Favorite Things (And Why).

This post is about products I love, most of which are beauty products, and it only feels right to start out with a little bit of my raw story.

My personal journey with beauty products has been interesting, to say the least.

I can honestly say that I struggled with my self image (what woman hasn't?) up until about a year ago. I always felt out of balance, always felt like I needed to go to a bathroom with a mirror every few hours in public to make sure everything was still looking the way I wanted it to, always felt like I never QUITE looked the way I wanted to. I remember not feeling pretty until I was about fifteen. And it was only because a boy I fell flat-on-my-butt in love with told me I was beautiful enough times for me to attempt believing it. It only took ten years for me to start feeling beautiful all on my own.

Some of this was simply puberty kicking in and making everything a hormonal hot mess. Some of this was puberty + Mean Girls' "girl world" being a reality and knowing that every teen girl in the room is combing over your looks to find your flaws when you walk into class (or at least the insecure ones). Some of this was puberty + girl world + social anxiety I struggled with, and still do some. I associated the anxiety to feeling unattractive, and thought that once I felt pretty the anxiety would go away.

Regardless of the whys, I say all of this to explain why my junior high, high school, and early college years were spent grasping for beauty products to make me feel better about myself.

Makeup to cover up my uneven skin tone, fake tanner to even out my complexion everywhere else (and to look tan, because that was a thing unfortunately), hair thickening products to give my thin hair some volume, which then led to teasing the crap out of my hair and making it a huge curly lion mane everyday (and making it a sticky tangly mess), and all the acne cleansers in the world to cope with my oily skin that I continued to cake makeup onto.

It was always a fight.

It was always a negative experience.

I hated the canvas I had to work with, and did my best to look utterly flawless by the end of my time in front of the mirror.

To go into my journey out of that shame in depth would be an entirely different blog post, and if I get enough feedback on readers wanting more of that story and how I've come out on the other end, I'll be happy to share it (Spoiler alert: The real struggle at hand was sooooooo much deeper than how I looked. It always is).

But for now, that's enough to get your feet wet in the river that has been my path in finding products that not only work for me, but are healthy for me. It feels like I've tried everything under the sun, or at least everything under the Target/Walmart/Walgreens sun (I've been a kid on a budget, after all).

It's no longer a fight. It's actually fun! Not because I've found products that cover me up the best, but I've found products that work WITH me and bring out who I am and how I was created, rather than covering up everything to become whoever I "want" to become (Another spoiler alert: I was never happy with my personally-created self, because the maintenance was exhausting).

As I have been on the hunt for quality products at the best price (again, what woman isn't?), I have found myself drawn more to personal blogs than to shopping website reviews for feedback on what is out there. There's something about the personal touch, the "I'm telling you my opinion in a space where you can get a feel for who I am in all aspects" effect that blogs have that make those opinions and reviews stick so much more for me.

It also broadens my horizons on brands and product types that I would never have thought of myself when I venture onto blogs, since reviews on shopping websites are simply there if you are searching for that particular product already.

So I'm joining the blogging ranks and sharing, from a special level of my heart (as my story shows), some products I'm using as of late and absolutely loving.

I'll go in the order of what I'd use in a morning routine to make things simple.

In the shower:

Collective Wellbeing Charcoal Body Wash: The activated charcoal in this body wash is exactly what

my skin needs, especially when it's warm outside and my skin is prone to breakouts. It deep cleans, smells amazing, and doesn't strip my skin of its natural oils. I use this before anything else just for the smell to fill the shower!

Lush BIG Shampoo: This sea salt shampoo gives my hair a gentle and natural-feeling thickness that I can't get anywhere else. I don't use this for every wash since I color my hair and the salts would fade my color too fast, but it's my favorite volumizing shampoo to date. When I'm not using this, I use Mane and Tail.

John Frieda Intense After-Color Conditioner: This is basically a full size bottle of the deep conditioner you would get in an at-home hair color box. I don't use John Frieda hair color, but this conditioner has been a wonderful hair mask that I keep in while I finish up my shower and don't wash out all the way, since my ends can be pretty dry without some help. And my color isn't fading, so something is working! :)

Johnson & Johnson Baby Oil Gel with Aloe and Vitamin E: My favorite shaving gel to date, even though you have to thoroughly clean your razor after every few strokes. It has eliminated razor bumps on my underarms and leaves everywhere feeling unbelievably soft for hours after. It's worth the razor maintenance, I promise!

At the sink:

Clarisonic Mia 2: Now, this may seem like a splurge, but for me it has rendered itself absolutely worth the cost. Imagine an ice skating rink that needs cleaning, and think about the level of cleanliness wiping it with a towel would achieve as opposed to a Zamboni. A Clarisonic is the Zamboni for your face. And at the rate my face likes to shed cells and moisturize itself, a Zamboni-status cleaning system is a necessity. I absolutely love it.

Mario Badescu Glycolic Foaming Cleanser: My favorite part about this cleanser is that a little goes a loooooong way. I only need a pea-size dot on my Clarisonic to get a great foam and a great wash. In fact, too much can leave my skin way too dry, so watch out. This doesn't have any physical exfoliating beads, which I prefer since my skin is sensitive and gets irritated with too harsh of a cleanser. This one, when the portion is correct, is just right.

Philips Sonicare Toothbrush: Think of the Zamboni analogy again, but for your teeth. I decided to invest in this brush since I am in the process of using Invisalign to get my teeth straightened out again, and when something is pressed against your teeth and preventing whatever else is on your teeth from being naturally rinsed off, it's important to get seriously good cleanings in with every brushing. It's awesome!

In my room at the mirror:

Prosacea Gel: Once I stopped blindly covering up my uneven skin tone on my face and actually did some research, I discovered I have mild rosacea on my face and arms that there are products for. I use this on my face immediately after washing, with a moisturizer quickly following, because my cleanser and this treatment can be pretty drying if left without some moisturizing help.

