on not being that woman

You guys. The silence. It's inexcusable. Especially because 1 month ago today, I got married.

And I'm sorry. And I promise that we're going to blog about the ceremony (which was oh, so holy and worshipful and community-focused and exactly what we'd hoped for) and the reception (which was staggeringly, breathtaking beautiful thanks to my talented mother and her talented crew) and the honeymoon (which was warm and relaxing and long).

But today I need to laugh, and I need you to laugh with me.

So yesterday I was tooling around on Pinterest, the website which proves that women are, in fact, visual creatures. And while I was on Pinterest, I saw this picture:

[photo/recipe credit]

Don't those look delicious? The simple caption beneath the photo read "Apples + cinnamon + oven @ 200 degrees = homemade apple chips."

So I turned to Jon, who was reading beside me (how great is married life?), and said: "I think I'll make these tonight with the leftover apples from our wedding." Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

I sliced up the apples and arranged them just so on our cookie tray with our silpat pan liner (love!). I went to grab the cinnamon out of the cupboard when I realized we have no cinnamon. However, I'd received a Penzey's spice box decorated with whole cinnamon sticks (shower gifts for the win). I pulled out our the-holes-are-too-small-to-be-a-decent cheese grater and went to work. When that proved nearly impossible, I turned to the Magic Bullet (Ashley knows me so well) and pulverized those pieces. I sprinkled my fresh gourmet ground cinnamon on my apple slices. So certain was I of my imminent success, I saved the rest in a jar to used on future apple chip endeavors.

As I popped the tray of soon-to-be apple chips into the oven, I hugged Jon and remarked smugly, "I might just become one of those women, y'know, the kind who grind their own cinnamon and bake their own apple chips." What I meant was "I might just become the Pioneer Woman."

Okay stop laughing.

I was supposed to flip the chips after an hour. I forgot about them amidst folding laundry and got to them after 1:15. Half were already burned beyond repair and the other half, my ever-loving Cortlands, had been reduced to dry-on-the-outside-applesauce-flesh-on-the-inside apple-ish-kind-of rings.

Together, Jon and I sorted through the chips tasted every one, determining whether it was edible. I threw away many that were too brown to even talk about.

As I cleaned up the kitchen, I turned to Jon and said, defeated, "Guess I'm not that woman after all."

He just smiled, kissed me, and said "Not yet."

on other people's transitions

So, obviously, transition is a big theme of my life. So much so that I'm wondering when I won't find myself in transition. But in all my self-absorption and focus on my own transition, I forget that others are in transition, too. I'm remembering that their transitions can affect me, often in very bittersweet ways.

Exhibit A: Kathryn Rose moved to Florida yesterday.

Kitty and I have known each other since nineteen-ninety-I-can't-even-remember. She has been a constant, faithful friend through middle school & high school, when I moved away to college, when I moved away to Africa, when I moved back to the US, when I moved into the room across the hall.

Now Kitty has moved away to Florida, and although she's left behind reminders of her presence (read: Fluffy the cat, who sleeps next to me even when it's 95 degrees upstairs), it is my turn to be a friend-from-afar, as Kitty has been to me since we met.

My favorite memories will always be...

the weekend she and Ashley came to visit me at Wheaton in the fall of 2006,

Heather's bachelorette party summer 2009,

the birthday party she and Ashley planned for me last summer ("Raise your hand...")

and of course, the past 4 months of adventures living with her and Ash in the best townhouse in the world, including broken A/C upstairs and mice on the kitchen counters.

Also of note would be the number of times Kathryn has dressed me (often in her own clothes), like this rockin' outfit of hers I wore on the most important night of my life:
Kitty, you are so courageous. God will go before you, behind you, and with you. I pray your transition from Minnesota to Sarasota is smooth sailing, friend. I love you tons, miss you already, and plan to make a visit when the weather here is crappy!

on what makes us adults

This will be brief. I really should be packing (this weekend: D.C.!).

It won't take long to steal someone else's words and post them here for our mutual benefit.

