harvest.

It’s fall, y’all- and I’m enjoying every single second of it. :)

In past years, fall has always kinda felt like a horrible deceleration ramp from summer to winter. Not this year though. This year I’m pumped. This year I know that God’s teaching me so many things I desperately needed to know, and I needed to be in this season of life to learn them. I’m a month into Fall 2013 at Bethel University and it’s already blessed and grown my heart tremendously.

Things I’m learning:

the importance of outreach- seriously, after spending a couple weeks sitting alone at lunch, you’d start to skip meals too. It’s not fun to be on the outside. And I’ve never actually been that person until this year. I’ve always been in the “in group”, which is great, but it means that for years I’ve been lacking in empathy. Making friends is hard- harder than I remembered. In fact, I haven’t really been in a position of actually needing to make friends since... probably Kindergarten. And at Bethel, making friends is a little more complex than just poking the nearest shoulder and saying, “hey, wanna be my friend?” (although, frankly, I haven’t actually tried that). All of that is to say that the Lord has given me a greater sense of urgency in outreach, and just generally making people feel valuable. Who doesn’t want to feel valuable? You literally can’t lose. Fight the awkward. Start a conversation. It really does matter.

the necessity of confession- and I mean real confession. The kind where you actually tell someone else about it, in all of its disreputable shame and disgusting familiarity. Did you know we were designed for that kind of vulnerability in community? I didn’t. But it’s real. Confessing my sin to someone who knows me and cares for me gives me a more deeply authentic contrition. It’s an encounter of immense beauty and intense discomfort, and the exposure both magnifies the reality of the sin and minimizes the power of the sin, at the same time. It doesn’t make any sense. But actually somehow it does. The catch is that the more you confess sin, the more sin you find you have to confess. I think because confession draws us closer to Christ, and the closer we are, the more like him we become. That's pretty cool.

the value of self-grace. Sometimes I think I’m doing the right thing, and sometimes I’m dead wrong. And on those occasions, I can give myself some slack, and I can backtrack and redo. Mistakes are mistakes, but the Lord uses them always. Mistakes and regrets are only related if I choose not to trust that God is sovereign. BOOM.

the understanding that God works through the process, not the end result. I actually have to remind myself of this daily. Because I’m impatient and whiny. My current favorite song is that one that goes, “So wake me up when it’s all over, when I’m wiser and I’m older...” because that guy GETS it. He knows how crappy it is to sit through the process of becoming wiser and older. I’d seriously rather just be wiser and older. Unfortunately, the only way we’ve found to temporarily black out and wake up after events have taken place is by drinking an excessive amount of alcohol. Which definitely does not promote development of wisdom. Moving on.

the precept of not drinking coffee after 5pm on school nights- for example: right now, I’m awake because I chose to drink a Starbucks frap around 11pm last night. Clearly I’m still in the process of learning this one...

Things I love about this fall:

• new friends, bonfires, and s'mores.
• HOT APPLE CIDER.
• hikes through sun dappled forests.
• scarves. every kind.
• road trips across Wisconsin.
• singing with people I love.
• photobooth pictures with semi-strangers.
• homework on coffee shop patios.
• apple orchards.
• late night walks in Minneapolis.
• celebrating engagements!!!
• autumn thunderstorms.
• friends that are family.
• Brene Brown.

Yup- it's good. And now it's time for a quick nap before Spanish class. 

:)

A letter to my best friend...

Munchie. My sweet girl. You captured my heart in an instant, the day I met you. You were three months old and just about as precious as anything could be. We brought you home and you became a part of our tiny family. 

We taught you to be obedient and you taught us to love, in a whole new and beautiful way. You and I grew together. I remember singing you camp songs while we were snuggled in bed late at night, when I missed Luther Dell so much I thought my heart would break. I remember dragging you around, putting sunglasses on your face and hats on your head, loving you the only way I knew how at 6 years old- and you were gentle and patient with me. I remember pulling you to me and burying my face into your soft shoulder whenever the heaviness of life seemed too much. For 15 years you've been my listening ear, my oldest friend, the heart that probably loves me more than almost anyone. I know that I sometimes became easily frustrated with you, and I’m sorry for that. You will never know it, but you taught me the value of caring for someone- how to extend unconditional love, even in anger.

