Finally getting pregnant after one miscarriage and 30 months of trying does not cancel out or somehow negate the pain of those experiences. Even standing in my doctor's office with a sonogram photo after just being reassured that, yes, my baby had a heartbeat, even then I cried for the baby I never got to meet. 

Thinking now about who we want to tell and how we want to tell them, I remember how others' pregnancy announcements landed. My sister-in-law's birth announcement came on the day I started my period after our first month of trying. Now I am embarrassed that I could even be so hopeful and expectant after just one month, but in that moment her happy news felt like an exclamation point on my empty womb. 

We learned of another friend's pregnancy just a month before we got out own first positive pregnancy test. She had been very careful about talking about it because she had had a miscarriage just a few months prior. I thought of her and so many other friends when we learned our baby had died--I was comforted in a small way by the knowledge of how common miscarriage is. There are many of us who have walked through this grief. 

I took a break from Instagram about a year ago because I felt so much guilt and anxiety about what I knew and didn't know about people's lives. I feel like I can enter a social interaction now and ask with sincerity, "Tell me what's been going on!" and not feel the temptation to pretend I know what's been going on since I saw it on the socials. 

I also feel that I can share the happy things and the sad things with more trust. It is lovely to receive affirmation and encouragement from strangers and acquaintances. But something like a pregnancy announcement, I know from my own reactions how fraught it can be. As much joy as I felt for my friends, I felt an equal proportion of sadness, loss, and maybe a little envy. And as much encouragement as I received from hearing my friends' struggles with fertility, I am not sure I have sufficiently processed my sadness to share such personal information for mass consumption. 

The people who love me can hold their happiness for my happiness in tension with their own complicated feelings on this topic. The people who love me can suspend judgment about my journey and engage with my dual grief and joy. The people who love me want to know these Big Life Updates. And I am so thankful to have people in my life who readily carry that mantle for me; I hope I can do the same for them.  

More Preliminary Marriage Thoughts

Six months, y'all. I don't know, it feels like a milestone. I remember when we were dating I was so anxious to be past the beginning and into the middle, and I wonder now, we might be at the phase where I want things to slow down so I can really savor them.

The coronavirus quarantine precautions gave us a nice little bubble. We've carved out our selfish little routines and there's a lot of comfort in this. I take care of him and he takes care of me and we just get better at it as we practice more.

I want to have some kind of insight on our marriage, or marriage in general, but it feels both too new and too comfortable to force any kind of compelling reflections. I am just really thankful for my husband, for his love, for how my life looks right now. 

I was worried that living in Stamford, away from my family, my church, my community, my job, would send me back into the struggles that plagued my three years of law school. But so far, it has not, and I think it is because I feel safe and secure with Peter. 

Confession

I have avarice. I did not know this was the word for it. I did not know how to describe my fear of connecting with and investing in others. 

But it is true that I want to direct how I spend my time. It is true that I am uncomfortable with the expectations others make of me. It is true that I worry about letting people down, and instead of working tirelessly to make sure expectations are met and people are affirmed, I withdraw, I resent their needs, I resent their claims on my time and emotional resources, or I feel no guilt in setting boundaries that are too firm and too conservative. Too many texts and calls go ignored because, "I just can't." 

It is avarice.

And it has failed to protect me from the guilt and pain of not being there for others, because the more I distance and resolve to meet my own needs, the more needy I feel. 

But I have heard, that in His great mercy, He has promised to turn my guilt into innocence. He has promised to fill me with His infinite resources. He will make me enough for others. He will cover me when I fail them. He will heal the pain that inevitably crops up in the midst of closeness. He will make it possible for me to start anew, every single day. 

He commands me, do not be afraid. I cannot fear hurting others. I cannot fear being drained of my resources. I cannot fear burnout. I cannot fear their expectations. I cannot fear being tied down. 

If I can count on Him, He will make it possible for me to reach out. For me to build others up. For me to be there for people. For me to have friends that give life and not pain, guilt. 

He is infinite. He is everlasting. He is a well that does not run dry. Drink as much as you need, He says. Your weaknesses are not a problem. I can make goodness from your feeble and fractured attempts. I believe He really will take care of me. 

#BlackLivesMatter

Recently a friend tweeted about the jury ruling on the Ferguson indictment: "If you don't think racism in America is a problem you're either not paying attention or you're part of it." And when I saw this I thought immediately, "Yes, this." And then shortly following that thought was a second one, "Oh, ouch."

