"Where you invest your love, you invest your life."

I have this white board. Technically it's my mom's. The homeschooling stand-by that sported our daily grammar lessons and math tricks charts  lived in our basement for a while, until I redirected it for my own personal use. (Kids do this with their parents' stuff. It's the worst.) So "my" white board that previously enshrined my summer to-do list has received a makeover as my autumn goals list. Though I whipped up the goals arbitrarily and on a whim, one particular goal has been a nagging addendum to each campus-related decision I make.

It says, "Be available."

I feel pulled in so many directions, my heart caught by the things I know I ought to invest in. There are seven days in a week, and twenty-four hours in a day, and the things set before me are all good and important. Why, then, do I find myself disquieted by the lack of space in my schedule? 

Part of me is bitter. I look at the students in my honors' class, how they're on the executive board for three clubs, and in Greek life, and they have internships, and campus jobs, and they still have time for Applebee's trivia night every week. How do they do all that? Why can't I pull that off?

Part of me is selfish. My time is my time, and I will spend it the way I want. The sense of obligation and responsibility I feel towards my commitments leaves me with an acidic taste in my mouth, something my head can rationalize but my heart revolts against. Why do I hoard my time so hungrily? Why do the things I love and choose to do so often feel like obligations?

Part of me is overwhelmed. I am just one person, and I am not enough to do all that needs to be done. I cannot possibly love all the people that need loving. I cannot even learn all there is for me to learn. I am too weak and too busy and too self-centered to be what I ought to be. How can I cut off the things that make me small and hold me back? And what if I can't?

Oh, here is the really mysterious part. That I have to teach my brain to skirt around it, so I can think about it better. (Like you see things more clearly out of the corner of your eye.) It's so simple that I struggle with the mechanics of it, but this is it: He is my enough. He owns my time. He fills my heart. He gives me strength. What does that mean? What does that look like? How do I let Him?

It's the most wonderful time of the year

Today I survived my first half-marathon race. Actually, it was the first time I've ever run that far in my life. [Yeah, I know, not an advisable training strategy.] It was a total blast, and as the heat bore down on me around mile eight at India Point Park, the race seemed to me a fitting end to one of the most bizarre summers of my life, and a great kick off to the foggy semester ahead. 

And oh, it was so hard to believe when I smelled the salt on the harbor breeze and when I rubbed the grass in the finishers' village and when I melted in the heat reflecting off the Gtech building, but the signs were all around. The shorter days, the budding acorns, the sale displays in the shop windows; fall is coming. 

New England is the best place to be, I don't think I could ever leave it during fall. Brisk air on my cheeks. Wood smoke in the air. Leaves turning. Apple picking. Corn mazes. Fog on the fields in the morning. Walks in the woods, nature exploration. Sweaters. Scarves. Lots of layers. Oranges and yellows and purples and browns. 

And time in the kitchen. Pumpkin-spice everything. Pumpkin-spice muffins, pumpkin-spice coffee, pumpkin-spice pancakes, cupcakes, cookies, pumpkin-spice French toast, pumpkin-spice bagels, pumpkin-spice froyo. Everything. Apple cider. Tangy black tea. The most satisfying soup weather. Scituate Art Festival vendor food. Halloween candy. 

Back to school. The brain revving that comes after a restful summer break. Getting inspired over new course material, before it starts to get dreary and stressful. Beginning new notebooks. Reorganizing files. Repacking backpacks. Meeting new professors, befriending new classmates, new opportunities to live Him large.

New season, new goals, new to-do list. Summer? It's been real. And it's hard to say good-bye, but the regency of fall makes it possible. 

Pride & Prejudice

People wound people with their misunderstandings and their hasty judgments and their callous assessments and thoughtlessly spoken words. Their good intentions sometimes crumble into ill-advised decisions. Their unripe opportunities sometimes implode under the uncommunicated resentment.

Sometimes everything is so close to going wonderfully amiss. 

And sometimes, when they chose vulnerability over pride, transparency over prejudice, when they seek others above themselves, when they examine themselves with humility, when they swallow the consequences their judgements have concocted . . .

Then, sometimes, people end up completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

Nehemiah 8:10

When the weight on my chest forces out a heavy sigh during my solitary car rides. When I can't force my eyes to crack open in the dark at the sound of my alarm. When my patience and fortitude is mercilessly sapped by the people I seek to love. When I am so mired in my confusion that I don't know the right way to move forward. 

I must remember, I must not forget . . .

You have been called for joy. 

When I sing along with revelation songs at the top of my lungs in my soul-mending car rides. When my eyes snap open to catch the opportunities in a new day. When I am spilling over from the Creator's love for His creation. When I am shrouded in clarity and hedged by a path from which my steps will never falter. So I will walk in the way set before me.

"Father, put Your loves in my heart, and steel me to choose them."

He is bigger, He is greater, He is my refuge and my salvation. The joy of the LORD is my strength, so I face the darkness and heaviness with no need to grieve.

"Take Me As I Am" - Nichole Nordeman

I spend a lot of time thinking about the person I want to be. I definitely aspire to be like June Cleaver. She's such a boss. It's like magic, how she makes three square meals a day and keeps her house pristine, all while making time to visit the neighbors and humor her adorable sons. She's hilarious, never a hair out of place. She's pretty much perfect, and while she feeds Betty Friedan's point about the feminine mystique, she's the archetypal housewife figure who manages to tour the facility, pick up slack, and look like a total babe when she goes driving with her husband after dinnertime. Like I said, such a boss.