In the past six weeks, there have been a number of events that I would ordinarily classify as "adult things." A slew of things come to your mind when I say that, right? Things like divorce, job loss, unexpected death, miscarriage, terminal illness, foreclosure, infidelity, depression, existential crises, addictions, etc. etc.

I've seen so many of those kinds of things occur in the lives of my friends and loved ones in the past six weeks, and frankly, it makes me want to throw my hands up and walk away. Following yet another tragic loss a few weeks ago, I asked Jon how we were even remotely old enough for all this. His response?

"This is how someone becomes old."

He's got a point. This is what makes us old. And wise. And tougher than the tough stuff life throws at us.

I just wish it was more of an easier process, and less of a trial by fire.

except I really do like it here

On the heels of yesterday's bittersweet post, please allow me to temper the bitter with more sweet. I truly didn't mean that I would rather be in Africa right now than stateside. Here's a quick indication that I'm grateful to be where I am:

Miami 2011

Vacations are where it's at, yo. I accompanied Jon on his work retreat and while he was in professional programming, I was on the beach, in the gym, at the spa, or by the pool. We also went sailing in Biscayne Bay. First time off since Thanksgiving (I worked Christmas Eve, trying to get the college open!) and I feel so very refreshed following our return.

Another reason I'm grateful to be on this continent? Girls' night tonight with some of my dearest friends, both old and new. We're getting our spa on. There will be chocolate brownies. And mango mousse. Please, no photos.

'tis the season

You know what feeling I love best?

Anticipation.

Unfortunately, I don't think I do anticipation very well as an adult. With children, it's easy to spot: the bright eyes, the wide smiles, the cannot-be-contained energy. They literally don't know what to do with themselves until the expected day or event arrives--and it shows.

But adults? We seem to temper ourselves. We maintain an appropriate level of excitement. The anticipation may threaten to leak out everywhere, but in general, we keep it under wraps.

However, this is the season of anticipation: Advent, in which we await the birth of Christ. I didn't grow up celebrating Advent, with the calendars or the wreaths or the candles, but discovered it in college: first, with the Book of Common Prayer in Renaissance Literature and then, at Life Church, where I began unpacking the concept of holy anticipation.

As a woman, it's especially meaningful to me that Advent begins with a woman in the most intimate moment of her life. I love the language of the Magnificat, and as gorgeous as the first line is in Latin--Magnificat: anima mea Dominum--I appreciate the simplicity of the Book of Common Prayer:

My soul doth magnify the Lord : and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.

For he hath regarded : the lowliness of his handmaiden.

For behold, from henceforth : all generations shall call me blessed.

For he that is mighty hath magnified me : and holy is his Name.

And his mercy is on them that fear him : throughout all generations.

He hath shewed strength with his arm : he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

He hath put down the mighty from their seat : and hath exalted the humble and meek.

He hath filled the hungry with good things : and the rich he hath sent empty away.

He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel : as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed for ever.

So Advent begins with the announcement of a pregnancy. (No, really.) A pregnancy that was dangerous, a pregnancy that should never have happened, an impossible pregnancy, really. Mary is so strong in her vulnerability at this moment. But if we limit Advent to the joyful anticipation of the birth of Christ, I wonder if we've missed the bigger picture:

Advent is really the anticipation of the arrival of Israel's salvation.

Perhaps we don't have a clear concept of that kind of anticipation: Waiting. Thousands of years of waiting. Patient waiting sometimes, but mostly impatient waiting. Groaning. How long, O Lord? Come quickly. Questioning. Has He forgotten us? Perhaps our God won't make good on His promise.

See, anticipation isn't just bouncing our knees, arms outstretched, smile on our face. It is that, but it is more. Advent is joyful because we know that He does arrive, and He does ransom Israel. But it's also messy. It's impatient people, unworthy of rescue, crying out to God to be saved, maybe even doubting it will happen. As the years stack up, and generations stretch out, perhaps it becomes the stuff of legends, like that story your grandpa tells you're pretty sure isn't true. It just seems so unlikely that the waiting will ever end. That God will ever remember you.

And then it happens. The promise is fulfilled.

