I was about to give up and that's no lie. Cardinal landed outside my window, threw his head back, & sang a song. So beautiful, it made me cry.

My church is doing a series on work right now. Today, the sermon was about rest. It was about Sabbath time, what that should mean, what that should look like, why it is important, and what the Bible has to say about all of that.

I am not always really great at working, but I think I am pretty good at Sabbath-ing, at least when I get around to doing it, I do it pretty well. I say that, because I love doing it. A lot of people say that they don't know how to rest, they can't rest, it doesn't come easily to them. I am an excellent rester, sometimes. I love these moments. I long for this time.

Stillness. Peace. Rest. Ink. Books. Depths. Intimacy. Wonder. Honesty. Those are the words I think of when I think about the word Sabbath, and what it means to observe Sabbath time. I probably am too good at it. I would fill day, upon day, upon day up with coffee shop time, my Bible, my journal, a little Sara Groves in my headphones, and ink spilling over pages. It feels so good to me. I know there is value in this time, because I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it in my heart. I don't think the quality of my relationship with Jesus depends on anything that I do and so, while I am very appreciative of time like this, time where I sit and write and think and pray and read, I don't think I make anything better in this time. That has to be him. If that is happening, it has got to be him. That has to come from someone else.

The more I see that and think about what that means, the more in awe I am of how good he is to me. Awe. That is equally terrifying and freeing. Does this time that I am rambling on about have anything to do with my faith increasing or my maturity increasing, or my unbelief decreasing? Yeah, I'd say so. If those things are happening, I think this time has something to do with it, but it comes from him, not me. It's his. Maturity and faith are not things that I can produce. Awe. Terrifying. Freeing.

How little control I actually have over any of this. I am sure that he can and is doing an infinitely better job than I ever could, but my heart doesn't always remember that; my heart of hearts doesn't always believe that. I read an article once that talked about this idea. I can't remember who wrote it or where I read it. It might have actually been a sermon I listened to once, but the point was this, "We cannot muster faith. We cannot muster intimacy with God. We cannot muster maturity. We must ask for those things, but we cannot make them ourselves. And when he grants them, when he gives us pieces of those things, the glory is his."

The only thing I am sure of is that the word, "muster," was used, and that always stuck with me. In social work we have the I.M.A.G.I.N.E. model for program development (insert APA citation here). The, "M," stands for, "Mustering Support."

Three things about Mustering Support:

1. We always laugh when we get to the M, because, seriously, who came up with this mnemonic device? Who thought that muster was the word that everyone needed to remember. It just sounds so awkward and random.

2. Aside from muster being a funny/random word to land on, once you get passed the weirdness of it, it's actually really great. Muster Support. Get people on your team. Get people excited about you cause. Make it exciting. Let people know why what you are doing is important. With most things in social work and in life, individual people don't get large scale projects accomplished on their own. To be successful, to make a lasting impact, to touch lives, to move towards social justice, you have to have support. You have to have more than yourself. You have to muster.

3. Mustering support when you are trying to implement a new project or program is great. Mustering faith is impossible. I've tried to do both. I can tell you that at least one of them was unsuccessful, and more than that, it was/is exhausting and lonely.

For a long time in my walk with my father, I told myself that if I did the things that I needed to be doing, I would get the things I needed to get in order to keep moving towards him. I never would have thought that was the message I was telling myself, but in a lot of ways, and in a lot of different circumstances, that was (and sometimes still is) how I operated.

I was upset about missing coffee shop alone time or missing morning quiet time, but not for the right reasons. I was upset, because it was something I needed to be doing, and I wasn't. I was upset, because it was pushing me backwards. I can also, regretfully say that I wasn't upset because I missed sweet, sweet talks with dad. I wasn't upset, because I hurt the only one who has never let me down. I wasn't upset, because I was missing out on quality time. I was upset, because I wasn't moving forward. I was frustrated with myself, because I couldn't just do right. That cycle is tough to get out of.

Frustration with myself (not so surprisingly) never pointed me towards growth. Frustration with myself has never pointed me towards maturity. All frustration with myself has ever done is point me towards more frustration with myself.

I am frustrated with myself --> I don't do better --> I am more frustrated with myself (etc.)

