Axe, the cologne.  

It smells.

Whenever I smell it I think of confused teenage boy, who is way overcompensating for his personal hygiene.

This year I teach middle schoolers and have been smelling it a lot lately.

The smell is strong and potent and for some reason it seems to elude the user to how much they have actually used.

Last Christmas I went home for a couple of days.  I usually don't bring any shower stuff home with me, I figure that I'll just use whatever is there; but somewhere in between me leaving for college 6 years ago and now my brother has grown up and started using less gender neutral body washes aka Axe. So when I was searching for something to use Axe was my only option. I thought, it can't be that bad.  My mistake.  I smelt of teenage boy the rest of the day and I swear a few showers after that.  It was like a skunk had sprayed me, I should have bathed in tomato juice to get it off.  The axe smell stuck and it was strong.

The other week I was walking through the middle school hallway, which is always a dangerous place in between classes.  As I was trying to dodge students on my way to discuss curriculum with a fellow teacher, I was attacked.  I didn't even realize it was there until I was in the middle of it.  I was engulfed in  a giant cloud of axe.  Sure enough, I turned to my side and there was Nehaimah spraying up a storm.  And I was trapped in the middle of it.  I was hoping it won't be that bad, but I was wrong.  Almost every student had a comment on it the rest of the day.  Some could identify exactly what was, "Ms. Tutt you smell like Axe, that's weird," a forward 7th grade girl, to others who are less versed in the world that just smelt something funny, "Ms. Tutt you smell different today, I don't like it," an outspoken first grade boy.  The smell was noticeable and strong.

Axe is long lasting and noticeably strong, something I desire in my relationship with God.  I desire to have a strong smell of the Lord in my life to others.  For it to be consistent, not wavering through showers of trials and troubles.  I need help from the Lord, who is transforming me, so that when someone meets me the presence of the Lord is so strong it is recognizable, it is something they can sense, but unlike axe, it is something they actually want to have for themselves.  Father teach me, change me, help me to be a refreshing smell to others.    

Recently I moved into a new house with some wonderful friends.  I have really love it, the late night talks, the early morning coffee, and the quaint rooms.

Each corner of the house is filled with beautiful, unique, and practical things.  Even though I spent a lot of time at the house before living here, when I moved in it instantly felt like a safe, loving, welcoming house.  Every corner felt this way, except the basement.

The basement is a great place to store extra clothes for the winter, furniture we aren't using, or the odds and ends that don't really belong anywhere else in the house, but you just might need someday.  It also is where the laundry machine is kept, which means I need to go down there every 2 weeks.

The first time I saw the basement I was a little scared.  If you asked my roommate my first reaction was to try to get her to come down with me, so I didn't have to go alone.  It is a spiderwebbed, decaying cement basement filled with many small nooks and different rooms.  She assured me that yes, she too was scared at first, but got used to it and it was fine now.

"You'll get used to it," was what I heard every time I feared the basement.

She was right, I was slowly getting used to it.  Running up and down the stairs more often and feeling more free from the fear each time.  And because nothing had ever happened to me when I was down there for my laundry, to turn on the fuse that blew out due to the air conditioner, or do help my roommate pick up the coat rack that fell for the third time that night,  it was beginning to feel safe.

So on Friday night when I was headed down the stairs to move my laundry from the washer to the dryer, I didn't have a second thought.   I hit the light and began to turn the corner to go down the stairs, when I saw the shadow of something fly across in front of the light.  Instantly I thought it was a bat, but then told myself that was crazy, it was probably a moth or maybe even secretly I hoped a butterfly.  I called out for reinforcements before going any farther.  Thankfully, Dave, was over.

As he came to the top of the stairs I told him the details of what I thought I saw, assuring myself the  entire time I was overreacting.  Being the great man that he is, he went down to check for me.  He walked down the stair,s looked for what seemed like a split second and said, "Yep, you got a bat."

This is when I would like to say that we calmly took action, but that can be said with truth for only one of us.