Doesn't that make the shepherds seem so much more genuine? Imagine the young men, who doubted it would ever happen. Imagine the old men, whose hope was maybe a little more real. Imagine the small boys, who would never know the lifetime of waiting all their forefathers knew. The fulfillment was right now. It was here. It was real.

That is Advent to me. It's so much more than the excitement of pregnancy. It's the culmination of years of that quietly-whispered hope and those tender prayers. So Advent is anticipation: joyful and messy. Isn't that just the story of our whole lives?

Magnificat: anima mea Dominum.

my thanksgiving was better than your thanksgiving

It's the end of the month of gratitude. Many of my friends have been participating in the 1000 gifts project, taking the month of November to list 1000 gifts from God. Consider this my contribution to the project.

I'm grateful for spending Thanksgiving with my family in Colorado, and for sledding together in the Rocky Mountains:

I'm grateful for cousins crazy enough to marry into our family:

I'm grateful for newly engaged cousins (!):

I'm grateful for toboggan rides that start out promising:

but end in whitewashes:
(let's be honest, I really did miss this in Nigeria)

I'm especially grateful for the strong women in my life, from whom I can learn so much:

I'm grateful for the community of friends, old and new, that God has built up around me, to encourage me and keep me on track.

I'm grateful for a job that fits my gifts and passions, and one I will learn and grow in.

I'm grateful for this stage of life, however in-between it feels, and for the lessons I'm learning in the process.

i'm not that kind of girl

Let's get something straight: On the wide spectrum of femininity, I am more of a girly-girl than a tomboy. It's just that I'm just not that far left of center.

The most recent piece of evidence was submitted Friday. The church I grew up at hosts a women's Holiday Tea each November. The women of the church sign up to host and decorate a table, and a formal teatime is served. It is a pretty spectacular display of the feminine ingenuity of the women of that church, let me tell you. I haven't been in several years and it gets more elaborate each year. Last Friday, I was half-expecting a waterfall. Or two.

I definitely appreciated the event and the hosts who dedicated so much time to their tables. But as Mom and I surveyed all the tables with their place settings and fine china and knife rests (knife rests!), she asked me if I could see myself hosting something like that someday.

(There we are...yep, I look like my Mom.)

I was honest. I said no, thus fixing myself at the place where "painting our nails" meets "screaming at the football game on TV."

I am a girly-girl. I do enjoy attending holiday teas, and eating scones, and placing my soiled knife on my knife rest. I went shopping for a fancy dress this weekend and loved every second. I even curled my hair this afternoon.

It's just that I don't get a thrill from the prospect of owning fine china or hosting a formal tea someday. I guess a girl has to draw the line somewhere. I guess I'm more practical when it comes to dishes.

I discussed it with my Dad, who was the Tea's most adorable server. I said something like, "I enjoy this, but the elaborate business...it's just not me." To which he lovingly replied, "You're such a cynic...don't worry, you get that from me."

(Oh, the bow tie. And the teapot. Precious.)

when impatience gives way to homesickness

I had a very impatient moment today, in which I thought (though, thankfully, did not voice) very irritated feelings about a woman at the post office. When I caught myself in that not-very-nice thought pattern, I thought to myself, How very non-Nigerian of me, reminding myself once again that the thing I miss most about Nigeria (besides the people) is the person I was when I was there.

The thought prompted me to pick up the journal I kept in Nigeria. For context, the following was written the day I left for good: June 17th 2010.

That's it. That's all she wrote.

I'm 5000 meters in the air and there's no going back. Literally--no visa, no ticket, no going back.

I wish i had the right words for this moment. How crippling and gutsucking it feels. How conflicted.

I want to cry. I want to cry so bad. I want to mourn this place, these people, and who I am around them.

I want to beat down the doors and go back...

I want.

I wish.

I want.

I just want to go home--but where is that anymore? Surely I'm at home in MN, in Wheaton, too. And surely I feel at home at Plot 1079 Opposite American School, Durumi, too.

How long, O Lord?

How long will it be until I feel at home again? How long until I find a way to adequately express my intense longing for 2 places?

