for the graduate: it will be okay.

Dear Ashley,

The week before my high school graduation, I didn't know where I was going to college.

It was humiliating, I thought, to be at the top of my class but have undecided written beside my name. I wanted to choose before others could laugh or judge or ridicule. (Turns out, of course, those things happen even after the choice is made.)

Before I became a senior, people told me frequently how fun it was going to be, how it would be one of the best years of my life, something that I found rather depressing and not at all encouraging. Expectations were high for that year, and you know what? Most of them weren't met. Sure, I went to banquets and hung out with my friends and had lunches off campus. I served as president and editor and secretary of all kinds of clubs and societies. I spent half my day in high school and half my day in college at TCC's campus. It was fun, but it was also exhausting.

What grown-ups forget is how many big decisions you have to make when really, you're still pretty little. Yes, you've survived 18 years on the planet, but why people think that grants us enough experience to warrant major life-altering decision-making capabilities is beyond me.

I shed many a tear that year, and I know you have too.

There were scholarships I never won, applications I never quite finished, and unending decisions that never seemed to get made.

By spring semester, I was a mess, praying for some kind of revelation from God that would help me decide where to go away to school.

I kept a prayer journal that year, and if I could find it, I know what my words would say: "Lord, if You give me this score on the ACT, I'll know I was meant to go to Faulkner. I'll know that's Your desire for me. Please help me!"

I prayed that prayer many a night leading up to my third and final attempt to receive a score on my ACT that would grant me free tuition from Faulkner. It would, I thought, be the answer to my prayer.

All of my growing-up years, I had thought Lipscomb would be the place for me. It ranked at the top of my pro and con lists, looked like the college campuses I'd seen on movies and TV, and seemed big enough that people would no longer tease me for choosing a Christian education. But Faulkner had crawled up in my imaginary rankings as graduation loomed closer, and I thought if God really wanted it to finally pull ahead in the running, He'd give me that extra point I needed to go to school for free.

He didn't.

I was devastated, hurt, and confused. I hadn't wanted to bargain with God; I just wanted confirmation that I was doing the right thing. That's something I still struggle with today, by the way. I still second guess myself and question whether something is the will of the Father.

Here is what I've learned, what I want you to learn now, before the pain of adult decision making really hits: It all turns out in the end.

I believe the God we serve earnestly cares for us. I believe He wants to grant us the deepest desires of our hearts. I believe He wants you to receive a good education in a Christ-honoring environment.

I also believe that could look so different, for so many different people.

When I was 18, I thought there was a wrong choice.

I want you to know: There's not.

There is not a wrong choice.

While I'd wrestle with one decision after the next, Mom and Dad would tell me something I'm going to tell you: You're too young to make mistakes.

Remember when Chet picked Harding, and he hated it? He came back four weeks later, and even though that was hard and painful, he survived. He may not agree with me, but I believe that "mistake" was part of the plan. God used it anyway. That painful decision led Chet to choosing FSU with his whole heart. He loved it there, and now he's using the degree he earned there to further his education. That "mistake" may have caused a little extra money, a little extra time, but guess what? It all worked out in the end.

I thought I was going to Lipscomb. It had a beautiful campus, a diverse environment; I thought it was the school for me.

Then, one hot day in late May, right before my graduation, I puled a Rory Gilmore. I changed my mind, and I chose Faulkner.

I know God would have blessed me if I had picked Lipscomb. I'm confident He would have used me even if I stayed right here in Tallahassee. He's amazing like that.

But I chose Faulkner, and, wouldn't you kow it, it didn't always feel like the right choice. I got teased and belittled for it -- turns out there are a lot of jokes to be made about a tiny Christian school in the middle of Alabama -- and the first two weeks, I cried myself to sleep many a night -- a difficult feat with a roommate -- thinking I'd made the wrong decision.

Soon, though, the tides turned. I looked back at that prayer journal I'd kept all throughout my senior year, and my eyes were opened to the way God had shaped my life, even while I'd been too busy making pro/con lists to pay very much attention.

I chose Faulkner, and I'm so very glad I did.

But I wanted you to know, I could have chosen somewhere else. I could have gone somewhere else, and my story might look differently, but I'd still be writing you this letter, still be coming to your graduation, still be living a life of happiness and contentment because that's how life works.

Our choices shape and mold us, but they do not entirely define us.

I want you to know, as you struggle to decide where to go in August, there is no wrong answer. You will be okay. You will grow and you will strengthen and you will thrive no matter where you are.

I know there a lot of elements that factor into the college decision. I truly remember how hard it was to make sense of it all. I know you've got a lot of voices you're trying to decipher, and sometimes, I know that voice has been mine. (What can I say? I'd love to have a fellow Eagle in the family.) But I have been in your shoes; I know how frustrating all of those voices can be.

So let me just say, for once and for all, no matter where you go to school, no matter how or where or when you earn your degree, no matter what you do for a living, it will all be okay. I don't say that lightly, and I don't say it to belittle the bigness of the college decision and the "real life" that follows it. I say it to assure you that this decision that feels so very hard and big and stressful right now? It will work out. No matter what, it will work out, and you will be okay.

Learn that lesson now, fuzzin. Know that the decisions we make and the prayers we say matter. But also know, more often than not, it all works out just fine in the end, despite the mess we might make of it at first.

for the graduate: going home.

Dear Ashley,

Right before my high school graduation, I had a Bible class teacher who gave one of those standard "things you need to know before you graduate" speeches. As I recall, it was a good, powerful, practical lesson. Unfortunately, time and memory take their toll on things like that, and I can only remember one of the points he made. I remember it because I didn't like it.

