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.

year

At 8.48p at this time last year the world as my family knew it had changed. Q was born just over 2lbs and about 12 weeks before he was expected. It was unreal the ups and downs and how many people showered him and my sister and brother-in-law in prayer.

Q's first outfit, just days after he was born.

Q's first birthday party (a day late, since he was sick on his actual birthday)

This year, the little man who stole our hearts was sick and missed his own celebration. As guests came to our house just to say quick hellos, a moment stood out to me. My dad's best friend had come to drop off a card and wish the little man a happy one year of crawling around the earth. It was a simple conversation - if you can even call it that. As they stood in the doorway, my dad took Q in his arms and said, "Quinton, this is Eric." I wish I had a video of that moment in time, my dad so proud of his first little grandson. Words can't capture the sweetness of the moment. Which I realize is not so conducive to a blog, but it's my blog so I do what I want. Just take my word for it, it was tender and awesome.

It's pretty incredible and humbling to think that God, in the middle of running the world and keeping things together, had time and concern for this little life that's so important and precious to us and so far removed from presidents or kings or anyone that gets assigned "real" value. But He did. And a year later, even though he keeps me from sleeping anytime I get to come back to visit him, I'm so glad this little life continues ...and cries... and laughs ...and does his bodily functions wherever he wants. Because baby.

what I post every year

My parents met my boyfriend's parents for the first time a few months ago. After dinner, his mom texted me, "You definitely got the gift of gab from your mom!"

And I thought, oh no.

these are my parents. we don't look alike.

I clearly didn't get my genes from my parents, but they did give me a lot.

Family - for a very basic start. They loved this little girl that they saw pictures of at a rest stop in upstate New York and then met in a New York City airport. Enough that they let her into their world for a whole lifetime.

Jesus - It amazes me when I actually take the time to stop and think that of all the kids that were adopted and all of the families, I ended up in this one. One that went to church and encouraged me to follow God and set me up to figure out what it looks like to live life with Him.

Personality - which is somewhat scary, but also somewhat awesome. My mom cares about everyone. She tells me all the time that I'm too busy and I tell her this story about a pot and a kettle. She is instantly welcoming in any situation and so unbelievably good with names and faces that she knew every kid for 20 years that walked through her school doors - and their parents. My dad is brilliant, logical and always figuring out something in his head. He studies hard and works hard for as long as it takes to do something right. They showed me what it meant to love people and work for what I wanted.

Support - I'm still not 100% sure how much either of my parents really know or understand about figure skating, basketball or volleyball, but they drove hours to and from (and sometimes to and from again for my forgotten skates) games and competitions. They sat through endless high school plays and choir concerts - which I'm beginning to appreciate more and more now that I go to a lot of those myself.

Not to mention a host of other more tangible things like shelter and food and tamogatchi electronic pets and light up sneakers and all of the other things that kids from the 90's wanted.

Every year on this day, they've celebrated me and I think this might be the first year that I realized (yes, I'm a bit slow) that truly, I should be celebrating them.

celebration

I got baptized as a 9-ish year old kid (I have a terrible memory when it comes to dates). I remember going through class about what it meant to be a Christian and part of my church and what baptism was. I was the youngest person in my class by about 15 years, except for Claude. Claude was an 8-ish year old kid.

When I climbed into the giant baptismal (that made for an AWESOME hiding place as a kid), I was barely tall enough to be seen by the rest of the congregation. I was nervous - partially because I'm not a very good swimmer and partially because I wasn't sure if I was going to get water up my nose (I know, totally logical). I was totally focused on how I was going to breathe and starting to feel ready. The pastor asked me, "Do you have a special verse that you want to share with the congregation?"

WHOA. Not ready for that curveball, Pastor. You should have warned me if you wanted me to say anything. "No." Is what I squeaked out. (Claude, one year my younger, rattled off John 3.16 which my mom later told me is that I should have done at least. Claude could also probably swim better and wasn't afraid of having to be saved from drowning in 2 feet of water.) The pastor smiled and held my nose (*whew*) and pushed me under water demonstrating my belief in the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. As I came out of the water, the rest of the church said a hearty, "amen."

Fast forward nearly 20 years - I have the awesome opportunity to be a part of the baptism service at my church. It's trouble really, because I have a hard enough time keeping back the flood of emotions just watching people get dunked in inflatable hot tubs and jump out of the water, arms in the air, droplets going everywhere. They're so proud and so excited to show the world their love for Jesus and desire for a better way to live.

a picture I took from the last baptism I got to watch

It looks a lot different than the way I was baptized. My partner (because I weigh about 112 pounds soaking wet and have the muscle mass of a tree squirrel) and I introduce ourselves to the people who climb into the inflatable hot tub (it's... like a baptistry).  We ask if they believe in the Lord Jesus Christ as their Savior and on their affirmation, we baptize them in His name. People cheer and clap and raise their hands in excitement, running up to hug their soaking wet friend or child or parent.

And in this spectacle of an event, people plunge under water, unafraid of freezing temperatures and who is watching. They're celebrating.

And they should. Because they get to celebrate the real, awesome life that they found in Jesus.