My milestone.

Those of you who know me on any given level, know that a recently celebrated decade in my life was met with much trepidation and woe. Something about the feeling of not having done something with my life, I'm just a receptionist, and blah blah blah. Truth be told I was a bit melodramatic about the whole event (don't tell my husband that I've finally agreed with him on this).I would like to think that it was simply the stress of finding a very pronounced vein on my leg coupled with the foreign greeting of "mam" whilst at the grocery store. Yes, I would like to propose that these 2 incidents are the scapegoats that catapulted me into a "doom-thirty oblivion" and not my own illogical thinking.

Now in my defense there are some legitimate things that turning 30 allowed me to come to grips with. Because of that, I am still continuing to grow and change and I'm so thankful that the Lord is not done with me yet. However, I would also just like to take a moment to acknowledge a few immediate changes that this new chapter in my life has cultivated and to brag "celebrate" them in their full glory.

One of those significant monuments is that I am no longer the losing party at a little game I like to call "The Thrifty Chicken". This name may not sound familiar to you but if you are a shopper on any level, particularly in thrift stores, you will find that you have participated on some level. The Thrifty Chicken is that battle of the wills when two unrelated parties begin browsing through a section of affordable, vintage clothes at separate ends of the clothes rack. Inevitably, if the deals are right and the selection is top notch, it will catapult these two individuals into a match of stamina. As each party gets closer and closer to the middle, one or the other will digress the rest of the rack to the stronger party and go on browsing another section as if it never happened. This game would always get the best of me. Seasoned shoppers typically knew weakness when they saw it and I was easy an easy target to spot with my timid demeanor and sweat beaded brow. The mere presence of another person in the same vicinity would send me packing to the 90's outerwear section where I'd be forced to browse jeweled vests and purple courdoroys.

That is until recently.

I never even knew that this Spartan change even took place until I was out at our local thrift store. I had found myself in the usual garb, perusing over a colorful array of sweaters. (A weakness I have that doesn't help combat the librarian complex my wardrobe screams). There I was in the middle of this lovely assortment when an over-eager twenty-something on my right started whisking through hangers at the other end quicker than you could say "cashmere on sale". Maybe it was the extra shot of caffeine in my latte that morning but some kind of strength welled up inside of me and I knew it was on. I was tired of always being the one to bow out. Tired of watching perfectly good outfits walk out the door in another girls hands simply because I was a polyester pansy. I buckled down. In my mind I could see the metaphoric tumbleweed roll across the linoleum store floor and onlookers saunter out of swinging saloon doors.

As our fingers flew over discounted wool and we came closer and closer to the center of the row I grabbed a price tag and appeared to study it intently just a hands reach away from the middle sweater in order to show my opponent that I had found my ground and I was sticking to it. I studied that little blue tag like it was written in hyroglyphics and I was the world's greatest archeologist. This was it. My moment of truth. Eternity seemed to pass. I felt her inch closer and closer to my clearly marked zone of ownership...so much so that the pressure mounted to the point of complete awkwardness. But just as I was about to revert to my old ways and slip back into the cowardly darkness... it happened. She walked away! She left the scene with a sigh and what I could swear was a whispered "I"ll get you next time".

Day made. And I found a pretty great cable-knit to celebrate the momentous occasion.

When I relayed this huge accomplishment to my husband later that same night, he was not so much on the same level of glory as I was. I'm pretty sure if I could have gotten a congratulatory pin or some kind of plaque or certificate I would have displayed it proudly. And to his credit, I can see why this particular "win" in life wouldn't seem like so much of a big deal.

But, as I told my husband in the kitchen through winning sips of the best tasting giner gale I have ever had, I told him that while it may be a silly little game, it is about a little thing we all like to call principle.
It was a small, small moment that I got to see what it feels like to stand my ground.

And while I realize and completely agree that I don't always want to be the type of person that is stubborn in the face of conflict, insensitive and unwilling to yield, I couldn't help but think that maybe another year under my belt isn't so bad. Especially if it comes with a fortified backbone and a little boost in something called a voice.

So there you have it. One of my milestones.
Thrifty Chicken no more.
Just thrifty.

Oh yes, and don't forget the other noteworthy three-decade accomplishments which include in no particular order:

Hardboiling an egg.
Keeping more than 4 plants alive simultaneously.
Owning a set of "guest towels".
Turning off lights as I leave a room to conserve on energy.

