trash can adventures

Do you have that friend who is the definition of consistency? The one that is there quietly at every event and in every photo, supporting what is going on without needing credit?

I do. She's creative and thoughtful and brilliant.
This is Christie.

She's the first to celebrate with you. The first to ask how you are. The first to laugh at your terrible pun (a laugh still counts even if it's a pity laugh). She's sweet and optimistic in the most genuine way possible. The kind of way that makes you start to believe all of the encouraging things she's saying about you.

she's dressed as me in this photo: cat, scarf, hair in a bun, bandana, glasses. we look so similar you probably thought that WAS me, huh?

Today is my airplane day - the day I came to the United States from Korea (if you're confused, read more in blogs here and here). It's a day long celebrated by my family and really no one else because even Facebook doesn't recognize it as a life event.

In celebration of my airplane day this year, Christie brought me a trash can.

#thatsbiblicalright

Yes. You read that right. A trash can.

Whenever people are at my house, the trash can is overflowing and someone inevitably comments that I need a bigger trash can. I always reply, "It's only like this when people are here. It's just me here so I don't need a bigger one."  So in celebration of my engagement to Tucker and the inevitability of it not just being me at my house anymore, Christie bought me a trash can.

That's the kind of creativity that people like me only dream about.
That's the kind of thoughtfulness that can't be faked.
That's the kind of friend Christie is.

She makes me want to be a better friend. I want to care for people the way she does - through going to high school choir concerts, sending Disney quotes, sitting in the rain through rec league softball games, finding the perfect verse or phrase for a tough day, and delivering a trash can at the perfect moment.

Christie, thanks for the thousands of thoughtful things you have ever done for me and everyone in your life that have not gone unnoticed or unappreciated. You are brilliantly inspiring and encouraging and the kind of person worth "melting for." #disney


This is one of a few entries centered around a new theme.

holla at yo gurl

If I'm trying to think about a phrase that defines my lovely friend Ana, "Holla at yo gurl" has to be it. Let me explain.

I met Ana as a middle school student. Yes. That makes me feel old and I don't want to talk about it anymore. Today, she's the kind of woman that students push and shove their way towards so they can catch her attention or be in her small group. She's fun and hilarious and makes you feel like you are the only person who matters when she talks to you. Also, she spent several years consistently dressing up in a bear costume. Not on Halloween. At places you wouldn't expect. Like homecoming.

But beyond just straight charisma, Ana can turn an easy conversation about cats into one weaved with truth, real life, and love. You think I'm exaggerating.

She sees people for who they are.
She wants them to be the best version of themselves.
She looks past the shield of "doing fine" that you try to put up and sees that you aren't, in fact, "doing fine." And is the sort of person who will ask how you really are. And you really want to tell her. And she will really listen.

Ana challenges me just to ask. Ask the questions that I need to. Ask when it's uncomfortable, but necessary. Ask, and then really listen and really care about the answer.

And that's how we arrive at the phrase, "Holla at yo gurl." In a brilliant mix of truth and humor, that's Ana's catch phrase (it isn't. but it describes her well). Typically I've received that message from her via text, preceded by, "if you ever need anything.... holla at yo gurl."

And I know it's true.


This is one of a few entries centered around a new theme.

new theme

I've been reading a lot of Shauna Niequist lately. A lot. If you spend more than 30 seconds with me, her name, her writing, her books, her blogs anything by her really will inevitably come up in conversation. I've made my book study start reading her stuff, and I've also literally sent her books across the country for people. It's probably a little creepy, but I'm okay admitting that because there's no way ever she'll run across my tiny blog. Unless my mom somehow knows her (hi, Mom).

bonus points for using one of my favorite fonts on the cover! #loveatfirstfont

The first book I started reading by Shauna (because we're on a first name basis like any good stalker) was Bittersweet. Since I began Bittersweet, I've devoured Cold Tangerines (the book, not the fruit), most of Bread and Wine (again, the book not the food - sense a theme? and why I love her writing so much?), and pre-ordered Savor. But I'm still reading Bittersweet... slowly but surely on my true days off in coffee shops all over the place, trying desperately to hide when the chapter makes my eyes well up with tears.