As much as I agree with her charge, it also stings a bit because I was that person just a few months ago. I was the person who preferred to downplay and gloss over race issues, I was the person who naively believed that the crusade against racism was prolonging its existence, I was the person who sighed every time an issue of depraved human nature was construed as an issue of race. 

And as that person, I was defensive and put off by any judgment, implied or actual, that I was part of the problem. 

A former roommate of mine feels very strongly about racism. Living with her meant that I had to listen to rants on race issues on the reg. I remember brushing my teeth and actively tuning her out because it actually made me a little annoyed that she cared so much. I could tell she thought I was part of the problem. I could tell she thought I was racist, or at least ignorant. I think she thought my "color-blind" approach was BS. So I listened to her rants defensively, focused on maintaining indifference and preserving my moral high ground.

I'm a horrible person, guys.

It was on the train ride to work a week after Mike Brown's death that I read a news article about what had happened. That's how insulated I was, that it took me a whole week before the thing hit my radar. But there I was, snot liquifying in my nose, tears dripping down my face, as I read news reports and witness accounts of the unfolding events in Ferguson. And I kept thinking, "Dear Jesus, I can't believe stuff like this still happens in this country, I can't believe I didn't know." He touched my heart and in that moment I saw things differently; I was grieved over the injustice I had denied existed. 

I wouldn't necessarily count myself as one of the enlightened just yet. The pesky part of privilege is that you don't know what you don't know. I gather that I have been ignorant, but I'm still sorting out just how ignorant I've been. And I haven't the foggiest of how I can be part of His ministry of reconciliation in this. All I know is that before my heart was hard to stories of racial injustice systemic in my country, and now I ache with a sorrow I don't fully understand. My indifference is turning to empathy for people who have been systemically wronged.

But I say all of this to say that I get there are people who think "the whole Ferguson thing" is sensationalized, warped, and packaged as propaganda. I get that there are people who don't think that racism is an issue in the USA, and I opine that those people take that stance because they want to believe that racism is a thing of the past, that we're better than that. I get that because I have been and sometimes still am one of those people. And because I've hoed that row all I can say is, "Break our hearts, Oh Lord, for the sin in our land break our hearts."

So I offer this as hope. I see the grief and frustration expressed by friends whose hearts are also broken over this and other demonstrations of the injustice in our society and I aver, take heart! Jesus is softening hearts. He's softening mine. And one day, all will be healed.

Roomates a.k.a. Hayley is learning to not be selfish

My sister brought a jar of peanut butter from the USA. Bet received some peanut butter individual servings in a package from her mom. I've been using my peanut butter. So has Bet. 

This has been driving me crazy because I'm really bad at sharing.

I want to say to Bet, "Since you have your own peanut butter, do you mind not using mine?" Like not said in a snarky way or anything. Just calm and reasonable. I'm sure she'd understand. If she didn't have any peanut butter of course I would share mine. But she does have her own, so I'm sure it's equitable to ask her to use hers instead of mine. 

But I'm too afraid. I think I'm being petty. It's just peanut butter, right? I should share, right? Who cares if she has her own. My stuff should be her stuff, right? I shouldn't be so selfish.

I've had a roommate for almost my whole life. But I'm realizing how different it is to have a roommate who isn't related to you. I'm not as confrontational. I'm more intentional about letting things go. Sure, I would pick my battles with Maggie and Sarah. It got to the point where I stopped bugging them about taking their hair out of the drain and just did it myself. It ceased to annoy me.

So how do I get to this point where Bet eating my peanut butter ceases to annoy me?

Actually, it's likely the peanut butter will be gone before I get to this point. Maybe this is the real reason this is bothering me so much. I mean, I was annoyed from the moment I opened the peanut butter four weeks ago, but my irritation is coming to a head now only because 1) I just remembered she had her own peanut butter, and 2) my peanut butter is almost gone. Good-bye sweet peanut butter.

Gotta stop being selfish! Must stop! Sharing is caring!

This is the blessing of roommates. You know? They show you how many areas you have to grow in. Bet and I have a lot of fun. We have our nights in and our inside jokes. And we have our fights over the proper vernacular use of the word "bookbag" and whether marijuana should be decriminalized. We've never openly argued, but we have our moments of skirting silence. The rough parts of our personalities and our character rub up against each other, and while this doesn't always cause friction it alerts us to our defects. This peanut butter thing may be a petty and silly example, but it shows me how I don't want my soul to stay the same!

This is one of the reasons I came here, to be transformed and made more like Jesus by doing something difficult. Living with others is difficult. But for the soul that doesn't want to stay the same it hurts so good. 

