Tag Archives: change

In the Past 50 Hours

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Well, I’ve only known that I’m pregnant for about 50ish hours now.  It’s crazy how so much can happen in 50 hours when something important is going on.

Since I found out, I’ve bought some great Prenatal Vitamins from the natural food store in town.

I’ve talked on the phone with so many significant people in my life.  Feels a lot like getting engaged – everyone explodes with excitement as if I’ve won the lottery.  My friend Hannah told me that actually, I did.

I’ve avoided looking in my guest room – soon to be turned nursery.  After so many attempts to organize that space, it’s still a ridiculous mess where all our spare stuff gets tossed.  I have NO idea how I am going to create a nice space to put a crib, rocking chair and the essentials amongst our other stuff.  Maybe Jon will need to build a few more wall shelves or we will get a plastic storage shed for the back patio.  Or maybe I will just throw everything away.  That keeps crossing my mind.

Jon said that maybe he can build a cradle like the one that Locke built Claire on Lost.  We still love Lost and we are now on Season 3.  Season 3 is insane!

I have been reading every article on The Mommypotamus blog.  I actually started reading this about two weeks ago – go figure!  And every time I read something and begin to share with Jon his eyebrows practically scrape the ceiling.  Why?  Because Mommypotamus is very “natural” in her thinking.  But I like it!  So I continue to bring up interesting topics like home birth, natural foods, circumcision, and ultrasound practices to Jon and since he doesn’t have time to read all the articles right now, he just has to trust me and probably think that I’m a little bit crazy or hormonal.

I’m sure I’ll be posting a lot more on these key decisions I have to make as I go.  Probably because so many of my preconceived ideas are changing and it’s shocking, even to me.  I’ve always been a “take a pill to fix it” girl  whenever I experience any kind of ailment.  But not anymore!  I’m suddenly extremely aware of everything I’m putting into my body.  It’s pretty weird.  Beautiful and wonderful, but still kind of weird.

And I’ve been making sure to carve out time to have a REAL relationship with God.  I think I got very routine over the past couple months with everything going on and as a result stuff started to feel a little lousy, heavy and boring, and …blah!  So I’m taking this opportunity to get back on track because I can etiher go through this whole experience with God, or without.  And I’d rather go with God.

Last night I crawled into bed at 9:30pm - something I’ve done maybe a handful of times since elementary school.  Jon had to stay up late to study, but he came upstairs about twenty minutes later to “tuck me in.”  I’ve never heard him say he wants to “tuck me in” before, but last night as I was walking up the stairs on my way to bed he told me he’d be up in a while to do just that.  I guess he’s already feeling fatherly.  It’s really sweet.

And as he tucked me in, he said I looked so peaceful.  And honestly, I felt so peaceful.  I couldn’t really explain it, but I just felt so safe, so sure, so…peaceful.  I guess I still don’t really know how to explain it, but it’s just the sense that whatever is happening to me is so right and lovely in God’s eyes.  And I’m pretty sure that I had a little smile on my face all night as I layed there.  I didn’t really sleep all that much, but even just laying there awake felt great.  That never happens.  Ha, I’m so full of ooey-gooey emotions right now that I hardley recognize myself!

So hey, If you have any advice, tips, blog recommendations, product recommendations, etc. please send them my way!  Just leave me a comment because I can use all the help I can get!

Truth or Dare, Or Maybe Both

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Some books give you that fuzzy, feel good all over feeling.  You know, the ones you read all snuggled up in a blanket on your favorite chair with some pistachios and a glass of wine in hand?  The ones that tell of romance and true love, that bring a deeper understanding about God’s grace and acceptance in our lives, and the kind that spur our hearts to dream magical and enchanting dreams.  The book I’m reading now is, unfortunately, not one of those books. 

I hesitantly cracked open the paperback book with the orange cover that my boss handed out to our entire staff at work two weeks ago.  About three pages in I felt like I was lying helpless on the floor, exposed, and hurting.  Big questions began floating around my mind, bumping into one another and my head began to hurt.  Sure makes you want to read this book, huh?  

This is not a book review because after sitting down at BlackHorse Espresso for forty-five minutes today on my lunch break I only made it through the first chapter and I am not sure I even want to continue reading.  I’m not sure I know how to answer the big questions and I’m not sure how to put literally anything from the first chapter into action.  However, just like in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, once you know that there’s something real on the other side of the wardrobe, it’s impossible to continue playing hide-n-seek in the house pretending that you aren’t at least curious about what’s on the other side.

