2014-2015 Life List

Life Lists: They're like bucket lists, but less morbid and more doable, because you give it a specific time-frame. Scribbled with my sisters while drinking tea a week ago, this year's is pretty exciting.

• go to Africa
• have red West African dirt caked to my feet again
• travel internationally, on my lonesome (the international part comes in 2 hours. WHAT)
• speak only French for a full day
• go to an African dance party
• find an African church to go to
• make dinner with my host mom(s)
• buy something in a Cameroonian marketplace on my own, without a translator 
• take a taxi for the first time (location optional: Africa, Paris, USA) 
• ...swim in the Mediterranean 
• order Cafe au Lait...in a cafe in Paris
• also, eat baguettes and pain au chocolat in Paris
• did I mention, see Paris? 
• buy a scarf of a summer dress..something so I can say casually "oh yeah, I got it in Paris" 
• play soccer with African kiddos every chance I get
• learn to take good photos...aka at least one I am very proud/vain of, because good is subjective and I have too many photographer friends
• make fabulous French press coffee, without having to call for Mom's help
• have a real grown-up internship
• perks if it's anti-trafficking 
• buy a silver (African) ring that fits my lonely, too fat for all my rings, pointer finger
•  dance at midnight to 22 as I turn 22
• throw a 12 dancing princesses evening party, and dance in flow-y dresses with a bonfire and flowers in my hair
• have a townhouse (hopefully) with a KITCHEN 
• bake challah and make all my friends delightfully and happily fat, but mostly me
• dance rave in my kitchen all the time
• focus on joy senior year...and people 

leaving

It's funny how the thing you want most in the world can also be what terrifies you most.

And it's funny because it's been this way since I was 12, and you'd think I would be used to it by now. I've desperately want to move to Africa since I was 12 and I've dreaded it every second. The downside of knowing that I wanted to move across the world was living with a bunch of goodbyes over my head, looming on the horizon. I fly out to study abroad in Cameroon in 12 days; I'm not ready for the goodbye. And for a girl in love with her family, who wants nothing more than to bake cookies with her mom and stay right here, four months on a different continent is a long time. But relatively, it's a little taste-test to see if this, Africa, is really truly it. After my two week trip to Mali when I was sixteen, I'm still hungry for red dirt, barefoot soccer and the beauty of people who laugh in the face of hellish poverty and suffering. Mali broke my heart and stole it too, and I'm hungry for that again, but frankly I'm terrified too.

 Part of the nerves are familiar from before Mali- I've wanted it for so long, that one of the biggest fears is getting there and realizing it isn't for me, that I was wrong about my life calling. Being known as the social justice girl who's obsessed with Africa is sort of like an overly showy relationship--what if it doesn't work out? There's a certain social expectation entailed by being openly in love, before you've really proved the relationship. I was terrified that it wasn't the "real deal" before going to Mali, and in answer just fell in love with the country and the people. But Cameroon's for a lot longer, and this time I won't be with family. I didn't really experience culture shock when I went to Mali, I loved every second of it (my culture shock coming back to the U.S. was much worse). Having my dad travel to Mali with me was a big part of that, I wasn't homesick because Dad brought home with him, I was safe.

But this time, the goodbye is a lot more real, and the real taste-test of (hopefully) the rest of my life in Africa, away from my family, is about to begin.

I don't really know how to live without these people. I count myself lucky that I have great friends and people who like me at college, only an hour away from home, because I have yet to fully figure out how to be myself without my family, without kitchen floor conversations about feminism and our souls, perpetual eating, bedtime stories with the littles, Sabbath dinners and challah dough between my hands. I'm only me when I'm with you at the top of my lungs dancing with my sisters in our living room, and it's our song because it's quite simply truth.

I guess I am praying that I will forgive myself for leaving, not just for this four months, but another two after that (another story), and eventually for as much of my life as God decides and clues me in on.

I'm praying that everything my family is, security, anger at injustice, passion and hope and dog-eared Bibles and a burning desire to love people and love God, that these people and these things that have shaped me are so well and truly in me that I will carry them with me as I hurtle into my future.

names we're given: beloved

Fall torches the hills 

orange and gold

speed shakes up through my feet

creation shouts 

with the voice of glory

"beloved." 