Ok no that's false. That last one will take at least another ten years.

Already Here

I often find it strange, how vividly one can recall childhood events. A particular vision I have is of a bitter, cold day in March as a young child at home with my mother and two sisters. That afternoon the postman delivered a package that we knew had to be special because it was heavy and had to be signed for. The three of us gathered eagerly around our apron-clad mother as we watched her flour dusted fingers open the mysterious box. After all the bubble wrap and tape were removed she held in her lap a beautifully framed, pencil sketch of a small bird on a budding branch. In cursive letters underneath, the inscription read, “Spring is Coming.”

The reason this particular image is so engrained in my mind is not because of the drawing itself: it was quite simple in design and was from a family friend. Rather, it was what happened next that I am still able to see. My mother put her slender, elegant hand on the words themselves and silent tears began to stream down her face. We begged her to tell us what was wrong, to which she replied with a smile, “Happy tears. I just needed to be reminded of something.”

At such a young age, I could not understand the weariness a mother of three can feel in the middle of a winter, with her husband often traveling, and bills ever piling. But as I have grown older, I’ve come to understand more clearly the balm these words were to her. I often found myself whispering that same promise throughout my growing adult years when a difficult season in life bore heavy on my heart. “Spring is coming, Jessi. Spring is coming.”

But as I study God’s Word and He daily reveals His Truth to me, I have learned that, while this sentiment is true and hopeful, it is not complete. Yes, Spring is coming but the miracle, the gospel truth of it all, is that Easter is here. He IS risen. Present tense. It is not waiting for one Sunday on a calendar. It has happened already and He is reigning in the here and now.

And so we walk through any time of restlessness or hurt knowing that the presence of the spotless one who conquered death now offers us hope to do the same. This Easter, may you know that blameless sacrifice as your Savior and Lord, and may your heart hear the words of life offered to you from the Risen One. He calls to us each morning amidst the car pools, deadlines, and dollar signs. Do you hear Him beckon?

My beloved, arise.
Though the path is dark,
I will not let you fall.
Though the night is cold,
I will keep your thoughts from sleep.
Though you might walk this journey alone,
I will never leave your side.
Child of the King,
Don't forget:
Your tears may be many,
but My promises for you are more.

My dear friends, Spring indeed is coming,
But praise be to God,
because Easter is Here.

So it can be done.

For as long as I can remember, I have spent the majority of my adult years loathing the abrasive ways of winter.

I am not sure when it all started to be honest. I used to love it as a kid. So much so that coming in early from sledding was never by choice but always out of necessity due to either near hypothermia or encroaching darkness.

City living may have had something to do with it. Life is a pedestrian-commuter's dream for 6 months out of 12. You live in a euphoric state of bliss as you walk to coffee shops and book stores under an umbrella of waving trees,old buildings, and the golden nuances of each season. You see kids playing in sprinklers or an impromptu concert in the park under budding cherry blossoms and you tell yourself that you could walk the world forever all because "it's just so magical."

Then it hits. Winter arrives with her winds whipping off Lake Michigan. The minute you leave your door for work at 6 a.m and realize that you can't lock it behind you because your hands have, without your permission, adhered to your key, you forget all your dreamy memories and curse the day you ever thought Chicago-without-a-car was even doable. The once uttered phrase "it's all so magical" is quickly replaced with "this is all so ridiculous."

I'm not proud of being a winter hater for as long as I have been. Typically I would not label myself as a"negative" person...but if I do the math...my battle with the cold has left me with a pretty long legacy of the winter blues.

Until recently.

A few months ago my husband and I found ourselves to be the proud adoptive owners of a 5 year-old golden retriever. It was one of those things we didn't plan on, in fact it all happened quite unexpectedly and providentially (story for another day.) And like most things that happen unexpectedly and providentially, with this new ownership has come quite a few new adventures and realizations.

Of course there are the little things. Like realizing "puppy talk" is not something I am cool enough to avoid. Or that I am actually able to function in the morning without making coffee first. There is some stumbling. Obviously. But my early bird adventures to feed and let out the dog in the wee hours of the morn have for the most part been successful. Who knew?

But my most favorite realization so far, is that this Ranger-Boy of ours, has broken down the icy fortress of winter-hatred and reminded this once reluctant girl just how fun this season of snow can be.