Heritage Rosewater & Glycerin: Guys. This is probably my favorite product on this post, and one that I myself found on a blog review. It is a liquid spray moisturizer that is light (since it's mostly water), smells subtly floral, and has given me some of the best redness-reducing results I've ever experienced. I spray this on my face after Prosacea and spray it on my upper arms where I have redness as well. It is soothing and cooling, which is something those with rosacea need desperately in a product. And at that price, forget about it. This is staying on my vanity the rest of my life!

Clarins Bright Plus Brightening Hydrating Day Lotion: This is one of the more expensive products I use, mainly because it accomplishes so many things in one bottle: it brightens, hydrates, and is an effective facial sunscreen. It doesn't muddy my complexion like other screens have, and it hydrates without oiliness. A little goes a long way with this one, so 1.7oz is a hefty amount in the long run. It's the perfect protective "seal" for my clean and hydrated face.

Neutragena Ultra Sheer Dry-Touch Sunscreen: This is the King of Sunscreens for someone with moody skin that doesn't respond well to greasier alternatives. I can rub this on and head out the door a minute later without feeling like I'm oiling up to be fried on a grittle, and it doesn't leave me smelling like I'm a kid going to the beach all day, either. Since I wear it everyday and everywhere, these aspects of this sunscreen make it worth the price every single time.

Smith's Rosebud Salve: This Vasoline alternative has been fantastic as a long-lasting lip balm with the tiniest hint of rosy pink color for a polished natural glow. I've also used a little bit in my eyebrows for subtle shaping when needed. It lasts all day and doesn't dry my lips out like other balms seem to do, so this one is a keeper as well.

In my hair:

Surface Bassu Hydrating Oil: This was a gift from my colorist in Portland when I told her I was having trouble with dried out splitting ends. I put this on my ends while it's wet, whether I'm blow-drying or air-drying. My hair soaks it up like water on a hot desert day. Plus it's a great hydrating oil for your skin, too, so my legs enjoy the leftover oil on my hands once my hairs are happy.

Surface Trinity Protein Cream: This was also from my colorist since, along with split ends, my hair likes to break off and therefore never give me any serious length. I spray this protein cream in my hair, wet or dry, when it needs some extra love and I also want some of my natural waves to show.

L'Oreal Paris EverStyle Volume Lifting Root Spray: This product is near and dear to my heart for several reasons. I have been using root lifting sprays since I was about thirteen, since my hair is pathetically flat and limp without them. There are some that did nothing, and others that did WAY TOO MUCH and left dried alcohol residue in my roots that I'd have to methodically brush out before attempting to wash my hair. I only found this spray about two weeks ago...(*que Tangled lanterns scene*) and at last I see the liiiight! It is alcohol-free, smells amazing, and is effective without the beauty pageant theatrics of other brands. I can run my fingers through my roots and it simply feels like I have thick hair, not like I have thin hair with gunk in it. Oh, sweet victory.

Not Your Mother's Beach Babe Texturizing Sea Salt Spray: This is a fun product to use when I'm going for a natural wavy look, which seems to be more and more these days. I spray, scrunch, and blow dry, and I can add as much as I want as I go since it's good with wet or dry hair. Love!

Batiste Dry Shampoo (Dark and Deep Brown): This is another product near and dear to my heart. As a blonde for most of my life, I could get away with using baby powder on no-washing days on my (you guessed it) super oily hair. It was a cheap and relatively effective way to prolong my style, however it wasn't always easy getting the extra powder out of my scalp, and it lent itself to look like dandruff one too many times. I tried dry shampoo a few times as a blonde, but it seemed to run out after about two spray sessions and wasn't as effective as baby powder, so I stuck with my dandruff head look. When I decided to go brown (DARK brown), I knew baby powder wouldn't cut it anymore and I needed to find a dry shampoo that actually worked. This was the first one to catch my eye in Ulta since it's specifically for dark hair, so I grabbed it and gave it a try. SWEET LORD, I'm never powdering again. It's lasted me so long, each spray is so effective and lasts all day, plus I don't have to brush out any grey residue that other brands have left. It does, however, give your water a brownish tint in the shower when rinsing out your hair, so just be prepared for that and you're golden.

Thus ends my Beauty Saga!

I do use a few makeup products, but perhaps I'll save those for another post. I'm becoming more and more particular about what I use and how much I use it, since my background is full of overuse and using too many at once. For another time.

For fun, here are some more of my favorites that aren't beauty products, but they have benefited my life in their own special ways:

Mrs. Meyers Cleaning Products: All of them, for everything, forever. They are cruelty-free, aromatherapeutic products made with essential oils. I am obsessed with the lavender and lemon verbena scents, and currently have some dish soap, hand soap, countertop spray, and dryer sheets of these delicious smells. They are light, effective, leave no residue, and get you excited to clean yo thangs!

Capri Blue Candles: They last forever, look adorable, and smell divine. My personal favorite is Volcano, I could eat it for dessert.

Kaufmann Mercantile Products: This is a dangerous new discovery of mine. The cookware, the drinkware, the decor, the wool blankets, the everything. I need.

Fair Trade African Handwoven Bolga Baskets: My mom loved and sold Longaberger baskets when I was a kid, and now I understand why; baskets are just wonderful, and incredibly versatile. Find a few that you love and you can find all sorts of ways to incorporate them into your house decor and storage systems. I see myself with a few of these handwoven African beauts in my near future.

Everlane Products: I love their honesty and breakdown of how much their products cost to make, along with their affordable pricing. I just got their reversed denim dopp kit in the mail (because I have a concerning obsession with stowing travel-size toiletries in my purse) and it's wonderful. They'll definitely be a go-to for basics in the future.

I think that's enough free advertising for one post. ;)

I'm off to enjoy the quiet rain on this Nashville summer day.