She wrote a chapter called "The Middle" about being in the middle of a tough season. She closes it this way:

You'll still wake up in the night with the same old fears, and you'll still face the same tired eyes in the morning, but for a few hours, you'll feel protected from it all by the goodness of friendship and life around the table, and for a few hours, that's the best thing I can imagine.

This season of my life right now is good, but because I'm such a good optimist, I know that easy seasons don't last forever. So right now, for this season, I'm trying to enjoy the people around me. The ones who encourage and challenge me in a thousand ways that they probably don't even know. That's my new theme. Until I run out of people or someone gets angry at me, I want to use this little space to highlight people who I have needed in my life and why they're important to me.

If I look back at the very first blog post I ever wrote, I realize how very alone I was in the darkest season of my little world. Because of that, I never want to take for granted the community that I have and how thankful I am for it.

two

two years of sarcasm
laughing until I cry
general snarkiness
ice cream dates
change
challenge
and just general, every day, boring life

made better, because I get to do it with this man.

I am thankful today and every day from that day we awkwardly sat on the Lifetime Fitness bench - and for as long as he'll have me - that he's here.

trust is hard.

A friend recently pointed out as we took in an epic, scenic view, "We serve a God who created all this, and yet we still have trouble trusting Him."
And the answer to that is: yes. Yes I do. Even though I know I shouldn't.

just so you get to experience a little of the "epic, scenic" view I was talking about

There are some things that I totally have no problem trusting God with. Mostly because - at least currently - God has provided these specific things so clearly. One is my job. God has always shown Himself faithful getting me a job. Even when it's been uncertain feeling for a moment, He's opened clear doors and I know that, that is an absolutely incredible blessing. Secondly, relationships. I have taken matters into my own hands on multiple occasions and they've always ended in failure, but I think I finally started to understand this particular area because He has provided an incredible, understanding man that leads me towards God and makes me want to be a better woman.

However, lest you think I'm some kind of pillar of faith, there are a ton of areas where I seem to find myself unable to trust God. Timing for one - I want some things to happen right now. I mean... right. NOW. Finances for another - I check my bank account religiously. When there's not what I want to be in there, it sends me in a minor spiral. But most of all, I have trouble trusting God when it comes to people that I love. Whether that's when they're hurting from the loss of a loved one or facing some unknown medical anomaly - I want to trust a doctor or a counselor, but I have a hard time trusting God.

In my head, I know I should trust Him.
In my head, I know I can trust Him.
In my head, I know He's the only One that can actually be trusted.
But that rarely makes it to my heart. Even though I want it to.

When I have to sit next to kids who have been abandoned via choice or because of death and all I can do is wrap my arms around them and feel them cry, I have a hard time feeling like "I'll pray for you" is enough. Even though it is.

When I have to hear about surprise medical issues from afar with the people in the world that mean the most to me, not being able to physically be there and trust that God is big enough to take care of all of it is really hard. Even though He is.

When I see friends wrestling through relationships and friendships - things in the deepest part of their heart - I know the exact words to say - true words - but ones that I have a hard time believing myself sometimes. Even though it's true.

I know that God is there. I know He is faithful. I believe that He is Who He says He is and He is more than capable of taking care of unborn babies, kids who's families are wrecked with loss, and friends who's hearts are broken.
But sometimes, it's just hard.

kid theology.

Every summer I get the opportunity to spend a week with some incredible middle school students. It's pretty smelly, really exhausting, and this year full of students who were losing teeth.

While I'm there, in the middle of the stench of 4-day old middle school t-shirts, I feel like more often than not they teach me more than I teach them. This summer was no exception.

Matthew 14.25-30

Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear. 

But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”

“Come,” he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus.

After reading that passage, one of my co-leaders asked a crew of 6th grade students (11 year old girls) what they felt like they could learn from reading it. One girl raised her hand and what she said rivals any theology class I ever took.

"I think if anyone walks on water, they are probably worth following."

I don't feel like I have anything to add to that.

real Jesus.

I sat in a coffee shop, much like I am now... much like I am often... waiting for the high school senior I was going to meet. While I waited, I spent my time productively - playing 94seconds and eavesdropping on the table next to me.

