On love and marriage. And rest.

At the present moment, I sit in the guest room of my brother's home as the sounds of the concluding numbers of the annual jazz festival waft gently and soothingly through the open windows from the park across the street. The time that I spent here, though a few days from being finished, has been so restful and rejuvenating. The greyhound adventure was rather calm, though it had its interesting moments, and I am beginning to feel more like myself.

The last few weeks have been truly draining. So many conflicts, both internal and external, waged war on my spirit and the grueling tests that ended the year were no help. As much as I love my community and all that I do in Joplin, I had to leave. I looked forward to leaving. Though I did not realize the extent of the damage that the last month inflicted, I did know that it wasn't healthy for me to stay there - the feelings that I had been suppressing were bound to roll over the top. I know suppression is rarely healthy but I think that it was in this case. I have a habit of imposing unfair expectations on people and then becoming quite disappointed when they fail to live up to them. While holding in all of my thoughts towards the end made the last days a living hell at some times, it saved the people I love from my hurtful words, and for that I am grateful. It was important for me to leave and process everything, in order to heal and be able to contribute to the community again.

Then the storm hit. If my emotions had been in shambles before such an event, the wreckage was far from distinguishable after. I have no claim on anyone's pity, because I was not there, nor do I have any right to call what I felt even a glimmer of survivor's guilt. Yet there was an emotional attachment to the city that made my heart turn within my chest. The few days I spend at home turned from a Sabbath to days of walking around with a heavy heart and great sadness. Hours were spent staring at the wreckage, trying to mentally map the pictures flashing across the television and computer screens. The time that wasn't poured into grieving and praying for Joplin was devoted to studying to become a re-certified lifeguard, and then I almost immediately shipped out to Oklahoma, a girl running on empty and ready for distraction. Even my quiet time, my time with Jesus, suffered greatly.

But in this home I have found greater peace than what I could anticipate. In the delighted smiles of my nephew and the long talks with my sister-in-law about love and marriage and family, I have felt joy. It is wonderful to feel someone pouring into me in the way that Erin is. It is wonderful to talk to someone who has been in my shoes and felt as I do, to talk to her about the beginning of her and Nathan's relationship and things that pertain to love and self-image. As I watch their little family together, I see a "someday dream," one that has come to pass for her and one that I still fervently pray for.

While I think I could remain unmarried for the rest of my days and survive, I know that I crave a marriage. I want to be a God-honoring woman no matter where I am or what my relationship status is, and so I pursue God first and foremost. Yet there are days when my someday dreams crop up and get the best of me. I want to embark on the adventure of marriage, of serving God together for life, of furthering the kingdom by two people, divinely unified for all days. But I think the God part is far more important than the two people part.

These thoughts (not regarding a certain someone, but in general) began to chyrstalize after a recent trip to the movie theater. I rarely go to the movies (before this one, I think I saw Toy Story in June). It's a lot of money for something that doesn't retain my attention well. And a long time to sit still. But some friends were going, and I decided I was in the right mood. We saw the movie Something Borrowed, with Kate Hudson and John Kransinski and a whole slew of other talented people. The story is that Kate Hudson is engaged to this guy who's evidently had feelings for her best friend forever but thought they were unreciprocated. The night of the friend's 30th birthday, truth is revealed and so begins the affair. For a long time it goes back and forth between them feeling awful about sneaking around and painting Kate Hudson's character as the bad guy. Surprisingly, months go by before the fiance makes a choice between the best friend and Kate Hudson. I mean, who saw that coming? A guy who's good enough to sleep with the best friend of his fiance doesn't have the stones to give a definite answer to either woman? Wow, crazy.

The movie really got under my skin for some reason. I'm sure part of it was my emotional vulnerability, though I wouldn't discount the annoying habit I have of analyzing everything that come through my mind and philosophically dissecting it in terms of everyday practicality. After wrestling with it for a few days, here's what it came down to:

I have come to disdain chick flicks. I'm tired of movies about desperate, lonely girls who do stupid things in pursuit of a forbidden man, who in turn loves them for their immoral and selfish ways, claiming great emotional connection as the end all be all.

