought about why the apostles hardly ever pray for healing of the sick in the New Testament epistles? Possibly because that was the least of things to worry about. Hearts and souls are more important than bodies. Sorry, just an irritant of mine.)

Neither can we treat each child like they are believers. We cannot use that language, the “what would Jesus do” mentality with kids until we know they care what Jesus would have done! And more importantly, by talking with the kids in that way, we may very well be leading them astray, letting them think they are saved when they are not. Oh, how dangerous! Jesus said it was better that a millstone be tied around our necks than we do that.

I know I’m young. I know I have a lot more freedom in my life than do some. But I do not believe that my beliefs stem from that. I’ve read over the four gospels several times and I cannot construe the words of the Christ to mean what Southern American culture deems them to mean. I have a saying that I like to live by, one of many actually: “Leave room for the miraculous.” It simply means to leave room for God to show up, not in a “Hey, are You there? If You are You better fix this!” way but in a way that means, “Hey, I trust that You are there, and that You will provide what I need. Not what I’m comfortable with, not what is normative, but what I most desperately need.”

These are just some thoughts I have, and some have a great deal to do with why the heck we run this place anyway. I mean, even TDAR’s website says that we supply the “Christian needs” of the kids. Of all the things we do well, this is one at which we falter.

This is my opinion. Take it or leave it. Thanks for hearing it out.

Suggestion Box

I haven't mentioned this before, but during this Lent season I decided to fast from volitional music. This means that I cannot turn on music or willfully expose myself to it. It has been difficult, and sometimes the silence is overwhelming. I knew it would be, but I did not know it would also be oppressive.
I came into this expecting to hear things that I had been missing, like the voice of God in certain situations, but so far it's been mostly missing things that I want to hear. At the least I know I'll have a greater appreciation for music than before. I've been listening to a lot of teaching when I drive, because the silence lends itself to sleepiness because I mostly drive early mornings and late nights. That's been great, and I think I'll continue that even after Easter. 
That being said...I have less than a month to go. Before my birthday and Earth day and Good Friday. Also, before Easter, two days later. 

I'm wondering...what should be the very first song I listen to when that glorious day dawns? Suggestions?

Run, Story, Run.

Sometimes I let my stories run away with me.
Like this time, with this person, in this situation, in this not-sure-it's-really-real hope of mine.

I read an article the other day that made an argument about the nonexistence of true drama in most of our lives. Growing up we hear stories, read stories, watch stories that ebb and flow, rise and fall to and from great heights. We come to believe that our lives should look like this, and adding to this the sitcom-watching culture, we believe it should look like this all the time. Disappointment and despair arises when life is actually...real life.

I listened to a teacher today (via Internet) talk about how the Psalmists lamented and yearned for decades before God would show up in the way they pleaded for Him to act. Sometimes it never happened in their lifetimes.

Boom. Where's that hope and patience now? Am I really willing to wait for time to catch up with God's plan, assuming my story matches His? 

Most of my hopes for my life include adventure and exploration and the continual growth of knowledge and wisdom and love and peace. Average is my worst nightmare. I don't want to settle. Ever. 

Anyway. Here are some pictures of my hair that I took today. It's now been nearly 3 weeks since it has seen anything but water and conditioner. Several days since any sort of combing action.

it's gotten so long.

i made those earrings for my gauges today.

Naturally

Sometimes I'm okay with the idea that only my mother reads these posts on a regular basis.
Now is one of those times.

Because I haven't shampooed my hair in over 2 weeks. I haven't used any sort of cleanser on it in over one week. 
I have however, rinsed it out with water nearly every day, conditioning only the ends so they don't get dry. And last week's cleaning was with diluted baking soda.

You. Would. Not. Believe the difference it has made in my hair's health. No frizz. No tangles (and I haven't brushed it in at least 3 days). And suddenly I have this incredible curliness that I haven't had since I was a small child. 