After a few seconds, it was abundantly clear the guys at the table next to me were pastors. They talked about salvation, church membership, what their youth group was doing - typical. Then one of them said, "I'm not really a people person. I'm not anti-people. I just don't really like being around them." Needless to say, now I was interested for the sheer joy of tweeting about that insane quote. They proceeded from there to talk about how to quantify salvation in terms of dollars. They compared it to cancer research and talked about salvation as some sort of magic formula that made the human condition, homelessness, disease, life, the universe, and everything immediately better. Then I posted about them on Twitter. Sarcastically. Because I'm not a good person.

My eavesdropping and judgment was interrupted by the student I was meeting. *Caroline has one of the toughest stories I've ever heard. Abandoned by her mom, trying to get herself unhooked from drugs, and relying as much as she can on "my God" (her words). When I asked her about what she had done all week, she told me she had just been wandering around town, noticed a couple homeless guys and bought them McDonalds for a hot lunch on a cold day. She told me that she wanted to do something that mattered with her life. That her story - one sewn with tragedy and more trouble than anyone should ever face - should matter. That she thinks God is going to use it one day. She prays every day for her still-addicted brother.

As I listened to her talk about her complete and total need for God and reliance on what He is doing in her life to pull her out of the mess she'd been living in, I realized that I was watching a picture of Jesus.
What He does in a life.
The kind of love that He has for people.

She doesn't look like your typical church kid, but she's there every Sunday. She loves "old ladies" and "people no one else cares about, like the homeless." I think she looks like Jesus.
More so than the pastors at the next table worried about economic gain.
More so than my judgmental self eavesdropping on said pastors.

This wonderful, wise 18-year old, she's the one who was most like Jesus in our little corner of the world and I have a lot to learn from her.

dear class of 2021

Dear Graduating Class of 2021,

Not many people are thinking about you. Most are celebrating the class of 2014 or excited to be a part of the class of 2015 or are thinking about the incoming kindergartners who are the class of 2027, but I am thinking of you.

You will be my 3rd class of 6th grade students. I've only met you a handful of times, but you've reminded me that 6th graders RUN. To everything. All the time. And that you wear yourselves out so fully every single day that you're exhausted by activity by the afternoon. I love that. Don't lose your reckless abandon for life, duck duck goose and roller coasters.

I'm praying for you already. I hope that over the next year or 7 that you change and grow towards Jesus. Your lives are already hard and they'll only get harder as you begin to understand all of the things that your parents have said or done in a new light. You'll start to question their love for you the way that you question God's love for you. I hope that I get to be a part of pointing you back to Him and to them.

I hope that as your friendships change that you always know there is a place that cares about you - not because of the great leaders or because of "other Christian kids," but because this place - this little refuge of fun and hope and chaos - is based around the God that loves you and has an awesome, beyond-what-you-can-imagine kind of life for you if you'll just follow Him.

Class of 2021, I'm going to do my best to care about you, hang out with you, and answer your calls even if it's early in the morning or late at night. But I hope that instead of me, that you'll see Jesus as the answer, the hope, the person who can show you the best possible way to live life. And I hope at the end of 7 years when 2021 has arrived, that you leave high school with enough foundation and knowledge to seek God on your own. And that you follow Him, even when it gets hard.

I can't wait to see what the next several years will bring.
-michelle-

love

I should note that I've been working on this post since February.
That is all.

The snow was falling, casting moving shadows from the street lights. "I love you," he said. "I love you too," I replied.

^ Seems like a fairy tale a little bit. All those scenes in movies where that happens look really nice, and I will say I hope that moment always stands out to me, but what you don't get to see in the movies is that I quickly got in my car, cold and wet from falling snow, turned on the heat, and drove slowly home in the low visibility and had to unwrap my hands one at a time from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

I'm not exactly the "romantic type."

I also made a minor scene at the airport as I said goodbye and watched Tucker walk through the doors and off to Africa for three weeks. And by "scene," I also don't mean the movie-style, tears gently falling down the actress's face, beautifully and then she wipes them away and is still flawless. More like, the ugly-trying-so-hard-not-to-cry-make-it-back-to-the-car-heaving-sobs kind of cry. The one that puffs your eyes out for days and it looks like maybe you had eye surgery. Yeah. That's much more my style.

