All Stirred Up

And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near. (Hebrews 10:24-25)

I came across the verse on accident yesterday. A verse-of-the-day that pops up on my phone led me to Hebrews 10, but not this verse. As it turns out, there are a lot of great verses in Hebrews 10. I'll need to spend more time here in the near future. So, I sort of happenstansically fell into this verse (though I doubt that much with God is ever true happenstance), and it's been on my heart since I found it. 

Tonight, as I sat in a Greek Council meeting with representatives from most of the fraternities and sororities on campus, the conversation turned to an upcoming event that has been an (albeit less than stellar) historic tradition on campus. For the last few years, I've watched them come together, formulate some sort of lack luster plan, and then haphazardly attempt to execute it during Homecoming Week. This year, the leadership took a different approach. They came to the meeting pumped for the event, with a few crazy ideas that they'd love to see. And a funny thing happened. The room came alive. Students were talking over each other, laughing, coming up with crazy ideas, asking how far they could push the limits of possibility... They had become stirred up. They began encouraging one another, pushing each other to produce a better event. And they ended up more excited than I had seen any of them yet this year. 

The other day, I started talking with my boss about long term plans and the new building being built on campus and my place in it all. I later apologized for getting so tied up in possibilities or limitations, but my boss thanked me. In my strange combination of frustration and excitement for the future, he noted that he had felt a renewed sense of urgency and passion for projects that he had maybe not been pushing hard enough on yet this year. His heart was stirred up, encouraged to action, by my passion. 

This weekend, Derrick and I got in a stupid tiff about nothing, but in it's own way, it stirred us both up and got us communicating in a way that we really needed to. 

When things get stirred up, they aren't left the same. They can't be left the same. The trajectory is changed. The storyline is altered. There are lots of ways that people get stirred up. Stirred up to anger, to passion, to excitement, to action. Attitudes are contagious, for good and bad. Hebrews 10:24-25 reminds us that we need to stir each other up every now and again, stir each other toward love and good works. We are to encourage each other. We're not supposed to just let the story lie there on its own. No, we're supposed to change the trajectory, jolt people back to life through passion and gifts and action, stirring them up. This week has been a great reminder of all of the ways we get stirred up and all of the ways that I want to intentionally stir up the people around me. And I look forward to being stirred up all the more by those around me, encouraging me toward good and love. 

Time to get stirring, people! 

Faith to Move Mountains

"For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you." Matthew 17:20

Some days, I feel like I'm standing at the base of the proverbial mountain discussed in the book of Matthew, shouting at the top of my lungs, "Mountain! Move! Get out of the way." And to God, "God, I believe you can move this mountain. But it's not even trembling. It's not moving, God. Why?" 

Oh, He could move that mountain. He without a doubt could pick it on up, turn it on it's tiny little peak-side, and set it down in perfect balance somewhere else as proof of His ability to do the most impossible of things. Or He could smash it into a million pieces in front of me as a testimony to His great strength and power. He could make that mountain do a jig or roll it out flat like a red carpet or part it down the middle like the Red Sea. 

Not only could God do any of these things, sometimes He indeed does. And oh, how we praise Him for the miracle He produces in front of us. And then we walk on over or around that mountain and go on with our lives. I move on in life, impressed and thankful, but perhaps otherwise unchanged. Yep, sometimes God moves mountains. But what about the times when I'm standing there shouting at that stupid mountain in legitimate faith that God can move it and He doesn't? Is He ignoring my cries? No, He knows me too well. He knows that I need to learn and grow lest I miss the miracle. So instead of just moving the mountain, He is holding out His hand and asking me to move it with Him. One stone at a time. 

So I pick up one stone. It feels heavy in my hands. But God stays beside me. I walk it off the mountain and place it on the ground. Then I go back for another. And another. And He stays by me. When I get tired and sit down for a rest, He's still there. When I get frustrated by the assignment, He doesn't give up on me. And one by one, the stones begin to come down, and with each stone, I gain strength, maybe a little more understanding. I learn to move stones and listen to God at the same time because He's stayed by my side. I keep trusting, keep learning, keep growing. And then one day, I look up and the path is clear, the mountain is gone. 

But that's not where I am today. I know that day will come. But today, I'm at the base of that big old mountain, the one I've shouted at for so long, with one cold heavy rock in my arms, knowing that this will not be easy, but God is still good. And this mountain will move. 

Praying when you don't know exactly what you're praying for...

Umm.....uh....well, I guess... Okay, so... Sigh. 

Look, I don't really know what to say here. I don't know even really how I'm supposed to feel. You've brought me to this place, I have not doubt about that. You unsettled me, shook me up, in ways that only You could know I needed, and now here I am. Sort of confused, but not really panicked. Sort of frustrated, but not really angry either. Am I just supposed to keep trusting, God? Things aren't really any clearer than than were before. I guess, well, I guess I'll just keep hanging on.

---

What happens when you know you need to pray but you have no earthly clue what exactly you're praying for? Lately, in a battle of trust with God, I have found myself stuttering and stammering around without much direction of my own. But I'm beginning to think that maybe God's getting me right where He wants me. My pride is being stripped away, one situation at a time, and I'm left with my arms in the air wondering what's next, completely clueless. 