That's not the woman I want to be. So am I doomed to single-dom? Since I want to have a man nobly and God-fearingly pursue me, respect me, love me? Since I want to fall in love once and have Christ at the center? Since I want to be in love with a man who loves me in spite of - not because - my character flaws, a man who pushes me to be a better, more Christ following woman? Since I crave more than an emotional connection, but a moral, intellectual, and spiritual connection that preludes any sort of physical or emotional vulnerability? Am I facing a future full of lonely nights and endless bags of cat food because I want the man I love to enable me, to push me and challenge me in serving God? Because I want a partner in ministry and a man to help in bringing glory to the King, the Creator of the universe and the Redeemer of souls? Does that rule our the possibility of romance and passion and deep, deep love?

Doubtful.

As much as I crave this experience, this connection, this love, as I much as I desire to be a wife and confidante and lover and servant to a man to whom I have given the days of my earthly existence and the trust of a life together, I could not be happy in a relationship lacking such things. I'd rather live the singe life forever.

Rarely am I comfortable sharing such intimate thoughts, yet there is a point in all my rambling. I'm tired of the lowering expectations for romance and building a life together. I feel like girls are falling prey to the myth that men can't be better, can't change. I'm not suggesting that withholding all affection and intimacy is the answer to a morally degenerative society, but I do think that - to some extent - when ladies have high expectations, men rise to meet them. I can't help but wonder how many men would become better leaders, better husbands and fathers, if woman could accept their identity as beloved daughters and sisters in Christ rather than pursuing an identity as a wife, mother, lover, girlfriend, etc.

It'd be an interesting experiment, I think. I could be wrong, I don't know. But that knowledge does not compel me to change the way I'm living. If my expectations are that morbidly incorrect, I think I'd rather miss out on the whole thing anyway.

Storms

A mere twenty hours after leaving my college hometown, a tornado ripped portions of the city to shreds. Most news sources have their own cover of the stories. We sat in front of the TV as the devastation became more and more publicized. The city is unrecognizable. My heart breaks for those who lost so much. It is unfathomable, especially as far away as I am. I know that it won't truly be real for me until I drive down those roads myself and see the lingering after-effects of such a power storm. How I long to be there with my friends, of whom I am so very proud as they continue to pour themselves out for their neighbors. I love watching them be the hands and feet of Christ, a truly united church serving their community.

Editorial Note: a friend just text me to report that the sirens are going off in Joplin and a tornado was sighted a few miles north of Joplin. Devastating. Terrifying. Oh, how my heart breaks.

Yet life goes on. We pray and we give and we pray some more. But ultimately, time marches on. The recovery and rescue attempts take less and less of our time and attention as the daily chores and information claim our focus. There's nothing wrong with this, I know. Yet it is hard not to feel guilty. It is difficult not to feel like a victim, even so many miles away. My heart is with those that I love in the city where I reside most of the year. But other responsibilities make it impossible for me to go back to this beloved place. If I could move back, I'd be there in a heartbeat. But I have to prepare for my summer, I've committed to spending time with my brother and sister-in-law, I have to move to camp. I wish with everything in me that I could spend these days in Joplin; yet I am excited about the things which will fill my days instead. And I wrestle with this. I know in my head that I shouldn't feel this obligation necessarily. I know that it is okay for me to be upset and appropriate for me to call on my Heavenly Father and beg for His mercy. But there is no place for my feelings of guilt. It is simply selfish.

But I cannot feel excited without this guilt. I go to update social media sites and can say nothing but to re-iterate my prayers for Joplin. My Facebook news feed is an odd blend of gruesome pictures of streets I drove down a few days ago and mundane daily news. The pictures look like something out of a bomb catastrophe. The trees are left barely standing, naked without the leaves or small branches to decorate them. Homes are simply a pile of wooden planks mixed with years of rubbish torn apart. It's indescribable.

Yet I still wish that I was there. I know that God is working mightily in that city right now, even as the citizens sit terrified in their basement.

I cannot conclude this post without relating my own mundane news. While I would love for my travels to take me to Joplin, I will instead be traveling to Oklahoma City on a greyhound bus. While I am quite familiar with school buses, I have never taken so much as a city bus, much less a greyhound. I am oddly excited. I am also excited to spend a week with some of my favorite people. And I am excited to go to camp in just over a week. Mostly, I am excited for life to go on, to move past this terrible tornado and to watch Joplin re-build, to see the lasting Kingdom effects of this devastation - to watch the beauty rise out of the ashes.