I realize more and more often that love is less movies and more day-to-day, mundane, sometimes-I-get-upset-with-you-for-no-good-reason-so-I-have-to-work-it-out. I want love to be a feeling that I have all the time. The "I can't wait to be with you again" sort of feeling or that uncontrollable smile that you can't help but get when things are going really well.

All the times that someone told me that those feelings are "lust" or being "in like" or any other little Christian-y phrase - I didn't believe them. That seemed like love to me.

Now, I'm learning that love is a text after you wake up or a note with a verse during a tough week. Love is giving the other person space - occasionally - because work or life or tests or whatever are important. Love is volunteering to love high school students together, because sometimes no one else will fight for them. Love is a watching a terrible movie because you haven't read the reviews and don't know anything about it and still enjoying it because you're together (and because you're making fun of it). Love is making dinner and catching up on each other's day - even when nothing exciting was housed in it.

Love is saying and actually believing, "I love you" even when you're frustrated with the other person. Love is able to say, "I'm sorry - I was just so tired." Love is quick to apologize and quick to try to understand. Love is slow to assumptions and putting words into the other person's mouth.

This is my 100th post which hardly seems possible, but it does seem a bit fitting if you've been reading along with me from the beginning (which, I realize is probably just my mom). This blog began in my darkest place, far away from God, and heart-broken and today arrives here, closer to God in an everyday sort of way instead of a "just went to a conference" sort of way than, I think, I've ever been. And unbelievably blessed to be surrounded by friends and a fantastic man that I do, in fact, love.

He's the kind of man that is the first to jump up to take the challenge to "step across the line" to be a better man is presented at church. A man who loves high school students - not because they offer him anything, but because they are created by God and worthy of having someone who will stand and fight for them. He is loved by his family and looked up to by his friends. And he hates when I say all of these things even though they're true and there are so many other things that I admire about him that I'll leave out because he hates compliments.

I know. We are so cool.

I love you, Tuck. You make me want to be a better woman. A better follower of Jesus.
And I guess you're pretty funny sometimes too.

2018

6 years is a long time. It's the entire lifespan of a muscrat. And it's how long I've had the chance to lead middle school students at my church. My favorite thing about middle school is their unique ability to both want to play double-reverse-duck-duck-goose followed by an actual conversation about their real life. It's my favorite age group to work with.

I had no idea what I was doing when I started. The first class I led, I was along for the ride and hoped for the best. I'm sure I told terrible stories and I'm not sure why the girls came back week after week. It definitely wasn't me.

But this class - the graduating class of 2018 - I totally thought knew what I was doing. I had 3 years of experience under my belt. What could possibly be so different about a new class?

class of 2015

2018

Well... the answer is pretty much everything was different. The first thing you should notice about these classes is sheer number. I started with 3 girls in my small group when I began leading. This round, it was more like 20. Their first week was semi-quiet as they tried to figure things out, but it only took a couple before this class came in screaming. I mean: SCREAMING every single week.

I tried to remember all of their names but there were somewhere in the neighborhood of 7 variations of the name Madison. I still have notes in my phone with their names like "short and blonde. just like all of the rest of them." And just when I thought I knew their names, they brought me friends. Friends who's names were either names I'd never heard before as names or more variations of Madison. AND we had a set a triplets and a set of identical twins.

The more I got to know them, the more I got to know their families and their situations. And they were heartbreaking. Parents who chose drugs over their kids. Or alcohol. Or boyfriends. Or all three. Kids who had heard the words, "you were a mistake" come out of their parents' mouths. Ugly divorces. Foster care. Moving. Loss of one or both parents' jobs. And a smattering of really great, really fun, really dedicated girls from really fantastic families. All in - mostly - harmony together.

there's a good possibility I tell kids to take pictures as if they were "mid-sneeze"

And this bouncy, energetic class of what feels like 100, let me into their lives and their stories and cried to know that their time in our middle school program at church - with all of the crazy games and jumping around and screaming - were over.

They taught me about life - real life - messy and full of energy.
I watched them lose the childlike innocence of being just a kid and they walked - loudly - into the craziness and uncertainty of adolescence.
They showed me incredible strength as they walked through unthinkable pain. Things no one should have to go through, let alone someone under 13.