This is the only thing that has pointed me towards something like growth:

I can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway --> I can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway --> I still can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway (etc.)

I have a lot to learn about a lot of things. I am so sure that I have a ton to learn about work, especially as I begin to think about life after college, but I am also sure that I have a lot to learn about rest. I have a lot to learn about Sabbath-ing. God, thank you for the times you have given me. Thank you for the faith and maturity you have granted me. I'm excited to see what else you have to show me through rest. I can't wait to learn more from rest. I cannot wait to see that I'm really not as good at it as I think I am.

It actually isn't about me. I actually cannot do better. Jesus goes after me anyway. And when he grants it, the glory is his.

if you tarry till you're better, you will never come at all.

"I wanted to start this journal without commenting on how I am starting a new journal, but I couldn't do it. I love the feeling of ending a journal and the feeling of starting a new one. Somewhere in the middle I get restless and antsy, but the beginning and the end are really exciting for me. So, I am going to write about that, even though I told myself I wouldn't.

I am excited. I am excited to start this journal. These pages are pure, crisp, fresh. The cover is blue, which is just enough change from my last black one, that I can handle it without being overwhelmed by the change, I can maybe even enjoy it (baby steps, right?). I think I will like this journal. I think I will like writing in here. I am excited today to fill these pages up; I am excited because I know that I will feel that same excitement tomorrow.

Help me to find rhythm in my days and in my writing. Help me to find purpose and direction and help me to do all of these things for a good reason."

Oh dear. I was not joking at all when I wrote that. And it was only a few months ago. It's a little bit embarrassing that I get excited about things like starting a new journal, but it is very true. And truth trumps embarrassment as part of my pre new years resolutions.

Lately I have been going back and reading through things that I have written. Journals, papers, this blog. That's not something that I typically do a lot of, rereading things that I have written. When I write a paper, I rarely even go through and proof read before handing it in. I occasionally will look through an old journal, but only when I'm cleaning or procrastinating. I've had some time on my hands the past few weeks and somewhere along the way I decided that I was going to read through some of my old papers and letters and journal entries.

The little excerpt I opened with was from my latest journal, the one that I am still writing in. I've been reading back over the blog lately, too. Secret Space. Penelopenosegirl. That's also a little embarrassing. Maybe embarrassing is the wrong word. It doesn't really have to do with anyone except for me. I'm not embarrassed that other people can read my ridiculousness. It's more like my current self wants to point and laugh a little bit at my old self, the self that wrote whatever entry I am making fun of. My old self is embarrassed. I guess that's the most accurate way to describe what I am feeling. And since I am, in fact both my old self and my current self, I am embarrassed.

I am the most embarrassed when I read things I have written that come from a place of passion. When I read something I wrote that has to do with something that I care about a good deal. When I read things that I have written that I actually care about I cringe. I think that's why the blog has been so funny to reread (not in the haha way, but in the strange/familiar/warm/cold way), because there haven't been many entries on this sucker that didn't come from a place of sincerity. Some of it is just nostalgia. Some of it is fun and neat to read back over, but some of it is something like embarrassment. That's still not the best word but I will keep using it.

Did I really ever say those things? Was I ever really that cheesy or over the top or immature or flighty? How could anyone take me seriously? I hate to read over things that come across trite or insensitive or naive. I hate to reread things that seem insignificant or just flat out wrong. I think I hate it so much because I know that all of these things I have written about meant a lot to me when I wrote them. They still mean a lot to me. My feelings may not be exactly as they were when I wrote the entry, but I've had this blog for a while, and it is both incredible and underwhelming, both inspiring and heartbreaking, both encouraging and embarrassing to read through these glimpses into pages of my life from the past few years.

I am thankful for this blog. I am thankful for this secret space that is slightly less secret than it was two years ago. I am also thankful that it is slightly less secret. I love alliteration and so I will keep the name forever, but reading through these entries fills me with hope and joy and possibility. One big old metaphor this blog is. Fitting. When I first started I don't even think anyone could look at my page, but me. Now, not only is it public, but I have a few followers. I wouldn't go too far, but I will say that I have a few more life followers these days than a few years back. Maybe it's not that I have a whole lot more followers than when I started, but I am infinitely more honest and vulnerable with the followers that I do have, the friends and family that I do have.