And fingers crossed we can find peanut butter at an imports store. ;)

Making friends

We have a pretty basic outreach model. It's making friends. Group affiliations, beliefs and persuasions, genuine community, it all flows and develops along relational networks. There's like a whole lesson about it in Perspectives. Outreach is relationship building, and showing love and loyalty towards others builds trust and credibility while demonstrating the same regard that was given to us.

Like, it sounds obscene when it's written out all clinical and theoretical like that, because I hate thinking of loving others like it's some kind of strategy, but, seriously. I write it because I believe it's true. They will know Who we serve because of how we love.

We've been here a few weeks, but I've already racked up a debt of gratitude to those who have brought us into their social spheres. As an outsider who can't even speak or understand the local language, I have been the beneficiary of so much hospitality, generosity, and kindness. They offer us rides, take us shopping, invite us into their homes, answer our never-ending translation questions. My heart melts every time someone invites us to do something with them; I had forgotten what a precious gift inclusion was!

And all this inclusion makes me wonder about the life I lived back home. For as long as I could remember I bemoaned my isolation; I begged to be put in school when I was ten so that I could have some friends. In high school my social thirst was quenched through NCFCA and youth group, but I still wanted for opportunities to share my convictions through relational pathways. So my first semester of college blew my mind; there were so many potential new friends! And this mindset led to some G0d-ordained conversations in the 24-hour room of library. And as my fear lessened the same thing happened at work, and testimony grew from that. But when commencement ended and I found myself officially graduated, what happened then?

Don't get me wrong, my summer was well-spent. The expeditions to rural hiking trails, the ritual of movie nights, basketball and tennis, beach days, coffee dates, sleepovers, talking by the fire's glow, fireworks and food. I stockpiled a lot of happiness. But how often did I bring an outsider into these social escapades? . . . with some shame I answer, seldom.

Yeah, I had to come halfway around the world to realize what it means to show kindness to strangers. It's not just the poetic anonymity of paying the toll for the person behind you, but also the uncomfortably direct invitation: "We are doing this, would you like to join us?"

I think I actively avoided doing that sort of thing at home, because I assumed it would be awkward and uncomfortable. This is 100% a correct assumption. You think it's uncomfortable to invite strangers to do something with you? It's even more uncomfortable when you're crossing cultures. My blush reflex has been getting a workout since arriving here. It's less of a question if I will make a cultural flub and more of a question of when and how many. But I credit Intervarsity and my staff worker for teaching me a golden, simple truth that is proving itself here. Ain't no one ever died from awkwardness. Embrace the awkward. If you push hard against it, it often surrenders something precious.

A thing so effortlessly typed, written from the quiet solitude of my desk where I sit alone and comfortable inside my head. A thing far more strenuously exercised, when I am tired and afraid and selfish. But I will lift you up in the seeking out and inviting in of those "outside" if you will do the same for me. 

Riding the relationship struggle bus

There was a period in high school when I didn't go to youth group. It was kind of a subtle trend, I don't think anyone really noticed that I wasn't around. I had the great excuse of tournaments: if we were away for the weekend at a speech and debate event, usually I was too wiped to show up to Sunday school the next morning. There were a few Wednesday nights where I plead homework or a head cold, and stayed at home curled up on the couch. I had countless bouts of the post-tournament blues, facing the desert of isolation after the oasis of relational affection with my NCFCA friends. I didn't look for friendship in my youth group, because I already had it in my speech and debate community.

I mention this to illustrate something I'm learning in my communication theory class. We just wrapped up a lecture on the social exchange theory of relationship development where, basically, people initiate relationships with others on basis of profit, if they perceive that their costs (i.e. social investment, risk) will exceed their rewards (i.e. fulfillment of their needs to be accepted, influential, and liked.) "Profit" is evaluated by an individual's comparison level, that is, the threshold above which an outcome seems attractive. Satisfaction depends on expectation, which is shaped by prior experience. So if a person has had a string of positive, fulfilling relationships, their comparison level and expectations for new relationships will be high. Thus, according to the social exchange theory, people will develop relationships with those whom they think will meet or exceed the benefit they've received from previous relationships. 

So theoretically, I didn't go to youth group for a while because I didn't think investing there would maximize my relational profits. And while I shook off the mindset after tournament season ended, I'm finding it's crept back in to my collegiate mindset.