Happy Friday everyone!

The Road.

It's a strange sort of life to live; when the road before you is set, with only Him beside you, and you aren't sure of who or what will come around the corner to become part of the journey.

When the only constants are the two of you.

And the road.

The long road of your purpose and your life's work.

It's strange because it sounds so much more fulfilling than it feels.

It's about as romantic as breathing; not at all in the unconscious moment, only a necessary function to exist, with yet another breath needed immediately after the last. Incessant. Without question. Simply the next step.

But it's absolutely beautiful upon reflection.

Such is true living.

Such is true purpose.

I am thankful.

Every hour.

So many learnings lately.

Learning how to feel beautiful without being told you are.

Learning how to see the warm value in things/people/concepts that are utterly opposite of you and your way of thinking, even things you proactively avoid.

Learning how to breathe through the tension of greys, unknowns, and knowns that hurt for now.

Learning how to speak to yourself as you would someone you love.

Learning how to determine the difference between flawed/human friends and unhealthy friends.

Learning how to accept that life is hard, and we aren't guaranteed particular blessings on this side of eternity, but that we are promised prosperity in His plans, making any ounce of goodness in our lives a tender mercy.

Learning how to be alone. Not physically alone, going about your day. But alone in the sense that, before His feet, it is you and no one else. How to be alone with Him, and understanding that all His efforts on this earth were for that very intimacy.

Learning how to love yourself well, feeling worthy of such love, and in turn having so much more to offer others.

Learning how to hold the entirety of another human. Hold their grief in one arm and their music in the other, knowing they're even more mysterious still. Delving deeper into the friendships that seek to hold each other fully, hold each other well.

Learning how to let go of dreams. Of visions you once thought were so close to reality that you could smell them in the air in front of you. Of hopes that somehow slipped through your hands.


Learning that life isn't fair. But life is good.




I need Thee every hour, in joy or pain;
Come quickly and abide, or life is vain
I need Thee, oh I need Thee
Every hour, I need Thee
Oh bless me now, my Savior
I come to Thee.

Thinking in Color.

This post starts off with a fun fact about myself you may not know.

I have what is called synesthesia. It is a "neurological phenomenon" in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway (thanks, Wiki). It is "a union of the senses," and there are several ways these connections can come about. Some people see music, others taste words they read or hear, some see numbers/letters in specific points in space in front of them.

Mine is a combination of the most common forms, which are grapheme-color and chromesthesia; these both deal with colors. Letters of the alphabet, numbers, days of the week, and months of the year, all have an involuntarily subscribed color that is fixed and have all been present since I can remember.

A is red. B is blue. C is yellow. D is green.

1 is blue. 2 is emerald green. 3 is yellow. 4 is purple.

Monday is red. Tuesday is blue. Wednesday is orange. Thursday is green.

(see how they coincide with letters? Who knows why!)

January is blue/white. February is brown/yellow. March is pink.

So on and so forth. They never change in essence (sometimes in hue or shade). There was a study done on a blind man (he eventually lost his sight, he wasn't born blind) who had this form of synesthesia, and the electrodes used for the study showed his brain lighting up with activity in the visual cortex when hearing words like "Monday" or "November." He could see without sight.

Chromesthesia deals with sounds and colors...cars honking, doors opening, everyday sounds that are recurring through life. This includes music as well. There are PUH-LENTY of synesthetic musicians out there, guaranteed. I generally decide how I feel about music based on the color schemes the song stirs up in me.

I'm also starting to think that this is why I am drawn to clothes and home decor that are neutral or muted colors. Highly colorful outfits and rooms feel like sensory overload and are exhausting. I'm already experiencing a hundred colors a minute. Every word I type here equals a burst of color I wish you could experience with me.

Ahhhh, so peaceful.

This is all fine and dandy, and it makes for a fun conversation with new friends.

But something happened about five years ago that has finally caught up with me.

I decided to select a few close friends to be the receivers of a unique Christmas gift from me; I bought small canvases, acrylic paints and brushes, and painted each of them what their name looks like in my mind when I hear it or read it or think about them. Names do a funny thing with me...they start off roughly based on what the individual letters in the name are colored and shift from there as I get to know the person. Some people's don't change much, and others change drastically. There is no simple, linear explanation as to why someone's name results in the colors it does, and I kind of prefer it that way. So I "painted the names" of my friends, including an individualized letter on the back of each canvas explaining the painting, and gave them out thinking it was a fun little gift and nothing more.

...uh. It was definitely more.

More than one of them cried. More than one of them sat me down and told me how much it meant to them. More than one of them still have their paintings and text me pictures of it if it catches their eye during the day. Mind you, these were nothing museum-worthy or even high-school-art-gallery-worthy. My technique has significantly improved since then, and even today it's amateur. But my friends have treasured those pieces more than I could have ever imagined they would, and I'm beginning to understand why.

I'm a high-functioning introvert. I deeply enjoy humans, and I especially enjoy my chosen tribe of humans.

But when I love, I love quietly. And quiet love can take some time to understand from the outside.

I think when I painted my friends' names, when I shared the colors of my thoughts toward them, my quiet love suddenly had a voice it hadn't had previously. Things I couldn't put into words suddenly didn't need to be said, but could be seen on a canvas.

I don't think I'd realized how quiet my love had been until it was in color. And giving those Christmas gifts showed me the power in the simple act of sharing with someone their shade of blue in my weird brain.

Since then, life's happened. Work, school, fluctuating budgets, bills, adulthood, it all happened more and more. And somewhere along the way, I found less taxing hobbies that had more to do with relaxing after a long day and less to do with expressing myself. Life was as colorful as ever, but the colors went unacknowledged in the face of daunting life changes and working towards goals.

I've also grown up in important ways amidst all the life change, and my quiet nature has found a comfortable balance between being in community and recharging in solitude. I'd like to think I am a steady, genuine presence in the lives of those around me and open to getting to know people, as well as letting others get to know me.