Dave: "Do you have a pillow case?"
Me: "Only the one I sleep on."
Dave: "Do you have a sheet."
Me: "Only the one I sleep under."
Dave: "Do you have a garbage bag?"
Me: (looked...) "No... but I do have paper bags."
Dave: "Ok, that'll work."

So down he went with the paper bag, as I stood nervously at the top of the stairs.  He came back up about five minutes later.  Didn't find it.

I considered just buying new clothes.

Dave had a better plan.  We both would go down and as I moved my clothes from the washer to the dryer, Dave would watch for the bat.

As we went down the stairs my heart was pounding and I made sure to cover my head with my hands.  I was quickly moving my clothes, when Dave announced "There it is!" I fell to the ground and covered my head.  I heard the bag fly through the air and land, but had no idea where.
Dave then told me to get up.
I refused.
He very calmly responded, "No, you need to get up, it landed next to your head."
I moved.

He had it under the bag, trapped on the ground.  After calming me down a little, he tried to smash it with laundry detergent and then a wooden bed pole that was being stored in the basement.  After hitting almost everywhere, almost certain it had been killed, he removed the bag.  Out it flew.

I jumped backwards, as Dave went after it.  He finally caught it and placed it in a bag, telling me to finish my laundry.

After the bat was disposed of, hopefully dead in the trash can outside, we came back in the house and instantly I  feared there was a bat in every dark corner.  I was jumpy and when I stepped on something I was not expecting to step on, I screamed.  I was a little shaken up.

After talking about it and realizing I was being quite ridiculous, and I calmed down. However, the next morning when the AC and the microwave were running at the same time, the fuse blew and I needed to go down to the basement.   It took a lot of talking myself into going down to the basement and assuring myself that the bat was gone before I could go.

How easily, we depend on our experiences and not the knowledge and truth we know.  I wasn't afraid of the basement when it had been safe over and over again.  I had depended on those experiences of safely to make my conclusion that the basement was safe.  But after an experience of not feeling safe, even though I know that the bat could not really hurt me and more than likely I would survive, my belief of what the basement's safety changed quickly.

Too often I base my beliefs on what I have seen and lived through, what is of this world, instead of what is eternal.  With God, I have promise to have no fear in things of this world because he is in control of it all, no need to worry.  This is easy to believe when I don't need to put it into practice, but the second it is challenged it is a struggle.

We are promised struggles and sufferings and I know that these challenge us on what we believe and know to be true and are placed in our lives to strengthen our dependance on God, to deepen our knowledge of who he is and what that means in our lives.  They are not promised to be easy or without strife, however they are promised to be constant in whatever situation, trial, or opportunity is presented in our paths.

So, whether my basement is with or without a bat, I have the freedom to not allow what is in my basement or what is happening in my life to affect me because I have the truth of my Lord to rest in always.  

Meet Will.





















Will likes macaroni and cheese in the shape of cars.
Will likes to clap.
Will only knows the word 'yes' and 'yeah', which I think means he is a  fairly positive person.
Will only plays with a toy for 20 seconds.

Will picks a toy out of the bucket, swings it around and then tosses it across the room.  Then Will picks another toy out of the toy bucket, swings it around and tosses it across the room.  This continues, until all the toys have been removed from the toy bucket.  Then he moves on to the next toy bucket or is ready for a nap.   When he gets up, the "playing" starts right back with the toys that had been cleaned up during his nap.

I think this is purely human nature.  The constant seeking out a new toy, a new prize, a new idea to pursue our happiness.  Often the things of this world do not measure up and we toss, moving on to the next thing.  Once we have tired all things in a certain area, we then move on to the next area, sometimes even back to an old area, but again this doesn't satisfy us.

Watching Will I saw myself at times, trying to fill the void with things other than God.  Instead of turning to Him right away, I turn to x.y, and z, each time realizing that the FIRST thing I should have fallen before was God.

I don't deserve His grace, even if I came to Him first, however after trying everything else He is there waiting for me, fulfilling me and yearning for me to come to Him time and time again.

Now if only Will would learn this lesson, the amount of toys I have to clean up would be a lot less.

hi.

I know i haven't written in over a month.