When I started college I was so blessed by the new experiences that befell me. Previously insulated in a Christian homeschool bubble, I finally had open access to myriad individuals of different backgrounds, and God gave me countless opportunities for wonderful conversations on truth. I met lots of cool people! And it was awesome! I was so thankful. But then, what happened? I started avoiding my new acquaintances in the halls. I made awkward, stifled small talk with my classmates. I chose the convenience of being alone over the effort of engagement. I closed myself off potential relationships so subtly, I didn't even see it happening. Even while the distance grieved me, I continued. Each semester I told myself I would be less busy, would branch out more, but it never happened. And here I am, one semester of college left, full of regret at the opportunity I blatantly squandered.

For me, all relationships involve a very high cost. I am clumsy at loving, I am awkward and insecure. I guard my time jealously and I am too lazy to love like I should. This is part sin, part introversion, but I have not been proactive in compensating for my weaknesses. As an obnoxious teenager, I longed for a circle of close friends with whom I could rest, and in His generosity He gave them to me. And they loved me so much more than I deserved. ("I know you have felt much more love than you've shown.") So I wonder, if in my warped self-centeredness, I neglected the potential for other friendships where I was because the "profit" wasn't worth it. Why invest the cost and risk when my need to be accepted and loved was already being filled?

It's remarkable that a paragraph in a textbook describing social exchange theory could so succinctly cut to my heart.

But oh how gracious my God is. How gently He's been pulling my hands off my eyes, how tenderly He's been needling my heart, how faithfully He's been lighting the path for me to walk in. I love the people I work with, so I went to the movies with them. I want to grow something with the girls from Intervarsity, so I went to trivia night with them. I want to reach out of the kids in student senate, so I haven't quit yet. And ugh. I don't like being out late at night. I don't like putting myself in unfamiliar situations with high levels of uncertainty. I like comfortable. I like predictable. I like safe. I feel pathetic that these tiny baby steps are so hard for me! But there is His grace for my selfishness, and His power for my weakness. And I'm terrified that I don't fully "get" it, that I don't yet grasp the depths of my neglect and selfishness, but He is beside me, slowly unstopping the dams until His love flows to others freely through me.

RIP, ginger cat

I killed a helpless little animal today. I was driving along the short three mile stretch between my house and my church when out of nowhere a slender ginger cat darted across the road. Before I had time to think, react, and swerve, I felt the sickening thump of my tires going over a bump in the road, and a quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed my fears. A lump of ginger fur lay prone in my wake. 

When I arrived at church I felt sick to my stomach. My first roadkill. My first bloodshed. I was Lady Macbeth with metaphorical blood on my tires. The car behind me had seen my transgression. I was so traumatized, I felt like I needed to confess what I had done. And yet, how could I offend the shining faces of the junior high girls who greeted me when I walked in the door? How could I stand up under their judgment? It was with a quivering lip that I made my confession.

And what happened next was kind of weird. 

They hugged me. They patted my arm and told me it was all right, and that now that kitty was in a better place, and that accidents happen to everyone. They shared with me stories about all the times their parents had killed unsuspecting wildlife. They gave me their compassion. They weren't all sunshine and roses, though. They certainly expressed their horror that I didn't even pull over to assess the damage done and their concern that now some poor family was without their kitty. And they mourned the passing of an adorable ginger kitten like only junior high girls can. Still, it was comforting, and I felt a little less queasy when I passed the site of the terrible deed on my way home.

I believe with a measure of certainty that there is no healing without confession. Straight-up James 5:16 style. This is part of what makes my heart so heavy about the turmoil that has disrupted my family's equilibrium. Resolution and restoration must be pursued with repentance, and yet, how much has yet to come to light? And so I've been thinking about how to be like those junior high girls, to banish the fear of condemnation and create safety for confession and healing. 

I wonder how it feels to have something terrible locked up inside you, a grievance far worse than turning an adorable pet into roadkill. And how overwhelming the fear of confession must be, to keep such a cancer contained inside. Is that part of why our trend is to "like to keep our issues drawn"? Jesus demanded of the woman at the well, to share who she really was. He already knew, but he asked it of her anyway. A woman who got around. Like Him I want to expect genuinity, and be prepared to meet it. I want the first words on my lips to be compassion, not condemnation. To be a comfort in the face of confession. I want to help bring healing.

What would it look like for us to be genuine and trustworthy? 

"You can tell me who you are, and I will not reject you. Release your burdens, accept my compassion."

And what does it look like for us to trust and be real? 

"I will surrender what weighs on me, because the freedom that calls is more precious than the shame I fear." 

Help us, Jesus.