 But enough suspense already.  The book published last year is called “Radical” by David Platt and the subtitle states: “Taking Back Your Faith From the American Dream”.  I told you, this is not a fuzzy kind of book.  Yet the reason I trust what is written on the pages of this book is that it is a message that has increasingly emerged from small and humble pulpits around America over the past few decades.  It is also a topic that my favorite preacher Paul Washer has passionately and respectfully been yelling at people for most of his ministry.  And like this book points out, the most convincing and gut wrenching reason why I should care about this is because the tough words I’m being laid out on the floor by are not those of David Platt but they are the unblemished, unbiased, swear your life on it, truthful words of Jesus Christ himself.

 So send me a card, buy me a latte or maybe just read the book along with me because I’m in need of some TLC as I let the words of Jesus rip apart my perfectly outfitted American Dream life.  I pray I have the strength to not fight back too hard and to let him have his way in me.

I want the truth and I’m daring to try and find it.  Are you?

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Click to see the You Tube book trailer for “Radical”

Click here to buy the book or submit your email address to receive the first chapter of the book for free

Mission: Kidwells Become Runners By Christmas

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On November 15th of last year, a Monday, Jon and I set out to fulfill one of the highest and noblest of callings.  Through much hardship and training we were destined to leave behind the quiet comfort of our small, but fashionable apartment a few days a week and embark on forty minute long adventure sessions throughout the neighborhoods of west San Luis Obispo.  We were ferociously committed to claiming the coveted title of “Runner” and we set ourselves a goal of attaining such a status by the time Christmas rolled around. 

It all started, however, not out of a burning passion to run but out of my desire to keep Jon from whining about how he never had time to get outside and be active anymore.  I can say this without guilt of making him sound bad because in our relationship, ninety-nine percent of the time I am the one who is whining.  So on the rare occasions that Jon does begin to whine, it stands out like a farmer in New York City.  Completely out of place and I didn’t care for it.  So I came up with a solution.  “Why don’t we start running Jon?”  “I hate running.”  “Oh…”

So we spent a week or two coming up with ideas of different physically active hobbies we could get into.  The problem was that with each suggestion the likelihood that we would actually consistently continue to take part in that particular hobby was slim.  Surfing included cold water temperatures and the hassle of hauling the boards to the beach without a truck.  Biking seemed like it would get boring too quickly and I have always despised that burning feeling you get in your legs after a while.  Rock climbing involved paying for a membership at a local climbing wall.  Tennis failed because we weren’t good enough at playing to keep a rally going on very long, meaning that the level of physical intensity of tennis fell at about a two.  Jon ruled out yoga and pilates almost immediately because last year a friend took us to a local Bikram yoga class and I think Jon almost cried publicly.  So after this whole run-around of suggestions, the idea of running seemed to emerge as the obvious, inexpensive, convenient, and literally the only reasonable option. 

The first couple times we went running  sadly resembled the opening episodes of a Biggest Loser season with Jon as the loser and me as Jillian.  He hated it and wasn’t able to carry on a conversation because he was too focused on finding the will to continue.  I, on the other hand, also wondered if I could merge my life-long solo activity into a social one.  Growing up, running was my opportunity to get away from it all.  I relied on running to help clear my head and with the help of my iPod I entered into whatever kind of reality I preferred for that moment.  So it was difficult for both of us and also challenging to pull ourselves up and out of bed while the sun was still not shining and when our apartment felt cold. 

However something happened on run number five.  Up until that point we had been running before work around Laguna Lake until our lungs said, “no more”, but for run number five we decided to go in the evening after work and Jon used his Google Map skills to chart us a course where he could determine the length and grid ahead of time.  Bingo!  Jon has this thing for Google Maps and charting a course that goes way back to his trip to Europe and his adventurous, backpacker, thrill-seeker, travel guru days.  And because of his ahead of time planning, he actually enjoyed the run and was motivated enough to finish the course without my verbal help. 

After that day, things really took off and a few days later Jon informed me that he was going on a run without me.  I was baffled.  Then he informed me that he would be running a full five miles which was further than either of us had ever run together.  It’s a proud day and a sad one when the student far surpasses the teacher in both motivation and ability.  But he came back successful and sweaty and that was the day our real running adventures began. 

Since then we have enjoyed many more runs around town and the occasional special run on the Bob Jones Trail or up and over the sand dunes on the stretch of beach in Morro Bay.  One time we parked at the Madonna Inn and set off to tackle the Lemon Grove Trail on Madonna Mountain and ended up on the other side of downtown, trying to make it back to the car before dark.  My favorite excursion being the time we ran right along the water line of the ocean, where we joined the Snowy Plovers and receded along with the water and then sprinted for dry sand when the waves came tumbling into shore to devour our tennis shoes.  Snowy Plovers are my favorite bird and I like to mimic their strange but cute tendencies. 

And now that we have become accustomed to the rhythm of running together and our bodies have since adjusted to the physical output, running has become our favorite way to unwind from a busy day of mundane work in an office building.  In my opinion we are becoming more like old people at a young age, meaning we can do almost anything together and just enjoy the other’s company. 