I am thankful for these followers, for these friends, for these life lines that keep me sane, that nudge me towards good things, towards life. I am thankful for outlets like this blog, that help keep me honest, or at least give me opportunities to be honest. My prayer is that I would keep writing and that I would keep reading and that I would keep coming to some place of embarrassment when I do reread, because I think that means growth, I think that means honesty and I think that means something close to healing, something close to letting someone, even if it's just myself, see and love and appreciate.

All of that said, I want to make a will. And I want to have it in there that my journal and all journals I have ever filled up are to be burned when I die.

It's always there, you just don't know it till a quarter to three.

I wrote this morning while I sat out on our screened in porch, and this is a little bit of what I wrote:

This morning as I sit out here, I am overcome by a feeling that I am not sure I have ever felt before. This morning, as I sit here on the 2521 side's porch, I am overcome with a sense of freedom. I feel light here. I feel like I can breathe the most air I've ever had in my lungs at any one time. I feel cozy and warm, but not too warm. I feel a subtle urgency in the air as I watch the cars speed by, but I am overcome with peace in the moments when the damp road is still. I feel alone. I feel alone, and I don't hate that. I feel free to sit here, existing in my current state no matter how immature and self absorbed that might really be. I don't want to live in this moment forever. I don't want to feel alone forever, but right now, this morning, there is no other place I'd like to be. This morning it's hard to hide from myself. I hope that I can hold on to that part of this feeling forever.

This is not the norm. There are things I've always loved about this place. I love this porch. I love N.C. State. I love campus and football games and wearing red. I really do love being a part of the wolfpack. I love Raleigh. I love how I've had the chance to get to know her over the past four years (yes, I think Raleigh is a girl). We haven't always loved each other, or I guess I haven't always loved her, but it seems that the more I get to know these streets, these places, these people, the more I have come to love and appreciate the beauty and comfort that Rals has to offer me. She's seen me through a lot.

I love the rose garden and the sidewalks that run through my neighborhood. I love the social work department at state - my teachers and classmates and classes. I love my roommates - I love them a lot. I've loved living in this house for three years. Three years. That's a long time. I complain about the chaos of living with seven girls. I complain about the mess, the dirty kitchen, the squirrel that lives in the attic and shuffles nuts next to my head while I'm trying to sleep. I complain about the mysterious and disgusting smell that penetrates just about every room of our house. Our basement floods (poor Amber). Our shower will not drain. Our fire alarms are constantly dying. Our dishwasher is broken. Our roof is literally falling off. I could go on and on and on about what is wrong with this house. I could and I have and if you ask any one of my roommates they will confirm that I do it often.

I complain a lot about the things I don't like about this place, but I would be lying if I said for even one second that I didn't love every bit of my experience here, in this place, with these girls. I cannot imagine college without this place, without these people. I can't imagine life without all of the things I have done here. I will probably continue to complain about the smell, but don't let me fool you. I am grateful for this house, for these girls, for the man with the long ponytail that walks his husky by our house every day. These things have brought me stability, they have brought me comfort, they have brought me light and community and they have taught me so many things.

I keep talking to people about this period of time being very bitter sweet, but this morning it feels only bitter. I am excited for life after this place, but right now, in this specific moment, I feel sad. It will be hard to let go of comfort and stability and routine, but so much more than that - it will be hard to let go of these people, because I love them. I love them a lot. I love it here. You wouldn't always know from the way that I talk about this place, but so much of me will miss so much of what makes up my life here.

I'm not sure what to do with that. I'm not sure how to move forward. I hate changing things. The thought of moving me and all of my stuff to a different city is terrifying. I'm stressed. I'm confused. I'm incapable of doing any of this properly, but I feel confident that I can at least be honest about all of these things. And I'm comfortable enough to sit here in that honesty, that stress, that terror, at least for a little while. I think that's a start. I think that's growth, or at least something that comes before growth.

There is something so sooting and precious about the cold and the rain. Sitting out here wrapped up in blankets, I am forced to feel the cold, but I am also forced to feel my own warmth. These blankets don't produce heat. If' I'm going to be warm today, it's going to be because all of the layers keep in my own heat. Today, I am reminded by the cold that I am not that. I am not cold. I am alive. Today, I am reminded what it feels like to be alive. Today, I am reminded how precious and valuable life is. Today, I feel challenged to live.