Psalm 18:1

It's so much easier to be confused than to risk doing something difficult, or unfamiliar, or simply less interesting. There's a lot I don't do because it's just not interesting. The reason I have no life-ruling, soul-consuming material passion is because I just could never commit to any one thing. Eventually all things become uninteresting. Especially television shows about plane crashes and smoke monsters. [RIP LOST.] But see, being confused is generally interesting. Because internal mental puzzles gauge everything that exists externally against prior or future knowledge and soul-searching. And that is always interesting. Albeit generally less fruitful than, most things. In short, I spend a lot of time being confused, and I don't really like to, but it's mostly interesting, so I fall into this pattern of confusing a lot.

Conversely, I hate meta-analysis. Meta-analysis is not interesting, and usually just exasperating. It always stops me from understanding, from getting stuff done, consuming me with endless circular questions of little consequence. I have to forsake reasoning and justification, and just open my eyes to see the palace already.

I'm just trying to be normal. Normal? I don't mean, average, or, business as usual, or ordinary, or just like everyone else. By "normal" I mean, as I ought to be. I'm just trying to be as I ought to be. And often this process is confusing to me.

I sent some emails today! I've missed that! I didn't really realize I'd missed it, because usually when I think of sending emails, or writing personal notes of any kind, I think of how laborious and soul-sucking the process is . . . and that's still true. It took me a pretty long time to write what I did today. Writing such things steals all my time and feeling away. Yesterday we sent out support letters for our missions trips, and I was the last person to finish. By a lot. Because it took me fifteen minutes to write each brief little personalized note. I returned home emotionally exhausted.

I don't really know why this is, I'm guessing it has something to do with how I introvert feeling -- I'm irrationally obsessed with sincerity, and it feels sacrilege to write anything that I do not mean completely and fully, and so I agonize over the perfect words to convey my sentiments accurately . . . or at least, struggle to work up the feelings to accompany the words I ought to say. Writing those personal emails is like ripping out a little piece of my guts, like my words are communicating a very part of me and sharing those thoughts and feelings involves severing them from myself . . . that sounds melodramatic, but it is in a way accurate. Isn't communicating a way to show love? Doesn't showing love mean dying to self, and giving it away . . . ?

I think I may have been wallowing in disobedience, shutting my ears to the mandate: initiate, reach out, build, love. I took my parents' suggestion that I dampen communication with my "clique" to mean that I was justified in antisocial behavior. I am free from my fear of people! And yet I continue to cower in the corner of my cell, too lazy to love proactively. It's a process. God is good: to remind me, to enable me, to forgive me. Tomorrow is going to be difficult, remembering to initiate, to live externally as opposed to internally, to live normally, to live as-I-ought-to-be, but attempting to do what is difficult is leagues better than being confused.

"I love you, O LORD, my strength."

Alejandro

I've been thinking about love again, which is always good.

Last summer, during one of our church group sessions on our Vermont missions trips . . . actually, if I may indulge a parenthetical, these group sharing sessions seem to always go awry, they rarely if ever work. When prompted to spill your guts on command in an artificial group setting, no one usually takes the bait, and I think that's fair. But in Vermont, everyone was pretty good at sharing. It was a mystical dumb-founding occurrence that was clearly the result of some crazy Holy Spirit workings. Anyway.

One of my friends shared how she never felt loved, that people would say, "Oh, I love you, I do, I love you!" and she was skeptical that they even cared at all. She said that they seemed mere words and she was desperate to know they were backed by truth, reality, action. And I felt horrible, even though I figured her criticism probably wasn't directed at me, that I hadn't been able to make her feel secure in the knowledge that I did, I do love us. I felt second-hand horror at the hypocrisy, how could the people we came to minister to know we were Christians by our love if our own members didn't know?

So I wonder, are we supposed to believe people when they say they love us?

You know that I love you, boy. Hot like Mexico, rejoice.

Doesn't loving people back mean believing in their love? Isn't love at least three parts trust? Like in a marriage, all this consternation comes when one person starts to doubt the other's love for them. It's an ugly soup of mistrust. [Or, at least, that's what I see in the movies.] But what is equally sad is the sop who continues to take their spouse at their word when they say "I love you" . . . even up until said spouse walks out on the relationship. [Okay, I definitely do not have a specific movie in mind here!] Of course, trust ought not be blind, but, they say love is blind.

So I think now, along my friend's train of thought, when my friends, acquaintances even, are laughing and merry, and toss out the occasional thoughtless "I love you" that is mostly unprecedented by relationship and experience, how much stock ought I put in the declaration? "Do you? Are you just saying that? Do you know what you mean? Are you saying what you mean?" I feel as thought any evaluation of their seemingly irreverent announcement is inherently judgmental. Can I judge their hearts? Some people you just don't know well enough for their actions to back up their statement. I can only assume it's impossible, in these situations, to tell externally what's true internally. So, do I take them at their word, or do I brush off their "I love you"s off?

