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.

bittersweet.

Six months ago today, I found out my dad was gone from this world.

It hardly seems like it could be that long. Six months? Just yesterday he was helping me move into my new house in River Falls. Just last week we were enjoying a weekend together at camp, playing cards with beautiful friends and marveling at the glory of the Lord in a sunset from a pontoon on the lake. I can still hear his voice singing me to sleep at night. If I think hard enough, I can still smell his cologne as his warm embrace envelops my broken heart. 

These may seem like weird reflections. But I cling to them. 

It is shocking how often I still experience that punch-to-the-gut sensation when grief overwhelms me. Even after six months, it is almost daily. My dad was my rock. He taught me everything I know about being a functioning human being. He knew me- and I mean really knew me, almost everything about me- and still loved me with his entire being. And even though I was far from dependent on him, I never imagined life without him. I still kick myself every day for putting up so many walls between us. There are so many things I would have done differently if I was given the time back- ways I would have loved him better, listened to him more, been more obedient and honest and vulnerable. But I was given such a beautiful 20 years with him. He was the kindest, most gentle, thoughtful, loving, faithful, tender, and caring father I could have ever asked for. He was my father AND my mother. And he was brave. In ways that I never saw until he was gone. I can’t believe the courage it took to raise a daughter as a single father. My dad was a champ. He was a picture of Jesus' love- granted, a very torn and faded picture, but beautiful nonetheless. For as wounded and broken as he was though, he is completely made whole with the Lord now. I love to reflect on that, often. He is no longer suffering loneliness or grief or pain over failed relationships. He no longer harbors the resentment or suspicion or bitterness that the world created in him. He has a restored view of his own self worth. The scales have been removed from his eyes and he is a more healed and complete picture of himself. 

I can’t wait to meet that Daddy.

* * * * *

Have you ever tasted bittersweet chocolate? It’s not that good. In fact, I’m not really even sure why it’s called bittersweet. Because, straight up...it’s just bitter. I ate a chunk of it plain when I was 12 and I think I can still taste it.

Here’s my advice. Don’t eat bittersweet chocolate.

BUT, the thing about bittersweet chocolate is that it’s actually fantastic for baking. I can’t pretend like I’m the expert on this, because I know almost nothing about ovens. Ours was broken my entire life. Literally. So I never baked. But I do know a few things, and what I know is that when you mix bittersweet chocolate with other ingredients and apply some heat, it’s delicious. 

Can you see where this is going?

Suffering, when experienced alone and outside of context, is awful. And that’s an understatement. Losing my dad was one of the bitterest things I’ve ever experienced in my life. I can identify remarkably well with the author of Lamentations in chapter 3, verses 19 and 20-

“The thought of my suffering and hopelessness is bitter beyond words. I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss.”

Sometimes it is simply the thought of my grief that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. The best word I’ve been able to come up with to describe the feeling is stale. After six months, grieving is becoming incredibly stale. I’m drained. Exhausted. Some days I roll out of bed feeling like I was just hit by a bus while wearing a giant suit of armor- flat on my back, several yards from reality, and heavy. And that feeling gets old fast. There is nothing sweet about it.

But man, oh man... when this bitter suffering is mixed with God’s perfect love and goodness, and some refining heat of trial and change is applied... the product is exactly one million sweet reasons to say yes to whatever God has for me in this season. The blessings I’ve experienced through my suffering are so beyond anything I could have created for myself, or for that matter even imagined for myself...

For example: here's something you may not know about me- in November, I was legally adopted into the Wicklund family. This is actually a whole other complex and beautiful process that I will be reflecting more on later... but what I will share for right now is that the adoption gives me a whole new appreciation for the concept of being adopted into the family of God- my Father in heaven loves me deeply enough to sacrifice everything to claim me, protect me, and care for me. Scott and Kara are incredible reflections of that. They love me so well in Christ's love.

And those three little squirts- those are their three kids. I can't believe that I lived 20 years without them. They bring so much life and energy to my world. I love the way the littlest grabs my face with both hands and puts her nose right up against mine, to make absolutely sure I hear her when she says, "Quisten, I WUV you." I love how deeply emotional and imaginative the little five year old is, and how his sparks of creativity manifest in bright eyes and wide grins. That boy lights up the room. And the oldest... he is steady and wise so far beyond his seven years. I love that I get to enjoy him in that delicate age where he is just beginning to test the waters of more sophisticated language and humor and thought. I literally cannot wait to watch all three of them grow up and walk with them through life. It has already brought me so much joy. 