And then there's Agent 99. Not only is she a glamorous agent of justice with snazzy outfits, but she always comes through in the clutch when Max's made a mess of things. She has an unobtrusive way of asserting her perspective and always has the best ideas. Her deadpan wit and patient countenance make her the unsung hero of the show, the perfect supporting character. And if anyone can rock a short skirt with a long jacket, it's Agent 99. If I could be a seemly mix of June Cleaver and Agent 99 when I grew up, I would be unstoppable.

But I guess there's a bit of absurdity in patterning myself after fictional characters from old-timey television shows.

So I got an email today from the regional coordinator for The Veritas Forum. (As Harvard law student fluent in a bunch of languages and living in Boston, he's basically got the life I wish I had.) He was wondering if I was up for directing URI's Veritas Forum this year. Sarah lol'd when I asked her about it. "Aren't you barely getting done what you already have on your plate? And what was the state of your mental health last Veritas? I'd think about this one for a bit if I were you!" And let's be serious, who are we kidding, I'm terrible for the job. I am woefully inadequate at event planning and administration and getting stuff done. Still, I'm filled with a keenness to take on the job, because if anything's important to me, it's this outreach. The idealist in me says, "Yes! Absolutely! His truth must be proclaimed at my school!", while the realist in me says, "If you want this thing done halfway right you'll keep it far away from me."

Oh, for a heart that does not ache, for a backbone that won't break

I am often overwhelmed by the feeling that my apathy is bigger than my ambition. I want to be so much, and do so much, and I'm filled with so much vision sometimes that my heart feels like it's swelling against my ribcage. But when it comes to turn my passion into practice, I trip every single time. Too easily defeated, I see my shortcomings in retina display. I always bite off more than I can chew, take on tasks that I am not equipped to see through to the end. I am not dependable. I will choke in the eleventh hour. I am too brittle to lean on. It is one of my greatest heartaches that I am not enough, that I am too limited, to do and be all the things my inspired and idealistic mind would believe are within my grasp.

And the list gets longer between who I wish I was and was no longer

But the gap grows wider between who I am and all I aspire to be

I wondered once about how much agency I have in my own self-creation, and I have yet to find an answer. But I think I can be sure that I will never be June Cleaver. I will never be good at sports, or good at math. I will never be quiet and demure and not socially awkward. I am not the girl in that Cake song. God has not seen it fit to give me certain things, and how dare the pot criticize the creation of the Potter. When I feel that He has made me as weak as they come, I comfort myself in the promise that God chooses the weak things of this world to shame the strong. And when I feel utterly useless, I am all the more confident that He will answer my prayer, "Use me."

I never could be good enough to measure up, but You want to take me as I come. You're the only one that can take me as I am.

Pensamentos Mistos

I got in the car to drive to work earlier this morning and wondered to myself if I still remembered how to drive. While this skill is still in question, I can at least be assured that my ability to dwell on half-conceived thoughts while driving is still very much intact.

A) Though I encounter very little danger here in the suburbs, I've had my share of sketchy encounters in alleyways and middle-of-nowheres. Still, the first time I felt fear for my safety was last summer, in Dearborn, while being immersed in a culture of misogynic domination. I didn't have to worry about that during our European adventures, as I was practically always flanked by someone, but the frequent reminders of my feminine frailty turned a notch in my mind today as I walked down Daboll Street alone in the dark. It's an odd feeling to be accosted by fear where you previously never felt it before.

B) Walking through the twilight on the Lisbon waterfront on Sunday night was the most divine feeling, I felt assured that heaven would be the same climate. But today I found myself striding through the sunny Kingston breeze, and breathed deeply and thought not just about His Kingdom come but also His kingdom coming. The warm welcome back at work and the eager testimonies of the youth group kids onsite and the bliss of being loved by my cherished family were apt reminders that my eagerness for Home should not detract from my gratitude for my Sojourn.

C) Coming home has been like sticking my head in a cold shower of news, and I keep trying to rinse the travel fatigue out of my hair without getting brain freeze. I am alternatively cheered and grieved, emboldened and overwhelmed. I feel such a shift in my heart, like it was a jar full of marbles, and when it cracked the marbles were given room to roll around when I walk. I don't want to forget what I learned, or perhaps more appropriately, I want to synthesize what I've experienced in order to learn from it. Like any introvert, I bask in the clarity of hindsight. There is so much to do, people to get back to, things to pray about! And there is the pondering in my heart, to see the movements of God.

Been home for about twenty-four hours now. I'm not sure if I want this odd weightlessness feeling to fade away.

Spain v. Portugal, 2:45pm ET tomorrow. Viva Portugal!

PORTUGAL

It's odd, to be awash on another continent with people you love, seeing sites that are older than you can even really imagine, laughing in the midst of people who are very similar but places that speak of a difference to marvel at. It's very odd. Each new day is an exercise in suspending disbelief.

Your brain gets so fatigued, listening hard for words you recognize, willing yourself to understand, and nothing. Even when you latch onto a word here or there, by the time it's been processed a million more words have flown by. So you spend a lot of time smiling.

And trusting that He is making me better, that each day is another exercise in grace. That I will have more mindfulness and love and empathy to show for the day's successes and trials. Towards the people for whom I have such affection, both those among me and these strangers, to be ever growing and ever grateful.

Casting a line

When internet is unexpectedly available for the first time in ten days, you don't know what to do with yourself.