I can honestly say that if we never had him I would have never ventured outside the foot of my front door to get the mail this year, let alone take a long walk in below freezing temps. Which would have been really unfortunate. Because I would have missed so much. The crunch of each footstep after a fresh snowfall or the way moonlight is brighter this time of year. The smell of a fire or making snow angels in the fields would have been well off my radar along with so many other things.

On Christmas day the lone Ranger and I were able to slip out and take a long walk by the lake in my parent's town. Not a soul in sight, just the quiet beauty of the mid-afternoon sun reflecting off the water and the snow. After a good hour we simply sat. A passing car would have seen just a girl on a bench with her dog by her side and his head in her lap. But they wouldn't have seen the tears of gratitude and joy streaming down her face to be able to witness a still, winter day and think of her King and Creator.

Pre-dog... a moment like that I would have missed out on. I would have been curled up under a blanket in the name of "comfort".

I'm not attributing my dog with spiritual knowledge or foresight. God's Word is clear about how man is made uniquely separate from the animals. But what I am saying, is that God has used our Ranger-Danger to teach me something about Himself. That He is beautiful and all that He makes is beautiful all the time. And that we are to express gratitude for His creation with abandon. As much abandon as this dog has for walks, tennis balls, and chasing cats.

So the age old statement. Can't teach an old dog new tricks?
To that I say, that yes. Yes you can.
Because she can't wait for our next walk in this winter wonderland.

12.14.12

This morning it is raining.
And while I know that this city is miles away from yesterday's town tragedy,
the heartbreak is surpassing state boundaries, falling on each roof top in a steady, sorrowful rhythm.

I think God is weeping. I know that is a grand statement to make. Some could make arguments against it, attributing my linking of the weather to worldly devastation as a childish literary device. But I disagree.

Scripture shows us over and over again the God we serve. He is a God who weeps over the death of one, cries out for a nation who He knows in days will crucify him, and tells his disciples to have empathy with those who are hurting.

The sky and sea belong to this great Comforter and I know he feels it. So I watch the rain fall and ask Him so many questions between silent tears of my own.

The fears and cries ascend to Him from everywhere.
Mine are not new.

A dark morning passes by in mourning...
The final question: What is to come, Lord Jesus?

Answered only by a lifting of my head to see our Nativity scene, with the word Emmanuel written beneath in chalk.

Emmanuel...
So it is.
And so we hold fast to this word more than ever.

Several Christmases ago I was led to pen the words below.
He called these words to mind, and I feel compelled to add one more stanza.



to the woman on the street-
smoking the dying embers of a cigarette
looking for the smallest trace of warmth...

Emmanuel

to the downtown shoppers, with designer names and dreams, carrying all the anxiety of deadlines, of schedules,and of coming up short..

Emmanuel

to the husband, looking into blue eyes of a best friend who doesn't remember.
Doesn't remember the date, doesn't remember watercolor paints,and doesn't remember the names of their children...

Emmanuel

to the broken families, staring at where they would sit if they ever chose to come- meals divided over broken trust and broken hearts...

Emmanuel

to the older brother and his sleeping sister,her white hands on white sheets, exhausted with the fight...

Emmanuel

to the children singing with their bells, rosy cheeked and bright eyed, not knowing of the corrupt times in which they ring...

Emmanuel

to the foreigner, miles away from his family, and worlds away from knowing his true Home...

Emmanuel

to the doctor, silently bearing the grief and stoically bridging the void for three years since his passing, fighting back tears as she lays out the gifts alone...

Emmanuel

to the soldier over seas, making the honorable commitment of a man while still being very much a boy...

Emmanuel

to his mother and the loss of which she does not yet know.

Emmanuel

to the career woman, alone on her catalog living room floor, with her catalog wine glass, and her catalog sweater, weeping over the things she cannot buy...

Emmanuel

to the Honduran people. to the fatherless families crowding into their one room homes for one meal, wishing for one thing...

Emmanuel

to the mothers whose very hearts were taken in blood, and the fathers whose angels now sing in heaven, back from school embraces ripped away by bullets

Immanuel

to all the weary travelers.
to all the broken vessels.
to all the empty hearts.

Emmanuel.

GOD WITH US.

THEREFORE

the darkness does not win,
nor does it understand,
how in the midst of so much sadness
true Light has entered in.

This Christmas I will cling to my God/Man Savior, who came to earth in the form of a babe for this very present darkness. I will cling to Him and think of this season, the promise that came. I will cling to Him and think of Easter, the promise that died and rose again. And I will cling to Him and think of tomorrow, and the promise that He. is. coming.