Recently, though, during a tough process of sorting through some of my shadows, I heard His voice ask a very clear question:

How would you live your life now if you had never been ashamed of who you are?

The question opened the floodgates of an ocean of answers, worthy of an entirely separate blog post. But I had a distinct vision of myself deeply at peace, quiet, joyful, gentle...

...and painting.

Painting was as clear as day. It seemed so random but felt so right.

Fast forward a few months to life gaining traction here in Nashville. Working two jobs, excited for grad school in the Fall, living with some quality women in an adorable house, making new friends, and life is wonderful.

But something was missing. And I knew it was painting. Specifically painting the colors in my mind's eye like I once had.

The moment I pinpointed that as a potential creative outlet, I was hit with inspiration and urgency. Words. Memories. Scenes. Suddenly I needed them OUT. I frantically made a list on my phone of everything I wanted to paint, and I hope I got them all down in the end. I left that moment knowing that painting was no longer an option I could do without, but a channel I'd forgotten I needed to feel at peace with myself. To sleep at night. To feel like a fully functioning human. To reach homeostasis, with the internal matching the external. The colors within required an avenue out, and it was painting.

Today I finished my first piece of many to come. I'm not sure what I'll do with them in the long run...some will be gifts, but few, if any, will be for simple decoration (neutrals and muted colors, remember? ;)). I have a few lofty ideas for them, and I'll let you know if I follow through on any of those.

So, here it begins.

I welcome you to the tinted walls of my thoughts.

Snuggle up with a cup of coffee and enjoy. :)

You make me brave.

I recently talked with my sister about how I feel like the last three months have felt like God is setting me up for the rest of my life. She, being one of "my persons" who's seen me through thick and thin, wholeheartedly agreed.

They say the brain has generally ceased developing (in a "growing up" sense) by the age of 25. Who you are by the time you're 25 is most likely going to be who you'll be for the rest of your life, as far as wiring, instincts, and lifestyle go. And I think it is no coincidence that my life took some serious shifts in thinking/acting between May 3rd, 2013 and last Saturday when I turned 25. Undoubtedly the most eventful year of my life, and inarguably the most life-changing.

I moved away from my home of fifteen years and lived in a foreign city with strength I didn't know I had.

I faced my darkest memory to date with strength I didn't know I had.

I embraced 100% solitude with strength I didn't know I had.

I acknowledged the ocean of shame I'd been treading water in my entire life with strength I didn't know I had.

I made a second move, relatively unexpected and unplanned, with strength I didn't know I had.

The takeaway: I lived life with strength I didn't know I had. Because I finally began to understand what true strength is; how to hear it, how to sing it, how to walk upon it, how to breathe it in, how to dance in it.

I grew keenly aware of my instincts, keenly aware of Who put them there, and keenly aware of how to respond to them.

For example, here's a story not many of you know in detail...

I now live in Nashville, Tennessee.

I knew in late February, clear as day, that it was the next chapter, despite it making ZERO SENSE on so many levels. I loved my grad program in Portland. I loved my two jobs in Portland. I loved my budding friendships in Portland. I could see myself getting used to the idea of Portland being home, even if the spark wasn't there yet.

Nashville had been a shadow of a thought for awhile. There was an MFT program through Lipscomb University that caught my eye. A lofty idea. An open door as an option, and I assumed the stars needed to align in such a way to make it a viable choice.

Stars never aligned. At least not in the way I thought they would.

I was driving home at 11pm one night, deeply sad and disappointed about a conversation I'd just had, not looking forward to what the next few weeks/months would feel like because of it, and I heard my own voice in my head say "Now I know Nashville definitely isn't happening."

thunk.

My gut instantly felt hard as a rock, churning around, restless and constricting. Alert and alive.

The cloud of doubt and question vanished before me, and all I could see was Nashville.

Not a full second passed between me consciously thinking "Now I know Nashville definitely isn't happening" and me then thinking in a quieter voice "I'm moving to Nashville."

When? Probably after my term at George Fox ends in early May.

Where would I live? Dunno. Don't have connections there.

Where would I work? Dunno. Don't have connections there.

Is George Fox an unsatisfactory school? Nope. It's changed my life even after a few months.

Has Lipscomb accepted you for their program? Nope.

Is there a particular reason/person to move for? Nope.

Why then?? Dunno. But yes. Absolutely yes.

Within 24 hours of making this decision, a friend in California I'd known in Phoenix randomly texted me asking about life. After the brief update, it felt right to add "...and I'm planning on transferring grad programs to one in Nashville." Weird, since I hadn't told a single soul yet. His response: "Oh I know a few people in Nashville! I'll get you in touch!" I joked: "Welp, let me know if any of them need a roommate, haha." And the conversation ended.

I planned a budget for a move in early May, worked two jobs and saved as much as I could, and began looking on Craigslist for roommate posts. 88% Sketchy/creepy, 10% Decent but too expensive, 2% Manageable on all fronts and got an email from me. Fall through here, fall through there, the search continued.

My dad found himself staying in Portland on one of his trips during all this, and we ended up having dinner and talking for a few hours in a really meaningful way. I told him about my plans, expecting him to poke holes in my reasoning and/or strongly encourage me to stick with what's already working just fine in Portland. His reaction was the exact opposite. He encouraged me forward, he offered to make the drive with me to Nashville when the time came, and even told me he'd help financially. I dropped him off at his hotel and felt more loved and validated by him than I probably ever have in my life. That, if nothing else, solidified the truth that God Himself was putting down the stepping stones leading me to Nashville.

One day I was working on an assignment for my class at my favorite coffee spot, breezing through it with no struggle or frustration. Then suddenly:

you can stop this now.

...huh? This is due tomorrow. I'm already halfway finished.

you can stop this now.

And I began to understand.

I believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that Nashville was my next step. In the transferring process of grad programs, only a certain amount of credits are transferrable. The class I was taking at the time wouldn't be transferred to the Nashville program, so it was useless if I was moving. But if I didn't move, dropping the class would put me behind a semester and mess up the process I had going for me in Portland. Dropping the class also opened the door for moving to happen an entire month earlier than previously planned, because this class was the only thing to stay in Portland for.

I felt like I was being nudged toward the edge where I'd have to make an actual leap of faith.

Do I drop this class and truly choose moving? With nowhere to live, nowhere to work, and before I've even finished the application process to Lipscomb? Or do I cling to it "just in case", just to be safe?

Do I jump from Portland before I have anywhere to land in Nashville?

My brain was upset.

NO. DON'T DO THAT. WASTEFUL! UNNECESSARY RISK! UNCOMFORTABLE! YOU LOSE CONTROL OF THE SITUATION IF YOU DO THAT. CLING TO WHAT YOU KNOW!

A quieter voice was insistent.

you can stop this now.

it's time.

The inner commotion led me to stop what I was doing, walk out the door of the shop, drive home in silence and prayer, get home and sit on my bed with my laptop in front of me, getting the online process of dropping the class set up. All that was left to do was click the "Drop Class" button, and the tears started streaming down.

I trust You. And I believe You're leading me there.

If that's true, then I genuinely don't need this class, and it's actually taking away from my ability to prepare myself for this next step.

The door is open, and You are pointing forward.

Forward is out of my line of sight. I'm terrified. But...

I trust You. And I believe You're leading me there.

...

...click.

More tears. But even more peace.

More roommate searches. More job searches. I started focusing most on nanny jobs through Care.com, because I was really loving the setup I had in Portland.

Something felt absolutely right about planning for a weekend trip out there (shout out to the pops for the gift of Buddy Pass privileges) to meet potential roommates I may find or families to talk with that I may nanny for.

I had no leads in either of those categories. I had the smallest of connections to potentially have a place to stay nearby when I visited, but it was shaky.

I was planning a trip...with no plans. But it was right, I knew it, and I found myself yet again leaping with nowhere to land yet.

While setting up that trip, one roommate situation shined through the others on Craigslist, so I sent an email and we set up a Skype conversation to chat.

Things were polite. Both the girls seemed down to earth and great.

But it wasn't right, I could feel it. And that was discouraging. I was going to stick with it if it was my only solid option and meet them when I visited, but something told me to keep my ears open.

So I prayed.

I know this is the way forward.

But I also know what it's like to live in a place that doesn't feel like home.

Please.

If it's out there, let me find a home.

The NEXT day, I was on my lunch at work when my California friend texted me again, weeks after his first text.

"When are you moving to Nashville again?"

Again, with the same friend, I found myself verbalizing for the first time what had only been a thought previously.

"Well, now I'm actually thinking it'll be the beginning of April, in a month or so."

And he proceeds to inform me of two of his friends new to Nashville who are looking for a third roommate in their new place. He described them briefly, gave me one of their numbers, but I was texted  by one of them before I even had the chance to first.

"KATELYN!!! I hear you're moving to Nashville!?!"

I remember having the biggest smile on my face. Because I knew I'd found what I'd been looking for.

The three of us talked on the phone, clearly felt the love like crazy, and we talked logistics of what the next month would look like. They'd just found the cutest cottage in the perfect location for a fantastic price, and my name found itself on the lease, and suddenly I'd be sleeping in my future new room with my future new roommates on this little trip a week away that I'd been planning before there was anything to plan.

Sometime in the next few days, I found what felt like the perfect nanny position on Care.com, fell in love with the family just in how the mom described her kids and her dogs and her husband, and I knew I wanted this job 1000x more than any of the others I'd applied for that I'd either never got a response from or things fell through. I applied, re-read my application email about a hundred times, and sent it through, praying so so hard to be able to meet with this specific family during my planned trip.

I distinctly remembered the pain of moving somewhere without a job lined up, and I wanted to do whatever it took to not be in that position again. So much prayer, it felt like every exhalation was a prayer of trust and peace and grace.

I was in a Wendy's drive-thru when my phone alerted me of a new email. It was the mom of the family. She wanted to meet me.

That joy. I'll never forget it.

After a few back-and-forth emails, I had plans to meet with the entire family for breakfast on one of the days of my trip.

The trip itself was incredible, validating, and all-around a beautiful experience. By the end of it, the three and a half weeks to moving couldn't come sooner.

A few days after coming home, I got an email saying I got the nanny job.

Before I knew it, I was walking through the door of my new home, exhausted but ecstatic, ready to make a life in Nashville.

This all took place in the span of five weeks or so. 

I am a changed person in the midst of such a journey, and that is only a fraction of what the last bit of time has entailed for my soul and my heart. It is a testament to what He has been up to the last six years or so of my life. All the steps toward vulnerability, toward loosening my grip on my own will, toward trust, toward learning His voice and His touch, toward the outskirts of my comfort zone...all steps necessary for this process to have taken place.

It was tough at first to express all the colors of my heart in this moment of life. I feel strong, yet weak, yet confident, yet humble. It felt too complex to feel all at once, then I heard this new worship song at church last week, and it broke me, and I knew the words I needed to sing.

I've heard You call my name

I've heard the song of love that You sing

So I will let You draw me out beyond the shore

Into Your grace

As Your love, wave after wave

Crashes over me, crashes over me

For You are for us, You are not against us

Champion of Heaven, You made a way

For all to enter in

'Cause You make me brave

You make me brave

You call me out beyond the shore into the waves

You make me brave

You make me brave

No fear can hinder now

The promises You've made

This past year has been my year of bravery, being brave enough to jump and know He'll catch me. Brave enough to trust my instincts and my prayers. Brave enough to be confident in His path, even if others (or my logical brain) raise their eyebrows or shake their heads. Brave enough to be weak under His strength.