From you I learned the importance of play, and how to engage. I learned responsibility by caring for your needs. I learned to teach while we patiently housebroke you, and spent hours and hours and probably hundreds of treats training you to shake, roll over, and dance... (but girl, you never did figure out how to speak on command. What's up with that?) You taught me the joy of relationship with another living creature. And you didn't just teach me, but countless others- you even helped a young girl with a fear of dogs overcome her terror and learn to love you almost as much as I do. I acquired a deep love for animals because of your friendship. You taught me to enjoy nature the way you do.

I experienced fear for your safety and joy for your triumphs. I wept when I thought you were lost, and rejoiced when you had been found. You have taught me so much about the nature of Christ just by being your perfect little doggy self. I wish I could bottle up the smell of your paws and the feel of your soft fur and the sound of your bark.

Who knew we’d be staring down these finals days of your life together, here in a new house, in a new family. Who knew those beautiful dark brown eyes that stole my love when you were just a puppy would be the same eyes, now fogged with age, that would stare back into mine as I brush the fur back from your shaking face.

It has been your steadfast and loyal presence that has brought me through this crazy year of change. You have been my constant companion, walking with me through the grief of losing dad and the confusion of transitioning into a new family. We did that together. And every time I needed something tangible to cling to and to share my burden with, whether late at night or high noon, you were right there by my side. God made you, and He made you perfectly. I can’t believe how lucky I am to know you and call you mine. You have been my best friend, my playmate, my comforter, my literal shoulder to cry on. You are a mender of broken hearts and a dryer of tears. 

If dogs go to heaven, then you will be one that sits at the very feet of Jesus, sweet girl.

I could not be more thankful for 15 years of life with you by my side. You are loyal and loving. You are faithful and constant. I could not have ever imagined my life without you. I can't begin to tell you how much you will be missed. My heart aches so deeply already.

I love you. Those words are simply not enough. Jesus is the reason I know love, and you are the reason I learned to love. You have been the beat of my heart- the unseen rhythm that keeps the rest of me strong. 

Thank you for loving me so well. I will never stop loving you, not even for a minute, not ever. 

When you get there, your first job is to find Daddy. Go on walks with him. Chase the squirrels. Stretch your new legs. They won’t shake, I promise. Keep him company until I get there. It won’t be long.

I love you, Scrunchie. Thank you for taking care of me. With licks and tail wags, you healed my wounds. I wouldn't be the same without you.

01/19/1998- 08/15/2013

praise.

My dad raised me with a deep appreciation for God's glory in nature.





We spent a lot of time watching storms when I was little, which gave me both a great respect for the Lord's power and great trust in the safety He provides. We took countless walks along the river and through the woods, which rooted in me a full desire to experience creation first hand. I remember observing wildlife together and breathing deeply the earthy scents of the trees and grass and dirt. My dad called forth beauty all around for me to see, and each time he did, he'd say, "See how beautiful He's made everything? Praise God." I heard my dad say "Praise God" more often than I heard him say "Brush your teeth."



What I didn't experience of my dad was a longing to engage in creation. My dad never waded out into the river just for the sake of feeling the water swirling around him and feeling the sand between his toes. His reasons for gardening were for aesthetics and landscaping, never to intentionally be a part of what God does in a tiny seed placed into His earth. My dad didn't really enjoy camping or putting on sunscreen or swatting at mosquitos or roasting s'mores. He didn't experience a thrill in reeling in a big fish. He was very contented to watch the beauty of creation go by his front window and simply observe it.

And don't get me wrong- there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, for a 68 year old man, I think that was probably perfect for him. But I was crafted with a need for more than observation. I need to engage. What's great is that my dad gave me his ability to see beauty everywhere and praise Jesus for it, and now I get to learn on my own how to become a part of it.




Things I'm appreciating about summer:

• Home-grown veggies from the garden.
• I HAVE SOME SEMBLANCE OF A TAN RIGHT NOW. If you know me, you know that's impressive.
• When it rains and I let Munchie outside, she comes in smelling like a wet puppy. I love that.
• Days at the cabin when my hair is literally wet all day.
• Waking up and not knowing for sure which of the things I did yesterday is making my muscles hurt so darn bad today.
• Books. So many books.
• Camping out with friends, guitars, and bonfires.
• Returning home to help lead worship in the church community that raised me.
• Outdoor concerts in the company of thousands of other believers. There is almost nothing sweeter.
• Reading on the deck with my feet propped over the pool.
• Coaching the little ones as they learn beginner water skiing out on the lake.
• SUN TEA.
• Catching my first fish.