Curled up in the back seat, speeding home from my cousin's wedding, nose pressed against the glass drinking in the beauty.  "Holy Baptism and Contemporary Theology" by Herbert Vorgrimler, due for the class I didn't actually want to get back in time for, lay open on my lap, and I'm nerding out scrawling poems in the margins of my religious studies readings. 

For some reason, I really love this moment. I think I'm embracing the fact that I'm that nerd girl, scribbling fragmented sentences left over from the poems that occasionally hit me in the margins of my theology readings, teary eyed because God is just that beautiful. Also because I love roadtrips and speed and being with people I love, the coffee cup in my hand and the sweater cozy as I curled up. 

But the thing I truly love about that moment is that fact that I am learning to think of myself as beloved. I have struggled so much with my self-understanding, with how I identified at the core of who I am. And it is a beautiful miracle and I want to sing when I see what God has done, the change he's making in my heart. For so long the names I identified as were inadequate, flawed, unlovable, these whispers of hate and fear that I listened to over God's life shout of love. And I finally just begged him, around two years ago, to fight for my heart. 

And he did. And slowly and surely I have come to hear, see and touch his love, poured out in sunlight on water, in coffee cups and conversations with people who know my soul, in their love and their words of grace speaking God's great grace into my hungry heart, in fall leaves blazing scarlet and 730 graces counted, the mundane miraculous gifts that scream his love. And counting and hunting for these instances of his love has opened my eyes, and I count and count and how could all this love be for me? And how can I deny or talk down the power of this love? 

This love is redefining me. And I love that moment, the nerd girl curled up scribbling poetry, because her heart was singing with the love of God. Because this miracle where I'm not listening to the lies anymore, and I can finally hear behind all the grace and beauty God's voice, calling me, naming me, defining me.  Beloved. 

Daily bread

Sometimes I wish there was a way to store joy, so I could hide away the smell of fall leaves, wind in my hair rushing through the countryside, dancing in my kitchen, the feeling of being known and loved anyway, save all this abundance of joy for days when it's harder to find. I'm home again, for a brief stint of grace-filled, grace abundant days and it's too short. And I'm back to school tomorrow, which I love but which wears me down with busy-ness, with too little room in my calendar and too much caring, too many causes. But the thing about this semester, which is somehow the hardest and the best I've had, is that I'm slowly learning the meaning of daily bread, that grace is for today, enough for today and not tomorrow.
I keep chanting "give us today our daily bread." And that bread is the daily grace that gets me through, the long list of everyday kindnesses showered on me, the pages and pages of numbered gifts in my gratitude journal, the fact that I fall into bed exhausted but fulfilled each night. Daily bread, Jesus' reminder of God's faithfulness in the desert wandering. Bread from heaven every morning, and Friday's enough for two, gathering for Sabbath. But most days we're forbidden to gather double, and I don't think that's because God likes rules, but because that is how grace works. Enough for today, and not tomorrow.
And worry is wormy manna, the sour taste of fear, hands clutching for control. When I try to gather for tomorrow, store up joys in fear of dry seasons I know will come, they turn wormy in my hands and I clutch at memories and compare the now to the past, which is always rosier in remembering. I cannot taste tomorrow's grace because it is today.  
And this is the character of God, and this is learning trust. I'll number my overflowing list of graces tonight, and without fail there will be more tomorrow morning, enough to get me through. And more than just through, enough to give me joy. Because that is God and God is good. I'll taste tonight's graces, full to bursting with joy (literally full to bursting with home-cooked goodness) and know that tomorrow I will taste the goodness of the Lord again. 