This time of year the sun in just setting about the time we hit our halfway point and as we stride we talk about what’s happened, what’s happening and what’s just up ahead for us.  We admire all of the big and beautiful houses and talk about which ones we would want to buy if we had the means to.  Then we repent to the Lord because if we are ever given the ability to own a nice home in San Luis Obispo county it should be for his uses and glory, not for our own comfort.  Next we quote Paul Washer sermons to each other and talk about moving overseas so that we don’t fall into the trap of the American Dream of constantly upgrading our lifestyle and accommodations.  Our ongoing game is to make fun of all the ridiculous things people are watching on TV as we run by and look in their windows.  Finally, to further lighten the mood we talk about baby names because I am becoming increasingly obsessed with baby names and I don’t know why.                  

I keep talking about running a 10k this year while Jon still suggests he is marathon-bound one day.  For me on the other hand I am content running the daily short races and am not sure my knees would carry me through the wear-and-tear of a marathon anyway.  Soccer was brutal on my knees.  So, Mission: Kidwells Become Runners By Christmas?  Mission accomplished.

The Parable of the Christmas Tree

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In front of the only window we have in our living room, stands our first Christmas tree.  Measuring in at about five feet tall is this Douglas Fir, decorated with red and gold shiny and glittery Christmas balls and multi-colored lights.  A sheet of tan burlap is swirled around the base and the poorly-wrapped and oddly shaped packages to our family members are hanging out just beneath the last layer of small green braches.  It’s nice, and we decorated it while engulfed in the unfolding drama of a Lifetime Christmas movie – a tradition that I’d like to continue but Jon’s not so sure about. 

And for the month of December, this simple piece of nature that we decided to bring indoors and hang silly things from has been one of the greatest spiritual reminders in my life.  We have a big tan chair that’s placed just beside the tree in the corner of our living room, and in our small apartment this chair and tree combo has created the closest thing we have to a cozy little nook suitable for reading.  So this month I’ve been sitting there, reading a little and thinking a lot, about life and where the Author of it is taking me.  And as I’ve thought through these things, my gaze has continued to fall back upon this simple tree all covered in glitter and lights and Christmas decor. 

Jesus was the master of talking in word pictures, so much so that it seemed that those closest to him wished he would give a straight answer at times.  But in his brilliance he described things like the Kingdom of Heaven as a “treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and hid; and for joy over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.” (Matt. 13:44) And he had similarly depictive pictures of the opposing kingdom.  Instead of saying bland statements like, “Heaven is great, you should try and be there,” he spoke in direct, emotion-provoking stories and pictures that related to his listeners; that they could relate to and take to heart.  It’s no wonder that it’s easy for people to misunderstand the words of Jesus if they do not first understand the details of when and where and to who he was talking to.  Each person he encountered had a unique, personal experience with the Son of Man.     

And so it has been in my living room, in the dim of the morning or in the dim of night.  The Lord has been speaking to my ever-so-feeble heart in pictures and stories that I’m clinging onto like they’re money.  And like I said, my gaze continues to fall back upon this simple tree all covered in glitter and lights and Christmas decor. 

When the tree arrived a few Saturdays before, we brought it inside and hurriedly began covering it with decorations so that it would fit the part.  Overcome by the excitement of its long-anticipated arrival, we wasted no time in altering its simple, natural appearance.  I was affirmed in this when people who visited our home would say what a beautiful Christmas tree it was with all the lights and glitter.  And it was.  But when I had this realization Lord spoke to me about myself, about other people and about the problems I’d been having.  And in that moment I understood what I had been failing to understand for a while now. 

Galatians 1:10 says: “For am I now seeking the favor of men, or of God? Or am I striving to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bond-servant of Christ.”

As Christians and as people in general we crave a compliment.  We crave the approval we get from other people when they notice how great our “decorations” are because we think our decorations speak of who we are.  So we spend a lot of time working on appearance and achievements to cover ourselves with decorations that people can notice and praise.  But in the end we still feel lacking because while men may praise our decorations, we are so covered in fluff that no one, sometimes not even ourselves, can see the worth and value of the actual tree underneath. 

But the Lord made the tree.  The Lord is pleased with the tree; the simple, beautiful, original design of his creation.  Some under-paid person in India made the glittery fiber-glass ornaments that we value so much and let define us. 

And so this Christmas I’m attempting to let go of the fluff that I’ve allowed to cover almost every inch of me.  And I’m attempting to let go of the strong, relentless desire to seek the favor, acceptance, and the approval of other people.  It’s not easy to take down the decorations.  They are a safety and a shield to our timid and frail real selves.  But the process is a noble attempt at godliness and one that the Lord will certainly affirm and honor.  Because, like I said, the Lord loves his creation and when we seek to please Him we receive true, lasting ornaments and decorations that get stored up in heaven for all of eternity.  And even better, we get the lasting, satisfying approval of our Father in Heaven which is of greater worth than the approval of any man or woman.    