I have a lot of thoughts and ideas.

I will write again.

Patience is a virtue.

So it's been really cold lately.  Like freeze your skin, run all the way to your car and then scream once you get in there, wearing multiple socks cold.

I try to minimize the time I have to spend outdoors.  But I still have to go out here and there.  I had to run to the store on what the weather man said was the coldest night of the year so far.  I needed some highly promised candy for my class in the morning and I knew that a bunch of elementary kids weren't going to take "it was too cold out" for an excuse.

As I was leaving the store, and I'm pretty sure it became about 20 degrees colder while I was in the store somehow than when I went in,  I looked to my left and saw an employee standing next to the side entrance smoking a cigarette.  No coat, no hat, no gloves, just a bright red polo t-shirt with a slightly popped collar, which I'm pretty sure was for warmth, not looks.

She was braving the icy cold for that cigarette.  She so badly craved that cigarette that the weather warnings of not being outside for longer than a couple of minutes or else you would get frost bite did not seem to affect her.  The fact that she was not in a condition to be the cold, with her lack of winter gear, didn't seem to matter. She wanted that cigarette.

This got me thinking, do I crave Jesus as much as that women craved that cigarette.

Do I crave him so much that I would brave the elements just for a sweet, short time with him?  Do I put myself out of comfort for just a little taste of him?  Would I risk my life, or in this case skin, for Jesus?

This women probably goes outside to have a cigarette every break she has.   It doesn't matter what condition she is in or what is going on around her, she just wants a that cigarette.

Lord I pray that I crave you in that same way.

Why I'm not artsy.

I see things really beautiful and intricate in my head but getting them onto paper can be a challenge.  Explaining to people what I see and how I view things is difficult at times.  Sometimes I feel like a creative person trapped in a realist's body.  Most of the time what comes out is black and white, straight lines, and boring.

I guess I'm not artsy because it might just be a picture for me to see.

Since I've moved to the city I've made a new best friend.

We do a lot of awesome stuff together:
play basketball on the mini hoop
eat fruit snacks
do puzzles
build intense lego towers
watch windmill videos on youtube
read Dr. Seuss
eat lollipopsicles (a combination of lollipops and popsicles)

My best friend is two years old.

I love him so much.  The other day while we were eating breakfast and having a great conversation about firefighters and the noise that firetrucks make, I was just hit with how much I love him.  I love him so much it physically hurt.  It's almost impossible to describe.  Not the kind of hurt that causes you pain, but the kind that causes you to want the best for someone else, doesn't want the other person to ever be upset, and the mere thought of that person being hurt causes you hurt.

If I have this much love for him, I can't imagine what it would like to be his mother or father.  The love, the hurt must be so much it is unbearable and sweet, sweet joy all at the same time.

Such a love can come from people.  And people are sinful.

If it is possible for that love to come from people, I can't even imagine how much more a God, who is without sin, who is perfect in every way, who is eternally pure loves his children.

How can He bear it?
How much hurt does it cause Him?
How much does He want nothing but the best for us?

I can't even fathom His love. Love that He has. Love that He gives. Love that He is.

Amazing.

I really like to eat ice cream straight out of the carton.  Maybe it is my impatience, maybe it is my lack of desire to do the dishes or maybe my irrational belief that ice cream tastes better that way (which it does).  I love being able to dig right in with a large spoon and continuing to my heart's (or stomach's) content.  I realize that sometimes this leads me to eat more and that the next person to eat out of the carton is going to eat ice cream my spoon has touched and contaminated.  But ice cream eaten out of the carton is just better.

I think I need to eat more ice cream out of the carton in my life.

Sometimes I take more time then I need to before getting involved.  I take out the carton, get a bowl, get a large spoon to scoop, get a smaller spoon to eat, scoop the ice cream, put the carton away, find a spot at the table and then finally sit down to eat.  When I could have been eating the ice cream all along.

There are things that I know the Lord wants me to step into, but my sinful self resists.  I tell myself "I need more time"or "I'm not ready", when the those are lies I am telling myself. If the Lord wants me to do something all I need to say is "yes" and enter into it depending on His will and on Him for strength alone.