I went seeking some clarity and solutions. I came home with neither, but I was still glad I went.

"There are lots of ways to tell this story. I can tell a perfect Christian salvation story, about God's hand and foreordainedness and teleology. In that story, the telos, the end to which everything has always been pointing, is Jesus, is the church, is the cross. That story tells of Jesus' dogged pursuit of me, of God's leading me through Judaism to Him, of everything matching and meeting and lining up just so I can say, ‘I had this dream about some mermaids, and it changed everything,’ and that would be true.

But there is another version of the story, one that is full of almosts and contingencies. Stop this story at any point and things look different. This story is harder to tell because it drips with more betrayal. It indicts. It reads more like a failure than a triumph. It is not the story of all the things that drew me to Christianity during my college years and before; it's the story of all the things that pushed me away from Judaism... This story is harder, the truth of it and the telling of it, but it's also true." Lauren Winner

That sounds right to me. I'm sure it's true for Lauren, and I see it in my life as well. It's not exactly like that; our four stories are not the same, but I can relate to her feeling that there are two sides to the same story. I have two stories, or maybe just one story, but I definitely have two sides to my story, one that I like to talk to people about, and one that I don't. I have the side I get excited to tell people about, the story where I was very  simply lost and found. The one where Jesus touched me and I responded. The one where I felt his love and my cold, hard heart melted away leaving something new, different, beautiful. That's the story that I'm comfortable talking about, for the most part. In this story I am moved by love. I am moved by the truth of the gospel. Those things all happened. Those things all are happening. Those things are all true.

But if that's how I told my story (and it often times is), that would be a lie. It would be a lie because it's leaving so much out. My story is not so pure. Don't let me fool you. My resistance, my apathy, my inconsistencies. There are so many things about this life, this world that I cling to, because I understand them, I know how to operate with those things in my life. This other side of the story isn't quite so simple. I am still moved, I am still found, I am still changed, but in the midst of those good things that I believe come from my father, I find comfort and identity in things that I can understand, smaller things, things that eat away at me. And I think he uses those things too. I don't think they go to waste. I don't think my first story loses any of it's merit because of these things, but I definitely don't like to talk about them and I am definitely becoming more and more painfully aware of these things. 

I like to talk about my cold, hard heart being melted away, and it was, but I don't talk about how it has to be melted and softened each and everyday, and some days I let it remain cold, some weeks, some months, I hope not years, but maybe. I talk about responding to Jesus' love, and that's true, it did happen like that, but I don't talk about the times that I don't respond. I don't talk about the times that I choose to ignore him altogether, I choose to walk away. 

I talk about how I once was lost. I talk about it like it was this thing that happened one day long ago. I talk about it like Jesus is my mom and I am a five year old that got separated from her at the mall. I was lost and it was pretty scary. I was scared and didn't know what to do. A mall cop found me in the food court and he paged my mom over the intercom to come claim me and then we were reunited and went home. But that's not what it's like. 

I feel lost at some point most days.

I just reread Girl Meets God, by Lauren Winner. I’m not a huge fan of the cheesy title, but I love, love, love her story and the way that she tells it. She feels refreshing to me, because she feels honest. She feels sincere. She doesn't always say what you might expect an author that you find in the Christian section of Barnes and Noble to say, but I think that's part of the reason I enjoy reading her so much. I appreciate her honesty. I appreciate her struggle. I appreciate the fact that she tells her story with no apologies. I think it's great. I think her honesty about her brokenness strengthens her story, her testimony. I reread this book before reading her new book that just came out, Still. She's got a few others out there too, and I just like her. I like how she writes and I typically really like what she has to say. 

Sometimes, I get scared that if I let myself be too honest about where I am, how I'm feeling, how I'm doing, and how I got here I might discover something that I don't like. What I've noticed while reading Ms. Winner's books these past few months is that I don't have to be so scared. It's off-putting, yeah, but more and more I am beginning to see how valuable an accurate, or at least a more accurate view of my sin is. I pray that Jesus would show me the darkness in my heart. I pray that he would show me the fundamental defect of my heart's condition. Show me, really show me the gross stuff, the things about myself that I don't like, that I hate, that I despise; show them to me. I want to see them. I want to know that they're there. As long as I am alive, I want to remember that they are there, that I am on a very basic level tarnished, because without that knowledge I forget how very much I need my savior. I like the idea of honesty in regards to my heart, because if I am always honest about my condition, than I'll always have to be honest about my need, my fundamental dependancy on grace. 