Except, I'm not so on my own... I've had so many opportunities to engage this summer. Since my adoption, my engaging side has finally been given a chance to stretch its little legs and go for a stroll because the Wicklunds are all about summer living. And I'm jumping right on that band wagon. This may not be the "best" summer I've ever had. And it's definitely not the easiest. A lot of it is still really new, and my poor heart is confused about why I'm not at camp, or at the very least why I'm not at 699 Janesville St. with a cat, a dog, and my daddy. But it's the little things I'm appreciating this year. All of creation is precious and beautiful, and there's a lot of it to take in. Praise God.



                           Psalm 139

¹ You have searched me, Lord,
    and you know me.
² You know when I sit and when I rise;
    you perceive my thoughts from afar.
³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
    you are familiar with all my ways.
⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
    you, Lord, know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in behind and before,
    and you lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
    too lofty for me to attain.

⁷ Where can I go from your Spirit?
    Where can I flee from your presence?
⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.
¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
    and the light become night around me,”
¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
    the night will shine like the day,
    for darkness is as light to you.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
    when I was made in the secret place,
    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
    all the days ordained for me were written in your book
    before one of them came to be.
¹⁷ How precious to me are your thoughts,^[a] God!
    How vast is the sum of them!
¹⁸ Were I to count them,
    they would outnumber the grains of sand—
    when I awake, I am still with you.

longing.

Today, just for a moment, I'm allowing the longing to flood my system.

I miss his singing voice.
I miss his silly jokes...the ones I only laughed at to spare his feelings.
I miss his grilled cheese with ham.
I miss wearing his oversized shoes.
I miss his laugh.
I miss listening to Reggae with him on roadtrips.
I miss one-sided conversations, and simply listening to his wisdom.
I miss the way he would talk with his CPAP on.
I miss the way he smelled after being out in the cold winter air.
I miss playing Nintendo with him.
I miss losing to him in chess... every time.
I miss watching storms on the porch.
I miss "ice cream in the paper." (This is the name my five-year-old self invented for ice cream sandwiches...and not just any ice cream sandwiches- the real ones, with the smooth vanilla ice cream enveloped between two chocolate chip cookies. YUM.)
I miss the hotdishes he would invent.
I miss how he'd forget to turn off his blinker after changing lanes.
I miss saying prayers with him.
I miss waking up to his snuggles before school.
I miss his snore.
I miss lunch box love notes.
I miss his email forwards.
I miss him cracking my toes.
I miss pancakes for dinner.
I miss his thorough and detailed explanations.
I miss how he'd respond to the question, "You know what's funny?" with, "Ummm...when you suddenly realize your pants are on backwards..." or some other thing he invented on the spot.
I miss how much he truly desired to understand me.

geese.

The geese are back, and I couldn’t be happier about it. :)

Growing up along the Mississippi, it was always the return of the geese that heralded the release of winter’s terrible icy grip. In the fading light of the evening, their cries would echo over the surface of the water and ring for miles through the river valley. To this day, it is one of my favorite sounds. Geese signaled that warmth was on its way, and soon. Geese meant thunderstorms and star gazing and crickets, and nights of ice cream and open windows and snuggles. Geese meant walks with my dad along the river on balmy evenings under the yellow light of the street lamps, conversations on the porch with our feet kicked up on the railing while sipping ice cold diet cokes, and the earthy, piny smell of hands and knees covered in dirt after a day of gardening together. 

Oh, my heart aches for it. I miss him, I miss him, I miss him.

I love every single thing about spring. I love pot holes and puddles and pink buds of crabapple trees. I love cool breezes that dance in on rays of sunshine through open car windows. I love watching fire hydrants and curbsides reemerge from beneath grey crags of crystallized snow drifts. And I think I actually could roll in the slush and slop and freezing streams that tumble and race along the gutters. I especially love the fluffy white clouds that finally part like curtains after the intermission of winter, revealing the impossibly perfect blue of the sky. What’s weird is that winter is not without its own clear days, but somehow the sky seems so much more piercingly blue as the world beneath it melts into puddles of pure joy. Everything about spring breathes new life. It’s as if every budding tree and muddy lawn and ray of sunshine is whispering tenderly, “Wake up, sleepyhead. Wake up, wake up. There is life to be had- don’t you dare miss it.”