The Charms of Home

Home. Though I am only here for a short time, I intent to savor every minute of it. I love to rest, to read whatever I want, to have an entire room painted and decorated to my whim that I can enjoy. I love growing up and going away and begin to feel the anticipation of independence (a concept both terrifying and incredible exciting), I love to be back where I am taken care of, where I can walk out of my room and be greeted by things dating back a decade and - best of all - my family. I love going to church at LifeSpring and seeing all of the people who are near and dear to my heart. There's just so many wonderful people in Kansas City (although the metro area does not have the monopoly. There are several great people in Joplin as well).

However, my stay here is so very brief. Ironically, I am quite excited to leave. After resting here (and studying for a terrible test that is slated for Tuesday afternoon), I get to travel down to Oklahoma to be the most excellent aunt I can to my precious little nephew and to visit with my sister-in-law and brother for a week. I do love them so much, and I am really looking forward to getting to hang out with them for a while.

After that wonderful week, I'll come back to Kansas City, re-pack everything (well, not EVERYTHING. but lots) and move to West Central Christian Service Camp for another excellent summer of lifeguarding and shoot-outs with the nurse. I am so ready to be back at camp, and I am so looking forward to this summer.

I think the thing that most excites me about this summer is the prospect of growth, of training, of discipline. Last summer was a good forerunner, but I intend to be more intentional as the next few months' progress. I want to know more about God, to know Him better and trust Him more, to stretch my intellectual capacity, and to start running again. Oh, how I love to run. Some of my most intimate God moments seem to happen out on the road in front of camp. I am so looking forward to it.

Joy

I have found a new obsession. Coincidentally, this obsession is the best thing that I have ever done.

I wrote a little about the mentoring project I am working on in my last post. That little snapshot was a gross misrepresentation of the amount of time and energy that I have devoted to this. Since week of e (spring break), I have been working to pull this thing off. More than anything, I've been turning it over in my head, trying to see it, trying to make it real.

Well, as of May 3rd, it is real.

The reality of it still sends shivers up my spine. That one thought makes me feel like I'm on a roller coaster, about to descend the first real hill. My stomach leaps to my throat, and it's a bit hard to breathe. It's happening. This is my baby - the thing that I am most passionate about. And it's actually becoming a reality. The impossibility of it all strikes me more than anything. Like I said earlier, this is the best thing I've ever done. More than that, this is the type of thing that I have always wanted to do. It's a small piece of a dream that is intricately connected to my heart, something so intimate yet so public now. In many ways, it's bizarre.

It's still weird to hear other people talk about it. There's a part of me that selfishly desires to keep it close, to shelter and protect it, to maintain the monopoly of conversation on it. While that part exists, I'm still beyond excited to hear people discuss it. It's amazing how people have caught the vision and the passion that I have had, although I don't think anyone could love it quite as I do.

What happened on May 3rd, you ask? May 3rd marked parent approval. A dear friend and I went to visit with the parents after the Tuesday afternoon activity. Both parents received it extremely well. It was amazing the trust that they had in anything associated with the ministry, which only serves as a strong testimony to the work that is being done. It is an exciting time.

In the next few weeks, I will be introducing the mentoring pairs, helping to set up the first meeting, facilitating a training session for the mentors (speakers: the elementary school principal and a social worker), and making general going-out-of-town preparations. It's difficult, in some ways, to trust something so dear to my heart to anyone for such an extended time. But I'm excited too. I want this to change. I want to tweak it, I want to learn. I want this program to grow and to become better. It's scary to hold a dream out so far and let it be beat against and let it fail in its own right, but I think that is part of the charm to me. It is an adventure.

The fall will already bring several, more official changes to this program. I'm hoping to get grown-ups involved to serve as partners for the young adults who will be serving as mentors. I'm also hoping to compile more information regarding both the students and the volunteers who are involved. I am hoping to have lots more people involved. Ideally, I want this to become a volunteer-led, self-sustaining program that will continue to evolve and benefit people long after I leave.

The fall will also bring the opportunity for me to live in this community, to work harder and longer on this, to devote more time and energy to this. Not only will my housing situation make this more feasible, but also my course load. It's amazing to see everything come together, to watch the hand of God and recognize the opportunities unfold.

But if this whole thing falls flat on its face, my joy will not be any less. My God will not be any smaller. My dream will perhaps be scathed, but it will remain. I am only twenty years old, after all. I hope that this is not the best thing I ever do. In fact, I know it won't be.