I can waste so much time getting prepared, analyzing the situation and coming up with other things to do.

You do need to rest in the Lord and seek His will.  And  there are times when I need to get out the large spoon, the bowl, the small spoon, find a good spot and sit down and eat.  I need to take that extra time.

However, sometimes all I need to know is that I'm supposed to eat ice cream, grab a spoon and dig in, And the Lord will guide me, strengthen me, support me the rest of the way, getting to eat more than I'm supposed to, getting out of doing dishes and eating a better tasting ice cream than if I'd waited.

I love words.

Whether it is the elegant way they are put together or the way they are stumbled through, I truly think they are beautiful.

I love how words sound when you say them.  How "gentle" sounds gentle and "harsh" sounds harsh.  Sometimes talk sounds like a cadence, the way the words accent on different syllables, the order in which they are spoken, the emotions they express.

I love how words are mixed in different ways to mean different things.  What is said first and what is said second determines so much.  How they are orchestrated gives a dimension to what you are saying.  Layers and depth to creating a statement a message in different ways.

I love how words are more powerful when there are fewer of them.  Simple phrases, like "I love you" and "I miss you", say so much in a short amount of time and can mean so much more.

I love how words in different languages still apply to the rules.  Have you ever listened to another language you don't know? I don't know any other languages well, but listening to them I can tell what kind of conversation they are having.  Whether they are explaining something, professing secrets, or just sharing the day, the cadence of the language tells you the story.

I love how words create a relationship.  Whether it be inner-city kids who live down the street or Mandarin Chinese across the world, once you have the language your relationship builds, misunderstandings are broken and words, secret words, shared words are used to share secrets, to share stories, to share life.

I love how words share. Timely but timeless.  Words can tell you so much about the time, the place the person.

I love how words are simple. And God chooses simple words for us to share. Words share Jesus.

Simple. Simply beautiful.

I am still at the children's table.

In my family as you get older you get to sit at the adult table, leaving the children's table behind.
I can't say exactly what makes you an adult, it might be getting a full time job, getting married, or even graduating from college.  Whatever it is, I watched as my cousins slowly disappeared into the next room.  The room with fancy silverware, the room with mature conversions, the room with carpeted floors.

A couple of years ago the adult table maxed out, meaning I would be perpetuity at the children's table.  Stuck forever in the room with milk, not coffee, linoleum floors for easy slip clean-up, and plastic cups.

I was pretty upset at first.  Moving up to the adult table was something I always looked forward to.  The adult table had a sense of prestige about it, a sort of mystery, and seemed to demand a respect from the younger, less mature cousins that hadn't made it to the adult table.

A lot of my friends have been leaving the children's table lately.  (Some are even having babies to fill their own children's table.)  They are stepping into these new, exciting, different stages of life where their responsibilities are more than just themselves.  While I remain at the children's table.

As I sit at the continually shrinking child table, watching people move up to the adult table, I thought about why I'm still at this table.  There is so much the Lord has been teaching me and showing lately, while I'm sit here.  I think that the Lord is refining me at this table, preparing me, making me ready and when I finally do get moved up to the adult table, I'll be ready or closer to ready than I am now.

So unlike my family functions, I will not be perpetuity at the children's table in life.  But I'm here now and for a reason.  I am realizing, learning and enjoying it while I'm here because someday I won't be at the children's table anymore, things will change, life will change, but that day is not today.  So, thanks for the extra time at the children's table, I know it will be well worth it.

I have two chores at my house.
The first is recycling.  I was told it was my job because I'm "earthy" and I am good at organizing.
Truth be told, I do enjoy recycling, I feel like I'm doing my part and have even created a system for organizing paper, plastic, glass and aluminum.

The second is vacuuming.  I'm pretty sure I was just given this job because no one else wanted to do it.  Unlike recycling, which happens every week, I often wait large amount of time in-between each time I vacuum.  I just don't think the carpet looks dirty, so I don't do it.