In these moments, who can I rely on? Who can I turn to? Certainly no one around me has answers for me. When the path is dark, and I'm not sure if the ground is going to be under my feet, the only thing I can really do is look up, take a deep breath, and cling to the hope that I know God knows what He's doing. 

Romans 8:26-27 reminds me that it's okay to not have words. 

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

 This has happened to others. I am not the only one who has been speechless at the throne of God, as I wait for His will to be done. And through my speechlessness, through my blabbering random ramblings that don't make much sense, the Holy Spirit, who knows my heart, not only speaks on my behalf, but He groans without words according to the very will of God. Which is exactly what I want. Even if I don't know how to ask for it.

Choices

This morning, one of my favorite traditions at UD took place: Opening Convocation. I'm not sure what it is about convocation that I adore so much, the faculty dressed in regalia for the first time in an academic year, the choir, singing hymns with students, staff, and faculty all around... 

This year, one of my favorite professors gave the address, and it was simply titled Choices. She walked the congregation through the story of Joshua ushering God's people into the promised land by first gathering them into an assembly. He urges them to reject the gods of the people around them and serve the Lord, but that either way, it was up to each person to decide. The moral of her story was that it's not just the one life-choice of accepting Christ into your heart that is the decision to be made, but rather it is the choices we make in the everyday situations we face that turn our hearts toward God and away from other gods and idols. 

Entangled in this message was the central idea that the people were set apart, selected, to come into the promised land, and we are also chosen, set apart to serve the Lord where we have been placed. But it's still a choice. A daily choice. 

The past few weeks at work have not all been exactly spotlight weeks for reminding me of my love for UD, but today, today was a reminder that stood apart in stark contrast. As I looked up at the stage, filled with faculty and administrators, looked around at the students, the staff, I was reminded that my purpose is to be right here, right now, serving this group of people in this place. God has placed a love in my heart that allows me to pursue my purpose with a reckless, tireless abandon for His glory and for the betterment of this part of His world. My life is a part of the greater narrative, the story of the world. God equips me to work and serve out of love for Him and His creation, and He uses me as a tool in His plan for restoration in His kingdom. 

"...choose this day whom you will serve...But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."  Joshua 24:15

...use them...

Okay, so my timing isn't great. I mean for me. It's 8:10 pm, and I'm still sitting in my office, trying to dig out from several days of orientation related emails, voicemails, post-it notes... And of course, tonight, for the first time in what seems like forever, I feel compelled to write. Well, it may not be great, but it is pretty textbook me. And really, the timing is probably more like just about right. 

It's busy season around here, and I do mean busy. Orientation programming is upon us, and we've got 600-some students coming to campus on Saturday and Sunday, and somehow this campus expects me to do something with them. Something fun. Something meaningful. Something that will keep them here. No pressure, right? I've come to embrace the challenge, the first year, out of ignorance, and every subsequent year, out of stubbornness. 

As can have a tendency to happen around this time of year, I go from highs to lows and back again. Who knew Orientation planning could be such an emotional experience? The students have been doing great, and if I do say so myself, I've even been doing pretty great. (It is possible that in the past, I've been good for at least one major meltdown, usually embarrassingly in front of students that look to me for guidance and a plan and a general lack of panic.) But today, someone called me with an asinine request for this particular time of year, and though I handled it okay in the moment, the emotional backlash for me was generally unpleasant. I immediately fell into a deep hole of self-pity, wallowing in the fact that I don't get paid enough and that certainly no one understands even one iota of what I do, so unfair, so exhausting, blah, blah, blah. 

Here's the thing. It's mostly true. People don't really have a great grasp on what I do for a living, but generally speaking, it's viewed favorably. That's a win. I am probably somewhat underpaid, but to be fair, I do a lot of things that probably were never asked of me to complete my job. Here's the real thing. I can't not do what I do. I've lost a few of you here, I know. Let me explain. I've been given this job. I've been given my gifts of masterful detail managing, beautiful big picture viewing, people skills (and yes, I do sometimes consider intimidation a gift), multitasking skills, stress management skills, spreadsheet skills (can that be considered a spiritual gift? sure.), and a love of people that makes all of the other skills worth having. I do all that I do because God has given it to me to do. I love God with every fiber of my being, with every chaotic moment of the day, with every success cheer and disappointment tear. I love God. And that love makes me want to do more, use my gifts more, fight more for good. Do I have to do it to please Him? No. He is pleased with me just because He made me. But He made me with these gifts, and out of gratitude I do my best to honor Him with the good stewardship of those gifts. 

I don't need money, though it's nice to pay the bills, and you know, eat. I don't need recognition. In fact, sometimes the lack of recognition is a signal to me that things are going so well that my work doesn't even seem like work (you'll just have to trust me that it really is a lot of work). I don't need people to even really see what I do to make it worth doing. I just want to love God. The work that I do is not always easy. Some would even argue that the work I do seems downright torturous and terrible. And frankly, some days, maybe it is a little. We weren't promised easy living. We weren't even promised pure joy in our gift-sharing. Sometimes using my gifts is more like sacrifice, more like pain, a little more like suffering. But it still brings glory to God. And that's why I keep pushing, keep working so hard. I can't not. I am inspired to it. 

So, I climb back out of the pity-party pit. I brush off the dust, and I get back to the work that God has given me to do with the gifts He has granted me to do it with. Glory to God.

Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them… (Romans 12:6)

Surprising Strength

I'm midweek through my annual mountaintop adventure in Colorado, and so far, it's been mostly good. I had one minor meltdown after a back road discovery was made; it was a literal you-can't-get-there-from-here situation. But with some quick thinking and a little luck, the trip was saved, and we've happily relocated to a new town. 

After the first day, I knew something was different than previous trips, but it wasn't until the end of the day that I knew what it was. Though I was typically slow on the start as we headed off into the woods with layers of clothing on, pretending not to be cold at 4:30 am, I discovered as we went that I had developed a new strength. It was partly physical strength, and after the first day, I noticed that for sure. After the second day, it was even more noticeable. Today, as I continued to encourage my dad up to the summit, it was profound. I am strong. My legs hold me upright and carry me onward in ways that they had not in previous years. Tonight, I know that I'm ready to go another three peaks in two days. 

But what is even more significant to me is not necessarily my physical capabilities, although exciting, it's the significant change in my mental strength. I was trying to explain to my dad how I knew things were different. And the best I could come up with was that I think people usually have two voices in their heads when they're trying hard things. One says, Give up. It's too hard. You don't really want to do it anyway. Is it worth it? The other cheers you on as if what you're doing is the greatest thing on earth. What you hear from that voice is, Yes, yes, yes! You're going to do this! You LOVE this! Yes!

Over the past year or so of running, I have learned that although running has its physical benefits, as displayed this week, it has given me so much more. I have learned over countless miles, good days and bad days, to push back the voice of defeat, the one that tries to convince you to stop whatever it is you're doing, and tune into the cheers of the voice that says I'm stronger than I know. 

Today, on day three and peak four of our trip, toward the end of the decent, I found myself, strange as it may sound, desiring to run down the hill. My arms came up to my sides and a slight bounce came to my step as we worked our way through the rolling meadow back to the trailhead. I was astounded. Where did this come from? This energy, this strength? The cheering voice in my head is getting louder. Perhaps it's time to get serious about endurance sports...

When God says wait (a post NOT about patience)

Surely by now, you are quite familiar with my issues with patience. I've written about them enough, and I certainly exude impatience through my very lifestyle. Tonight though, I am not going to write about patience. No, I'm actually going to talk about what I'm doing while attempting to be patient. Because my lack of patience isn't going away. But I think there's a far more important focus at hand. Trust. 

The specifics of the situation aren't particularly important to the lesson I'm sharing with you, though they are quite important in the grand scheme of things. And perhaps somewhere along that grand scheme, the details will all come to light, but the shortest version of the story is: God told me to wait. 

Huh? Yep. A situation presented itself that I desperately desired an answer for, and God told me to wait. Clear as day. Unmistakable.  

Wait. 

Really, God? I don't want to wait. I want you to tell me now. I want a sign, some sort of writing on the wall, show me something. 

Not now.

Mmmkay. Usually, like a toddler, I would press on for my answer in a fit. Kicking and screaming and throwing myself on the floor and all sorts of other unpleasantries. Usually, I would start setting up signs for God to speak through. Usually, I would panic.

But for whatever reason, after fitting for a small while, my heart softened. My restlessness quieted. It became clear to me that I wasn't supposed to ask for a sign. I wasn't supposed to rush to find an answer. I was just supposed to trust. 

Trusting God seems like a very Christian thing to do, doesn't it? How lovely. Of course I'll trust Him. Ha. Trust is HARD. Trust takes WORK. Peace does not come naturally with trust. I find I must seek out peace in the Word and through prayer when I'm learning to trust. But honestly, the more I draw near to God's heart, the more trust I have for Him, and the more peace I find in Him. Why is that so difficult to remember?

But you know, if the only reason to have to wait on God is because He wants me to draw nearer to Him, to seek out peace in Him, then amen and glory to God for that. This isn't a battle of wills, who can outlast whom in an ultimate game of high-stakes trust. In fact, I don't really think it has anything to do with patience or risk or stakes at all. No, this is about God's heart. And my heart. And the two being closer together than they were before. And for that, I will wait. I will trust. I will find peace. 

Isaiah 40:28-31

Thoughts on Christian Music

It's sort of funny how my mind grabs onto one or two little tidbits of conversations or I read something on a blog, and I can't really let them go without sorting them out first. Honoring that today, I want to spend some time reflecting on why I listen to, enjoy, and sing primarily Christian music. It actually seems like a remarkably simple concept, but I suppose that even the simplest ideas sometimes need to be dug into, considered in new ways, and justified in one's heart from time to time. 

I started listening to Christian music probably around middle school, at the encouragement of someone at my church. Prior to being introduced to it, I didn't even know such a genre existed. The only music I knew was what this sheltered child heard on the shuttle bus back and forth to school each morning and afternoon. Looking back at that first introduction to Christian music, I remember being attracted to it not only for the sound (because arguably, I was listening to some pretty corny '90s praise music) but because my heart, even my young heart, immediately recognized something different about how the words impacted my heart. Regular radio music, songs of love/lust, partying, summer days, and whatever else, never reached into my life. They never caused me pause. But with Christian music, sometimes I would find and read the words over and over realizing that they meant something, they called to a part of my heart that loved God greatly. 

Fast forward to today. Christian music still does the same thing. When I listen, my heart is touched, as if God is sometimes speaking directly to me through the lyrics, even through the melodies and harmonies. Now, granted, Christian music is not always a gospel message directly, nor is it always even directly about God. There are songs about forgiveness, loving others, healing past hurts, having a good or bad day... Music is not the gospel. Music is not the Bible. Music was never meant to be these things. 