And this Christmas I’m also just so thankful for Jesus and for his hands that are not too small for turning tables over in my life.  Thankful that he understands what he has made and does not turn away from it.  And thankful that he speaks clearly to my heart…even if he’s speaking to me through a Christmas tree, which is still not as weird as a donkey.

She Took One More Step

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She Took One More Step

She took one more step.  As soon as her heel lifted out of the sand the winds blew and covered her last track with the fine, tan particles.  And so with every step it was though she had never taken any steps before.  The progress seemed nonexistent, even though she knew very well she was moving forward; towards the somewhere she knew in her heart existed.  Yet her inability to see her own tracks in the sand made the journey appear bleak and uncharted.  Her blood, once hot with passion, had cooled enough to where she felt twinges of numbness come over her sporadically. 

She took one more step.  As she breathed in a deep breath she glanced down at the small, purple desert flower she still held in her hand and she thought of his name.  An explosion went off in her heart like a sonic boom.  He was undeniable.  And it was true that at the mention of his name something inside her leapt with joy and desperation; a longing for new life to permeate her very being, for even the rocks cry out.  She smiled, though she tried to resist the outward expression of happiness, for it contradicted her chosen posture for the moment.  But she smiled for a moment and then she pressed on with resolute seriousness and took another step. 

There was nothing glamorous about this part of the journey, but as he kept reminding her in small whispers and nudges, it was absolutely necessary to the master plan.  She knew it was true too, but for some reason she continued to fight against the very hand that held her up.  Her stubbornness was either her jewel or her sackcloth, depending on what she used it for.  Right now it was her sackcloth for she refused to wear a smile in the desert.  She refused to pretend and saw genuine contentment as a far off notion, a silly idea of the optimist’s diluted imagination.

She remembered how just a few weeks earlier he’d surrounded her with thornbushes, a byproduct of her own request.  But she hated it.  The sharp shards of disappointment stung her with every slight movement.  She tried to get out, but quickly accepted her momentary fate. For the scriptures say,

“Therefore I will block her path with thornbushes;    I will wall her in so that she cannot find her way.    She will chase after her lovers but not catch them;    she will look for them but not find them…

Therefore I am now going to allure her;    I will lead her into the wilderness    and speak tenderly to her.  There I will give her back her vineyards,    and will make the Valley of Trouble a door of hope. There she will respond as in the days of her youth,    as in the day she came up out of Egypt.”

 

She tried to speak to him but her murmurs were faint.  She knew that he would not respond until she learned how to smile in the desert and trust from a place of unfamiliarity.  She knew this yet she tarried.  She wrestled with her own ideas and decided today was not the day. 

But she knew in her heart that she’d get there because of His faithfulness.  His kindness can melt even the most brick-laden of hearts. 

She took one more step.

Welcome to SLO; Chapter II. The Seasons

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Welcome to SLO; Chapter II, The Seasons

 

Chapter two. Has taken longer to write than predicted. It’s been progressive like my ever-changing, ever-fading newer darker hair color. Progressive like driving a car. Like you can’t drive the car around town before you actually have one. Which is why I’m still riding my bike. Still working at Abercrombie & Fitch. Still loving my new life and enjoying moments in the sunshine. And that’s what I’ve been busy doing lately: riding bikes, learning to love, and living chapter two. Because its impossible to reminisce about things that have taken place until you reach a mile marker; a resting place along the way where one can plop down on a fallen tree branch, slide the oversized pack off the shoulders, and take a cool drink of water from the Nalgene with the karabiner and the “Keep Tahoe Blue” bumper sticker stuck to the side. But I’ve finally reached that spot on the trail where I can take a breather and turn around to admire all the crevasses and caves I’ve just conquered; to admire the view from the place that I’m now standing. In fact, this resting point just so happens to be the same place I reminisced from almost six months ago; back when my life was a pirate ship and even the good things weren’t mine to keep. The back deck to my mother’s house sits upon a hilltop with towering Evergreens and brush surrounding the lake-cabin-like shelter than was formerly known as Home. I’ll be there in November. And let me tell you, the view from where I now stand is breathtaking and life-giving and the best part is I’m not standing in this majestic moment alone. It’s incredible, and worth every upward motion in both thought and deed that it took to get here. So here’s what’s happened:

I found out Freedom is a person and I finally know him. I found out I wasn’t who I thought I was and that despite my logical protesting I had no doubt been playing church for the past eight years in a lot of respects. I found out that redemption is a season and I’m currently living in it; currently running and playing in piles of orange and brown leaves of joy and a newfound steadiness of heart. Found out that right now God views me like a seven year old and I’m content to be his little girl. And as the summer season of fun and all things new has just slipped under the covers to sleep, Autumn is emerging as a time of clothing myself with some layers that are a bit thicker and meant to protect everything that’s now been established underneath all the skin and what people can see with their eyes. Yet Autumn has never looked like this before. This is the first time Autumn is, and will continue to be, a season of hope and not the beginning of an icy downhill crash. Partially because this is not Washington and the iconic leaves I’m playing in actually aren’t really changing colors all that much; stuff around here is still looking pretty green and the leaves tend to stay on the trees. And I’m confused when I walk outside in the mornings and expect to see my breath cut through the chilled air like an exhale of thick cigarette smoke; expect to spend fifteen minutes scraping my car windows with icy fingers and hot swear words because I’m already late – and like I said, I don’t even own a car here. Because this year I’m not preparing myself to suffer through a cold, dark, terribly long winter. I’m preparing to let things settle; settle into what I am becoming. Settle into this new life that I’m convinced I’m never going to leave behind now. This year, Autumn holds the promise of beauty and the new habit of early mornings spent gripping a warm cup of coffee and everything I’m now convinced is mine through True Love. And as this season slides further into focus and clarity and Change continues to be my new best friend and trusted guide, I’m predicting only good things and that this newly established pattern in my life of embracing everything that God has for me will continue to bring me further into the loving arms of Freedom.

On life at the Lighthouse: Sometimes, you find yourself in a certain place where you can honestly say, “I wouldn’t change a thing.” Well I’m currently living in that place, minus the fact that I would in fact do a little something more with the color scheme of our living room. Not that I don’t appreciate the twelve different shades of tan that accent the almost-tan walls, but I think a few green house plants and a picture hanging on the wall might eventually be nice. But my issue with the color tan aside, really, I wouldn’t change a thing. Not even the spacious kitchen that amplifies every tiny clank of the ceramic dishware to let me know that my roommates are up and beginning their days before I’m ready to crawl out from under my covers. However, most disturbances to my sleep simply tend to remind me that I have people in my life who are worth waking up for; worth knowing to the fullest, even at 5:00 a.m.. So I don’t mind. And with the new Autumn season settling in, and the chilly night air pushing us to go inside, to build a fire, and to sit down with one another, we are on the brink of seeing springtime flourish inside the walls of our home despite what the calendar says. Our yellowish house with the purple trim (God help me) that goes against every vow of loyalty I made to Washington State University and the “I bleed Crimson” mentality and against my lifetime vow of hatred towards the purple and gold breed of the Greater Northwest, is becoming our safe-haven and a place where our secret prayers about who we really want to be and the reality of our lives are rapidly merging like rush hour traffic on the Autobahn. Because we’re all determined not to be alone anymore. Because we’re realizing we don’t have to be. So our times at home have been spent with each other in a perpetual game of hide-n-seek that we’ll continue to play until we all get found and manage to remain there. So I’m looking forward to many more memorable nights at home where watching television is a thing of the past. Because like I told someone the other day: “Why would I watch TV? For the first time in my life I think that what’s going on in my own life is more interesting than what’s going on in theirs.” And what’s even more enchanting is that I’m convinced this trend will never die. Like skinny jeans, it’ll always come back around; they never really go away in the first place. I think even the Pilgrims wore skinny jeans. And instead of TV we’ll continue our tradition of filming Sunday night dance videos where we’re discovering that five off-beat girls really do know how to get down. So it’s good to have friends and we’re all learning how to be one. But maybe even more so we’re learning how to have them; how to let other people in because we’ve all got our closets. I’ve got a garage, actually. So during these months of seeking coziness and people who are comfort like blankets, I’ll continue to barge into their rooms because Lord knows they’re already barging into mine; because that’s really what we all want if we’re being honest. It’s funny though because when we named it the Lighthouse I’m not really sure we knew what we were in for; not sure we realized how prophetic that name over our house would be. But it is, and so as we continue to settle further into each other we’ll keep striving towards a colorful horizon that will not disappoint. Because if there’s one thing that California knows how to do best, it’s put on a vivid display of color every night as the sun hits the hills. And it’s obvious: sunsets are meant to be shared.

