Tag Archives: life

Are We Pregnant Yet?

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On New Year’s Eve, my husband Jon and I decided that we felt ready to start trying for baby number two.  Since baby number one was a complete and total surprise, the idea of trying seemed so strange and foreign to us.  We felt sure about wanting another baby, but then the next moment we would question our sanity.  How could we ever be sure?  We decided that we couldn’t, so we had to just trust our hearts and take a leap of faith.

As January 1st came and went we assumed that by the end of the month we would be celebrating the conception of our next child.

But it didn’t happen.

Despite 1,000 signs that I was pregnant, the tests said no.

Call it ‘power of the mind’ or a pregnancy that didn’t last…I’ll never know…

But it was a reality check.

It was a much needed reminder that God is the creator of life.  Yes, we play our parts, but we do not determine when someone will be born or who that someone will be.

I was grateful for a friend who reminded me that God knows the names of my children.  He knows the days on which they will be born.  He knows their life.  He knows them.  And although I sometimes think I am in control of the development of my family, nothing happens apart from Him.  He is the giver of taker of life.

So January passed and as February dawned, Jon and I decided not to try so hard.  Trying felt awkward and stressful and I’ll stop before I share too much…so moving forward we decided instead just to let things happen.  I didn’t think about babies or pregnancy too much in February until I was late of course.  8 days late.

[TMI Warning: Sometimes after you have a baby and you are breastfeeding, your cycles can get all wack and irregular.]

I took a pregnancy test everyday.  I told myself not to get my hopes up, but as the days passed, my anticipation of baby news grew.

But again, the tests kept saying no and I soon found out for sure that I wasn’t pregnant after all.

It’s so strange how taking a pregnancy test can either be the most thrilling, horrifying, relieving, or disappointing moment you’ve ever experienced, depending on your mind-frame at the time.

I’m not sharing any of this for sympathy or because I want the whole world to know that I was trying to have another baby.  In fact, the thought of that is pretty weird.

I honestly have no idea when the best time for me to be pregnant with another child would be, so I’m glad these things are not left entirely in my hands.  I’m glad the destiny of my family isn’t left up to whims and sudden magical feelings of faith for a second child.  Plus, wanting a child for two months is hardly anything compared to the heart-wrenching praying and waiting that many couples go through.

Honestly, I think a lot of the reason I want to be pregnant again is that my husband has one year of school left.  Two years down, one more to go.  The past couple months have been the most difficult time for me in his schooling so far.  After two years of doing my best to be supportive and understanding of the crazy schedules and insane workload, I think I’ve become tired of it.  I’m ready for it all to end.  I think I just want to move on and enjoy life on the other side of the giant wall we’ve been climbing for two years.  I’m tired of saying things like, “When you’re done with school we will ____.”  The past couple months my life have begun to feel like a waiting game, so in my mind there would be nothing better to distract me for the next year than the anticipation of another baby.  (Mom, if you’re reading this, please let your eyebrows relax- I know this all sounds crazy.)

I’m not really sure what my conclusion to all of this is.  I think this is more of a journal entry to myself so I can wade through my feelings and feel like by putting them down on paper, somehow I am removing them all from me.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
 “As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
-Isaiah 5:8-9

I reminded myself today that Cameron was not my idea; he was God’s.

If it had been up to me, Cameron wouldn’t even exist because Jon and I thought it would be better to put of having kids until he was finished with school…

I’ve been praying lately that God would soften my heart.  I want to enjoy this season of life to the fullest, instead of wishing it was different.  I want to be a supportive wife through the rough patches as well as the easy ones.  I want to let this whole wanting a baby idea go like a balloon on a windy day.  I just want to feel God’s perfect peace.  It’s all possible.  It’s all things God has helped me with before in other circumstances.  I just need him to help me again now.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.
-Ecclesiastes 3:11

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?

