January 10, 2023

Lake Tahoe and Fallen Leaf Lake, California

My new year didn’t start off with a bang. Well — aside from some fireworks that shone bright, like all my high hopes, in the 2023 sky. This year, I made no resolutions, no new habits, and found no solitary ‘word’ sufficient enough to guide me through my next twelve months. My new year started off plainly— in the company of friends and with a cup of Thai tea. (Thai tea is delicious, by the way.)

Barely a week into January, and I’ve also made a mess of my home. The dishes are, once again, piled high in the sink. There’s new carpet in my bedroom, but my bed itself sits in the living room. Dresses hang idly from lopsided hangers — flat across the guest room bed, instead of in my closet. However, my alarm clock is in the closet, sitting high atop a pile of folded sweaters. My framed sunrise photo of Fallen Leaf Lake, California is stacked on my kitchen table. So is my jewelry box. And my bedside lamp is… actually, where is my lamp?

Just like that, disorganization has burrowed its way into my January, finding comfort and refuge between the four walls and littered floorboards of my tiny, quaint home.

Even better: I turn 31 this weekend. But come Saturday, I might still be sleeping on stacked mattresses in the living room.

I don’t necessarily want to ring in my birthday on the living room floor. But I’m realizing this possibility also speaks to a deeper yearning that I seem to always carry: for the day that not only my room/house/kitchen, but my entire life, feels finally put together, complete, and unbroken.

I haven’t quite figured out how to navigate this— this in-between, this messy middle, this life full of seams and uneven sutures. Except that I’ve just kept living, despite it. I resist the inner voice that chides, telling me that life must be perfect in order for it to be worthy. That I can’t enjoy my life as it is, longings and all. But, deep joy and unruly clutter can exist simultaneously, and for that I am grateful. God is writing a story more beautiful than I could imagine, and more impactful than I know.

This is true for every child of God.

Come Saturday, I might really still be sleeping on stacked mattresses in the living room. But I’ll wake up and there will be a cat at my feet, soft blankets around my legs, and light beaming through my windows.

And I’m going to be perfectly pleased with it.

On the cusp of a new year

In for 2023:

this blazer that I got from goodwill // saying what you mean, and meaning what you say // being open to the unexpected // traveling for long-distance friendships // investing in close-distance friendships // luna, my sweet cat // forgiveness // trusting God // open hearts and open minds // more novels // more dinner parties on the deck // more sweet & simple joys // international travel and experiencing new cultures // being brave and comfortable in your own skin, and being secure in your own self.

Out for 2023:

baggy jeans & crop tops (it’s not cute?? or am I just old??) // cancel culture // making excuses to not do the things you love // being too busy to swim in the lake // fault-finding as a defense mechanism // $7 lattes // curating your brand instead of forming your character // insincerity // skin care (or anything) that over-promises and under-delivers // daylight savings.

Cheers, my dears: To finding the good, beautiful, perfect, and lovely for the next 52 weeks, and all our days. 🥂🫶🏻

—prompt inspired by Ashlee Gadd

December 21, 2022

I made a joke to myself tonight—as I gazed into the abyss of my kitchen sink—that ‘I really better get this cleaned up before Christmas! Can’t have Jesus coming when I have a dirty house!’

But then I quickly realized how faulty my thinking was, even as a joke, because isn’t humanity’s cumulative mess the very reason Jesus came? Jesus—who was born in a cave, or a manger, or however those verses translate contextually—is certainly not afraid of disorder. The one who dined in the homes of tax collectors—with their dirty kitchens and dirty hearts—never once shied away from a mess.

Jesus would surely understand my cluttered kitchen, and my thoughts tumble onward until I also realize: Jesus would probably help me do my dishes, because isn’t that just who he is? A God-man with a servant’s heart, who has all the time in the world to help clean up our mundane messes.

Both inside and out.

Merry (early) Christmas, friends.

November 30, 2022

I jumped on the bandwagon and got my Spotify wrapped today! Was so confused that, in the year 2022, I apparently ‘embraced the night’ with ‘lighthearted bold theatre kids’ jams… until I remembered that two week stretch during marathon training where all I was listening to was the Encanto soundtrack.

Bruno came up as #18 in my top 100 playlist.

Another day, another mystery solved.

November 28, 2022

Some random Monday musings:

• I work in the administrative field for my ‘real job,’ and I’m coming up on 6 years in my role. One thing I’ve learned/realized: administrative work is pretty much just all of the work that no one else wants to do. It essentially trickles down to me and my team, where we work. It’s quite humbling, really. It has been a terrifyingly effective sanctifying force in my life. Yee-haw.

• I made myself a homemade latte before leaving my house this morning for work, and that, in and of itself, is a straight miracle.

• My thumb has been twitching all day and not only do I not know why; I also don’t know how to stop it.

• Perhaps the most difficult and important work of all is this: learning to see ourselves, others, and God for who they (we) really, truly, and honestly are (and not for who we wish or want them to be).

November 23, 2022

I went to Ohio this past weekend to visit friends, and on Sunday found myself driving along the most quaint and winding back road that made me very nostalgic for the holidays. Farms and rolling hills flanked my car on either side, while I clutched a semi-warm Starbucks caramel macchiato in one hand and warm glove on the other. A truly warm cashmere scarf fell across my neck as I drove around tree-lined curves and passed below tiny cows grazing atop hillside pastures. I couldn’t help but think of myself as a main character in some cutesy and terribly cliché Hallmark movie.

And ya know what? It was great.

October 13, 2022

My Cosmos finally bloomed, and she feels like a metaphor for late-blossoming beauty:
rebellious,
curiously out-of-season, yet not behind,
startling,
resilient,
hopeful.