On becoming a Christian: My flip flops are almost comfortably worn in now. The once hard, flat brown leather surface has taken on a softer side; like new mothers and Meg Ryan before Botox. When I kick them off at night and tuck them into the shoe rack that hangs over the back of my bedroom door you can see the places where my toes have pressed against the soles all day long and made little imprints; see where my heels have dug down into the leather. See where they’ve changed. It’s funny though because I’ve only been wearing them for approximately 41 days now. I bought them brand spanking new 41 days ago from a quiet, hip surf shop on Monterey street. And 41 days of wear and tear have made quite the impression on these adorable little flops with the signature Rainbow tag. Such is my spiritual life right now: I’ve only been here in San Luis Obispo – and really living, for approximately 41 days – yet my life here is like a pair of brown leather flip flops. 41 days ago everything was brand spanking new. And upon departure from the Spokane International Airport my heart was hardened and flat; a real wasteland void of any real beauty or character. Void of any fresh impressions from that which is higher. Enough to fake it at times I suppose, but I knew the truth about myself and the truth included a lot of descriptive words about what it was like to be lonely and crushed. But I’m not miserable here. And I’m not lonely – far from it, in fact. Still daily claiming the extreme statement of “I’ve never been better” and my two former friends, Lonely and Misery, are on the other side of the oceanic expanse and I want nothing more to do with them other than to wave at them from across the deep gulf and mock them with a smile of sincerity and a goblet of hope raised high. And as I’ve continued to live out my days in this new life these flops are beginning to fit me well. They’re beginning to take a form; I’m beginning to take form. It’s the first time in my whole life that I actually like my life and don’t wish that I could borrow someone else’s. But it’s a strange and radical feeling when you’ve been alive for just north of twenty-two years, but you’ve only been living, really living for approximately 41 days. It’s completely unexplainable like spumoni ice cream and math. There’s a lot to take in and still mountain ranges that need moving, but I’m learning to have patience because everyone tells me it all comes in due time. I’m not sure how it all happened, but the cogs began to click, spiritually, as soon as I arrived in San Luis Obispo and they picked up pace when phrases like “freedom” and “healing” became common speech among those I’d been getting to know. And like a wave that doesn’t really know its part of the ocean until it crashes up against the rock, I guess I never really had an appropriate encounter with the Rock in the first place. Never really lived different but just knew that different existed. But everything has changed. For one, I got healed. Which is a statement that tends to catch people, even those closest to me off guard. But like literally, the stomach condition I’d been ailed with since last December because I was swimming in deep pools of venom, is now gone for good and eating is finally enjoyable again. And I got made new. Like in my spirit. You know, as in all the sickness that made my insides feel black and decayed has been removed and I’m running through the wide open fields with dasies in my pockets and and real turquoise dangling from my ears and clanging on my wrists. The pirate ship is gone. And life is finally the opposite of what it once was. It’s been humbling. But like repentance, it just feels right. And I’m okay admitting that for the past eight years I had been going through my days with a baseball cap of deceit covering my head. Because I’m not wearing a hat anymore; I’m wearing a crown. And like Jenna’s favorite song says: “I’m never going back to okay.”

On the topic of love: Well I had a buddy in college who had a tendency to drink too much beer and then when the commotion of the night came to a close, in a very serious manner would sit me down on the rugged green couch in the living room that faced the mounted elk head, named Eleanor, that hung above the fireplace and there he would tell me all about how love was a lot like fishing. Now seeing as I’m a city girl – who holds a definite attraction to country music, but nonetheless has spent the majority of life listening to Kenny Chesney and Garth Brooks sing about the cowboy life from within a world of suburbia where my dad taught me how to grab a phone book when I needed an oil change or my tires rotated – I no doubt had a lot to learn. And although my buddy was influenced more by the infamous Jack D. and sly Mr. Coors than any other reliable source of wisdom during those late nights on the couch with me and Eleanor, he sure did teach me a lot about fishing. So as certain events have been unfolding in my life with a certain incredible someone, I’ve found myself thinking a whole lot more about fishing and thinking that its just about time that I start living out my own song and not just singing about someone else’s pretty story. And I’m discovering that it really is quite enjoyable and I’m thankful that I’m getting to build a genuine friendship with this someone amongst the growing backdrop of relationships with my new family here and within the reservoir of a church that is destined to do mighty things. It’s amusing though because I’ve been forced to swallow my own flippant statement as of late regarding the peculiar title of “special friends” that the twenty-somethings in my church have creatively placed over developing guy-girl relationships. I remember the first time I heard someone mention the phrase “special friends” I almost choked on my carrot stick. I had only been in San Luis Obispo for about a week and upon hearing it, in a careful whisper, I turned to my new roommate Jenna and said the words: “Seriously shoot me in the face if I ever have something called a special friend.” But God is funny and in recent weeks “special friends” has become the official title mounted above my ever-changing, ever-redefining relationship with this special someone. And honestly, I have never been happier to have my own words come back around to bite me. In fact, I’m considering allowing more ill-thought out statements to come flying out of my mouth just in hopes that they might come true as well. So for now, I’m content to feel silly and feel like I have no clue as to what I’m doing in all of this. Because the reality is that I don’t. God is helping me to re-learn how to do everything. Yeah, really, everything. And I’m also content to sit through about three minutes of laughter during phone calls with friends back home that can’t get over the fact that it sounds like some sort of handicap (my own father included). But you know, in a lot of ways there is a handicap placed over my relationship with the boy. Yet I’ve confidently determined that it’s a wonderful self-inflicted, self-established handicap that I fully believe is leading to nothing but great and even greater things. So with that said, I suppose I should claim it with some pride, right? So here goes: “My name is Erin Lockhert and I have a special friend.” (“Hi Erin!” –spoken in unison). There’s certainly a lot more that I could say about it all and would like to actually, but for now, in this season of settling in, I’m content just to share a lot of secrets with God and some with my roommates as well. And content to live out my days at work with a particularly silly smile plastered across my face that my coworkers now recognize and call me out on every time with comments about how I’m “so done for.” And I’m also content to sit still, or rather move forward with God, and allow him to be the one to totally belly hook me at this point. Because love begins first with falling in love with God and right now as far as things between me and Jesus go, my coworkers certainly are right: I’m so done for. But I can say that I’m intensely looking forward to experiences of actually really going fishing with this boy. Ya know, I actually wanna stand on the edge of a body of water with a pole, or a rod ‘n reel, or a stick or whatever you call it and with the boy standing next to me I want to catch a fish. He seems to like doing these sorts of things. So whenever we actually get to “go there”, I’m determined to be ready with a tackle box, hopefully a hot pink one because honestly what could be better than that, and a giddy smile plastered across my face. I never thought I’d care so much about fishing, but I’m really kind of liking the fact that the new, the awkward, and the surprising are becoming a trend. But Autumn isn’t fishing season. And there’s always the potential for ice fishing during the winter months I suppose, so in the meantime I’ve got a little while to figure out where in the world I’m going to find a pink tackle box and a decent stick with the yarn dangling from the end; maybe I’ll find it sooner than I think. God help me, I’m going fishing!