Brave enough to surrender my fear, and walk into the unknown of His steadfast promises.

Yeah, I'd like to think God is setting me up for the rest of my life with that kind of footing as I walk into true adulthood.

So let's do this.

Free Fallin'

Welp. Other than this blog and Instagram (which I trimmed down to posts within this past year), I am officially off the grid of social networks for the first time in probably ten years (if we're including cute little Myspace).

I can't describe to you the freedom I am experiencing in that. Even knowing that you're probably reading this because you clicked on the link in my Instagram profile...which takes a few more intentional steps to see how I'm doing as a human than a streaming Facebook news feed dangling the link in your face...that's pretty great to me. Even if I get 5 views rather than 500, damn, you're the only five people I'm really writing to anyway. :)

Anyway, yes. Freedom.

Not because Facebook was an addiction of mine, or a platform for drama, or I'm on a high horse about technology sucking the life out of mankind.

I'm simply learning more and more that the human process of figuring out life is an absolute mess, even when you have a good head on your shoulders and all the best intentions in the world.

And after taking an objective look at how my Facebook and Twitter portrayed who I am and where I've been, I decided I didn't like the idea of my messy and flawed human process documented with words and photos for someone to comb through and assess me by. The past 7+ years have shaped me into the person I am today, and I share the memories of those years with those who were meant to be part of them. Who I am today is something entirely different, and my future as the person I am is so much more relevant to my relationships than my past journey in getting here.

Along with that, it didn't sit well with me that someone would need to use those platforms to get to know me in the first place. If we don't have the ability/desire to know each other in real life, what is the point of status updates and years' worth of pictures of me? Or, if they already know me, it didn't sit well with me that they'd use those platforms to keep up with how life is going for me...rather than an intentional text/phone call that take a little time and effort.

There's also a level of entering into the professional world rather soon, and if I were to ever hop back into the Facebook realm, I'd want to start afresh with a very intentional mindset on what/when/why I use it at all.

Moving on my own and away from "my people" into a new city...for a grad program all about the human condition...have, if nothing else, taught me that we are neurologically interwoven with a lifelong need for human connections. We can't survive without them. And our brains are wired for those connections to be three-dimensional and physically present with other humans. Technology doesn't have the capacity to support the type of connections we need, and I doubt it ever will. I have tried so hard to live vicariously through technology in hopes that my life may as well be happening in the same city as the people I miss who don't live here with me, and it always left me feeling unrested. Meanwhile, my co-workers want to talk about their relationship situations and their families, and my classmates are sharing some of their stories when something we're talking about in a lecture really resounds in them...there are humans right next to me reaching out for the connections I've been staring at my phone for trying to feel with people thousands of miles away. I'd lost touch with the concept of my community being with whoever I lay eyes on, not whoever has private access to my Facebook statuses and pictures.

So I'm feeling free.

Free to let my distant human connections be what they are, and put actual time/energy into them if they really are worth it.

Free to let my local human connections grow in organic ways that take advantage of our proximity...coffee hangouts, grabbing lunch/dinner, anything involving the actual humans I'm living my life next to.

Free to let my hunger for human connections push me to genuinely talk with someone I may not have in a more comfortable state, like the stranger sitting next to me at coffee or the customer at the drive-thru window who's forced to sit there anyway while their drink is being made.

Free to live in the reality that we were never meant to have 500+ friends to keep up with and share our lives with, but respect the comings and goings of those who cross our paths and keep our attentions most focused on those put in front of us this very moment.

This may be my last post for awhile...mainly to push myself to share my heart with real humans rather than whoever can find me online. I'm sure I'll have a few painfully inspirational rants to share, knowing me. And I also know that I've had some genuine encouragement to keep writing, and that what I've written in here has really made some impacts. I want to honor that. So I'm not going anywhere in the long run.

But for now, I leave you for the treacherous road of living life with flesh and blood humans. If that can't be you, text or call for some you-and-me time. If you don't have my number, but want some you-and-me time, but we can't do that in real life...well...let's cross that bridge when we get to it? Hah.

We'll talk soon.

Oh Death, where is your sting?

There was one point...one chapter, really...of my life when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who would be on my mind if I knew I was about to die. Or on my deathbed, if I was able to ask for anyone I wished to come be with me in my last moments...no question, I knew who I would ask for.

That's a profound feeling, knowing who you'd ask for if you were about to die. Knowing the ghost in the deepest parts of your being whose hand you'd want to hold as you faced the end.

I knew who that would be until about a year ago. Or I should say, it would have been true until about a year ago.

After that, thanks to life happenings and choices, I was scared out of my mind to die. And at the same time, welcomed the end of trying to live here.

Then about five months ago, after dealing with some of the darkness I've shared on this blog and other shadows unmentioned, I started the process of slowly but surely getting to a place of facing my mortality with peace again.

And once more, I knew who I'd want with me in my last breaths. But it wasn't the same face, the same name.

It was the Face I'll be staring at when that time comes. The One I'll want will be right in front of me, the One who's walked with me every step on this earth, the Face I've longed to gaze on for so so long. I'll be reaching for His hand, no question.

This is all coming from a distinct dream I had last night that brought me an overwhelming peace, even in its morbidity. I dreamed I was in a car accident up here in Portland away from every one of my loved ones, flown from the car and bleeding out on the street. A man was crouching down next to me until an ambulance came, but I knew I wasn't going to make it.

So I looked at the stranger, and I said these words with tears in my eyes:

Tell my family I wasn't in pain, and I wasn't afraid. Tell them I can see Him, and He's so beautiful, and I'm ready.

I woke up, I cried in real life, and knew everything will be okay.

It's a profound feeling, knowing the human you'll want next to you in the end.

It's an even more profound feeling knowing that even if you are alone in the end, you won't be alone.