seeing me

Thinking about the days when my self image was at its very worst, and the long redemptive road to now, where it's day by day but overall good, I realized something important, about something important I'd had to learn.
Convoluted, I know. I'll break it down, 'cause I like over-analyzing things.
The thing I had to learn was to step back from focusing on flaws, and smile at my reflection instead.
This simple step was incredibly hard. but deeply profound.
And the other day I realized another layer of why it works, why it was so helpful.
In my dark days, I could never see any prettiness in me. I could vaguely see that other people saw it-beauty-in me, and so subconsciously there was this bit of hope, that maybe it was there. But I didn't see it.
And I had to slowly learn to change the way I looked at myself. Metaphorically and spiritually, definitely. But, as I already noted, a huge part of that was changing the way I actually physically looked at myself.
Other people looking at me saw prettiness, some something attractive, either on just a physical level but probably also on an emotional/spiritual level, my real me-ness that makes anybody want to talk to me for more than 5 minutes, be my friend, what have you. But I couldn't see it, and what was with that?
When I looked into the mirror, I saw a person who looked out with gleeful criticism, jumping on every flaw, every pimple, anything and everything that could ever be construed as a flaw. I looked at a person who looked out with disappointment and self-loathing.
But how did I look to someone else? They saw prettiness, and no wonder, because they saw someone who laughed a lot, and smiles at people even more, who gets really passionate and excited about important things, who tries, to the best of her small ability, to look out at everyone (almost) with grace in her eyes. Grace to know you, like you, give you the benefit of the doubt and focus on the good in you.
So I think people thought I was "pretty" because 1) I am actually fairly pretty in just an arbitrary-scale way (the scale is dumb and I reject it wholesale, but that's another post) and 2) I looked at them with grace and liking.
If I'd looked at them the way I looked at me, they too would have soon become convinced that I was highly unattractive, in fact a disgusting person. Because I would have been all up in their face, literally examining them critically from 2 inches away, crowing maliciously over every flaw they had, and a few extra I could make up and convince them they had. I would have stared at them with condemnation, and they would have hated me with a self-protective rage to defend from the inadequacy I made them feel.  Insecurity giving rise to dislike and their dislike translating into the belief that I was physically ugly because they felt ugly emotions around me. Because our emotions are so entwined with how we perceive people, the way they make us feel.
And aside from an arbitrary out there "scale" defining prettiness, I think this is why people could see "prettiness," beauty in me when I couldn't. I'm certainly not perfect, but overall I like people, I love the image of God in them, I try to extend grace. It's this strange circular thing, seeing beauty in others and them responding to the beauty in you, the opposite of the vicious cycle of seeing ugly-creating ugly.
And I had to break that cycle, take a physical, tangible step back, and smile my warmest, smile with joy and love behind it, laughter and grace extended. So that I saw in the mirror not a girl who extended grace to (almost) everyone, but everyone.
Including me.

Sabbath Semester: Day 1-The Rules of the Game and Shabbat Shalom

Today is the very first day of my Sabbath Semester Challenge. I slept in late, Saga sat over breakfast and had a true heart-to-heart with dear friends, two old and one brand new made over coffee five minutes before.
I'm doing this thing that I'm calling Sabbath Semester, where I do no academic work from Friday to Saturday night, because I'm not happy with how I have been living in my college world thus far. I have an incredible life, I have two jobs I love, and so many dear-heart friends, but still, it's been two years of the college world and I've still never felt like things were quite right. It's like the wholest, realest me only fully comes out when I am home, and to an extent I've realized that will probably always be true, and it's ok. But I still want to be living whole-hearted, centered from who I am, wherever I am.
And this crazy thing I am calling Sabbath Semester just might be the key to that whole life I want.
Sabbath is something I grew up on, a tradition my quirky Evangelical Christian family took up when we realized Sunday is never really a day of rest for Pastor's families, and when we remembered, some fifteen odd years ago, that our goal as Christians is to be as much like Jesus as possible, and he was Jewish. So we started doing a lot of Jewish things, and found an incredible amount of blessing in the Old Testament Commandments we mostly forget about as Christians.
I started out, some fifteen years ago, a little girl with Hebrew words guttural and strange in the back of my throat. And then Sabbath became something that defined my family and defined me. Sabbath is melting candles and long conversations, family time with Handel's Messiah in the background, trying to eliminate distractions of work and business and focus on us, together, and the God we love.
Despite how much Sabbath shaped me, I didn't really consider observing Sabbath when I came to school. There was just so MUCH to do. It was impractical and impracticable in this new world of stress and deadlines and proving myself, and I didn't truly consider it.
But I'm reconsidering, because in a world of deadlines and always overextending myself so I am not quite the self I want to be, it is just what I need. Because Shabbat Shalom is not just a phrase, it is everything that Sabbath is. Shalom, the Hebrew greeting meaning peace, is not just peace; it is health, harmony, rest, soundness and wholeness. It is the whole life, soul-centered living flowing out of who I am, who God is. I live harried, I live hurried and fast, and Shabbat Shalom, slowing, is what I need.
So here are the rules.
1) I will do no academic work from Friday night after dinner to Saturday night after dinner.
I was really worried about this, frantic voice in my head asking how I would get everything done. But honestly, I've practically been observing Sabbath already, vowing to get work done tomorrow on Friday but so exhausted by Saturday that I'd lay in bed and pinterest all day instead. But with it came guilt at not getting anything done, because I was never giving myself permission to just rest. Sabbath is permission from God to just rest. To just relax and trust he'll give me the strength and skill to honor him with my days and in my commitments, but for now just to be a human and enjoy being alive.
2) I will use this time of rest to focus on God and people, which Sabbath is all about.
This means it's not just permission to lay in bed and pinterest every Saturday. I want to be intentional. Sabbath days I want to journal, read my Bible, pray and take long walks and think and pray more. Do some yoga, drink some tea, and then connect connect connect with people. I want to be intentional to make plans with people, share Sabbath as much as I can. Last night I invaded my friend Bev's townhouse, and we broke challah bread I'd brought from home, drank apple juice as a wine replacement, and and I stumbled through the Hebrew blessings without my family's voices with me. My lovely roommate came, and we talked long and sleepy and it was lovely.
3) I can do reading homework on Saturdays, if I am bored and I enjoy the readings (aka my African history readings). Basically, before I do anything on Sabbath, I need to ask "Does this activity give me life, or steal my joy?" That sounds dramatic, but math homework? Not every allowed to be part of Sabbath, because it steals my soul.
4) It's allowed to be flexible. I can re-arrange the days, rest on Sunday, etc, whatever, even do a little bit of work  if I talk with God and he's cool with it before hand. Sabbath Semester is not about legalism, because obedience to God is not ever about legalism, it's about blessing. His commands are good: Eat good food, talk long with your family and people you love, talk to me and relax. Experience my Shalom peace. Wholeness, rest, soul connection.