When I do vacuum, I enjoy it when I get to vacuum up an actual mess.  A spill on the rug.  Beneath the couch that hasn't been moved for months.  Recently, around a real Christmas tree.
It makes me feel like I've accomplished something.  I can see the mess disappearing.  I can see the result.

Sure I know that when I'm vacuuming up the less messy spots I'm still cleaning little microscopic dirt, hair, and other gross stuff that needs to be cleaned.  But it's not as fun.  It's not as enjoyable.  It's just not the same.

A lot of the times we don't see the result and it is not the same as seeing the result.  We can easily become unmotivated and lazy by the lack of result.  Of course when we see results we want to keep going, keep looking for more mess, keep cleaning.  We are motivated by what we see.
But we don't always see the results.  And I don't think we are meant to.

If we were able to see the result, the why, the reason we do it changes pretty quietly.  It's not about what is behind the action so much, as what you can get from the action.  
It's not meant to be about he result but about the heart behind it.  It's meant to be about the why, not the action itself. 

If we always saw results of every good work we did, it would too quickly increases our motivation from glorifying God to glorifying ourselves.  I think God keeps us from seeing the result to help us, to bring us closer, to help keep our hearts a glorifying position.

If I only vacuumed the big messes, the one I could see with my eyes, I would miss a lot of dirt that I can't see.  I would miss out on a lot and it would be just because I couldn't see the result. 

The first big snow of every winter always catches me off guard.  Or I should say I let it catch me off guard.
  I usually don't want to hear about it, I stop listening to the radio or watching the weather forecast.   I would just prefer to not know and pretend like its not going to happen.  Sometimes I even try to make plans on that day to show the storm that I don't really think it is going to be as bad as they say.

But it still comes.
And it usually is that bad.

On Saturday we had our first big snow.  My day started off with helping a neighbor push his car out of the alley for an hour.
Clue number one.

That should have told me it was going to be bad.  However, I continued to make plans, trusting it was going to stop soon.
It didn't.

When my cousin and her family came home and told horror stories of the road, I refused to listen.
"It's really bad out there."
"I don't think you'll be going anywhere today."
Sure...
Clue number two.

We even tried to look for the shovel, which we later learned had fallen over and become buried in the snow.  (Trying to dig out your shovel so that you can shovel out your car, ironic).

I still didn't want to believe in the power of the storm.
I continued to go about my day, avoiding windows, getting things done for the night, and ignoring all the talk about the snow.

At about noon I was forced to go outside to get something from my car.
From my car buried up to the roof in snow.
Clue number three.

Standing outside staring at my car I began to scan the streets. Seeing five cars stuck, no distinction between road and sidewalk and the absence of the number 5 bus on the corner that is rarely late, I started to let the storm affected me. I realized that it might actually be bad.

Entering the house my thoughts began to change, from there is no way this is actually going to happen to this is never going to stop.

I watched the window closely, believing that my car was going to be buried, believing I was never going to get to leave my house until spring, and believing it was never going to stop snowing.
But of course it did.

After the snow stopped falling and the wind stopped blowing there was a certain, uninhibited calm about it all.  I went outside to help shovel and the previous vacant streets were filled with people.
There was a family pulling their children around in a sled.  There was a couple walking down the middle of the street with hot chocolate. There were neighbors coming together to help shovel out cars, sidewalks, and driveways.

I began to think things might be normal again.

But as I stood in the middle of the street under the light of the street lamp I didn't want it to go back to normal.  I wanted everything to stay shut down. I wanted to live in the quiet. I wanted to live in the calm for a little while longer.

The day I fought so hard against. The day I didn't believe it.  The day that came anyways.
I wanted to stay.  I wanted it to stay a snow day.

I react to change in a similar way I reacted to the snow that day.  I want it to be my own plans, my own decisions, my own way, no surprises.
But thankfully God plans it.  They aren't my plans, they aren't my decisions, it's not my way, and there are surprises.
I can't change His plans, even when I pretend they aren't going to happen, it is not going to affect me or don't except the truth.
They still happen.
And I always end up realizing He is good.
I want to stay in His presence.  I want to be in awe of His power.  I want to accept His plans.
Because His plans are vastly better than mine could ever be.