I guess, when it comes right down to it, I see music as a tool. A technology, perhaps. When I listen to Christian music, I am reminded. I am reminded of my Creator, my Savior, the cross and sacrifice made for me, about right living, being human, about great love. My heart is inspired. I desire to draw closer to God. I am emotionally impacted, moved to feel deeper. To me, music is a lot like murals or sculptures. A lot like visual representations of the cross. Like taking communion. Like a devotional book. Like a sunset or a rainbow. To varying degrees, all of these things serve as reminders of God's love. 

I don't know that there's anything inherently wrong with listening to non-Christian music. There's a lot of great music about other things. I enjoy this music from time to time, too. But I find myself becoming more and more discouraged about mainstream music. Increasingly, as I listen to lyrics, I realize just how many songs are representative of the world and what the world sees as acceptable. Drugs, extramarital sex, drinking, partying, hurting others or self, violence, hatred. These are things that I know are a part of the world we live in, but it doesn't mean that I want to dwell on them, to be reminded of them. If I have the choice, and usually I do, I am going to choose to be reminded of the things of God rather than the things of the world. 

There you go. A very long-winded way around a simple topic that just wouldn't let me go today. Thoughts? Arguments? Challenges? You know I like a good debate.

Such a Girl

Sometimes I wish I wasn't so much of a girl. I mean, clearly, I am indeed a female...not sure there's any confusion there. But some females are rational, calm, even-keeled people. Others deal with a mess of emotions, looks, reflections, crazily analyzing everything to death... That second one, that's totally me. I read this usually satirical, hilarious blog about Christian living that makes fun of reserved pews, drums in church, worship leader dress codes...but this one reminded me a little too much of me: http://bit.ly/KRuIas. 

I am SUCH a girl. 

I spend a lot of time fighting my girl-nature. I try to look "natural" but always end up wearing makeup. I try to sit quietly and enjoy conversation around me but usually end up talking too much. I buy clothes that make me feel like a pretty princess. I try to keep my emotions in check but end up crying at pretty much every emotion (afraid? yep. overjoyed? yep. overwhelmed? oh, yes.). I like having my nails done. I like dresses. I like curls in my hair. I think about everything way too much. Everything. All the time. I've actually even had people tell me that maybe I just need a break from reflecting on everything so much and just try to enjoy things for what they are. Far too much thinking. 

But here's the thing about girl-nature: God made women. And God made men. And God made them drastically different so that they could compliment each other. If we were the same, we just wouldn't. And we wouldn't need each other. 

Men's hearts don't necessarily always dwell on things like women's. They can process information far more objectively. Thank goodness for that! Men are brave and fearless and strong; they protect and shelter and give of themselves in their strengths...because they were made that way. And women feel deeply, love deeply, dwell in moments and create significance out of them; they give of themselves in their own strengths...because they were made that way.

I believe that men and women were made differently to represent to the world different facets of our Creator, a complex and wonderful God. Together we tell the story of salvation to the world around us, just by living into who were are. And one day, that love story that we tell in a fractured, frail way during our time on earth will be told perfectly in the return of Jesus to reclaim us as His own. 

So, let me change a previous statement... I AM such a girl. I was created that way. My femininity complements men's masculinity because it is supposed to just as God's strength compliments our weakness because it is supposed to. So here's to mascara, pink dresses, do-I-look-pretty-Daddy?'s, tears in all circumstances, just the right pair of shoes, too much reflection, analyzing everything, talking too much, sappy movies, intoxicating perfumes, and blushing at compliments. I'm God's girl, and He created me in just that way.

Funny how attending a wedding of a good friend gets a girl thinking about such things...

A Real Professional?

Today, for the first time in a while, I felt like a REAL professional. Now don't get me wrong. I've been a professional for a number of years, clearly working in the field that I have a passion for, even seeing a few successes along the way. But today, two things happened that made me pause and think that perhaps I'm a full-fledged grown up now. 

First, I was taken out to lunch by an administrator...nothing too terribly new here. I've been taken out to lunch before and taken folks out to lunch before. But this one struck me as a little bit different, a little bit more of a glimpse into the world that I will more than likely one day be a part of. We went to the Country Club. Now, don't laugh. I know it wasn't any big deal. But there were sharply dressed golfers here and there. Well-off families and children were swimming in the private pool. The standard apparel for all employees was a navy blazer with gold buttons. Every third car (including the one that escorted me to lunch) was a BMW. And we walked in to a whole slue of "Hello, Mr. Dendy!"s and "How are you today, Mr. Dendy?"s. I felt out of place to say the least. 

I'm not an administrator. I'm not wealthy. I don't golf. But someday I will probably be an administrator. The wealth at this point is questionable (silly economy). But shoot. At some point in my adult life, I'm probably going to have to learn to play golf. How, exactly, did that end up being the affluent professional's game of choice anyway? Perhaps I will set this as one of my first goals after I complete my degree so that I'm not learning in a panic when I'm fifty and applying for my first presidency when I suddenly get invited to play a round as a way to get to know the administrators at a prospective school. And certainly fundraising is impossible without golf, right? Golf outings seem to be the standard in professional fundraising efforts these days.

