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.