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Welcome to SLO; Chapter I

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Welcome to SLO; Chapter I

My welcome to San Luis Obispo included two lovely slender framed girls from London, one holding a beautiful blue-eyed baby, jumping up and down and waving from behind a ten-foot tall chain link fence at the single runway airport just twelve miles inland from the California coast. The baggage claim carousel was about the size of a vending machine conveyor belt displaying sandwiches and Chef Boyardee ravioli in an office break room and the whole airport itself was in fact about the size of an office break room. It was quaint. And it was the perfect welcome complete with a three day heat wave that pushed record breaking temps of 113 degrees. I said I wanted warm weather and a fresh start and that’s exactly what I got.

I left behind a teary eyed mother at the Spokane airport about seven hours earlier that day and for once in my life I managed to keep the reservoir of hot emotion behind my eyes from spilling out all over the place. My mom hugged me and kissed me on the side of the mouth before her eyes spoke the lyrics of a thousand different songs about goodbyes and I began walking up the ramp through airport security. I turned and watched her walk away through the sliding glass doors and instead of sadness I found myself smiling, both on the outside and on the inside because new beginnings and new hope are certainly worth smiling about. It was one of those deep internal smiles; the kind where you can feel all the corners of your insides turn slightly upward and your mouth simply follows suit. In the book I’m reading the Indonesian spiritual healer calls it “smiling even in your liver” and it’s something I’ve been trying to do more of lately. Although I’m not even really sure where my liver is located in my body, but nonetheless, I’ve been trying to smile more, even there.

Church. Is different here; different and refreshing like sea breeze and I’m content to be the sea glass. And although I notice the differences quite vibrantly and sense them completely I am still having a hard time describing the differences to others. Maybe because I feel like I can’t accurately sum up what I’m experiencing here without making it sound like I’m shedding my past experiences in a negative light or somehow calling them insignificant. But the truth is that before I came here and stepped into the collage of people that comprise Mercy Church; before God changed my plans and direction completely, I was perfectly content with where I was at and I fully believed it was in fact God’s promised land and future for me; which is why I never intended on leaving it. But since the reality is that I have left that place, for now at least, and since the direction of my life has been radically changed by God himself, I am happy to report that once again, like many times before, he has brought me to a place that is absolutely, magnificently, detailed-specifically perfect for me right now. Right now Mercy Church is God’s next level for me and I’m experiencing my relationship with Jesus like a brand new 30×36 white stretch canvas. And the new, the clean, the white…white…the white start has never felt so good or undeserved. During my first week here I finally let the rest of the world pass me by for 171 minutes and I let nothing distract me from the cinematic wonder of Mel Gibson in Braveheart. And as life has continued to progress and my film experience is weeks behind me now I can still say, in all cliche glory, that Mercy Church is a community harboring young Wallaces and I’m anticipating the freedom that the Lord is bringing me into through these lives. Because God has recently brought me through quite the exodus and I can already hear the raven’s sweet song of freedom coming from just over the garden wall.