The other, far less surreal but far more significant REAL professional quantifier happened when I got a phone call from one of my favorite faculty on campus. I answered and she said, "Pack your bags, we're going to Indiana." Of course, I knew what she meant. Our proposal to present at a national conference had been accepted. This is huge first in my career trajectory. Conference presentations typically lead to further invites, potential publication, and some peer notoriety, all of which will become crucial as I work to set myself apart from all the other middle managers out there trying to work their way to the top. A not-so-secret goal of mine is to have at least one article published in a journal prior to completing my dissertation. The reason? If for nothing else, I would revel in the opportunity to cite myself as a source in my own dissertation. Because really, how many people can say they did that? 

After all of the cloud floating that happened today, I was quickly brought back down to earth this evening as I returned to my messy, perhaps-a-teenager-lives-here house, my unmade bed, my piles of laundry, and my list of homework assignments to complete. As much as I felt like a real professional today, I now feel in equal measure like a real adolescent. But the truth is, that most days I live somewhere in between. Content to be one of the younger ones at the table while still taking the opportunity every now and then to command a room's attention as a professional. Leaving the dishes on the counter while still managing to get the bills and loans and mortgage paid. Running around in flip-flops while occasionally donning the one power suit I own. I kind of hope I never lose all of my inner kid style. Can a university president be a bit of a prankster? Are windows-down-stereo-up attitudes permitted from time to time in a professional's world? Perhaps as long as I take time for a round or two of golf...

The Patience Perspective

I've probably written about this before, but I am not a very patient person. In general, I don't like to wait, or maybe just don't think I should have to wait for things. Sayings like "Good things come to those who wait," are usually completely lost on me. I've been known to forge ahead blindly, push hard to get what I want, and sometimes even blow on stoplights to make them turn green (Corrina, Corrina reference). When people tell me they're praying for patience for me, I tell them to STOP IT! Do you know what God does when someone prays for patience? That's right. He gives them opportunities to practice it. No thank you. 

But like it or not, the last four weeks have become a bit of an exercise in patience, as I have been working through a silly little foot injury. I don't consider myself a running nut by any means. I've never done a marathon; in fact, I'm still contemplating my first half marathon. I don't run just everyday. But I did have a goal this year. I wanted to run 500 miles this calendar year. And I really just plain love running. It's my space, my breathing room, my energy booster. And four weeks without something you love is a really long time. Especially in peak season. Especially when there's a goal on the line. 

I've done pretty well to be patient during this time. I have listened to doctors. Rested A LOT. Tried other workouts. Today I was given permission to test the waters after a month of rest, and I was not optimistic. I figured I would head out the door, down the hill, and hit my favorite trail just in time to be in a lot of pain and grumpily mope back to the house. Not exactly the best attitude, I know. But I was pleasantly surprised after the first five minutes to still be pain free. So I went a little further. But then, something clicked in my head, and I thought take it easy. When all I wanted to do was get out there and pound out a mean five miles, my patience actually kicked in all by itself. A nice steady slow start this week and next may be just what I need to actually remain pain free instead of just be hurting again tomorrow. This natural patience thing kind of caught me off guard, and I'm sure it is not going to be a universal application in my life suddenly, but it's certainly a start, right?

I learned a little something else about patience this time around. Sometimes when we're forced to wait on something, we get creative. Sure, waiting sometimes has its merits, but when it doesn't, it turns out that there is more than one way to get from point A to point B. For me, not running gave me a new temporary mission: find a bike. And yesterday, I bought a used road bike as a means of working out while giving my foot a little more rest. Why I didn't think of that four weeks ago is beyond me, but hey, I'm new to this patience thing, so give me a break. 

I'm sure that whether prayerfully requested or strategically absent from my prayers, patience is something that God is going to work on me either way throughout my life. I will probably kick and scream the whole way, but eventually, I might even grow a little. All that from a broken foot? Not a bad lesson or two. Thanks, God.

Bravery

As another academic year wraps up, I've been reflecting on what this year had to offer me, and even what I had to offer it back. 

As for what I offered to the school year, generally speaking, I brought a much calmer and more even-keeled professional (at least on the outside...most days). I offered an unrelenting energy, just going at it from all angles, at all hours, all days. There weren't many days off at work, in classes, or in all the other of life. August, October, and April tried to run me ragged, but I kept pace just fine without a single incidence of napping in the office break room, life threatening injury or illness, or even major psychotic breaks (though I will confess to at least one minor one). 

And what did this year offer me? Upon reflection, especially of events of the last few months, this year has provided me with a fair share of lessons. Some of the lessons, I had learned before like biting my tongue in the moments when it really counts, the value of not yelling at your boss, and the importance of relationships even when it seems there just isn't time for them. But the biggest lesson I was provided this year ended up being a bit of a theme: bravery. 

When I was offered a seemingly sweet deal to lead a new rendition of a significant program on campus, it took all the bravery in my body to look administrators in the eye and say no. I was convinced that the program wouldn't succeed in its current model with its current resources, and I'm still convinced of that. I cannot save the whole world, though I try hard many days, and this program was not mine to save. The necessity of bravery allowed me to sit in a meeting with administrators, articulate the flaws in their plan, offer suggestions (all without crying, mind you), then get on out of there. A year ago, I'm not sure I would have had the fortitude to hold my ground, but this year, I was brave. 