I guess the real answer is that it doesn't matter. It is not the love from people that fills me up and makes me whole.

I wonder how to live "I love you" so people never wonder if I mean it . . .

Matthew 7:1

I had a blast judging today. It was a wonderful feeling to sit in a cold metal chair with no nervous churning in my stomach and watch. Not idly, but watch with an open mind. Not having to think, "That's a good argument, but this would be better." Not having to think, "Oh dear, what will I say in response to that?" When I normally watch a round, I put myself in the competitor's position. But today, I was in the judge's position. All I had to do was listen to what I was told. And comment on it. And of course I was at home passing out criticism.

So, my brother is getting older. He's developing facets of his personality that I just didn't see when he was drooly high-maintenance toddler or a brooding and video games obsessed seven year old. And while I adore my little brother and think he's fantastic, I'm also highly critical of him, always telling him to stand up straight or say please and thank you. I love him, and I want him to be above reproach. I see this so clearly now in my mom, every time she challenges me with her disapproval -- she is disappointed in me because she loves me, and she knows I can be better.

But sometimes I forget this kind of thing is limited in its effectiveness outside the family model. Sometimes it's not just my brother that's the target of my "love-motivated criticism" but my friends get some flak, too. The careless muttered piracy warnings or the over-dramatized rebukes must sound so much like nagging, so hypocritical. I want watch the people I love be refined into their restored image in Christ . . . and somehow I think pointing out the room for improvement will make that happen? I forget that criticism is only encouragement when it's rooted in love. [And I forget that whole bit about sanctification not coming to fruition on this earth. That significant bit.]

While my family understands that I love them, and that I will always love them, and that my criticism is born of this love . . . I can't expect everyone to understand this.

I think, sometimes friends are people we can be human with. Rest in our humanity and how inherently cracked and flawed and not enough we are. And yes, people provide a motivation to pursue righteousness, but those aren't the kind of expectations that produce anything God can use unless they're mixed portion for portion with a Spirit-filled love. That sounds cliche. Terribly cliche. But how else can I describe it? I think, sometimes the best encouragement is less about what you could do better or what you've done well, and more about I understand. Forgive me. I'm figuring out how to love you like I ought to.

Dollar dropping like a lead ballon

Why is love a currency, that it means more the less we say it? That we give love in exchange for love, that love corresponds with gifts and service? Why does love imply cost and value and worth? Why are the well-loved wealthy in spirit, why are those who give love away the richest of all? Why, why is love like a currency, and why do we buy and sell love every day?

There are hardly any leaves on the trees anymore, and I'm staring out the window wondering what it would matter if I could embrace the world with an exponential love . . .

Great is Thy faithfulness!

I went dragging my feet, fussing that I had to give up two hours of my precious summer weekends to shoot guns in a musty building. But, I missed it, I really had. Once there I got sucked in again, once again romanced by the spicy smell of gunpowder and the thrill of pulling the trigger. (I am not a maniac. Your lives are safe.) But as I got back into the rhythm -- load, breathe, lift, lock, squeeze -- shooting at the gun club became a sport of subconscious concentration, while my mind was elsewhere. It's outrageous the way my thoughts run away with me, but for once I could commend the path they took me down.

I thought about Michael and how glad I was he likes House of Heroes so much. I thought of Micah and how he's beasting NaNoWriJuly. I thought of Rebecca and how much I want her to come to my house and teach me to sew. I thought of Katie and Kristen and Kara and how I can't believe they're leaving and how much I'll miss them. I thought about Lilly and Hannah and Mary Claire, what kindred spirits they are and how much I identify with them. I thought about Luke and how I can't believe I haven't talked to him in a while, darned summer. I thought of Jake and his genius idea for a speech that's proved interesting to research. I thought of Andrew and how deeply I wished I could have gone to his graduation party today. I thought of Jesse and how I wished I knew him better. I thought of Nathan and how he's going to beast speech this coming year. I thought about Liz and how she really needs to start blogging.

And that's just the blogosphere, folks.

I am surrounded by people so dear to me, wonderful people, people who love God. They love God. I remember when I was much much younger, coming home from church and crying in my closet, pitying myself for my lack of friends and wanting so desperately to go to school, because maybe then I'd have friends. Ah, silly girl. And yet despite my indulgently self-centered sorrow then, in the now I have been abundantly blessed. A Passion for Wisdom speaks of a fickle God who failed to be faithful to His people -- an idea I can't help but scorn, especially in the face of how He has given me exactly what I wanted. I have dear friends who love God. Few things on this earth are more precious to me. God is so faithful . . . I don't understand why He should care. Friends for Hayley, friends who love God, that must be rather low on the list of important things in this world. And yet . . . God has been so good to me.