And it's freeing. When I'm honest about my condition, I don't always have to be right, I can't always be right. When I'm honest about my condition, I don't have to have all the answers, I don't have to have any answers. When I'm honest it becomes less about me and more about someone who is right, who does have the answers. Who would have thought that becoming less self-absorbed would feel so therapeutic? I didn't. At the end of the day, it just isn't about me. How do I always forget that?

Moving forward, I will pray once again what I prayed a post or two ago. Jesus, show me my sin, and Jesus, show me you. Show me that I am so bad that you had to die for me, and show me that I am so loved that you were glad to die for me. Let that never become something that I just say. Let that always bring me to a place of awe. 

Grace unending all my days, you'll give me strength to run this race.

I like it here. In this one place. Other places like the future, the past, and potential pasts and futures are pulling at me, trying to take my focus off of this one place. But for the first time in a long time, I am very content with where I am. I like it here. I don't want to be here forever, but I feel a sense of wonder and possibility as I sit here and look forward. I don't feel anxious. I don't feel sad. I don't feel unprepared. I only feel thankful for this one place and expectant that the next place will come and that is will be great, it will be necessary, it will be for my betterment. There is so much about my life right now that is not for sure. Seriously, I have absolutely no idea what my life will look like a year from now, two years from now, three years from now. The farther out I go, the hazier things get. I don't know where I will be, what I will be doing, or who I will be doing things with. Can you believe that doesn't scare me to death? I can't. It is wild how he hasn't given me anything that I wasn't ready for, and it's even more wild how he knows me better than I know myself. He knows when I am ready; often times I don't.

Can we take a minute to talk about that. Christian bubbles love to tell you that, "God will not give you anything that you can't handle." There probably is truth in that. I think that God loves us a whole lot. I think he gives us things that seem both good and bad, out of that love. I'm not really positive exactly what it means to be able to "handle" something, but I think I can get on board with the statement that, "our heavenly father will not give us anything that we are not capable of doing or learning from; he won't give us anything that's not good for us." That seems obvious. What is becoming more and more obvious to me is this: he may never give me more than I can handle, but he does push me, he does give me things to handle. It might not be more than I can handle, but sometimes it feels like exactly the amount of X I can have without having X become something unhealthy, without having X become something it shouldn't be.

This idea of God not giving me more than I can handle has always been something I have found comfort in, but I also hid behind it. It gives me an out. More recently God has been showing me how very true his promises are. I don't have to worry about tomorrow or the next day. I don't have to live in stress and anxiety. I don't have to be hard and guarded and sarcastic all of the time. I may not know what I'm doing with my life or even with next semester, but I am confident in the fact that he tells me he will always provide for me, care for me; he will always love me well. I am very sure of that. As I have grown in my understanding of what it means for Jesus to promise not to leave me, I have discovered that where there was once fear, peace now resides. Where there was once stress and anxiety, wonder and possibility are now abounding. Where self-doubt and sheer terror once ruled, surety of my ability to meet God's plans for me now reign.

I am not sure of a lot of things, but I am learning to be content with that. I am learning to hold on to things bigger than my plans. I am learning that part of the ride is just sitting back and appreciating the current view. I am learning how to enjoy the ride more and more. Nothing about the ride is perfect, but there is so much for me to learn right here and right now.

I cannot make it & I cannot break it & I can't afford it, but it's mine.

How I would love, love, love for my job to be filling up pages with ink each and every day. A lot of times I get nervous that I'm not going to have things to say, but that has never happened. I may not always have words to speak, but for as long as paper and pens exist, I will have things to write.

My fear shouldn't be that I will have a lack of things to write about, but instead that I may not particularly like the things I have to say. A lot of times when I get going, I find that the things I have to say scare me or make me uncomfortable. So often the things that come out challenge me and stretch me in a way that I don't always like. It's like the more stuff I get down, the more I realize that there are so many things inside of me waiting to get out, but I'm also reminded more and more of my brokenness, my inability to fix that brokenness and my needs - my need of salvation, my need of grace, my need of help, my need of the cross.