And that knowledge changes everything.

It makes the important things worth their pain and risk and patience.

It makes the unimportant things fade out of focus and lose their scariness.

It sets you free.

When death is welcomed, so is truly living.

This is a happy post, I swear. :)

Go and live abundant lives, my friends, and feel the peace of the Presence that will abide in you until the end.

On Lewis and Horses.

I know I'm abnormal in that C.S. Lewis' writing style flows through my brain seamlessly...he loves his run-ons and tangents. But bear with me, and chew on his words. I'll break it up for easier readability:

"Now it will be seen that, in so far as the tame animal has a real self or personality, it owes this almost entirely to its master. If a good sheepdog seems 'almost human' that is because a good shepherd has made it so [....]

I am now going to suggest - though with great readiness to be set right by real theologians - that there may be a sense [...] in which those beasts that attain a real self are in their masters. That is to say, you must not think of a beast by itself, and call that personality and then inquire whether God will raise and bless that. You must take the whole context in which the beast acquires its selfhood - namely 'The-goodman-and-the-goodwife-ruling-their-children-and-their-beasts-in-the-good-homestead'. That whole context may be regarded as a 'body' in the Pauline sense; and how much of that 'body' may be raised along with the goodman and goodwife, who can predict? So much, presumably, is necessary not only for the glory of God and the beatitude of the human pair, but for that particular glory and that particular beatitude which is eternally coloured by that particular terrestrial experience.

And in this way it seems to me possible that certain animals may have an immortality, not in themselves, but in the immortality of their masters. And the difficulty about personal identity in a creature barely personal disappears when the creature is thus kept in its proper context. If you ask, concerning an animal thus raised as a member of the whole Body of the homestead, where its personal identity resides, I answer 'Where its identity always did reside even in the earthly life - in its relation to the Body and, specially, to the master who is the head of that Body.'

In other words, the man will know his dog; the dog will know its master and, in knowing him, will be itself. To ask that it should, in any other way, know itself, is probably to ask for what has no meaning."

I love that. An animal finds their 'almost humanness' within the context of their human master. Just like we can only find ourselves within the context of the true Self. It brings to life the expression that people and their pets start looking/acting alike over time, and why there have been so many stories of true life-changing relationships between animals and humans.

It also solidifies the parallels I have always made between my dog Ayda, my ownership, love, and shepherding of her, and my relationship with my Shepherd.

One of my best friends and old roommates used to work at a Christian summer camp that centered around horse riding and training, and using horse training parallels to shed light on how God leads us, and how we tend to respond out of our fear and ignorance as flawed humans.

She said something once that has since stuck with me.

Apparently horses have no depth perception and very little color vision, so unknown objects moving toward them or on the ground in front of them get them easily spooked. This is why they're sometimes blindfolded or have blinders on in horse trailers or in crowded public places.

With this, one of their biggest fears are large tarps on the ground. They basically look like gaping holes the horse could fall into, so they're terrified of walking on them. A horse trainer works with the horse to ease them into being able to walk on the tarp successfully. Once they are willing to walk on tarps, they can walk through water and other land that they wouldn't have been able to before.

The tarp never looks less scary to the horse.

The tarp never makes sense or is understood by the horse.

The tarp will always...always...look like a gaping hole in the ground. The horse's brain does not have the capacity to register it as anything else, and will alert the nervous system and the adrenaline glands of danger over and over again. Despite that response becoming desensitized over time, it will never truly go away.

But here's the thing...

The goal is to gain the horse's trust to the point that the horse would walk straight into a gaping hole in the ground if its master guided it there.

This is when animals could possibly find their 'almost humanness' to me, when they transcend their instincts in dedication to their master, and therefore glorify the heart of our God. I see myself so painfully clear in this picture.

Because oh, how I love scanning the horizons for the gaping holes in the ground of my life.

There have been a legitimate few, and they led to broken bones and scars and regrets. And somewhere inside myself I vowed never to let myself fall into one again. I'd avoid any situation necessary, any relationship necessary, any feeling necessary, to avoid falling into a hole like that again.

Just like with horses, some of this is survival instinct and holds a beneficial fear of danger in order to survive and stay healthy.

But when the Master leads you to danger, you must trust Him above your instincts.

Even if it's straight into a gaping hole in the ground.

That vow of no more gaping holes has been challenged by Him over and over again in His leadership of my soul.

I'd even say I'm in the middle of such a situation right now. One where my brain is on edge and I'm looking around for all my exits, making sure I have a quick and painless escape if necessary, even searching for excuses to use them now before potential disaster hits. Some of this is healthy, and it means I'm being smart about my surroundings. But when I am called deeper, when I sense His voice is in front of me and not behind me telling me to walk away, I must follow His footsteps on top of that tarp and trust that He is my God, He is my Shepherd, and falling into a gaping hole with Him is more beautiful than avoiding those holes without Him.

And so I quiet my soul, move forward, and keep myself open to His guidance. I give Him my fears but do not let them rule my steps. I let Him be my Master, and lead me where my feet could never wander alone.

And maybe one day I'll be as brave as some horses are out there.

Die Trying

"It was a draining and depressing year for [Geoffrey]. He felt each morning as though he were going to work in a burning building, as though his job was simply to rescue as many kids as he could from the flames. 'It was almost primal,' Geoffrey told me, looking back. 'We were literally just trying to keep our children alive.' There were plenty he couldn't save; for many kids, the pull of guns and drugs was impossible to resist. For years, he offered martial arts lessons to a small group of young men and women from the neighborhood, mentoring them, hoping to show them an alternative to the violence on the streets, and he became closer to them than any other children in Rheedlan's programs. And then two of his top students told him that they had decided to go into business selling cocaine."

This is an excerpt from a book I'm currently reading for class. It is about Geoffrey Canada's noble fight to save the children of Harlem from the systematic oppression of their poverty level. I have to read it for a writing assignment on socioeconomics.