Winter has deadened my spirit again. Every year I tell myself it won’t happen, and every year I’m wrong. It used to frustrate me because I thought it meant there was something terribly wrong with me. How can I claim to have joy in the Lord if something as simple as snow has the ability to drain my spiritual strength and leave me feeling bone dry inside? Granted, this year is slightly different. But with all the stop measures I put in place for myself this fall and all the growing I’ve done in the last year, I thought for sure I could handle it. But no... I watched in horror from some other-ly place as I once again stumbled down that icy, wintery, slippery slope back into the same familiar niche I’ve been to so many times before. Dark and isolating, and something I’m entirely unable to put words to in the moments when I’m most in the midst of it. It feels shifty and off, in the way that your shirt feels off when you accidentally button it two holes down from where it should be and wind up with flannel that is crooked and hanging slightly off one shoulder. But it’s also sort of disgustingly comfortable, like when you walk into a movie theater and sit down and the seat is already warm. (For the record, this grosses me out so much that I will move ten times out of ten.) It’s a place I hate, and sort of love, and never want to be in, and feel 100% comfortable in all at once.

So, back to the question: Should I join the Fair-Weather Christian club? Because I could be the president. Definitely.

Here’s the thing I’m learning. There is a reality involved here that I don’t ever like to admit- that reality is that I’m a human, which is a fantastically fragile thing to be. I am completely prone to every bit of brokenness that this world throws my way. I have zero immunity. BUT, I have a deep belief that the Lord purposefully crafted me to draw my strength from a very specific set of things in life- a family that loves me, friends that know me, music that carries me, art that frees me... And adversely, I also believe that God designed some things to sap my strength, just a little bit, to consistently remind me how weak and vulnerable and human I am, and how much I truly need him. Winter just happens to be one of those things for me. 

I need weaknesses, or else I don’t need God. 

My weaknesses lately have manifested in the forms of a zillion questions all chasing each other in circles around my head. How can I be a good "big sister", and a good friend, and transition into a new household, and be a 21 year old learning how to be independent, and be a good student, and a good receptionist, and grieve my dad, and transfer schools, and miss my old life while still rejoicing in my new one? How do I even know I’m doing any of it right? When will I feel settled? When will I stop fighting the same battles over and over and over and over...

Here’s the answer I’ve got for all of that: STOP IT.

It’s not my job to know all the answers, or even all the questions. I was not created with infinite wisdom or knowledge or even the capacity for such things. My job is just to be human, and to follow Jesus. He knows how fragile and weak I am. He knows the places in me that are dead, that need to die, and that are in the process of being made new. He’s in charge of all of that. His whole MO is waking dead things to life. And I know eventually he will have produced enough new life in me that none of those questions will actually even matter anymore. I’ll be right where I need to be, when I need to be there. And truthfully, though it feels shifty and off sometimes, I am right exactly where I need to be even now.

The geese are back. The sun is out. The ground may still be frozen and dead, but it is just waiting to be called forth to produce new life. And it is the exact same ground that has been through this cycle before- death, rebirth, death, rebirth. Changing seasons are older than we are. They don’t stop. Whatever place you are in now is not permanent. But it is shaping you, so pay attention. 

Because your weaknesses are just as valuable as your strengths. 

nine.

So, this five year old love of mine has a stuffed cheetah that he named Faster-Faster. Cute right? This morning, Faster-Faster had a pretty nasty fever-fever of "nine." (For the record, the whole reason I ask questions like "How bad is his fever, buddy?" is so that I can hear answers like "nine.") But never fear. Faster-Faster's temp was back down to normal within minutes. His qualifying response to his cheetah's quick recovery? "They don't call him Faster-Faster for nothin!"

I love this boy. So so so so much.
That's all I have for you today. Happy Tuesday :)

refuge.

I HAVE MY OWN BEDROOM.

Six months ago, I dropped into the lives of five people who were not exactly expecting me. I imagine that it would be sort of like giving birth the instant you find out you’re pregnant...and then discovering that your “baby” is actually a fully functioning 20-year-old, with a personality and a life and a separate network all in place already. Jarring, to say the least. Anyway, since then we’ve had a little bit of a space conundrum. Until this year, I was wholly unacquainted with the feeling of “displacement” that comes with not having my own bedroom. And to be honest, I didn’t really even notice how stressed it was making me until I moved into my new bedroom. But now that I see it, it’s actually crazy to me how necessary it is to be able to spread out into my own defined space. I have been incredibly grateful for one of the little ones, who so graciously gave up his room for a little over five months so that I would have a corner of the world to temporarily call my own. But dang, am I ever glad to be able to give that space back to him, for both selfish and unselfish reasons- he and I both (actually, I think all of us) were needing some refuge. For a while there, it felt like we had people on top of people, sharing rooms and shifting around and fighting over toys...

