my kind of martini

In case you didn’t know, my 21st birthday is in two weeks.

And I have big plans.

It’s a paper confetti martini! (hat tip to Color Me Katie for creating it  - the pictures are hers, too)

So fun,

so me.

I think I’m going for wild paper martinis and a sip of some classy wine or champagne or something.

And then lots of cupcakes.

I’m just that kind of girl.

on journaling

If you’ve been around my blog for any length of time, you know that I love to journal.

Well, maybe need is the right word. I can blame it on lots of things: I’m an external processor, which means I generally have little idea of what’s going on inside my head or heart until it comes out in words, through my mouth or the end of a pen; I’m a super tactile person, so I love the feel of the journal pages and the smoothness of the pen and actually handwriting it; I’m a super visual person, so I need to see pictures and words; and it generally keeps me sane.

I’ve gone through tons of different kinds of journals, too – the too-small-to-write-in ballet bunny diary with a lock when I was little, the book-bound and spiral-bound and hand-sewn journals now. I even use a notebook when I’m desperate. And while I’m not too picky - I love, love, love when they’re pretty. And they have to be lined. My handwriting isn’t great anyway, and when I’m writing fast cursive for-my-eyes-only – and when I’m praying, emotional, or in a hurry – it’s especially awful.

My last journal was a Moleskine. I had to buy a pack of three for an art class, and while I adore the smooth, creamy paper, I’m not doing that again. (Sorry, Moleskine lovers). A plain black cover is just so sadly not me. And I didn’t have the time or art skills to transform it at school. If I buy one again, it will be the light brown (or pink!!! I think they have that?) and I’ll have to stamp or otherwise decorate the cover myself.

This journal, however, is me-ish. It came today, and I am in love: 

People, places, things that mean a lot to me. And to see those pictures every day when I journal? To know they decorate the front of my journal? It just makes me happy.

Paper Coterie makes amazing photo products. And designing a journal that was very, very me – well, that is worth the extra price. But this week? They’re only $6! So you should hurry and make one just for you (or someone special!).

And no, they offered me no free promotions and didn’t ask me to blog about them. I just am because I love them and wanted to share my creation with you lovely readers And it’s conveniently during a sale! Yay for you!

ian & larissa

You’ve maybe seen this video circling around the blogosphere. It’s the love story of Ian and Larissa – but, greater than that, it’s a story of God’s faithfulness. And I guarantee that it will be the best eight minutes you spend online all day:

When people vow to love and cherish “in sickness and in health”, everyone hopes for “sickness” to mean the usual yearly cold. When we hear of marriages that survive and continue after an accident or disability, it’s incredible and heart breaking at once.

But Ian and Larissa began their marriage on those grounds. They’d been dating for 10 months in college and Ian was ring shopping when he was in a nearly fatal car crash. He had extensive brain damage. I’ve been reading their simple blog Pray for Ian for years, and he’s come so far. He can actually communicate with Larissa now, through words and not just blinking.

But there are so, so many things he can’t yet do – like walk on his own – and maybe won’t ever be able to do.

And they married anyway, years after the accident (which was in 2006 – they got married in 2010 or 2011, I think). They knew, fully, what they were getting into. And they’ve loved each other, praised God, grieved the disability, and been beautifully grateful – all through God’s grace. And they look forward to heaven more than anyone I know.

It’s stunning. Because everyone would have understood if Larissa had walked away after that to continue her own life with some shred of normalcy – or even if Ian never proposed, not wanting her to sign up for that life (well, maybe more the former. If she sticks with you, day in and day out, for three years following a traumatic brain injury, guys, you had better marry her).

It’s not human. No one can do this in their own strength. But in the midst of this pain, their story is bringing so much glory and gratefulness to God. I love John Piper’s words: “Being satisfied in God (or anything) always seems easier when all is going well. But when things you love are being stripped out of your hands, then the test is real. If God remains precious in those moments, then his supreme worth shines more brightly. He is most glorified.”

I really need to just shut up and let you watch the video on your own. But I’ll end by copying these words about Ian and his marriage from his brother:

“As a husband, I want to be strong for my wife. I want her to see me as a man in the same vein as Maximus Aurelius from Gladiator; a persistent and strong leader with good intent. In reality, I’m more like a child in middle school who’s trying to impress a girl but continually cracks under pressure.