Sometimes God knows that I just need a snow day to stop, look, and realize that I'm not the one in control, He is, and there is no better way.

next week.

i have a lot of ideas and thoughts i want to share, i just can't find the time.

soon. i'll blog up a storm. (and maybe about it too)

how i'll blog. 

transferring glory

If I tell you a really great story, chances are it's not mine.  When I hear a really great story, no matter who it happened to, I remember it and tell it over and over again; until everyone has heard it, then I wait for another one and do it again.

I love how stories are transferrable.

The best stories are those that don't require you to be there or know the person.  They are not the type of story that ends with, "I guess you just had to be there."  A good story is a transferrable story.

As I am finally starting to meet new people in the city I am hearing some amazing stories.  Stories about their jobs, stories about their weekend, and stories about friends.

However, none of these can compare to life stories.

Their story. His story.  Transferring differently.

The story about how the Lord worked in and throughout their life to bring them to this place.  A place of peace, a place of serenity, a place of silence, a place of repentance.

Even though I most likely will not be telling these life stories over and over again, they are transferrable in another way.

They transfer the gospel.

They tell of love, brokenness, grace, and salvation.

They are my favorite.

I am a story stealer.  Sometimes I tell stories that really happened to me, but most the time it is a story of someone else, heard from another mouth passed on, transferred.

But no matter what happens I will always have one story, my story, sharing the glory of God.  

leave them alone

After running today I took time to stretch before getting into my car. 

I know I should take time to stretch every time, but I don’t. I usually regret it.

  

This is the first time in my life that I drive somewhere to run. Previously it has always been ok with me to run close to home.  All of a sudden I realized there was more. 

But this isn’t about stretching, where I ran, or even about running at all.  These events combined led me to see the leaves.  Not the leaves in the trees, but the fallen leaves on the ground. The leaves that litter the ground. The leaves that blanket the grass before winter.  The leaves that are left there. 

Without driving somewhere to run, I wouldn’t have noticed them. Without taking time to stretch, I wouldn’t have touch them.  Without running over the grass, I won’t have been able to hear them.

Dead, crinkled leaves everywhere. No one had raked them, no one had touched them, no one cared whether or not they were there.  They were scattered all over the ground and I loved it. 

I remember when I was younger I had to help rake the yard, at least once every year (thanks to the wind it was usually 2 or 3 times). I never really questioned why you rake the yard. It is just something you did. We wanted green grass. We wanted everything to look nice. We raked the leaves. 

However, I think it would be better to leave the leaves there. 

In life sometimes we try to clear away the mess, the clutter, the extras, to make it look nicer.  Just like when we rake a yard to clear away the leaves, leaving beyond only green grass. 

But, it’s not real, no one is perfect all the time and a yard in fall without leaves isn’t real either. 

I was noticing how beautiful, even though dead, the leaves were on the ground. They made the ground look real, authentic, fallish (a new word). The same is true with trouble in our lives, raking it away to make it look clean is not real, it is not authentic, its not our life.

As I was driving home I was trying to think of reasons why the leaves would help the ground by taking the leaves away and I couldn’t think of any.  Now, I understand that there might be some reason that I don’t know about and cool if there is; however, what I do know is that even the ground that is not raked, such as that at the park, comes back in the spring as green with or without raking the leaves. 

What I can think of is a reason why the leaves would benefit the grass by not being raked up.  I might be wrong about this, as I have never had a green thumb, but leaves would be considered decomposition, dead material that helps the feed the ground, helps nurture it to grow.  The mess of leaves enables growth.

Similar to our lives.  I believe the clutter, the mess, the destruction, helps us to grow.  Being able to see the mess helps us to work through it, to learn from it, to nurture ourselves for growth.  

If we are constantly raking the leaves away, we are not allowing ourselves the material we needed to grow.  When we let the leaves fall, we can become aware that they are there and use them to nurture our winter season, so when spring arrives the growth can be even more beautiful.  