And I found an incredible group of men and women to lead this class with - people have come and gone - but they've all left a mark on my life. The kind of mark you get when you do battle with someone for 1 year or 3. They're the sort of friendships you only get from the shared experience of life with a huge group of middle schoolers, which is a sort of war in and of itself.

So I'm grateful, class of 2018, for your boisteriousness (except when you're singing at 3am in your sleep).
Thankful for your energy and how it gives me energy just to hang out with you.
Amazed at your strength to walk bravely through hard things.
And with the complete and total knowledge that most of you will never read this because "Facebook is for old people."

interrupted

As previously mentioned, I enjoy coffee.
A lot.

If I get a day off to myself, typically you'll find me in a coffee shop, likely reading. My last day off was just that - reading a new book in a coffee place I had never been to. While I tried to read, my nose was ruthlessly attacked by something that I was violently allergic to - the kind of sneezing you can't stop and that makes people around you uncomfortably shift away. I helplessly made accidental eye contact with a stranger as I got up to get myself some napkins with which to blow my nose (desperate times). Post-nose blowing, said stranger decided this was the moment to come talk to me.

He wanted to talk about where I was from, whether I was in school, where I worked, if I was Vietnamese (I'm not), Korean pottery and Korean tea, my scarf, and who knows what else he would have gotten to if I hadn't cut him short and said, "well... it was nice meeting you" and looked back to my book.

Hold onto that story.

This is my friend Christina. She has one of the most dynamic and welcoming personalities of anyone I've ever met. When we've been out for coffee together or at a store or anywhere really, Christina is always stopped and interrupted. People want to comment on her hair, her style, or little kids just want to say "hi" to her and when I'm around her, I wonder at the sheer volume of people who just want to talk to this beacon of light and life.

And I want that.

I want her charisma and her easy smile that makes people - even complete strangers - want to be near her (in the least creepy way possible). With her friends, she asks good questions, listening carefully to the answers so she can ask an even deeper question. And I realized, as The Interrupter in the coffee shop walked away to find someone else to talk to about his music career, that I am always looking for the first out, the first chance to walk away and continue what I'm doing because it's what I want.

And when it comes to people - friends, co-workers, the occasional cashier at the store - that might not be what I'm supposed to be doing.

volume

I have been quoting the TV show Person of Interest for the last several weeks. Which... is weird because it's mostly full of cheesy, cop drama kind of lines (judge me, but I totally love it)

The quote has to do with a character on the show who seems emotionless - and it's TV so it's a terrible caricature. A little girl tells the emotionless character, "I figured you out. It's not that you don't have feelings, it's just like, the volume is turned way down, like the sound on an old tape. The voices are there, you just have to listen."


I realized that I have a few people - really important people - who are like that. They're not cold and unfeeling, you just have to listen harder to hear what they're really communicating. Some people are loud - and you have to listen carefully to hear the actual lyrics behind the music of the emotion. Some people are at just the right volume and seem easy to read, but still put together a complex song. 
I think I like the challenge of trying to hear the beauty in whatever kind of song is playing and trying to learn to appreciate whatever kind of emotional song someone puts together.

apology

Is anyone actually good at apologizing?
I'm not.

In my head, I expect a fight. Or tears. Or... actually, I don't know. Either way, the times I have to apologize, I dread. I hate being wrong. And I hate having to admit it to the person I wronged even more.

On the other hand, I feel incredible guilt - that sick to your stomach, throw up at any time, can't focus on anything else kind of guilt - when something is unresolved and it's my fault.

Apologizing is incredibly freeing. It's healing. And usually the only thing that takes that awful pit in your stomach away.

It confirms my suspicions that the things in life worth fighting for will often require the fight.

88

There are a bunch of Psalms that are depressing. They call out to God and cry for help. And the Psalmist almost always ends with a "but." Like, "but You, Oh Lord are my strength" or "but You, Lord, have rescued me." Except one. (< I'll come back to that. Promise.)

I've learned a lot working with middle and high school students over the last few years. They surprise and impress me over and over again. And I don't want to overlook that. But at the same time, I'm shocked by the darkness that they have to live in. Go to school in. Share a roof with.