I love you, God, and I trust you.

But I don't trust myself and this feels a lot like the wrong decision.

Help.

That portion is followed by an unsent letter to a friend. Next is this:

I'm watching the sun rise over France and listening to my iPod's Relaxed playlist. Fitting, no?

A few thoughts:

- I have a plan. God has a plan. My plan doesn't matter.

- Man makes plans, but God determines his steps.

- God is still who He is no matter where I am.

All this circumstantial evidence to the contrary does little to convince me that this plan in leading me away from Nigeria is designed to do anything but rip me apart.

Lord, help me make sense of this decision, and if not, help me be at peace about it.

While I still struggle with these restless feelings, I would say I am more or less at peace about being in Minnesota for such a time as this. My main struggle now is feeling caught in the in-between, between the right now and the future, between the where I am and the where I'm supposed to be.

This tension feels a lot like what Wheaton taught me about the kingdom of God as the already and the not yet. I think I was made to live in that tension. It's just not a very comfortable place to be.

once a nanny, always a nanny

I had one of those "moments" tonight.

You know the kind where you're pretty sure time is moving too fast and you just want everything to slow down a little?

Yeah, that.

I babysat tonight for a family I have come to love. What started as a strictly housekeeping position three summers ago has become a beautiful, flexible, on-call-when-you-need-me job. A few weeks ago, it was taking Andrew to hockey (and getting all his equipment on him, which was a job and half). Tonight was straight-up babysitting for Andrew (6) and Matthew (almost 3).

Here's why I had my little "moment":

Fall 2007. Matthew arrives.

Then there's these, from tonight:

Andrew eating Cheerios and working on homework.

Matthew, snuggling up after a little meltdown

So there it is: my moment. I can't believe Andrew is old enough to read books to me. I melted a little when Matthew pointed at the lions in our book and said "li-lon." I've been privileged to watch these little ones become little boys. I've been with this family through potty training and home renovation. I've taken the boys down the slide at the park and pushed them on the swings. I've looked after them in toy stores and hair salons. I once stopped Andrew from being struck by a car. And a few weeks ago, I had intermittent freak-outs every time he fell on the ice at hockey practice.

Their family has shared my life with me, too. They were around when Amanda got married. I was still with them when Dad and Jake had their accident on the Yellowstone. In fact, they were among the first to know about Nigeria, since I was working for them at the time.

There's just a lot of life that's happened in the 3+ years I've known their family. And tonight I had a little moment: memories of all that I've been blessed to see and experience with them wrapped up in a glimpse of the future in store for them. It was precious, to say the least.

Clearly, I'm not a mom yet. And from what I've heard, these "moments" get more intense worse when they're your own. Clearly, I'm not there yet. But I hope to be someday. I figure this is something like fair warning.

at a time like this

I feel obligated to talk about my grandfather. To remember and tell stories. To honor him in my own small way. To give details of the memorial service (which was beautiful) and of my long weekend with extended family (which was intensely rewarding) and of my grandfather's incredible life (which is to be celebrated).

I feel like that's what I ought to do, and yet, I know my grandfather. He would say, "Only write about it if that's what you want to write about." I'm not ready--just yet--to write about Grandpa. I'll get there. Just not today.

Today, what I want to write about is community.

About the people we surround ourselves with. About the blood-relatives and non-blood-relatives who share our joys and sorrows and do life alongside us.

Without them, the past several weeks would have been very, very different.

Losing a grandparent is new territory for me. I've never walked through this before. But so many others have. They know loss and sadness. They have grieved, and they know how to support me while I learn how to grieve, too.

My dear friends, relatives, coworkers--true brothers and sisters in Christ--have prayed for me, hugged me and held me, listened to me, and told me they love me. They have shown me patience and understanding, even when plans changed unexpectedly. They invited me into their homes and shared their sympathy-expressing cats (S&M, I'm looking at you). They gave flowers and sent cards, emails, and Facebook messages expressing their condolences.

They are the living embodiment of the Early Church and I am profoundly grateful.