 

But how can Ian, a crippled man who’s been stripped of many physical and mental capabilities, be this type of man for his wife?

Well, the most important aspect of service to your wife is soul-protector. How did Jesus best serve the church? By redeeming and caring for the church. He gave himself up for the church so that “he might sanctify her” (Eph. 5:25-26). He gave himself up “so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish” (Eph. 5:27). Husbands are supposed to love their wives “as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” (Eph. 5:25).

We cannot save people from damnation, but we can care for them. So, the best way a husband can serve his wife is by caring for her spiritual condition and seeking her sanctification. This is the most obvious way Ian serves Larissa, and he does it well.

Ian’s joyfulness and complete reliance on God seem to bring encouragement to Larissa, not to mention his quickness to bring God back to the center of things. Ian portrays faith like it should be portrayed: as common sense. God is good and that’s the truth, even to a man in Ian’s condition.

This should reposition my focus in marriage. The most important aspect of protecting, caring and providing for my wife is spiritual. Even if I were handicapped, unable to walk by myself, and relying on her for everything, the weight of her soul on my heart should be heavier than any other burdens I might have.

I should be more like Ian, because Ian serves his wife like Jesus serves his church.”

summer dreams

this summer, i want to:

blow bubbles to my heart’s content, and pretend with my little sister that every bubble is a wish soaring to the wishing star

find a field of wildflowers and pick myself a bouquet

ride horses in valley forge park (or anywhere. it’s been a dream for awhile and may not happen this summer – but it is a rather summery thing to do, no? Hence why it made the list)

go paddleboating. or kayaking. or canoing. something on the water. with someone who hopefully won’t mind that I am very, very good at paddling in circles

sing

read good books. books that feed my mind and heart and soul

write letters. the real, old-fashioned kind that require a stamp and a postman

delight in once again seeing the early-morning Philadelphia skyline, in riding trains and simply being charmed that I can wander around the city independently, have these internships, and learn so much

catch fireflies

listen to my summer songs: owl city & ingrid michaelson & the beach boys

love the sea: the sand between my toes and the ocean meeting the horizon and seeing as far as i can see

telephone calls and catching up with dear friends as i walk the Philadelphia sidewalk again, wandering around in the inbetween time of off-work and my train arriving

find waterproof mascara so i’m not a total mess when i watch one of my best friends (and my college roommate) become a bride

dance and celebrate at so many summer weddings

be grateful for every good and perfect gift from above

 

 

Identity

Five-minute Friday! Here we go, linking up to gypsy mama & her discussion of identity.

Is it bad that the first thing I think of when I hear “identity” is “identity crisis”?

We don’t know who we are anymore.

All too often, I don’t know who I am anymore. Or rather, I forget.

I love the way Annie puts it: “chasing a Jewish fisherman who calls himself Jesus” – and calls us His.

But you see, it’s so very easy to forget. The hardest thing about this upside-down kingdom is that, if the eternal is so much more important than the physical and temporary – it’s also so much harder to see, to believe in, to trust, to remember.

And so we go along trying to make an identity for ourselves. I’m a writer. I’m in public relations. I go to this university. I’m a woman. I’m this person’s friend, this person’s daughter, this person’s girlfriend.

And our identity is smotheringly, desperately clinging to those labels: writer. career girl. friend, daughter, girlfriend.

And it smothers our careers, hobbies, relationships. If something goes wrong in any or them, how can we not take it personally? It’s our identity that’s at stake.

And in the midst of this, I’ve forgotten to look up. He calls me His child, His beloved – and He promises that this will never change, it will always be the same. The more I find him, the more I’ll find myself and my real identity.

beauty

Last week, I met one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.

Physically, she was lovely. She was in her mid-fifties, yet honestly looked much younger. But that’s not what it was.

No matter how lovely and attractive a fifty-year-old can be, she won’t look like the twenty-curvy-super-skinny definition of beauty that Hollywood touts. But I love that God is reminding me to turn my definition of beauty on its head; that in a world that tries to make me feel both too-much and never-enough and always under attack – God reminds me that his definition of “inner beauty” isn’t just some kind of Biblical consolation prize for those of us who don’t quite cut it otherwise.