It is only itchy late at night when I'm tired (and I'm almost certain that itchiness is my body's "hey, i'm tired" mechanism anyway). And it looks clean, as if I washed it yesterday. It does eventually get greasy-looking/feeling, but then out comes the baking soda, which surprisingly leaves my hair soft and super clean without the crunchiness. Two tablespoons+16 oz of water does the trick. My goal is to see just how long my hair can go looking and feeling good without a cleanser attacking it. I'm hoping for at least two weeks. 


I was pretty nervous about this experiment at first, but my cheap and natural-method-lovin' self couldn't help but give it a chance. I may be converted. The true test will come with the sweaty summertime. If I remember I might take a picture tomorrow and show you what it looks like 9 days departed from a cleanser.

Preservation.

My apologies to the trees I will destroy in the future.
(I can't believe I just said that.)
(I can't believe I'm advocating the loss of forestry.)

I miss the feel and smell of paper. I knew it well once, and I want those in the future to know it well too. 
So, whether or not anyone in the future has an interest in reading what I have to say, I am going to attempt to write, literally write, whatever I usually type. Because although the internet and computers may always be here, there's simply nothing like memories preserved in a physical form of some sort.

This idea was spurred by this post by Lacey Keigley, which spurred my heart to much sentimentalism and good heart-hurt. So thanks, Lacey, for all the hand cramps and pen purchases I may endure. 

I also wish I took more pictures of people, instead of places and things. And that we still printed pictures. I want a photographer for my life. Who's up for it?

A Français Kind of Day

My adoration for the French language has been reawakened. Maybe because one of my girls is taking Spanish and I feel I must prove superior the language I spent 5 semesters of my life learning. But I do so love it.

But that only serves as an introduction to this post, which can be best described as une mise à jour: an update. Because of late I've only been writing about theories, things I like or dislike, etc. rather than what is actually happening in my life. 

My bad, yo.

I'm still working at Tamassee DAR. Everything is pretty peaceful, until my co-Teaching Parent comes in on Wednesdays. The girls don't like her all that much, and it's pretty rough on the both of us. I don't know how to stand up for her when I don't completely agree with how she does things either, but I can't bear to hear the girls talk about her like they do. Two of my eight original girls have gone home (One for good, for the good; One possibly for good, but unfortunate). All of the girls have come to trust me, like me, respect me, and obey me...for the most part. They are human. So they say.


I'm still living in Central, SC, where I'd hoped to stay relatively warm through the winter. I'll blame it on this Southern Weather, 'cause it ain't happening. My relationship with my housemate has gotten better, so long as I don't turn the heat above a chilly 68º and use a lamp instead of the actual lights. 


I'm still searching out a lot of things, like where I'll be spending the days of this upcoming sweet summertime and how to trust God actively with my heart. I've gotten much better about the latter of those. The former...is coming to a close. I'm about 85%-90% sure where I'll be, and it's a very familiar but frightening place. The frightening piece is new for me. And usually that means that something big is going to happen. I'm also starting to wonder if the other 10%-15% will be told me or if He's asking me to live that Life of Giant Leaps and just jump. One week to decide.


I've been listening to a lot of Baroque music and French talk radio on iTunes Radio lately. The Baroque is beautiful, calming, and helps with clarity. The French is beautiful, refreshing, and boosts my confidence in meager amounts because every now and again I know what they're talking about. 


I've also gotten frustrated with my writing style. I try to be grammatically correct most of the time, I really do. In my writing anyway. But it's not me most of the time. Sometimes it is, don't get me wrong; but sometimes grammar steals my voice like laryngitis. 


Bon nuit, mes amis et lecteurs fidèles. J'espère que ces mots vous trouvent bien.
Au revoir pour maintenant!

Also, 1 Corinthians 1:18

Too many times for my liking in recent weeks I have been referred to as a Child or Young or other phrases that essentially mean that I don’t know what I’m doing with my life at the moment and will eventually wise-up, changing my convictions and lifestyle to be “more responsible.”