This is what I mean when I talk about living missionally. Because yes, it means I desire to live in such a way that points people to Jesus--as my beloved Life Church says: loving others into a relationship with God. So there's that part of missional living. But it also includes living with other Christians. Reminding them of Christ's grace and mercy. Reflecting Christ's sacrificial love. Being Christ to each other.

I can't imagine experiencing loss without the support of the body of Christ. I believe I can speak on behalf of my family when I say we are thankful for you and for your expressions of love. It is my hope to continue to do life with you, bearing your burdens and sharing your hopes, as you have done for me.

worship music does this to me

I've been thinking through a lot of heavy stuff lately. Heavy stuff like sin, guilt and shame, but also heavy stuff like forgiveness, redemption and the grace of God.

This is what I keep circling back to: we serve a good God.

He is righteous and He is just, and His righteousness and justice does not tolerate my sin. But because He is also good, He has provided a way that I can stand in His presence - His very presence! - blameless and pure in His sight, and that is through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

It doesn't take too long before that thought completely overpowers the heaviness of my sin, guilt, and shame. Which might be something akin to victory.

a few of my favorite things

[This post has some incredible photography, none of which is mine. Thank you, Marjorie Howell.]

Once upon a time, it was October.

Which is probably my favorite month of my favorite season. For a lot of reasons. October brings changing leaves, harvest time, birthdays, crisp weather, and tiny whispers of winter.

It also brings apple picking, which is probably the most delightful activity there ever was.

If you plant me a Cortland apple tree, I'll love you forever. Fact.

So this weekend, I went to an orchard.And I picked. And I ate. Well, we ate.

And we took pictures and laughed.

Oh, did we laugh."We" being me and three amazing people that God has seen fit to bless me with.
How it makes sense, I don't know; but I am grateful.

It was the most enchanting day I've had since coming back from Nigeria. By far.

It is true that life also goes through seasons. Some are filled with trials and pinching and stretching. Other seasons, like this one, are filled with innumerable joys. The differences between today and 365 days ago are vast, but my trust is in the same God, who is still faithful, still in control, and still blessing me.

Here's to a new season, which coincides nicely with my favorite season.

All pictures courtesy Spencer and Marjorie Howell. Thanks, you two.

on manly men and being protected

Disclaimer
You will be offended by this post if you are one of the following: feminist, misogynist, pacifist, anti-outdoors/anti-camping, anti-vigilantism, or anti-guns. Here we go...

Once upon a time, my dad was a mountain man. There are not many things I love more than seeing pictures of my dad with a wild red beard or a bandana on his head. He and his friend Mikey once canoed the entire Yellowstone River from start to finish, just to give you an idea of the severity of their mountain man-ness. Everyone, meet my Dad, circa 1982:

Dad on the left; on the right is Mikey.

Please permit me to state outright and without apology that my dad is a total badass.These guys are some of the manliest men I've ever known. I'm pretty sure they got into legit fights. Again: manly. men.

Right, Dad is the bomb. So is Mikey, who now lives in the Wyoming wilderness and wields chainsaws on a regular basis. Dad and Mikey remain in contact, and a couple years ago, when my dad and brother set off to do the same Yellowstone trip (plus or minus 26 years), they stopped to see Mikey on the way:

Yep, still badasses.

You have to know about Dad and Mikey's adventures, and you have to appreciate their mountain man-ness in order to appreciate what I am about to tell you.

My dad raised me to be an independent young woman; I don't believe I've ever been a "daddy's girl." That said, we have always had a close relationship, and I don't think I will ever know or understand what it did to my dad when I decided to move to Nigeria. Outwardly, he was a rock: he put on a brave face, encouraged me to do this crazy thing, and trusted God for my protection. For that I will always love him.

But the other day, Dad made mention of those weeks prior to my move:

"You know, Mikey told me if anything had happened in Nigeria, he would have gone to find you."

I wish I were kidding, but images of Taken flashed through my head and tears came to my eyes.

As independent as I may be, I am still (on some level) a little girl who wants to be loved and protected. And though my interactions with Mikey have been few, the stories have been many. Mikey is a good man whose word is his bond. If Mikey told my dad he would have come to get me, I believe him. It means a lot to know that I am cared for and protected by good men.