Because this women is one of the most beautiful and captivating women I’ve ever met. And I know my share of stunningly gorgeous girls – inside and out.

She came to my church’s women’s night on Sunday, for the first time (that I remember at least – but I’ve only been able to go this semester). And no one wanted her to stop talking. She was full of joy. She radiated more life – a quiet, delightful energy and love – than possibly anyone I’ve ever met. And she honestly knows Jesus personally. Her love in Him, and trust and knowledge of His love for her, is the realest thing in her life. It’s unshakable and absolutely captivating and inspiring.

Dear Lord, help me to know you like that. Show me your love. I want to love you like that. 

And the stunning thing? She has been horribly abused (in every way possible, and most abusers only pick one of the eight forms – hers didn’t) for fifty years. She just got free two years ago. Two years ago, her soul was crushed and I imagine that she was one of the most broken people you could meet. She held it together well – ironically, broken people usually do, with perfectly polished exteriors – but until two years ago, she had never known Jesus’ love and gentleness.

Yesterday, Mom and I were talking about her marriage. And she said something that literally made me cry. (If you’re not a crying person, let’s blame it on the fact that I was over tired and had just finished my college finals, okay?)

“Your father’s love makes me beautiful.”

(Go ahead. Tell me you didn’t just consider tearing up at that.)

In that context, it’s not even sappy. It’s just stunningly, beautifully true. And that marriage is a picture of the way Christ loves his church – and the way that Christ’s love makes us, me, his bride, beautiful.

And this woman is another living example of that. She is beautiful because of his love.

And she’s someone that I pray to become. One of those people who cannot help sharing her love and joy with everyone she meets. And a woman who inspires me to go home, read my Bible, and pray to know Jesus like she does.

She’s unforgettable. In a far deeper and more beautiful way than the latest cover girl.

God wasn’t kidding when he said that his beauty was far more beautiful and longer lasting than ours.

supposed to be

I’m supposed to be doing so many things.

But I object. I want to slow down. To remember, be grateful, create. To push the “pause” button on life and just love it.

Do you ever look back at your life and see days, moments, that are simply golden, the sweet memories that you will always hang on to?

I think of a magical picnic to celebrate my birthday last June, where Jessina packed a charming lunch basket and Jess and I danced in the lake (yes, in the lake) and time seemed to slow down, just for a moment. Or reverse. It was an old-fashioned girlhood kind of day; made more wonderful by the quiet beauty of the woods and lake and by four friends who, like me, sometimes wish they lived in other decades.

I remember sitting on a patch of grass under the starry sky and singing to our heart’s content with the same lovely Jess.

An impromptu sleepover with Melody where we were as giddy as six-year-olds.

Moments when friends have just been there and loved on me – Mel and Rachel hugging me while I was inconsolable over something, not minding that I was doing the ugly cry and they couldn’t actually fix anything – but just being there and loving me anyway.

Coaxing Katie into seeing Wicked with me – and being utterly shocked, as I usually am when my coaxing works, when she agreed to get standing-room tickets and watch it.

So many moments with the small one: the way she exudes little-girl love and gifts of drawings and shiny stones; the way her eyes open wide when she laughs, the way she lets me just hold her and cuddle her sometimes and the nights that she tucks me in at night because I go to bed first and she likes to feel grown-up.

The eight girls in my Bible study who I’ve fallen in love with, hard, this past year. So many moments and memories and laughing and talking and hugging.

A picnic in the arboretum just a few weeks go, good conversation and quietness and watching the stars come out and a movie. In the midst of a stressful and confused few days, it was a lovely moment of peace and rest and delight.

Walking into Philadelphia from the train station to my first internship last summer, wearing heels and watching the summer sun glint off the tall buildings and a skyline that I love. I felt old and young and absolutely charmed to have the opportunities that I did; that I delighted in my morning walks and the wildflowers I counted on the way to my office.

When I hit a note in voice lessons that I never thought I could, and my teacher looked at me with amusement. I told you you are a soprano. You just need to believe me. 

The dizzying whirl of my first successful viennese waltz two weekends ago. I was horrible and tripping over Robbie at every turn, but I didn’t fall down and I somehow stayed on my feet and he didn’t end up just carrying (dragging?) me across the floor the way Seidle graciously did last time. It felt fun and elegant (and who cares how it looked?) and I was glowing.