My church had a really awesome Ash Wednesday service on Ash Wednesday (duh). We sang songs, and read scripture. I love things like that. I love when there is built in time for reflection and introspection. I love that solemn, almost heavy feeling; not all the time, but every now and then.

Ash Wednesday is the beginning of Lent. In between the songs and the readings there was a little mini sermon. There was a lot of goodness and truth tucked into that little guy. So much. I walked out of that place feeling like I had a renewed understanding of the meaning of Lent.

I could plagiarize the whole sermon and I might do a half decent job of getting the points that were made across. Probably not, but maybe. I'm not going to do that. I'm sure the whole thing is somewhere on CTK's website if someone is really interested. Instead, I will recap the most simple part, the part that challenged me the most. We got a little bit of the history of Lent in the church, what it means, represents, and then came the simple little challenge.

"Pray this during Lent," Geoff said. "Lord, show me my sin and show me my savior."

Show me my sin and show me my savior. Simple and pure. It hit me hard though. God, show me my sin and show me my savior. Lord, show me my sin and show me my savior. Show me that I utterly and desperately need salvation. Show me my wretchedness. Show me my depravity. Show me my fundamental need for you. Show me my ugliness. And on top of all of those things, show me your grace. Show me your son. Show me the cross. May my heart's condition and my inability to change my heart's condition always point me back to the cross, to hope, to eternity. Jesus, in this season, in this time to reflect on your life and what your existence means in our lives today, show me my sin, and Jesus show me my savior.

Tender & Truthful.

Sad. Fruitful. Broken. True. 


I love words. They can be so powerful, so beautiful. There is so much potential in words. I get the same feeling from reading a beautifully written paragraph that I get when I listen to a good song. It can fill me up, give me hope; words have the ability to stir things, to enhance already existing feelings, even if I don't really want them too. 


2011 ends today. EEEEEEEE Ashley is getting married! One of my best friends got engaged yesterday or the day before. I don't know one of those days. They are all running together. This life is moving more and more quickly, it seems. I'm not always sure how to keep up with it. It's speeding. I want to soak it up. I want to be brave in the time I am given. I want to remember the things that matter; I want to dwell on those things. I want to love better. I want to be more kind. I want to be wise in the choices I make. 


I've never really done new years resolutions. Mainly because I've never really understood why there is this huge hype around January 1st. January 1st doesn't change things. I like to think that we can change things any day. There is nothing wrong with striving to be something better, to change, but there is also nothing magical about starting a new year. If I believe what I say I do, then I have to believe that people can change. I do believe that people can change. I guess I've always just been uncomfortable with new years resolutions, because I get this feeling that people think they can only start over when the calendar does. 


Well, I was thinking about all of this yesterday, and so in an attempt to maintain my anti-new-year-resolution-persona, I made some December 30th resolutions. Just kidding. I think resolutions are great. I think goals are good. Things to reach for are a good thing. 


I want to be softer, more tender, more kind. I want to smile more. I want to love better. I want to feel things more deeply. I guess I'll sum it up with tenderness. I like that word. I think it includes a lot of things that wouldn't really describe who I am today. I want to feel warm to people. So there it is. Tenderness. 


Honesty. One of my other, non engaged friends and I were talking the other day about relationships. All kinds of relationships. We talked about honesty and how it can be hard sometimes. I don't tend to flat out lie to people a lot. That's not really a struggle of mine (although I have done it), but I do have a hard time being honest with myself sometimes and with God. 


It's important that I take time to process, reflect, talk, dig. It's important that I do that on my own, and it's important that I have people who will help me do that. It's important that I have people who won't take ____ from me. I don't tend to straight out lie to people, but I will gloss over things, I will beat around the bush, I will make things look just a little bit more pretty than they actually are. I want to be honest. I want to be truthful. We half-jokingly, half-not made comments like, "2012 is going to be all about honesty." I like that idea of that. 


Tenderness and truthfulness. 
Truthfulness and tenderness. 


I have a long, long list of things I'd like to change someday. Right now I'm thinking about tenderness and truthfulness. Who would have thought I'd ever go for the two word exercise on my own. Looks like people really can change.