Start living it.

Challah

Dear World. Here is a recipe for happiness. You're welcome.

3/4 cup water, warm
3 tablespoons butter, melted
3 eggs, whipped
1/3 to 1/2 cup sugar, depending on how sweet you like it
1 tsp salt
4 cups flour
1 tablespoon yeast

If you have a bread machine, dump all these ingredients in the mixer (put the yeast in a hollowed out hole in the flour so it doesn't get wet if you want to used timed-start), put on the dough cycle, and let it all mix and rise. Also skip this next section.

If you don't have a bread machine, mix warm water, yeast, and an additional tsp of sugar in a separate bowl to foam and rise. In large bowl or kitchen aid, mix butter, eggs, sugar, and salt. Slowly add in the flour, 1/2 at a time, alternating with the foamed yeast/water mixture. If using a kitchen aid, you can switch to the dough hook after adding the first two cups of flour. Mix almost all of the last cup of flour in, but reserve some (probably about 1/3 cup or 1/4, I'm actually not sure because I never make less than a triple batch of dough when making it by hand) to flour your counter with and kneed in by hand. Kneed in that last but of flour until the dough has a smooth, elastic feel. Set in greased bowl and cover with a dish cloth, to rise until doubled.

Now both our bread machine/by hand peeps join up again. When it's risen, kneed on a floured surface for a few minutes to kneed out air hole pockets. Divide in half and cut them into either 3 or 4 strands, depending on the braid you're using (or more strands, if you wanna get really fancy) Let the pieces set for five minutes, then roll them into long "snakes" and braid. Put both loaves on a greased cookie sheet, and let rise till doubled.  Brush with 1 egg yolk mixed with about 1 tablespoon of water (pastry brushes are your friend, paint brushes not so much) to make a lovely shiny glaze. Bake at 375 for 8 minutes, cover loosely with foil, and bake for another 8 minutes.

Let cool on baking racks or a wooden serving plate (if you leave it on the baking sheet too long the bottom gets gummy, it's gross), for about 10 minutes or so, but you should probably eat it warm. Gwen would tell you that it's better still-fresh-but-not-warm, but she would be wrong. Tear off large chunks,* lather in butter, and enjoy!

*This step is highly important. Whatever you do, do NOT cut challah. 1) it tastes better torn (it's a scientific fact, practically. Anyone with halfway decent taste buds agrees) 2) Cutting it goes against the Jewish tradition, based on prophecy that swords will be turned into plowshares (Isaiah 2:4) 3) IT'S SACRILEGE. It just goes against all the sacred rules of challah, ok?