So, I am taking a stand.  I am not going to rake my leaves this fall, not because of laziness, not because of weakness, but because of the amazing growth in the spring. 

Hopefully, my neighbors will understand.  

middle of nowhere

This summer I've done a lot of traveling.  Driving from place to place is a strange to me at times.  I can step into a car somewhere familiar and when I step out I am somewhere completely new.  Every good road trip involves certain things, road signs counting down the miles left, quality music playing throughout the car, and friends to share it with. However, the beginning and ending are not what I am thankful for, it is that middle point, the point of no return.

On every road trip there is that point where you have gone so far that you know you aren't going to turn back, you've taken that step and the only option is to continue on to your destination.  It is a settling feeling, knowing that old place is long gone and you are on your way, along with a feeling of excitement, knowing that you will soon be at your destination, a new place.

Moving to the city about a month ago has brought me to this place and the Lord is teaching me to be thankful in that middle place.  I have left my old home, what I knew, heading to a new home, what is unknown.  I don't mean a new place physically like a town or city, but a new life, a new calling, a new purpose, not different but refined.

I am not sure what that new place is going to look like.  I have ideas that the Lord is given me before I left, however I know I have not arrived there yet. I am in the middle of nowhere surrounded by miles ahead and miles behind. As I look out the car window I see signs telling me I am closer with each and every step I take, however I am still traveling.  And traveling is what I am meant to be doing, working my way down the road, continuing to move.

Although I am far from the beginning and far from the end, the Lord is there with me, in the signs, in the music, in the friends.  For that I am thankful in this place of nowhere.  In the middle of nowhere, exactly where I am supposed to be.      

here

I live in the city now.
I am sitting in an independent coffee shop. People watching.
My bike has a flat tire. I still ride it.
I swear I have seen the girl sitting across from me before.
The place is overflowing with people.
I love the city.

I am thankful for the people of the city.  As I was riding my bike this morning I watched all the people I passed and realized how much I love it.  People living together, working together, sharing life together, being together.

I have been watching a large group of people in the corner of the coffee shop.  They all look like they are from different walks of life.  Some are old, some young, a few are more relaxed, while others full of energy.  They don't look like they belong together, but they have been talking for the past hour and it doesn't look like it will end soon.   They all have a connection.  I wonder if they are friends from life or know each other purely from this coffee shop.  A simplistic experience of place that connects them. Truth be told, it really doesn't matter.  I love how they connect, share and live.

I am thankful for the personality of the city.  I truly have a heart for it and love seeing people everyone. It is such a blessing to be able to hear different languages, see different colors, feel different emotions, enjoy difference.  Seeing the difference constantly reminds me of the glorious beauty in the different.  The vision that God created, the ART right before my eyes.

I still have no job.  I still have no specific direction.  I took a step of faith.  I am meant to be in the city. I love the art it creates.

crying happiness

Tears of joy come when you are so happy, so ecstatic that your body doesn't know what to do.  You are so happy that your body does the action that usually happens when you feel the exact opposite. So happy, you cry.

  

I am so thankful for tears of joy.  Other than being way better than tears of sadness, for obvious reasons,  I think it is one of the strongest and most rare emotions that you can go through. 

Crying tears of joy brings you through an emotion experience where you feel both a peace about the situation and a restlessness that makes you want to jump, all at the same time.  Sometimes it feels like you are going through ten different emotional responses, while supporting just one.  

Tears of joy can't be forced. I’ve heard of people who can cry on command.  However, I don’t think this is possible with tears of joy.  It’s not possible because there is a face that goes along with the tears.   A face that no one can produce on command, a face that declares your love for that exact moment.  

I was blessed to be in my friends' wedding a couple of weeks ago.  As the bride turned the corner and caught in the groom's vision, he began to cry ( along with 99 percent of the bridesmaids).  I could see the joy illuminate from this face.  I’m sure there are no words that could have described how much joy he felt at that moment.  So much joy that all he could do is cry.  

And as I stood there with the other bridesmaids half crying, half smiling at the situation. I thought, I hope someday I can make someone that happy by just the mere sight of me.  