Very recently, I requested some institutional documents for my grad class and was promptly told no. I went higher (all the way to the president of the university), asked again, and was promptly told no again. I could have let it go, given up, and figured out how to study the documents of another school, but I believed it was important to continue to pursue those silly documents. So, I reached out again to the president and asked for a meeting. I did not fear meeting with the president, in fact, I welcomed the opportunity gladly. And after a half hour or so, I received full permission to use what I needed. I felt almost as though it was a test just to see how far I was willing to go, how brave I was willing to be. And I persisted and succeeded in bravery. 

And even more recently (Friday), Danielle and I presented a 20 minute presentation to the board of trustees. Most of them liked it. At least one of them (the board's president) did not. And although, at first glance, it seems that the most brave thing to do would be to stand there and object to his worries, defend the work we've done, but upon closer inspection, it is the opposite that perhaps ends up being true. I stood in front of the 40 most powerful men and women of the university, allowed portions of our presentation to be ripped open, made vulnerable, made to seem even a little weak or off kilter. And I smiled, took a deep breath, and simply said thank you. I can do that because I know that we will prove ourselves right and strong and better just by doing, not by arguing. This will be a long-term act of bravery, stretched over years of hard work.

As I turn the pages that end my forth chapter of work at UD, I look ahead with great anticipation for what brave and exciting things lie ahead. How will next year transform me as a professional, as a person? What lessons lie in store on the rest of the pages of this amazing book? I bravely turn the page...

Big Pond or Big Fish?

First of all, happy Easter everyone. In this season, I am reminded of just how blessed I am to have a Savior, one who was willing to die, then beat death, for me. The very thought overwhelms me... 

Speaking of overwhelmed...

Most days, I am a pretty confident person. I act like a pretty big fish in a pretty little pond. But this weekend, as I tried to read articles, search for more articles, write a tiny and most insignificant paper, and get a bunch of loose ends tidied up for the class I am currently in, my confidence got a little bit shaken up. Well, actually it was when I stared down the barrel of a very daunting syllabus for my next class that I got a little shaken up. Suddenly, I felt like a very little fish in a much bigger pond. 

Weird. I'm pretty sure I can handle it. I've handled it this far. What about today's syllabus review and textbook purchasing got me feeling like I'm back at the very first day of school again? 

But I think this fear is a pretty good thing. It keeps me grounded. It keeps me pushing, trying to do better, continuing to work harder. Maybe it's okay to feel like a little fish every once in a while. Someday I'll be a bigger fish...probably in a bigger pond. Either way, I've got to just keep swimming.

Did I really make that bet?

Today, Danielle says to me something like, We should find a way to make us workout in the morning before work. *Shrug* and I kept working. An hour or so later, I started thinking to myself, I wish I didn't sleep so darn long in the morning. I could get so much more done. And then there was a light bulb above my head...complete with that little ding sound that comes with all great ideas.  

Danielle, were you serious about the morning workout thing? 

*Blank stare.*  I mean, I guess so. 

With the right incentives, it might just work. 

And thus, we launched the perfect type A, first-born, gold-star-loving competition to hopefully drag our bed-loving butts out of bed for some body-good sweatin'. We made a literal gold star chart. Seriously. The bet? Simple. The person with the least amount of weekday, before-work, substantial workouts (gold stars on the chart) pays the other's way to a play at Spring Green's outdoor theater, complete with the picnic and the celebratory drinks. There's also an ambiguous alternate prize for the winner of the bonus round of any other workouts which, of course, is represented with other colored stars on our chart. 

We may be nerdy, but we're going to be working hard before sun-up for the next six weeks. That's for sure. It doesn't take much to get us going apparently. But I'm glad for it. I hope I'm just as glad for it at 5:00 am on Monday morning.

George Wyth

George Wyth State Park is a great little park near my hometown. I have some memories of going on family bike rides and some great hikes through the trees. It's well maintained and well traveled. There are miles and miles of paved and dirt trails winding through trees and near streams. 

Yesterday morning, a woman was jogging on a popular trail when a man stepped out of the trees and stabbed her in the shoulder. She somehow kept running until she could get help. Stabbed. At George Wyth. 

I run a lot by myself. Pretty much every time I run, I'm alone. I don't carry anything with me. I run in the daylight. I keep an eye on my surroundings. I run on safe and well traveled trails in town. And none of that matters on the day a deranged man steps out of the trees with a knife. I could carry a weapon. A phone. Pepper spray. But in the moment that a man steps out of the trees, do those things even matter? Would I have enough time to react and save myself from an attack? I think we all know that the answer is probably not. 

What's a runner girl to do? If a public and popular trail in a state park in Cedar Falls, Iowa is not a safe place to run, then neither is a public and popular trail in Dubuque. And neither are the streets of the city. And neither are school tracks. Public gyms. Home treadmills. They all carry the same amount of obscure risk of being attacked by a crazy person. Do I stop running? Stay in my house and hide? Certainly not. I keep doing exactly what I've been doing. I tie my shoes, set my watch, and hit the trail for another run. I keep getting stronger and faster. And I face risk head on, not stupidly with reckless abandon, but in a prepared, on guard sort of way. 