So today I am thankful for the men in my life: men who are like grandfathers, men who are like fathers, men who are like brothers. I am surrounded by godly, protective men, and I am grateful.

the truth about encouragement

God gave me a big heart. True story. I mostly feel made to love on people.

(Unless you're a jerk, in which case, God is probably using you to teach me about loving people.)

In the past few weeks, I feel like God has put me in a place to encourage others. I would say this is different from the spiritual gift of encouragement, but I have had some choice opportunities to talk with dear, beloved people--people who are buried deep in the heart of God--and to encourage them.

I've been radically blessed in my own life. I've seen God show up in big ways and small ways, and I can testify to new mercies and amazing grace. Having that perspective puts me in a place to be encouraging and motivational.

But there's a drawback here; one I can't get around. I've spoken with some very broken-hearted people, people who have not seen God show up in big ways and small ways, people who can barely remember evidence of new mercies and amazing grace.
Others are just plain struggling--nothing extraordinarily awful has happened, but they feel uninspired, frustrated, not fully alive. When I talk to these people, do you know what I feel like?

A proselytizer. A phony. A lucky girl whose life just happened to work out.

It breaks my heart. I can imagine being in their shoes, and I would say to me: "Well, that's all well and good for you, and I'm glad God has been faithful in your life, but from where I sit, it doesn't look like God even cares."

So I'm torn between two reactions, and both feel disingenuous:
1. Don't believe the lie. God does care. He is near. He is faithful.
2. It may be difficult now, but I believe time will grant you perspective and answer the why

Either response makes me out to be an effervescent optimist: empty-headed, ungrounded, or worse--ignorant. Not the good kind of optimist, the annoying kind.

And yet.

I still feel that in their sharing of pain, of trouble, of stress, of discontent, of life, and in my response of joy, of hope, of perseverance, of promise, there is still a tiny provision of encouragement there.

So I press on. I can really only be two things: a cheerleader for those needing a boost, and an empathetic heart for those experiencing pain I will never know.

If you need it, I will cheer you on. If you need it, I will sit with you and hold your hand.
But either way, I'm going to tell you that God is faithful. Even when you can't see it. And that might be frustrating for you to hear. But you need to hear it, from someone who means well, from someone who believes it is true, from someone who will remind you of it until you believe it, too.

Also, to those people: you are loved. You are loved by me, a girl who received a big heart from a God who loves you even more.

where credit is due

My embarrassing post from yesterday really has another story. And I need to tell the other side of that story. It's far better, and more redeeming, than my stupidity.

So yes, I lost my keys. But in those precious few minutes of sheer panic ("Oh my gosh they could be anywhere in downtown Minneapolis!"), I had some really amazing people on hand.

Everyone, meet Spencer, Marjorie and Jon. ::Hi, guys:: Yes I used their real names and if they hate me forever and wish to remain anonymous and protect their internet identity, I'll just change their names to something really unbelievable like Bullwinkle or Guadeloupe.

OKAY. Not the point of the story. So I kinda tweaked a little when I lost my keys and maybe pulled at my hair and bit my lip really. hard. and muttered bad things under my breath. But there were really only two options: look for them and cry about it or look for them and laugh about it. And really only one of those is even remotely desirable.

So we looked. They dumped out bags of newspapers and pulled the cushions off their furniture and got down on the floors and shook coat pockets and hugged me and reassured me that it would be okay and we all checked my purse over and over and over. And in the middle of it all, someone cracked a joke. And we laughed. And it wasn't so terrible. And it was mostly okay. Which is what amazing friends are for.

BUT WAIT. It gets better.

Because when we resigned ourselves to the idea that the keys would not, in fact, be found that night, my thoughts turned to how I would get home. And just like that, Spencer goes, "You can take the Taurus." Just. Like. That. Not enough to offer to take me home, but to let me take one of their cars.