And I feel silly for saying all this, and I hate that I can't help but speak in generalities when I have so many wonderful specifics I could share, but God has been good to me. I must praise Him for being so faithful.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for loving God.

Social fail!

This is what happened: Hayley goes to party. Hayley eats pizza, talks about debate, attempts to dance, and stands alone in the corner for fifteen minutes before deciding to blow the joint. Hayley see kid at the piano, and being a sucker for piano music, stands and listens. Hayley barely speaks more than two words, just smiles a lot, sings a little, and leaves when they start talking Halo. Hayley sits in hotel room all alone, tired and feeling like a social failure.

I just really don't know what's wrong with me. I like people, I like "dancing," I like hanging out. I used to like meeting people, but maybe I spent so much time with people I already knew that I've forgotten how it's done? Was it a crisis of confidence, a bout of insecurity, fear of being judged? Perhaps it's my vanity, that I feel like I have something to prove, that I can't stand the thought of not being liked. I could analyze it away, say it's the introvert in me, or that I'm just passive, or that I wasn't feeling well, but the truth is, this should be easy for me, and I can't understand why it wasn't.

And I can pretend this is an isolated incident of social ineptness, but this feeling is kind of a familiar one. Rationally I know I have nothing to be afraid of, but in feeling and practice large groups of people I don't know scare me. I guess they scare a lot of people. But I wish they didn't. And even though I'm tempted to think, "So what, I'm never going to see these people again, why should I bother cultivating casual relationships with them," that's a selfish, unloving attitude. And all the more reason to push past my feelings of inferiority, and get to know these people, not for my sake, but to love on them. And what is the root of love? It's not about me, and tonight I guess I forgot that. God is good.

I discovered City and Colour today.

Music is collaborative. 

I'd like to think I'm individual when it comes to music, but that's such a lie. My music library is a delicate mesh of my dad's music, KLove music, Sarah's music, Hannah's music, Michael's music, Jacob's music, Laura's music, and the music that rocks the soundtrack of House, Lie to Me, and Ignite. Good music is like a good recipe or an epic movie, it's just better when there's someone to share it with, so we pass it around.

From my dad I learned to love ballads and story songs. From Jacob I learned that songs can be punk and still have strong piano. From Michael I learned that long intros can enhance songs. From Sarah I learned it's okay for songs to be silly. From Hannah I learned that Canada makes amazing music. From Laura I learned that weird music can still be good music. From the Ingite playlist I learned it's okay to like hip-hop and phunk.

Music is connecting.

The best tool for forging relationships is common threads. When you feel like you're understood by someone, you instantly have a connection. And music is one such common thread, something that is a part of everyone, whether they listen to Taylor Swift in the car or play cello in an orchestra. Music is something that connects the brain and the mind and the heart and the soul, and can translate to another human being. We all get it. Music is by definition common ground.

Last summer I met this girl named Julie at the beach. When we started talking I was freaking out inside because I lack the ability to carry a one-on-one conversation with even a close friend for more than three minutes. And she was a complete stranger. I turned to every teen's default conversation starter, "So what bands are you into?" And I crossed my fingers she didn't like rap. We ended up spending the entire afternoon talking about the evolution of rock music. 

I'm kind of thankful for music today. 

Poker? I hardly know her!

Who are you?

I really want to know. Because I know I don't know you. It doesn't matter how often we've talked, what we've talked of, how long we've known each other, or what understandings we have between ourselves. I don't know you, and I'd really like to. If that's okay. 

There are too many people I've known forever, people I've grown up with, and yet somehow never became friends with. It doesn't matter how badly I wanted to be friends, it never happened. And I kind of wonder why, if it was just that they didn't like me, or if I didn't risk enough, or if it somehow cosmically wasn't meant to be. 

There are too many people I've been friends with forever, people who I see weekly, with whom I laugh and joke and pass the time. But we were never more than pals. And I kind of wonder why, if it was okay that we were expendable, or if we were just too afraid of getting closer, or if our friendship just wasn't meant to be more than casual.

There are too many people I'd count dear to me, people called friends in the honest sense, and yet sometimes I think I don't know the most basic things about them. And I kind of wonder why, if it's because I just haven't really wanted to know, or if they just didn't care to share, or if I just never asked, or if perhaps it just wasn't important in the grand scheme.