When I say "darkness," whatever it is you're thinking that could be darkness for a 13-year-old kid, it's worse. It's alcohol or drugs winning the battle between addiction and taking care of your kids. It's depression so deep it seems like death is a viable way out. It's things you think only happen in other countries or really terrible movies you wouldn't watch with your parents. It's material poverty in your backyard.

And it's overwhelming. And yes, I know that God is there and He is big and He is good. I know that He is in control and can take care of every student that I wish had a better - or at least a normal - life. But I think sometimes, it's okay to just be overwhelmed. Or at least I hope it is. Because I just admitted it in a public forum.

Psalm 88 is the one Psalm that doesn't end with a "but God." It starts this way:

Lord, you are the God who saves me;
    day and night I cry out to you.

The Psalmist is "overwhelmed with trouble" and "in darkest depths." And the Psalm doesn't end happily. Instead the final words:

Darkness is my closest friend. 

Yes, I trust that God is the God who saves me. Who saves everyone. And cares for them.
But there is also darkness. And it will not be forgotten.

for everyone

It was a bizarre scenario for me at church this weekend. I often sit with students in our high school and middle school ministry, but this scene was exceptional.

"The Hoodlums"
Behind me - two kids who I recognize by face, but not their names. I personally haven't seen them in a couple of years, but they've clearly been coming to church in that time. They're the type of kids my mom would have told me to stay away from in high school because they "look like trouble." Dressed like punks in skinny jeans and red Vans, they hunch down in the furthest back in the auditorium they could be. And through the whole service, I can hear them laughing. At all the right places. In a way that only someone who's invested in the pastor and knows about his quirks can be. They're not shouting, "amen" or anything like that, but they're listening. And then getting up and taking care of their younger sisters. Without the presence of parents to guide them.

"The Innocent"
To my left is one of our students with special needs. I've heard about basketball practice and games so far this morning, but once the music starts, he's all in on the service. Singing his heart out in a way with a sincerity that I wish I could muster up. He's nodding and murmuring along with the pastor because he agrees and doesn't care who around him knows.

"The Young" 
To my right are two 6th grade girls. They sit - surprisingly - quietly during this message about Jesus as our King and Leader. They get to hear that Jesus went before us - leading us - and that if we watch Him, we'll see Who He is and how He is God... and deserves to be our God. I'm not sure what they took away from the morning. If nothing else, I hope that someday when they're 21 and lost, they remember that Sunday when they heard there was Someone who loved them enough to die for them and that they can follow Him to a better and more abundant life.

And then there's me. Amazed that God has brought all of these people within yards of each other. Wrestling with my own insecurities and fears.

God isn't just for the "cleaned up" or just when "everything is fine." He's for everyone. All the time.

over coffee.

I drink a lot of coffee.
Like.
A. LOT.

Typically, drinking coffee is not out of necessity. I tell people all the time, "I can't quit whenever I want." (I realize that if you look at how often I drink coffee, you might be able to argue that.) Mostly it's with people. Or over a good book. This post is about both.

I'm fairly confident everyone likes to be liked. Even if you are - hypothetically - East Coast-grown and have a lot of opinions. I love asking questions, listening to answers and trying to figure out the best way to show people that they are cared about. Because they are cared about. And, turns out, people sort of like to hear that they are loved and cared about. I know. Ground-breaking.

Now a rough segue - I've been trying to read though My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers. I've literally had the book for 10 years. It's a daily devotional, and I've never made it all the way through the book because there are dates at the top and a little piece of me says that I can't read it if it's not the right date. Anyway, a few days ago, the daily devotional opened with this line:

If you become a necessity to a soul, you are out of God's order.

Chambers cites John 3.30, "He must increase, but I must decrease." I've probably heard a sermon on that verse dozens of times, but never like this. My goal shouldn't be to make people like me - but instead to love people in such a way so that they long for Jesus.

When once you see a soul in sight of the claims of Jesus Christ, you know that your influence has been in the right direction. [Chambers]

Honestly, I have no idea how to do that. But the reality is, I can't save anyone. Instead, we should encourage the people we love to hold onto Jesus. He's all that matters.