______________________________________________________

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

The Awkwardness of Airports

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Sitting in airports makes me completely uncomfortable.   There are few places in the world where so many people, from so many different walks of life are all gathered in a single place with nothing to do.  Everybody is bored, or reading, or nowadays they’re likely on a laptop or texting.  One third of people are physically here but by the look on their faces mentally they are somewhere far, far away.  Everyone is coming and going and caught in the middle of unfolding stories of life that they’re trying to figure out while purposfully avoiding eye contact with everyone else in the vicinity.  And I’m writing because I’m not sure what to do in situations like this.

This morning Jon and I are on a trek up to Washington to spend a week with my family.  We drove from San Luis Obispo to Oakland last night where we stayed in a Sleep, Park ‘N Ride hotel and we awoke this morning to billows of marijuana smoke coming in through our window because our neighbor on the floor below us was enjoying his 6am fix.  We ate a quick breakfast of dried out toast and Fruit Loops at the hotel’s continental breakfast and then we caught our shuttle to the Oakland airport.

And now at the airport, waiting for our flight I’m uncomfortable.  Because in moments like this I can’t decide how I should live out my Christianity.  And suddenly simply believing in God doesn’t seem to cut it.  It doesn’t seem to be changing the world unless I let the Lord Jesus live through me in moments like this.  But my coffee is still kicking in and I fear that by the time I wake up and decide what I should do I will already be on the plane on my way to somewhere else.

Sometimes I wonder if I complicate what God is really asking me to do.  Yet at the same time I am afraid to simply soothe myself, saying that just to go through my day with a positive attitude is enough.  As if me just breathing is enough to fulfill the Great Commission.  I have a reoccuring daydream at airports.  They usually consist of me stepping up on top of a chair and beginning to speak out all kinds of riveting things about God.  Telling the people that there is something worthwhile to hope in.  Soon a crowd is gathering to hear the good news and even the security guards who should be taking action against me can’t help but pull up a chair and listen to the dramatic illustration of  the greatest love story of all time.  However, as I imagine these epic scenarios my legs grow vines that wrap around the base of my chair and pretty soon I have roots that go twenty feet deep into the floor.

And I get really uncomfortable.  Stuck in between what I long to do and what I’m really willing to carry out at this moment.  However, all my thoughts and prayers about wanting to do something worthwhile with my day of travel didn’t go to waste.  After sitting around thinking about things for a while it was time to board our plane.  And after taking my sweet time to get my things together we were the second to last people boarding the aircraft.  Not a big deal until we realized that this was an open seating flight and because of my slowness Jon and I were likely going to be sitting on opposite ends of the plane.  Awesome.

Luckily, when we walked onto the plane it was not a full flight but almost every middle seat was open.  Again, really awkward.   Airports are awkward but it might be even more uncomfortable trying to choose which middle seat to take because you know that no matter who you sit next to they will be highly annoyed that someone ruined their opportunity for a spacious flight.  So we headed for the back of the plane hoping to find a few seats still open for us.  Near the back there were a few rows left with only one person seated so I carefully scanned each person, sizing them up, trying to determine their level of awkwardness so that i could choose who would be the least awkward person to sit next to.  There was a younger guy reading a book with headphones on that looked strangely angry and a middle age businessman that seemed to have some allergy symptoms going on so i took the middle seat next to a friendly looking 60-ish year-old Indian woman who was quietly playing with her phone.  She looked safe and i figured she may not even speak English, therefore making her a promising candidate for my flight company.

She didn’t say much at first and eventually we made a little bit of small talk, exchanging our names and such.  I pulled out my pillow to prepare to sleep through the next one hour and forty-one minutes of air time, but instead the thought crossed my mind that maybe a second best option to dramatic airport preaching, was to explore a little with my neighbor.  Besides, Jesus not only preached to crowds but he made time for a bunch of people along the way.