Told you so.

I recently downgraded to a smaller purse.
(I know. CNN-worthy material here.)

It went from something the size of a hiking backpack to something the size of (what feels like) a ring box on a string. (Slight over exaggeration, but not by much.)

Upon its purchase I was with my husband, who I adore. But on shopping trips he can occasionally be...less than convenient. When a girl goes on a shopping spree the last person she wants browsing the bargain racks with her is girlfriend Patty Practical. Lucas is her twin brother.

For example.

J-What do you think of this sweater, honey?
L-You have five of those already. Just in different colors.
J-Oh. Right.


J-How about these shoooooeees! They are perfect!
L-Why yes. They are perfect. For a librarian.
J-Hmmmmm. Velcro is a little outdated...

J-Well what about this spatula with cupcakes on it?
L-Wait...Do you bake now?
J-Shut up.


So you get the picture.
99.9% of the time I am so thankful for his honest and realistic feedback. The gratitude usually comes later on. Like when I review our checking account and see how much money we are saving by not turning my closet into a small department store.

But on that particular day, that .1% thought of "I want it" was steering the boat when I spotted what was (at the time) the cutest, small purse in green. It promised to me to be not just an attractive little tote, but a way to simplify my life through downsizing.

J-Ok,now THIS is practical. I know you will like this.
L-Is it a wallet? I thought you needed a new purse?
J-It is! See? My wallet fits IN it.
L-What about all your other stuff?
J-What do you mean, what stuff?
L-You know, girl stuff.
J-Girls don't always carry around a box of tampons if that's what you're saying.
L-No, I mean, your books and notebook and calender.
J-Don't need em'. I'm gonna be a free spirit. I don't need to be confined to a calender and I will write anything important on my hand.
L-(Long pauses with eye roll followed by a shocking...) Ok. Fine.
J-Really? Are you serious?
L-Yeah, now come on before I change my mind.
J-Ok, you are NOT going to regret this.

Oh regret.
I now carry you around inside the zipper pocket of my ridiculously-sized doll purse.

The first week we were in our honeymoon phase. I went to work and church as if an overflowing satchel was the most perfectly normal thing.

I can assure you. It is not.
As early as week two I realized there is nothing normal about a girl in a growing checkout line, holding up every Tom, Dick and Harry all because her wallet is jammed between her phone, mini calendar, 6 pens, 3 chap-sticks, a lollipop, and a myriad of coffee receipts.

The worst of it all is that he knows.
He knows he was right and how badly I want to buy every over-sized beach bag on clearance that I see. But my pride is too strong and I just can't bring myself to say those words out loud just yet. But it doesn't matter. Because as I said.
He knows.

I don't know how he figured it out...Maybe it's because I mutter "I curse the day I bought you" under my breath every time we are at a restaurant together and I go to grab our debit card. Or maybe it's the way I mysteriously "misplace" the thing everywhere we go...Who can say.

Either way, I have come to the extremely mature decision to handle this little dilemma by biding my time until Christmas. That way, Santa can bring me something a little more suitable to my toting needs. (Perhaps by then they will have come up with something on the market similar to a parachute with zippers?) Either that or I just need to get in touch with Mary Poppins and find out where she gets her carpet bags.

Tomater.

Bam.

Eat your heart out, Martha.

That's right.
Nothing to see here, just me getting my domestic goddess on with the ONE product of this summer's labor.

Mmmmhmmm.
Shoot, gurrrllll.

I am going to homemade-salsa that sucker UP.

Numero Dos.

On this day two years ago, I was dancing close with my suspendered husband-man.
Dancing like a fool with my friends and family.
Dancing in the night air and feeling like a million bucks.
There was cake and candles and kind words and I couldn't help but smile up at the night stars and whisper "thank you".

I was his, and he was mine. We had each other and had been brought together by a God that knew us both the best. He never completed me and I never completed him. We were two full souls that God saw fit to grow best right next to each other. Forever.

Two years into forever.
There is no cake or flashing lights or dancing.
I'm not outside, or in a fantastic dress, or touching up my make up with my sisters.
But sitting on my couch, looking across the room at my love, I see that what I thought was the greatest day of my life, was just a mere shadow of joy compared to the things that we have experienced together since.

And it's because of this that I still can't but help smile up at those same stars, whispering unending thanks for His unending Love and the blue-eyed soul mate He gave me to share it with.