This is what amazing friends do. They put forth more effort than necessary. They give more than the standard permits. They complicate their own lives (however slightly) and go down to one car per family to help the idiot that lost her keys. And we laugh about it. Together. I am so inspired by these friends I have. And grateful. And humbled. And reminded that this is, once again, what it means to do life together.

This is community. And it is beautiful. And accepting of idiots like me.

lessons learned

I'm learning some really important things about myself in this time of joblessness (also called funemployment). Which is why I'm choosing to not only endure, but to thrive on this season. There are lessons to be learned here. If I'm too busy craning my neck, waiting for my train to come in, I'm going to miss something crucial.

1. I am probably not suit-and-tie material. I could be coerced, convinced, or transformed to be that, but it's not my preference. And I'm not just talking fashion here. I'm talking about the whole philosophy behind corporate. As much as I may dream about being a yuppy, it's not in my nature.

2. The type of writing I desire is not hard-hitting sales writing. I am creative person, but I'm a people person, too. I don't want to write anything if it can't make a difference in someone else's life...and selling them a product doesn't quite equal "making a difference."

3. I want to work for something I can get behind--something bigger than me. I never want to apologize for what I do or who I work for. I never want to be embarrassed to be associated with a particular organization. Which is great on one hand, because it means that I'm going to be an invested employee. It's also not so great, because it means that my employer has to actually stand for something. Something other than profit.

4. Searching for a first job is not the time to cling to ideals. Regardless of lessons 1-3, I need to learn this one thoroughly. The job I take will likely not be the job I keep until I retire, and that's okay. I can do anything for a year (see: previous 10 months). I can be suit-and-tie, I can write with a sales bent, and I can work for a corporation who is only interested in stock market success. I can do that. And I will. Because the most important lesson I've learned in the last month is this:

5. I will do what I have to do today so that one day I can do what I want to do.

All systems go!

It's official! My counteroffer has been accepted!

I'm moving to Abuja, Nigeria in 5 weeks!


A massive thank you to the people who have been praying for me since I found out about this opportunity. I truly believe that now is the right time to do something crazy and I'm going to be obedient wherever God leads me. Thank you for praying for me!

I'll be updating here as I get closer to departure (somewhere around August 22nd), and once I'm in Nigeria, I'll be sending an additional email newsletter with updates.

I'm so excited!

This is Nigeria.

To me, Nigeria is still a faceless place I've never been to. At least now I've connected a voice with the location. I spoke with the director of the school today and got more of my questions answered. I think I'm getting closer to making a final decision, but not before more prayer, fasting, and research.
This decision is complicated by the fact that this is so not a business deal to me. I'm not choosing this career path for the money, for the security, for the perks. This is more of a spiritual decision for me than anything else, and so I wait on God. In silence, in meditation, in song, in tears, in anxiety, in loneliness, in need, in trust and in faith I continue to wait on Him.

A few more pics of the strange new world I might move to.
Symbolic Geography:

The Presence of Islam:

Culture:

Life changes so fast.

This past weekend was full of love and friends, good food, and lots of rest for me. It ended abruptly with the loss of my job this morning. I feel quite sideswiped as I have worked very hard the past 2 weeks to make this opportunity a success, and then to have everything change so suddenly is very unnerving to me.

All that said, this is a good decision. It wasn't a good fit or a healthy environment for me to remain a part of, and I am looking forward to see how God will make this interesting. He certainly has my attention now...

Not sure yet if I'll be staying in Chicago. A lot depends on if I can find employment in the next couple days. I might head home for a while during the wedding season and then make my way back to this place I've come to love so much.

God is still faithful. Still.

How much do I love Lincoln Park?

Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much.

Seriously. This weekend has been true rest for me, the weary. And it's only Saturday afternoon!

Things that make this weekend perfect: college roommates, their sweet apartment in Lincoln Park, public transportation and the number 11 bus, friends in from out-of-town, dinner and drinks at a neighborhood Irish pub, Four Weddings and a Funeral, SATC, sleeping in (!), the ferris wheel at Navy Pier, and (maybe) a Cubs game!!!

Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Those blessings are named Sara Beth, Sarah, Hillary, and Kristi. I am at rest.