I’m glad I made that decision because I spent the next hour and thirty minutes listening intently to this woman tell me all about her experiences in India and in America, about her two college-aged sons, about the changing social and family trends in the US, and about the heartbreak surrounding her husband running off with his secretary last year. She told me how she loved the independence and freedom that America had given her because as a 5’6″ woman who prefered pants over lavish dresses that reached the floor, in India she was often mocked for her giant-like height and tom-boy appearance.  But she said the price she paid for her independance was the slow but steady breakdown of her family and the independant spirit that had caused her boys to move far away from home and that lead her husband to cheat on her for over three years in her own home.  She also told me about how she was a Muslim and how her husband was a Hindu, but that in India everyone is either Muslim, Hindu or Catholic and that religion is all just ways of teaching your children family values anyway so it was easy for them to coexist together in different religions.

It’s funny because I find that talking to people about Jesus is fairy easy when they don’t have much of a religious background, but I’ve always had a bit of an issue talking about Jesus with people who are already devoted to another religion.  I’m not sure why, but the thought has always made me feel a little bit intimidated and small and I quickly become afraid to offend.  So depsite my fear I decided to be brave and I asked her what she thought about Jesus.  And to be honest it didn’t really go anywhere too deep because she stated simply that he was a prophet just like Muhammad.  However a few minutes later after a solid hour and a half of listening, God gave me an eleven minute window to share my testimony and the truth about what God had done in my life over the past couple years.

I don’t know exactly what that woman, whose name I still find difficult to pronounce, thought about everything I shared.  Our flight ended shortly after I finished my story and after a few kind remarks we parted ways as I headed off to baggage claim.  But you never know what God will do with the tremendous seeds that we plant for His sake.  And for myself personally, it was a great life lesson because I don’t always choose the path of friendliness, of having time to hear someone out, or the one where you choose to get over the awkwardness and start a conversation, but I do know that I seldom regret being that kind of person.

I pray for that sweet woman.  God loves her very much and I pray she comes to realize just how sweet it is to trust in Jesus.

Welcome to SLO; Chapter IV. The Simplest Revelation

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Welcome to SLO; Chapter IV, The Simplest Revelation

Chapter four. It’s mid-spring. And chapter four means I’m rounding third and on the sprint home to wrap up an entire year in my new home of San Luis Obispo. My new home that continues to be a sky-covered sanctuary in a string of small cultured cities and beach towns with ocean boulevards fit for strolling. And I’ve done a lot of strolling in the last six months. Along sandy beaches and through the Colorado Rockies, in leaf-covered parks in Chico and downtown at Farmers like I’ve enjoyed doing since the beginning of my adventures here. Enough hand-in-hand strolling in fact that I lost track of time and forgot to make it home for dinner and to write chapter three. But the handholding was worth it. Totally worth it. So I’ve been caught up in the strolling and in all the big changes that keep rolling in one after another like the tide at Avila. And as I’m learning that no matter what I do the tide will in fact continue to roll in on schedule, I’m learning to freak out a little less when the big changes do occur. So here’s to the big changes and to the friends that continue to root themselves deeper and deeper into my life like sturdy oak trees. I’m learning to embrace them both.

Every morning around 10:00am the fog kisses the roof tops of San Luis Obispo goodbye as it rises heavenward to reveal Madonna Mountain and Bishop’s Peak still standing in the golden glow of the rising California sun; still bidding me to come and climb. And on the days when I am far too preoccupied to accept their invitation to fellowship and run upward through the gentle waves of green grass, they are steady in reminding me of what I love to do; reminding me of what I was born to do; and reminding me that it’s the simple luxury of those who find the time to pursue it. And it’s similar thinking with God. I moved here almost a year ago to climb. And that’s what I’ve been reflecting on as of late. I didn’t come all this way just to gaze upon a majestic mountain and gawk in jealousy of the tenacity of those who manage to experience the beauty up close. I moved here to climb; to make it to the top myself and to know God. And a month ago when the calendar declared that winter was officially over I did two things: 1) I threw my winter boots back in the closet and painted my toes that familiar cheery shade of Cabana Sunset Pink (Because despite what everyone told me, California does in fact get cold enough for winter boots at times). 2) I finally reached out and grabbed a handful of springtime and the brilliant revelation that nobody in my life is forcing me to climb. It’s just the simple luxury of those who find the time to pursue it.