Roommates. I have four of them. Jenna, Shawna, Danielle, and Yvonne. We live in the Lighthouse, named appropriately after the sunroom on the front end of our house that other than the floor and two small side panels is formed completely of glass. We could have very well called it “the fishbowl”, but the Lighthouse sounded more elegant and in my own words had “Yay symbolism!” But as for my roommates: They’re beautiful, both in the sense that they are people to sit back and take in with a cup of tea and in the sense that they bring rivers of kindness and compassion and joy into the world. However, the fact that I am living in California with four girls slightly my elder, who I had previously never met before I actually got off the tiny plane at the tiny airport on the south end of town, and the fact that I actually like it, still boggles my mind. Probably because I made it a goal a long time ago to never need women in my life again, probably for the same reasons that most women make similar vows to themselves. (I blame daytime television and Cosmo.) And because I brilliantly managed to execute that plan up until a Spring Break mission trip to Las Vegas during my freshman year of college where the Holy Spirit decided to stick me with a sharp right hook and side jab to the head that shattered my way of thinking and caused me to do the same to that nasty covenant. Since then it’s been an interesting trek back through the forest towards the wide open fields and the Lord continues to make me do all sorts of things along the way that I find uncomfortable and ridiculously freeing all at the same time. Like letting other people into my madness and not just lingering outside the front door of theirs. And the more I seem to let my roommates and other women into my life, the more I genuinely like myself and feel at peace with, well…everything. I admit I still fight to embrace the whole “I love cooking and gentleness and candle parties” side of having close-knit relationships with women at times, mostly just because I’m insecure, but I bought a spatula and some house plants last week so I figure at least I’m on my way. And in the meantime I’m experiencing the growing enjoyment of having four women in my life to laugh and cry with, who really know me, and who can teach me how to do all sorts of wild and adrenaline-pumping things like hang curtain rods and refinish furniture with the leftover paint found in the garage. One of my most victorious moments since being here involved a power drill and the phrase, “You bet I did that!” So I’m looking forward to the open fields and spending a year at 2684 Johnson Street in The Lighthouse with the four blessings and cupboards stocked full of treats from Trader Joe’s.

Work. About a month before I left Spokane for California my mom took me out shopping for business clothes. We spent an entire day buying enough slacks and blazers and stiff-necked button downs to fill up the entire left side of my Miranda closet. Then I spent the next few weeks filling out online applications for jobs that would allow me to display my new wardrobe from behind a gray-freckled plastic desk from Office Depot, hopefully with minimal amounts of gum stuck underneath. My destiny would be to sit at that desk, sip my Bucks, and do adult things….amazingly boring adult things while constantly itching beneath the layers of adulthood and polyester that cramped my hamstrings and my style. So I am pleased to report that every single overpriced, librarian-like turtleneck and matching sweater vest are still hanging in my closet with the tags attached and instead I am sporting colorful strappy tank tops, jeans, and flip flops to the sleek brick building on the corner of Higeura and Osos that sits in the heart of downtown SLO, surrounded by streets lined with trendy boutiques and places to eat. I still get to sip my Bucks and I sip it to loud music and from within a cloud of sweet smelling cologne and familiar teen angst. I can’t really describe my job as being prestigious and I actually think that’s maybe why I like it so much. Thus far, Abercrombie & Fitch, store #496 Court Street has been good to me. It’s been challenging and fun and best of all its right down the street from Yogurt Creations ( a place I love to visit so frequently that I am currently on yogurt probation until I can learn to have some self control with the frozen treats and delicious candy toppings). My job has also allowed me to abstain from correcting my unprofessional habit of saying the word “like” too often in sentences for at least another year of my life, maybe two if I’m lucky; something my mother is extremely disappointed to hear (Sorry mom!). But right now I’m too caught up in all things new and exciting and still trying to embrace the role of manager: something I find challenging and growth-causing both in the realms of practicality and spirituality. And although I’ve only been stationed at A&F just upwards of a month, I am already feeling quite at home within those walls, trashy pictures and all. In fact I think the pictures keep me grounded; keep reminding me of why I’m really there. I’m not sure how long my time at A&F will last and I have no clue as to what kind of job may follow. A big part of me still hopes and plans on filling out that CRU staff application sometime in the next few years, but I suppose that in all reality I have no clue as to what my life will be like then. (Seems to be a growing trend). But for now, I am content standing in the gap for the people there. Content in experiencing the Spirit of God regaining his ground within that place; regaining his ground within me too. Content in letting those I’m managing love and correct me. Because God is raising up a generation of passionate Christ followers…well-dressed Christ followers, at Abercrombie & Fitch in San Luis Obispo, California and it’s really an incredible thing. Word.

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