But this idea...this idea of a career path feeling like a burning building...that's sticking with me today. I think that will resound in me in profound ways once I am meeting with clients I want to "save". The child from unnecessary ADHD medication. The woman from the abusive relationship. The man from clinical depression. The marriage from heartbreak. The family from dysfunction. The human from darkness.

I have a long road ahead of me. I think that may be why I've been consciously preparing the way for this career path for almost a decade now...I've always known this is what I wanted to do. And I'm just now sensing the toll it may take on my soul.

At the edge of the abyss. That image is still with me when I imagine myself hand in hand with a client as they face themselves. All the mystery, the fear, the unknown, the mess.

I'm sensing now that I may witness too many clients dive into the darkness and lose the will to try anymore.

I'm sensing now that I may be tempted myself to lose the will to try anymore.

Geoffrey Canada's story is so moving because his vision - to save the children of Harlem - remained in tact year after year, decade after decade, program after program, failure after failure, during the highs and the lows. I know my own vision - to make peace in hurting marriages/families - is in my bone marrow, and will flow through me until my last breath. I hope to have the same resolve Geoffrey had, and to remember that God works in quiet, gradual, and unsuspecting ways, where I'd rather have glorious one-time-ends-all victories in living out His will.

We're not called to win. We're called to die trying.

Lord give me the strength to lose, to fail, to not know what to do next. Set me free from the fear I feel in those shortcomings, set me free from the lie that my worth is in my victories and my wisdom. Set me free from the shell I crawl into in the face of feeling too much tenderness.

Give me the strength to be weak.

My weakness within the sanctuary of Your love is where I find my true strength.

The strength I'll need to die trying.

Come Awake.

I'm learning more and more that walking with God isn't so much about getting questions answered, or receiving prophetic messages to follow, as much as it is simply partaking in moments. Some as a fruit of intentional time set apart for them, others that sweep you up in the middle of the day without warning.

I'm learning more and more that His gifts mean nothing without His presence. No gift of His could ever replace His absence.

I'm learning more and more that I know I am experiencing His presence when my brain feels as alive as it does when I am in another human's presence...neuron synapses firing away as I gaze upon their face, watch their eyes, notice their quirks. I know when He shows Himself to me, and I sense that I truly know that beautiful face.

I'm learning that Jesus hungered for Him while on this Earth. Not even the Son of God could feel a satisfying amount of His presence here. I'm learning that there is a definitive correlation between hunger, desperation, and risk, and His presence within me.

I'm learning that I need His power. I can't survive without it. Only God dwelling within me can follow God; I don't have the strength for it, my flesh has no consequence. I can only run on batteries for so long. I can only run on memories for so long. I need His power for every breath.

I'm learning that I need His affirmation, just like Jesus did at his baptism before he took a single step into his ministry. I need to know God is satisfied with me before I feebly attempt at being satisfactory. I need to know that I have already won what I foolishly try to earn.

These warm blankets of truth are a "moment" in and of themselves for me. Because I am coming out of what I believe to be a time of dormancy, darkness, and absence...a perceived absence of Him and even an absence of myself.

I'd say that time frame has been about five years, if I am being brutally honest with myself. Even before then, I'd say that darkness was on the horizon creeping in.

I think of those vast, elaborate English estates with around six levels of rooms and entire wings for all sorts of uses. Libraries, drawing rooms, ball rooms, parlors; even little secret nooks and hiding places. Then fields and fields of land with lakes and streams for even more adventures to be had. That's what I see when I think of the set-up of my heart, with all its passions and desires and movements.

And I'd say the past five years I effectively closed off room by room as time chipped away at my resolve, and some rooms felt haunted with painful ghosts, and others seemed useless despite being dear to me. Slowly but surely, I'd cover the furnishings and close the door, trying my best not to be sad. Trying my best to believe that maybe God never planned on using my whole heart anyway. Maybe some rooms weren't meant for me, even if I'd made space for them.

I think it was that thought...the thought of a God who did not affirm all of me, the thought of a life lived with empty beloved rooms, the thought of needing to be "less than" who I am to be acceptable...

Man, those thoughts knocked the wind out of me.

Defeated.

That's the truest word for the feeling of it all.

Tonight at church, the guest pastor John asked, "If the presence of God was subtracted from my life, what would stop working?"

I think the last five years have been an ebb and flow experience of what would stop working in me; I would stop working altogether.

There are so many elements, known and unknown to me, that went into how I got to that place in life.

Likewise, there are so many elements, known and unknown to me, that went into getting me out of that place in life.

Little nuggets of truth falling into place, making a small piece of the puzzle make more sense.

Something catching my attention that never had before, illuminating elements of my past and my present.

Beautiful moments that felt like sunlight peaking through boarded up windows, finding the weak spots in the defenses, warmth slowly melting the ice.

The births of my niece and nephew, and their painfully beautiful souls revealing themselves with age.

So many things. Big and small. But in the end, it was all the same process: I was waking up.

A room here, a room there. Door opening. Coverings thrown off. Curtains opened to let the sun in. A walk-through recalling how happy I had been here and how sad I was to have had it out of my life for so long.

Tonight, in all of its elements, felt like the grand opening of my heart. No room or hall or wing left unprepared for Presence, for Affirmation, for Power, for Love. The revelation that I have never been called to be less than myself, but in fact to be used for purposes greater than I can even comprehend. The estate of my heart is meant to be filled up to every square inch. Even farther: to overflow.

If that wasn't enough, we sang this song tonight in that huge sanctuary and I about died with life, haha. The chorus was my soul, begging God to do what He has been in the process of doing the past five years in my pain...to awake me from my sleep.

Spirit of the living God, come fall afresh on me

Come awake me from my sleep

Blow through the caverns of my soul

Pour in me to overflow

Hi.

Or, should I say, Good Morning. :)