Jesus whispered, " You already do."  

embrace

We sat at the pizza place across the street from my apartment, as I asked her what she would miss the most about the United States.  I have asked this question to so many of my dear friends from around the world this year and I usually get about the same answer.   They will either miss the people or the food.   It doesn't take them long to answer it and it is always as if they read that is what they should say in a book or something.  Expecting the same answer, I waited patiently for her response, but it never came.  Instead, she sat there thinking.  Then came an answer that I knew was full of thought and really what she would miss the most.

She said hugs.

I remember when she first came and we would hug her.  It was awkward to say the least.  Later she told me that before those first days she had never really hugged anyone outside her family before and even within her family it was rare.  She explained to me how strange hugs were to her and how she didn't even know where to place her head.  That soon changed. She quickly became one of my most warm and hugged friends.

She said she feels loved through hugs.

Again this summer I work with children ages 3 to 4.  As much as I try to enjoy them, somedays when the toilet is clogged, the entire box of cheerios becomes the artwork decorating the floor, and a bottle of orange paint is used as make-up, within ten mintues, I want to run and hide.  However, this is usually about the time they redeem themselves through a hug. A true three year olds hug comes out of nowhere.  It usually involves either a full-on run at you when you are sitting on the ground or a magnetic attraction to your leg, but either way you know that they whole-heartly mean it.  They wholeheartedly love you for you being you.  The wholeheartedly love you for loving them.  Their hugs have saved me many "bad" days and always seem to bring me back the next day with a smile on my face.  

Thank you Lord for the ability to love others through simple actions.  Without even saying a word we send a message that says exactly how we feel.
A simple hug meant more to one girl, becoming something she will never forget.
A simple hug reminds me of why I am there, just when I am about to forget.  

Near the end of the semester I found a website that had suggests on how to greet or not greet international students.  I clicked on Japan and it strongly suggested not to hug people from this culture, as they are not accustomed to it.  I laughed at how we had done the exact opposite.

The world seems to say a "simple" action isn't enough.  It screams "bigger is better" but I think the Lord works His biggest in the simplest.
And thats why I love to thank Him for the simplest in the biggest of ways.

no coincidence

the view from the top of my apartment building

So I've been driving a lot lately, therefore I've been listening to a lot of NPR.  For some reason I love NPR, the stories are so borderline boring that they are interesting.  There was an entire story the other day on a category on craigslist that was for people to post descriptions of people they saw on the street or talked to one day for a few seconds and wanted to meet again.  A chance encounter or glance that they thought might be more, their only chance at making a connection.

NPR did it again. The story struck me.  How powerful can just being in a certain place at a certain time be? How important is just "being there" to your story? Or maybe someone else's?

I don't believe that our God is a God of coincidence.  I am thankful for the way he orchestrates my life.  I don't think that there is such a thing as "chance encounters".  I believe that God has a beautiful way of stringing everything together and making it all work, all function, all happen for His glory.  I'm thankful for being able to be a part of such a beautiful picture.

The other day I was walking downtown when a lady asked me for some bus money.  I was with a friend and selfishly busy and told her that I didn't think so.  Without even taking a break in step.  I got about 5 steps when God yelled at me to stop, turn around, talk to her.  I told me friend, sorry but I have to go back.  We turned around and I asked the lady how much she needed.
Fifty cents.
Fifty cents was all she needed.
I gave it to her and she began to tell me about how her back was out and could not walk home anymore, therefore needing bus money.  Immediately, I had a heart for this woman.  I told her Jesus loved her and was about to ask if I could pray for her, when she screamed out in joy, "I know, and He is coming back for me."  I was floored by this woman's passion for the Lord through all of her struggles and situation.  She faithfully loved the Lord, through it all.  She believed.  But most of all she encouraged me.

That was not a "chance encounter" or a coincidence.  God placed her there in my life.  I am thankful for her and for the beautiful way God weaves together my story for his amazing glory.

I can't wait to see who else I will meet and what other people will come into my life, in all places, at all times, for Him.