Last week I decided that I will in fact be staying in San Luis Obispo. Technically I had been planning on that for a while, but it’s different when suddenly the decision demands an answer. So I will be signing another year-long lease. And I will not be moving back to Spokane. Last week I decided this after an over-dramatic cry-fest in the car next to my special-friend turned boyfriend, Jon, who is patient and kind like Sunday afternoons. However this decision to remain stationed here is significant for me. It’s simple. But it’s simple only after I work through the complicated. Because I realized that if I do in fact remain here and not move away, it will be the first time in my life that I choose to persevere through a difficult situation and not run away from my problems to a place where the grass is always greener…at first. Because this year has been incredible and full of awe-struck moments of joy like blowing bubbles. Yet, it’s similar to eating a cala lily flower: meaning that you can drink in a vibrant orange sunset with your eyes next to your special friend on Shell Beach, feel excited when he picks you a perfect white cala lily from the side of the path on the walk back to the truck, but when you take a bite out of the petal just to be cute, you get a thousand microscopic calcium crystals lodged into the membranes of your mouth and throat and end up with poison control on the line while sitting outside the ER just in case you stop breathing. So while this year has been incredible, and unforgettable, and epic, I’ve had a few “cala lily moments”. Moments where my impulsive nature, or unhindered passion as I like to call it, has landed me in situations that sting a little. Situations that I think would be easier just to move away from, rather than wait around in the parking lot until everything feels normal again. But this is exactly why it’s so important that I stay. So I’m pleased to say that God is in fact still changing me and getting me even more accustomed to the narrow path. Because the narrow path, I’ve heard, leads me straight home. And a home is what I’ve always wanted and where I’m determined now to stay.

On Wednesday October 29 I wrote my Two Weeks Notice on a sheet of white computer paper and hung it in the back office of Abercrombie & Fitch at 10:00 a.m. Because I had officially decided that I had breathed my last congested breath of Fierce and was ready for whatever was next…even though I didn’t really know what was next…which is why it was risky…risky like buying a one-way-ticket to California…so I went for it! And the timing was perfect. My boss, Phil, was leaving two weeks after me to move north and take a job as a youth pastor and with that in mind I couldn’t help but begin to view the building with the booming music and low lighting as an artificial cave that I dreaded entering each day. Because a lot of changes had taken place in me, and in my surroundings and the truth is that I just wasn’t finding life there anymore. So I took a risk and threw my job out the window where it quickly befriended other lost jobs in the plummeting economy and I began working full-time selling newspaper subscriptions outside local grocery stores and spending my free time trying to convince my mother that everything in my financial situation would in fact be okay – even though at times I wasn’t sure of it myself. And the best part about it all was that my new supervisor at the newspaper also happened to be the object of my romantic affection, which helped me to appreciate my situation even more. So I spent the rest of November, December and a little bit of January in a strange kind of limbo where I discovered that having a sales job is the equivalent to having the super power of invisibility. Because I swear about seventy-percent of people I smile at, never smile back and on a good day only half of the people who walk by pretend I don’t even exist. But on a positive note, the job with the newspaper did allow me take off as much time as I wanted, whenever I wanted, which came in handy around the holiday season where some important stuff needed to take place. And in early February God moved me into the job I’d been waiting for: a position as an event coordinator/administrative assistant at the local Christian radio station: K-LIFE FM. So things really do look different; and if I wore my ripped A&F jeans and skimpy tank tops to work at the radio station I’d most definitely be sent home to change. But that job is part-time so I still sell the paper and I still work one shift per week at Abercrombie because I’m convinced God isn’t finished there yet. And I’m getting used to the blouses and high heels and to the six foot tall gray, carpet-covered beauty-blockers, more commonly referred to as a cubicle, that surround my desk and come between me and the window. And I’m getting used to the friendly faces that peek their heads out from behind the grayness every so often to pour some sunshine into my day and to the new responsibilities that still feel awkward, like wakeboarding for the first time. But I’m thankful that my job isn’t the only worthwhile endeavor in my life because people who feel that way never tend to be very happy. So I’m trying to remain focused on my growing family at Mercy Church, the Lighthouse girls who are currently on the verge of sailing across town to a smaller, taller, more cost-effective version of the Lighthouse, on God’s increasing call on my life to live like I know him, and on Jon…