And I'm not completely sure what I want to know or why I want to know it, just that I do want to know. Who do you say you are, what are the pieces that make up you, who are you, really?

"Friendship should be more than biting Time can sever." -Murder in the Cathedral, TS Eliot

Should. But isn't.

I spent a depressing amount of time reminiscing over past friendships this afternoon. I think of dear, close friends who I slowly pushed away in anticipation of their departure from my life. (Why must college be the equivalent of exile?) I think of dear, close friends who I pushed away knowing we never saw each other enough to remain close. (When your lives no longer intersect do you still need each other anyway?) I think of dear, close friends who taught me everything I know, but now seem like strangers, friends from a different lifetime, nothing in common anymore. (When you lose what you have in common, does the friendship lose its foundation?)

And I hate that I would even dare think and act in such a way with such a mindset, but while I grow closer to people in church and spend more time with the kids I've grown up with, I think of the kids from homeschool group, I think of former NCFCA groupies, I think of friends of the family, and I recall a bizarre ache that smarts of guilt and regret. Why did we grow apart so easily when we were so close? What did I do wrong? As I watch my friends grow up and leave for college, as I see the door slowly creeping shut on my involvement in NCFCA, as I observe friends move away and build new lives, as change alters the landscape of my comfortable life . . . must friends really be casualties, or is friendship really more than biting time can sever?

If we are the body . . .

Hayley: You gonna eat more than just salad there?

Meghan: I would, but I'm off meat and chocolate for Lent.

Hayley: Wait, you practice Lent? I didn't know you were Catholic.

Meghan: I'm not. 

Hayley: . . .

Meghan: So you don't practice Lent? That's right, I forgot, you're Baptist.

Hayley: Oh snap! I guess I deserved that one.

Actual conversation from March 2008. To give a little context, I get called a Baptist a lot, and it irks me almost as much as when say "writing utensil" instead of "writing implement" - no one wants to be labeled or stuck with a misnomer. I've gone to an evangelical, Bible-preaching, non-denominational church since I was born and I didn't even understand the concept of denominations more recently. I'm still not sure I completely understand it. Just don't call me a Baptist unless you mean I believe in baptism. Just because I'm not Pentecostal doesn't mean I can't dance during worship. But I make the labeling mistake, too. Just because you're not Catholic doesn't mean you can't practice Lent.

Rant aside, I've been thinking about division in the church. The church. I've had limited exposure to other denominations, and still I've visited Catholic churches, Seventh Day Adventist church, Baptist and Southern Baptist churches, Pentecostal churches, and other nondenominational ones. And I've always felt uncomfortable, comparing things to back home, thinking, "My church does things the Bible way. This church isn't doing things my church's way. Therefore this church isn't doing things the Bible way." Simple mutual differences turn into attacks on truth. 

But in most instances that's just silly. 

You know what divides me from a Baptist? Almost nothing. The Jesus of my neighbor who's a born-again Catholic is the same Jesus who saved me. Ultimately, predestination, election, sacraments, speaking in tongues, egalitarianism, what's going to happen in the end times - it doesn't matter! These should not be points of contention with our brothers, the people who are supposed to be our very family in Christ. But that's how it works, right? Just like in our modern culture "family" is code for "people I hate to be around but I somehow owe something to" the church is adopting a similar definition of family in relation to the body of Christ. It's lame. Can we get over it already?

Last week I had the extreme privilege of going to a gathering of youth groups in Rhode Island, the brain child of a group of youth pastors called UNITED. It was awesome, our entire sanctuary was packed with Christian teens, eating & playing games, worshiping and praying, all together and it was completely off the hook!

Wherever we go, we are the body of Christ. Whether that's at my home church, or in the supermarket, or at classes, or during a tournament. I tend to compartmentalize my life, and I hate that. I forget that my school friends and my NCFCA friends are just as much a part of my family (the same family) as my church friends. I forget that Don Miller is my brother in Christ. I read stories of persecution and I forget that's my family being oppressed. It should be joy to meet a family member and pain to hear of a family member's suffering. What a wonderful gift that has been given to us - that where there is Christ there is family, and how could I even venture to forget or disregard such a gift?!

And how dare I judge a brother? If Christ is in him our differences in the gray areas don't matter. Why should a sacrifice a family member over doctrine that is between him and God? Unity is an over-worked, worn-out, tired word. But it's something the church is desperately lacking and even more desperately needs, and it needs to start with me. Romans 14:13 "Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in your brother's way."