That's kind of the way life is, you know? Bad things happen in life. Some of them we can prepare for, but some of them are a lot like a deranged man with a knife. We can only react. But we can't hide away. We can protect ourselves from everything. We must keep living. And maybe because we know that bad things happen, we live a little more pointedly. A little more intentionally.  And that makes life good. And running the trails good, too.

Resolutions Update

We're almost all the way through February (which in and of itself is kind of hard to believe), but I thought it seemed like an appropriate time to give a quick New Year's resolutions update...because I know you're just dying to know...

1) I want to eat one fruit and one vegetable each day. 

As it turns out, this one started out being far harder than I anticipated. I should be more specific though. I wanted to each one fruit and one vegetable intentionally each day...which is really far different that just consuming one of each somewhere amongst all the other foods we eat. For instance, lettuce on a taco does not a vegetable make. I have however, made some judgement calls on this one. There are a few soups I've made that are almost all vegetables. Great! Vegetable done! I'm very happy to report that I have only missed one day with a vegetable and no days with fruits! And I actually woke up in the middle of the night (just past midnight) and remembered that I had not consumed a vegetable, and I debated for just a moment whether it was worth getting up and microwaving some frozen peas for. It was not. I'm pretty darn excited about my 98% completion rate so far, and I look forward to the rest of this very healthy habit forming resolution. 

2) I want to run 500 miles this year. 

Sadly, I must report that I am falling pretty far behind on this one. I want to run more than two or three days a week, but let's be honest - my life is cray-cray (as the kids say these days). I spend 60 hours a week at work while also trying to get 5-10 hours of homework in each week while also going to church, trying to be social, and oh yeah, sleeping. So running happens when it happens. I've currently completed a mere 49 miles, hitting 9.75% of my entire goal, when the calendar tells me I should be at nearly 15%. However, I am not fretting about this one just yet. Summer is coming! Delightful, glorious, long-day-filled summer! Although I didn't keep a tally from last summer, I was averaging over 4 miles a day...everyday. And then there's that little mountain climbing adventure, and while not technically running, if you don't think I'm going to count those miles, you're sick and very wrong! In four days I'll probably crank out something like 50 miles of strenuous rock-stair-stepping. Close enough to running I say! 

As far as my general desire for more discipline, I certainly think about it a lot more than I ever have, so that's a start, right? However, my bed largely remains unmade; the kitchen typically has at least one dish on the counter; that darn snooze button continues to plague me; and I still reach for a second dessert in the cafeteria a lot of days. But discipline must be thought of as more of a journey than a destination, I suppose.

How are your resolutions coming? Have you kept them? Dropped them? Don't let them beat you! Spring is coming! Be inspired and get after it!

Silent Wonder

Some days I wish I was a silent wonder.

There are some days that the things that come out of my mouth aren't really all that nice. In fact, I can have the tendency to be downright mean. And it's not that I'm completely mean spirited because I'm not (at least I don't think I am). But there are the days when I'm sitting around a table, listening to people talk about their co-workers or their "friends", about how obnoxious they are or how they talk too much, and instead of doing, well anything else, my first inclination is almost always to just jump right in.

Or there are the days when I say something just because I think it might get a laugh. And it doesn't. Or maybe it does but maybe only because it's the mean spirited, cruel-world stuff that everyone tends to laugh at whether they really think it's funny or not. 

And then there are the days when I've talked myself into a corner, and I get trapped there. "But didn't you say just the other day that...?" Oh how I hate hearing that phrase. It usually requires a reply like, "Well, sure but what I really meant was..." or "Are you sure that's what I said? You must have misunderstood". 

Those kinds of days, I wish I didn't speak at all. This is one of the many situations that leads me back to sweet, honest, analytical Paul. I chuckle in reading his thoughts on pretty much this very matter because I would imagine that my writings sound a lot like his... 

Romans7:15-24: For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree with the law, that it is good. So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! 

Can't you just here him talking to himself in his house at night the same you can hear me talking with myself? Crap, Paul. Why in the world did you keep talking to those guys and agreeing with them about that very not funny thing?! And why did I judge that woman shopping downtown today? I really shouldn't do that...why do I do that? I'm the very same way... Lindsey! Seriously! What made it okay to ask about that confidential situation in a very public setting today? And could you have been any more insensitive to that student? What is wrong with you? 

Ahh, but by grace, we are all works in progress. I am not perfect. And as much as I strive for perfection, sin is still at work in me. It's pretty hard to shake a sin nature (okay, so it's impossible while I'm alive, I know). So, I ask for forgiveness sincerely from God and people, I pray for strength to be more in tune with God's nature and far less in tune with sin's, and that's what I can do. And I will probably say something stupid tomorrow because I'm not actually a silent wonder. And for this world and this life, I'm just going to have to live with that.  

Lose-lose, but maybe that's the point.

Perhaps I've written about this before. It certainly has not been a single isolated incident in my life. But as of late, I have been facing a decision that has plagued me, tormented me, really, as to what would be the right decision. When I find myself in this situation, my first inclination, and perhaps rightfully so, is to pray for guidance. I ask God to show me the way to go. With this particular decision, I've gone so far as to beg God to treat me like a toddler in a busy mall: put Your hand on my head and physically turn me. But as I continue to plead for unquestioned guidance, I feel more and more like God is refusing. And I don't feel that it is out of His frustration with my indecision. This is a lesson I may need to learn that I simply couldn't if I relied on hand-on-head guidance.