^ how's that for a "Christianese" ending? #sorry #notsorry

mom

Today is my mom's birthday. She hates that picture, but I love it. (plus the "free layaway" sign is awkwardly photobombing it)

You know that person in the world that has the ability to drive you the most crazy, but also say exactly the right thing at the right them? I think that might be everyone's mom.

Mine worries about me parking in the Target parking lot, traveling around the world, and that the cat has rabies. She is also the person I call when I just need to talk or catch up on family news or just not feel so alone driving in my car.

She - much to her regret now - taught me to be independent. And work hard, even if you're the last person working. She put me to work as a kid sorting paperwork, handing out mail, and stapling stacks of handouts - something that serves me well in every job I've ever done.

My mom prays as she exercises, purposefully, for everyone in her family, trusting that God will take care of us when she can't. Then she worries and calls and sometimes just needs to know that she's loved and appreciated. Which she is.

Happy birthday, Mom.

worth the fight

I bought the new Switchfoot album Fading West. It's every bit of awesome that I hoped it would be. Yes. That's a shameless plug. #sorry #notsorry

The first song is "Love Alone Is Worth the Fight" which is crazy, because at my church we've been talking about war. And if you want peace - in your home, at work, with the people you love - you have to be prepared for war.

As I thought through my high school students who face the peer pressure every day of drugs, sex, and alcohol (and rock and roll! <just kidding about that one. I don't know any high schoolers who like rock and roll) and their longing to have someone to walk alongside them - a friend, a leader, anyone - through all of that, I realized they need someone - or a bunch of someones - fighting for them. Telling them they are loved. Valued. And that someone knows them and cares what happens in their life. And point them to a God that can take care of them.

Middle school students - the ones whose brains are still developing and are so full of life until something or someone tells them they don't matter or can't accomplish anything - ran through my head. They need people fighting for them. Telling them they really can accomplish things. That they are smart. And valued. And someone cares what happens during their day. And point them to a God who loves them, so much more than a parent who tells them they were a mistake.

I'm learning a lot about love lately. How much the word itself means to me. How difficult it is to live out. And what it really means when you tell someone, "I love you." It's interesting that "Love is patient" starts off the famous Corinthians love chapter - it's the one I'm the worst at.

But I'm learning that love - on so many levels - is worth the fight.

every day.

That obnoxious song that is my alarm tone on my phone. First noise of the day. Followed by my lazy reach to snooze said obnoxious song. Ten more minutes of peace.

Ugh. That song. Again. I wish this was the time that I got up. It's not usually. It's usually the time that I think, if I get up now, I can go for a run... Or I can stay here. Because, I mean, the cat is laying here and I can't bother him so I'll just go back to sleep.

That's it. This time I'm really getting up. It makes me feel less lazy if I read instead of just hitting snooze. I pick up a book by Oswald Chambers, have to look up a few words so I know what he's talking about and then flip to the Bible app on my phone. Remember - this is all just a ruse to cover that I still haven't gotten out of bed and definitely did not go for a run.

Kitty most definitely does not like to be bothered.

Head for the bathroom. Bother the cat who is now awake and hungry. Spend some time looking at Web sites for anything interesting that I might be able to talk about on the radio, post on Facebook, then head for the car. Forgetting that I'm hungry and need to bring lunch today.

Back inside. Can of soup. Cookie - it's oatmeal so it totally counts as breakfast. Back outside.

Every day is a little different - meetings, people, reading, writing, more meetings. And coffee. Always coffee.

Always. Always coffee.

When I was a kid, I figured being an adult would be like television or the movies - excitement, romance, adventure, plot twists and resolutions by the end. And there are flashes of brilliance. Moments that stand out in my mind. But most days are filled with computer screens, text messages, and work.

Today I talked with a friend who is looking at a new adventure - a risky one - and it made me take a second to take stock of where I am. My job. My relationships. And the incredible nature of what I get to do. As I talked with him about the ways that God has provided for me and given me above and beyond what I could have ever asked for or imagined possible, I realize how little I stop to appreciate and thank God for the place He has so clearly put me.

All of the times I've ever tried to do what I want on my time with whom I wanted, I've messed everything up. But really. Everything.

And somehow God has still put me here - with people I love in a job that I want to get up and do every morning. I don't deserve it. And I should be need to be more grateful for the grace and the God that's brought me here.