(Just FYI, ANY amount of times is too many times for my liking.)

This is one of the very few things that a person can do to really get me riled up. Boy, I get mad. It’s so frustrating because they don’t even know me or my life.

Yes, I’m only 21 years old. But look at my life thus far. Please, tell me where I’ve proven my foolishness and overt stupidity. Please, tell me why you feel you must advise me about how to be successful in this supposed “real world.”

Honey, please. (Also, “Honey” is the name I use when I’m being condescending but wanting to sound nice. Welcome to Southern culture.)

I’m sorry it bothers you that I don’t believe in saving $50 a week so that when I retire I’ll have a million dollars. (And don’t doubt me when I tell you I don’t WANT a million dollars. I don’t.)

I’m sorry it bothers you that I’m not too sure I believe in retirement at all.

I’m sorry it bothers you that my definition of success is not financial in nature, and that I believe I can be successful without opening my own counseling office.

I’m sorry it bothers you that I believe in taking a true Sabbath, despite the adverse effects on my other days.

I’m sorry it bothers you that I believe in taking each day as it comes, and letting God be God over my future.

I’m sorry it bothers you that I am young and free.

If all these beliefs and convictions I have are simply sprung from my youth, so be it. Let me be young. Let me enjoy the Free Spirit my Father has given me.

If all these beliefs and convictions I have are simply sprung from my youth, about 4 people severely misquoted the Christ.

You, for whom my heart aches, are trying to teach me Westernized Christianity.

I have tried for several years to rid myself of that, and I shall never return.

Yes, I am young. Yes, I am learning, and will continue to be, for the duration of my life. Yes, I am capable of acting in foolish ways. Yes, I am unsure about where my life is going in this temporal world. Yes, I would love financial security and to have planned out everything and to take control of the situation.

No, I will not bend my ways. No, you will not be allowed to teach me shallow and faithless ways. No, you will not call my actions foolish when my Saviour lived an even more “foolish” lifestyle than I. No, I will not try to figure out where I’m going and when. No, I will not seek financial security and control.

God said He’ll provide for me.

To have faith like a child, I must take Him at His word.

And I’m doing my daggum best to do just that.

Call it what you will.

“Let no one look down on your youthfulness, but rather in speech, conduct, love, faith and purity, show yourself an example of those who believe.” -1 Timothy 4:12

Wisdom Is A Spirit.

I have terribly misunderstood the role of the Spirit for the majority of my Christian journey.

He does not (only) exist to provide me with an emotional sense of God’s presence.

He does not (only) exist to provide me with anointed on-the-spot words to those around me.

He does not (only) exist to comfort me in times of tremendous discomfort.

He does not (only) exist to confront the sin in my life.

 “But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth; for He will not speak on His own initiative, but whatever He hears, He will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come.”

I have heard this for a long time, but it only became real to me recently. The Spirit is literally dwelling inside me. Dwelling, finding His residence, staying, living within me. He is there all the time. Those wise decisions I make, those are His. Those times of compassion, those are His. Those times of discipline, those are His. Any wisdom that exudes from my actions or from my mouth is from Him, is Him.

The Bible tells us to ask for wisdom, to pray for the Spirit of wisdom to come upon us. I have in the past, and a lot in the present as well. Solomon got His, and I think I’ve got Mine.

This week there was an overwhelming sense that although I was making the decisions, all of them were being guided by Not Me. My eyes were then opened to the possibility that the Spirit had finally become a constant in my life, an everyday companion and friend and mentor. I know that He is there and I acknowledge Him often.

I’m not living in this “spiritual high” like I once did, and for which I once did (and still) search. No, I certainly have my lows; they are deep and recurring. But I don’t feel alone unless the low is extremely low and I haven’t had one of those since Christmas weekend.

This is life. Real life. It feels nice.