As the decision has been laid out in front of me, it has seemed to develop its own new layers, digging itself ever deeper into complexity and confusion, making the decision more difficult by the day. I actually made the decision once, very clearly stating my intentions, but the decision refused to allow itself to be made, and it came back to me again, not just once, but four times so far. It has become so complicated, in fact, that something that started as a seemingly win-win situation has evolved into what I now feel is more of a lose-lose.

But maybe that's the point. Maybe every once in a while, I need to be forced to choose, even in a lose-lose decision, so that God can show me that He can turn which ever way I go into a win. And He can. Even if I make the "wrong" choice, will He not guide me back? Will He not choose to use it for good? We're told in no uncertain terms that God uses everything for good. Amongst all of the layers and shadows and minutia and cruddy details of this decision, it's so easy for me to forget God's providence and goodness. How much He cares for me. How He has provided me a distinct purpose.

Next week, as I force myself to sit down in one more meeting for this torturous decision, I will peel back the weight of the sheer pressure of making the "right" decision. I will take a deep breath, and I will confidently make a decision. And God will surely use it for good as I continue to chase His heart.

Snow-tastic

Look, everybody that knows me knows that I'm not a huge fan of snow. I'm not sure how I ever got this way. Maybe it's because I am perpetually cold (even in the summer), or maybe it's because I like the bottoms of my pants to stay clean for an entire day. More than likely it's because I don't feel particularly safe in winter - winter driving, winter walking, and let's not even make mention of the perils of winter sports...all dangerous. 

So, what's a person to do when they don't like winter. Well, I could choose to move south. In my career field, I'm not necessarily locked into a location forever, so it could be a possibility...but probably not for the next few winters at least. I could, as some have suggested, fake it, changing the way I think about snow altogether. I have tried to muster every positive thought about snow that I could manage, and although I happen to think that snow, at the moment it is falling, prior to roadsides looking filthy, is pretty, I haven't found much else to love about it. I could recite, "Snow is so pretty! Snow is so pretty! Snow is so..." over and over again while driving my car through it, but my guess is that the moment my tires slip or the guy in front of my fishtails, "...pretty!" will not be the thought that shoots through my head. 

I may have a few other choices, like living in complete denial. "Snow? What snow?" But people may quickly begin to think I've lost it. Or, somewhat related to denial - distraction. This is probably the route I try to go for this winter. If I can't beat it, love it, or fake my way through it, perhaps I can just fill my head with a thousand other thoughts...not too tough in my life; there are enough spare random thoughts to go around. Whenever a rouge and disgruntled thought of snow comes to mind, I will simply beat it back with thoughts of, well, anything else. Grad school projects, dissertation topics, how good the office coffee is today, what might happen next on Once Upon a Time, the last date I cleaned my bathroom, upcoming trips, summer vacation, the to-do pile on my desk...oh yes, I think I can come up with enough. It may not be the ideal solution, but for today, it's worth trying to keep me from being a winter-long scrooge. Nobody likes a scrooge, but maybe people can like an extremely distracted Lindsey.

Life-Changing

A few weeks back, I went to have dinner with Megan and Eric. Megan started to make dinner and I made attempts to be helpful. I like to cook, but I can be a little gun-shy in other people's kitchens. She was making cheeseburger soup (which was delicious, by the way). I watched her move around the kitchen comfortably, taking to tasks as she usually did, and I began to notice something very different between the way she cooked and the way I typically cooked. She began to brown the hamburger, and meanwhile set the table. After the hamburger was done, she added it to the soup base, and nearly immediately went to scrubbing the pan the hamburger was in. She opened a package, unwrapped a product, or shaved peeling off of something, and all waste was immediately brought to the trash. By the time we sat down to eat, every spare spoon that was used was in the dishwasher, every spill was wiped up, and every piece of trash was trashed, leaving just the pot of bubbling soup, a ladle, and the set table. 

You may be reading this thinking, "I don't get it. What's so special about this story?" Well, if you know me at all, when I cook, it's a hot mess. Containers of food end up everywhere, wrappers are left strewn about, dirty spoons line the counter. And when I'm done enjoying my delicious concoction, I usually look back at the kitchen with a fair amount of disdain, really regretting that I would now have to clean up a mess. 

Last week, I decided to try my wise friend's method of cooking-cleaning. The change did not seem so stark while cooking necessarily. I had plenty of time while waiting for water to boil or meat to cook to pick up the trail that accumulated for just that step. It wasn't until after the meal that I realized just how momentous this experience had been. For the first time, maybe ever, I looked back into the kitchen and didn't hate what I saw because it just looked like my kitchen rather than my kitchen piled high with a giant mess. I blissfully took my one plate and fork to the dishwasher, and put the leftovers in the fridge. Done. 

Usually when things are described as "life-changing" they are really pretty significant, like realizing you have the power to climb a 14,000-foot mountain or something, but this tiny little quirky trait of Megan's that I witnessed, attempted, and then promptly implemented fully into my life was truly, absolutely life-changing. It kind of makes me wonder what sort of other life-changing habits I could explore that I've been missing all these years. Could I be doing laundry better? Are there rules to gardening I've missed? Are there things I could become more efficient in at work? Life-changing things don't have to be huge, they just have to...well, change your life! Do you have a life-changing discovery for me? Can you teach me something that will revolutionize one itty-bitty piece of life for the better? I would love to learn it.