My first pair of point shoes, and the incredible number of connotations that has. Rite of passage into womanhood. Clumsiness and frustration. The smallest size anyone ever makes, because apparently I have such a high natural arch that my already tiny foot becomes even tinier when I stand on pointe.

The first time a boy – who I really, really wanted to call me – actually did.

People. Conversations. Friends who know you better than yourself, who you realize with a sudden surprise that you know their heart almost as well as you know your own – and they know yours. Jessina and I pointing out things about each other and understanding each other and laughing at the horribly uncomfortable confusion of life together last night.

The moments when something happens to briefly turn a room of strangers into a room of friends, and we smile at each other and laugh and think that people are wonderful.

Is “thank you” even sufficient for all this grace, beauty, love?

Gift

It’s five-minute Friday, friends. That means we all link up to Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama, and spend five minutes writing on the word she picks.

No editing. No worrying whether what you’re writing is coming out right. Just start flying.

Ready? This week’s topic is Gift. 

GO.

—————————-

You.

Do you know that being you is a gift? And that this thing called womanhood is a gift given to you that you can give back to the world?

I know those sound like pretty ideas. I know that more often than not we can’t figure out what womanhood is; it’s like that piece of clothing that you can’t decide is a shirt, dress or skirt (seriously).

Sometimes womanhood is ill-fitting. Sometimes the colors seem all wrong. We wonder why we can’t carry it off as well as she does; why our flowers die and we burn water and whatever else women are supposed to do and be that we don’t and aren’t and can’t.

We wonder if we can exchange it.

We wish it came with an instruction manual.

Sometimes, we try to shove it to the back of our closets and hide it and ignore it because we don’t know what it means and we’re tired of wondering and dealing with it anymore.

This is what it means:

you. 

Your femininity is not a one-size-fits-all gift that can be bought and duplicated. It wasn’t meant to look like the girl next to you. You may love make up or hate it; you may be a firefighter or an artist or a million other things and everything inbetween.

It doesn’t matter.

You were created to bring beauty into a world that needs it, that forgets what it is. To be strong. To be real. To bring your personality, your quirks and faults and gifts and offer what you have to make this world a better place, to restore it and bring healing in the way that only you can.

You are a gift. Exactly who and where you are.

And womanhood? It’s something we’ll all be always growing into. But it’s also something that fits your right now.

Thank you for being you. You are appreciated.

welcome to the duck pond

Where do people spend a lovely day on campus? At the duck pond, of course!

What do I do on a lovely day? Photograph everyone enjoying the ducks, of course!

on trusting and dancing

“Do you trust me?”

It’s not exactly a question typically asked by acquaintances. It’s the kind of intense, Jack-and-Rose-on-the-Titanic question.

But it was a lighthearted moment. We were rehearsing our samba showcase, and Devon was suggesting some of his favorite swing dance choreography. Then he realized that words weren’t quite sufficient to describe the move, and I was conveniently small and near bye.

So he held out his hand to me and asked, abruptly, “Do you trust me?”

I’d missed the whole conversation, so I didn’t really know where this was coming from. But in the context of dance, “trust” usually involves lifting. Or not turning your head to see where your partner is going. Or not dancing with a worried expression on your face that betrays the fact that you really don’t think your partner knows what he’s doing.

I’ll admit right here: I’m a sucker for lifts. And dips and falls and other cool moves. And while it’s sometimes difficult to trust real people in real relationships, somehow I’m mixed up enough to not mind trusting a good dancer to catch me.

{I’ll blame it on Andrew Evans, my first dance partner in high school. We taught our friends swing dance at a big barn party, and he was always championing the creed that if the girl is going to break her neck, the guy has to break his first. So I always assumed that all dancers believe that. They probably don’t. But regardless, Andrew has made it quite easy to trust other guys leading stunts. Although none of them have been too dangerous yet – something besides my head would always be the first to hit the floor if he dropped me. We’ll see how I do with the falls….}

So I said something like, “Um, sure!”

The next thing I knew, I was being swung around in a circle while he did something else cool. It felt like flying.

I made him do it again.

Have I mentioned I’m a fan of stunts?