My beautiful little room is tucked away down in the basement of the house. It is consistently the perfect temperature for me, just cool enough that I can bury myself under six blankets and purr myself to sleep in a little "cocoon," as my dad used to always call it. The day I moved in down here, I snuggled into the deepest corner of my bed, wrapped in my fluffy fleece blanket, with a mug of tea perched on my lap and my bible open in front of me... and I prayed over this room. For a long time. For really vague things, like safety and refuge and good chi, and for specific things, like space for grieving, godly conversation, and a good night’s rest. I knew that being down here would dramatically impact my feeling of being settled here, for better or worse I wasn’t certain. And for the first couple days I think I was waiting to see if the house would close in around everyone else, like a body healing itself after a thorn is removed, shutting me into my own little secluded pocket of the world. Silly, I know. But it’s changes like this that test my level of trust in the security I have in this world. This time around, I’m fairly certain I failed the test. I fell in love with my bedroom the second I entered it, but fear gripped the part of me that still sometimes questions how much I belong anywhere. And those first couple of days, I allowed the fear and lies to be my reality and truth. I gave in to the idea that I was separate, physically of course, but to my confused and darkened mind, that translated to a relational level as well.

Sometimes it seems there is just no pleasing me. I’m always asking for more. God gives me the greatest desires of my heart and I find ways to tell him that they're not good enough. I find ways to convince myself that I’m not worthy of being loved, and then that belief grows and mutates until I am hypersensitive to everything, and reading between lines that are between other lines that don’t even exist. I wrap myself up in excuses about how entitled I am, when in reality, everything I have is completely an undeserved gift of grace. Scott and Kara didn’t have to adopt me. But they did because they love me. They didn’t have to build me a bedroom. But they did because they care for me. And what do I do in return? Pile up ridiculous and uncommunicated expectations, and then convince myself that because transition is hard, I probably just don’t fit. Moron. Sometimes I think if I had a conversation with myself on things like this, I would sooner use my fists as advice than my words.

What I really want is to rewind and unwind some of the emotional crap I’ve tangled myself into. I want to be able to walk into those hard moments again with some of the fresh perspective I have now, and come out on top. That way, I could be absolutely certain that the good parts of me outweigh the nasty, messy, dramatically emotional parts. And I can be that wise, steady, independent (yet still maybe somewhat fragile) 21-year-old human that I long to be, instead of broken and teary and constantly in need of forgiveness. But I’m learning the hard way that that is exactly and specifically anti-grace. Yes, I have been called independent, and steady, and even wise on occasion. But to hide the fact that I can be nasty, messy, and dramatically emotional... well that would just be fake. And to be loved for part of who I am and not all of who I am is not really something I’m about, admittedly. 

But there are a handful of people who have seen those messy versions of me- they’ve waded through a good sample of my emotional drama, held my hand lovingly and graciously the whole way through, and came out looking just as muddy and worn as I am- and to hear them say, “I love you still”... MAN, there is something so much more precious about that than if I was the perfect, single, independent 21-year-old woman that I sometimes wish I was, invested in relationships that were completely monotone and unshaken. 

Because love is not monotone. Love is color and sound and texture and light, and hugs and tears and forgiveness and puzzles and pillow fights, and plates of dinner saved for me when I come home late from work. 

And love is grace. From every angle, love is grace.

I need grace. I don’t want to need it. But every day I need it. Grace is my refuge, like my bedroom is my refuge. At the end of the day, it’s where I can rest. Grace softens my heart and humbles my pride. It makes me more beautiful and more human, in a world that is shouting at me over and over to be more god. It seems foolish and surprising, but it is actually the single oldest divine encounter between God and us- we have been given the gift of grace since we ate the fruit on day one.

We all fall short. I fall short. Man, that’s a gross understatement. I fall flat on my face. But I’m incredibly lucky to have people surrounding me who live and breathe God’s grace and who love me more deeply than I can yet grasp. And you are lucky too, because even if you don’t have that, you and I both share one gracious Heavenly Father. 

His grace is enough.