When I was born my dad was waist deep into hunting. He spent his weekends pursuing his hobby with his two loyal Brittany dogs – traveling around in the pick up and coming home with stories and dead pheasant and quail. And when I turned four, my dad gave me a whistle that he hung around my neck with a string, and lifted me into the truck where I sat in the middle seat as we drove down the highway out of town, towards the open meadows full of game. And when he was ready, he’d signal me to blow the whistle, releasing the dogs to begin their pursuit. Then shortly after I turned five my dad moved to Canada. But back in September last year I began riding around in the middle seat again. Began regaining my place as someone’s right hand girl. The truck was black and his hair was blonde and similar to me, his favorite thing to do is called spontaneous, making things like walks on the un-beaten path during lunch breaks and steadily fulfilling our lifelong goal of eating at every restaurant on the Central Coast a regular occurrence. And by the time we visited Loveland, Colorado to spend New Year’s with his family, I had already been living there for a few months anyway, figuratively speaking of course. And the holidays were like a high-end five course meal this year. Between visiting Pullman and Spokane and driving twenty-some hours back down through California in my new car, I got to revisit some old places and wade through breathtakingly new ones alongside my new best friend and self-identified climbing partner. We spent the last few days of 2008 eating red meat, watching family home movies, and running around quaint little Loveland complete with a handful of funky sculpture gardens and a frozen lake we got to skate across in our snow boots. And it was perfect: even though I dropped the $40 bottle of red wine onto the sidewalk when we were already running late for a beautiful dinner his mom had prepared. And when holiday season ended, I returned to my SLO life with the solidified conviction of heart that I’m no longer content in climbing by myself. Because everything is better when he’s around. And without him I’m stuck cruising around in the driver’s seat with only my own bony shoulder to lean on, daydreaming about him anyway.

But in the midst of afternoons in front of the computer and answering the telephone with “Thank you for calling K-LIFE FM and 890AM, how can I help you?” God is demonstrating to me his faithfulness because I can feel him moving me into things more permanent in all areas of my life. And this is the truth that has kept me here for almost a year now; here in San Luis Obispo; here at Mercy church; here in the Lighthouse with my roommates; and here in this new and beautiful place with God. And I’m learning that my ability to stay here has nothing to do with my abilities, but with His. So because He is good, and because He is steady, and because He is determined to keep me, I am still here. Still experiencing his love and goodness and growing into the person I was always destined to become. And I’m still working on a real smile; one that isn’t easily wiped away like red marker on a whiteboard, which is the challenge I’m facing right now. Because a few months back I found myself beached: no longer riding the wave of excitement of living in a new place with new people and a new beginning. And the hard part comes now as the question is begged everyday: will you keep climbing?

Every evening the fog drops like a final curtain call, resting again upon the rooftops, covering them like a safe blanket for the night. And all the happy townspeople of San Luis Obispo curl up in their PJs, tuck their children into bed, and they wait for a revolution to come. So I’ll continue being a part of the change I want to see. And I’ll continue to climb.

PS – and as of yesterday my hair is back to blonde.

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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