My dad's death completely shook my world. The day he died, a whole series of events was set in motion that would eventually change nearly everything in my life. And that is not an exaggeration. Each day seems like a new adjustment, a new transition, and a new normal. And while all of it is so good, it's still ridiculously hard. I remember receiving that phone call like it was yesterday... I remember exactly where I was sitting, what I was doing, who was with me, even what I was wearing. And I remember those terribly bitter and panicked tears I cried when I heard the words I'd been dreading all day. But I also remember being surrounded and comforted by community. I remember pausing within those first five minutes of my grief process, taking a deep breath, and just reminding myself that I was okay. I actually spoke those words, "I am OKAY." Even in that moment, there was no doubt in my mind that I was going to be taken care of. I knew that the Lord had a tremendous plan and no matter what, I would be OKAY. So much of that had to do with my community.

This is just a sampling of people that have been an incredible constant presence in my life. They have been such a source of strength for me the last six months, and long before. They've laughed and celebrated with me, but also wept and grieved with me. A few of them have shown tremendous courage in caring for me- those few have been the ones to enter into my suffering right alongside me, praying and processing and loving with such commitment. Experiencing this kind of friendship has been another one of my sweetest blessings. It's hard to imagine separating from such a beautiful community... but after a lot of prayer and counsel from others, I have made the decision to transfer to Bethel University in St. Paul. I am walking into this move completely by faith, and it has been one of the hardest decisions of my life. I have NO idea what's in store for me at Bethel, but I know that God works all things for the good of those who love him. And for as much as I will ache to be back with this community that I've grown and healed in... I am certain that I will know them the rest of my life :)

Through all of this, my greatest hope is that I can be used. For the sheer volume of things I'm learning about myself and Jesus and the world, I can't imagine that that is outside of God's plan. The challenge will be figuring out what that looks like for my life. There are a hundred directions, and discernment is hard. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that God creates beauty from ashes. I could make a million mistakes along the way, and He will STILL make it beautiful. I'm going to screw up- it's inevitable. Life is going to break me sometimes. But the more I'm broken, the more need I have for Jesus. And the more need I have for Jesus, the more I will run to Him. He can take those broken pieces and rearrange them into a more beautiful mosaic than I ever could. In fact, if they weren't broken, it would be a heck of a lot harder for Him to make me a new creation... which is what He's all about. 

I miss my dad every day. There is not a waking hour that goes by that I don't think of him, and if I could, I'd have him back here in a heartbeat. But I also would not trade this life for anything. And I don't think my dad would want me to. In fact, I am absolutely certain that he is bowed at Jesus' feet, thanking Him a thousand times over for providing me with the loving hearts that have surrounded and drawn me in. And I know that one day we will all be reunited in heaven as one giant family. Cheesy, but it's the hope I cling to. I literally cannot wait for that day :)

THAT is the definition of bittersweet.

* * *

Lamentations 3 continues, in verses 21 and 22-

“Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: the unfailing love of the Lord never ends! By his mercies we have been kept from complete destruction.”

I love that phrase, "dare to hope." Because hope is totally a dare. It’s a bold challenge, and it renounces all those places in me that tell me God is not big enough. When I have hope, that is my soul’s display of trust in Jesus... trust that He can turn my bitter suffering into something sweeter than this world could ever offer. 

Because God makes some pretty dang good chocolate cake.

I have come broken before the Lord so often in the last six months. I have had to lay everything at His feet. And to be totally transparent, I don’t even know what it means. I’m still figuring it out- and all the while, Jesus has been redefining the things that make me who I am. I’ve had to relearn what it means to find joy in Christ, as well as begin to learn what it means to find rest in Him. I’ve had to re-fight battles that I thought I’d already won, with self worth and identity and value. And every day I have to choose to walk straight into my grief and face it head on, even with the fear of being consumed by it... knowing that Jesus goes before me and behind me and with me, and has already conquered it all. Including death. Jesus conquered death. 

Simultaneously, our one greatest fear and our one greatest weakness was destroyed.

That's truth. Stop and think about that for a second. It's earth shattering in every sense of the phrase.

I am broken. That’s pretty darn bitter.

But I’m blessed and usable. And that is definitely sweet.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Praise Him all creatures here below.

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host.

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Amen.