He told me I could never go home again.

At the time, those words hurt. Like you, I was excited to graduate, anxious to start the next adventure.

But also like you, I loved my family. I liked my home, my life. I had a good relationship with my parents. I was friends with my brother. The thought of graduating and leaving was painful and difficult enough without being told I could never come back.

Here's what I know he meant: After graduation, things change. Not overnight, really. Instead, it's this gradual, slow process, until one day you wake up and realize you're not homesick anymore. One day you realize that you've grown up, and you're not the same person who walked across that stage so many moons ago.

I wish, though, that teacher had remembered to tell me how good change can be. How leaving home is scary and hard and lonely at first, but, if you're lucky, you gain another family. I have friends now who befriended me when I was all alone and nervous, and you know what? We've got this unbelievable bond forever. We don't see each other a lot these days, but when we do, it's magic. That magic, I think, comes from befriending people who were in the exact same spot I was. 

You know how relieved you were that at your baccalaureate service, everyone was on the same page? No matter how popular a student was or how long they'd been going to school there, everyone was nervous. No one knew what they were doing. 

That's what being a freshman in college is like. Nobody's cool anymore. (Not at first, anyway.) The playing field is leveled, and if people embrace that vulnerability, friendships happen. Some of my very best, lifelong friends I met in my first two or three weeks away from home. Others came with time, but that handful that knew me at the very beginning? They're special. We knew each other when things were tough, when tears were shed, when college seemed like this big, scary thing we'd never be able to survive. 

Change turned out to be so good for me, and I know it will be good for you too. 

That long ago Bible class teacher? I think what he meant to say is that once you go away to college (whether you literally leave town or stay right where you are) is that things change. Your relationship with your parents and your sister will be different. 

But I firmly believe it changes for the better. 

Sure, there are rough patches. You'll push and pull for independence, and that's not always going to look pretty or kind. 

Once those moments are overcome, though, you'll be rewarded with this unbelievable friendship with your parents.

I don't buy into the exact phrasing of that Sunday school lesson. I just don't believe, in a family like ours, you can't go home again. I have run into the arms of my parents and my brother many times since high school graduation, and each time I have been welcomed and loved and comforted in ways only they know how to do. Our family is amazingly kind and generous and welcoming, and that doesn't run out just because we grow up and leave home.

Whether you leave Tallahassee or stay in town, it won't matter. Your relationships at home will change, a little at first, and a lot when it's all said and done.

But I cannot tell you enough how awesome it will look when the dust settles. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the dinner table conversations I've shared with my parents (and yours!) since becoming a grown-up. I cannot tell you the happiness I felt every time I came home from college, even if by the end of the vacation I was ready (in some shape and form, despite my first few weeks of homesickness) to head back to my friends and to school.

If you're brave enough to become an adult, brave enough to start becoming your own person no matter where you are, home will look a little different, sure.

But you know what? It will always be home.

You and I, I think, are a little different from the rest of the world. A lot of people I knew and loved were so desperately ready to leave home when they graduated. They felt stuck, like a ball and chain was keeping them in Tallahassee, in their old bedrooms.

I never felt that way. I never thought I'd stay in Tallahassee for school, but I also was never rebellious or desperate to leave.

Instead, the day my parents dropped me off at college felt like a punch in the gut. They tell stories of how they and Chet sobbed the whole way home, and while that makes me sad, I'm also a little jealous, because they got to sob together.

I was alone. In Alabama.

It was scary, and I was homesick.

Some of your friends will immediately embrace the freedom that high school graduation brings. I'm not sure I was one of them, not entirely. I was sad to leave home, and if you choose to leave, you will be too.

But what I wish someone had told me, what I wish I knew then, was that the coming home is fantastic. The hugs and the kisses and the excitement and the looks on those faces? It's worth it.

Coming home again isn't always easy, but I wanted you to know it is possible. Things will change and evolve and your parents will start to look like some awesome combination of friend and mentor and yet still, miraculously, they will be Mom and Dad.

You can go home again. And it will be better and more comforting than you can even begin to imagine.

image by Rebecca Marshall

for the graduate: yes and no.

Dear Ashley,

When I was a sophomore in high school, I got asked out on my first date.

The final school bell had rung, and I stood outside with a friend, waiting for my mother’s minivan to enter my line of vision. As I stood waiting, a classmate stopped to talk. He was, I am sad to say, the butt of many a high school joke and prank, not necessarily because it was deserved, but because in high school, it’s the opinion of the populace that matters. With his pleated jeans, buttoned-up-to-the-very-tip-top polo shirts, and an unfortunate eyebrow situation, he often made a rather easy target. Like me, he wore a backpack that was far too big and was daily filled to the brim with loads upon loads of extra material, causing him to tilt forward just a little; it’s a gait I still remember vividly, eight years after graduation.

This young man and I were friends. Not great friends, sure; I was a late bloomer, and until I was about 17, my friends consisted mostly of my own gender. But we shared a lot of the same classes, and our neighborhoods were fairly close to one another. Our friendship, though, didn’t stop me from being mortified when he asked me out on a date.

It was, looking back, such a small thing. In true, stereotypical fashion, he invited me to see Star Wars, and he did so rather publicly, as my friend stood nearby, giggling hysterically. I hate that she did that — I now understand just how much bravery initiative and invitation take — and I’d like to think my own response was different. I don’t think I laughed or giggled — I was too in shock, too nervous — but I also know this: I did not say yes.

At the time, I told him I’d think about it, but when my mother finally pulled in to pick me up and take me home, I got in the car and promptly pronounced I had been asked out on my first date, and I would not be going.

I was 15, and I was mortified, for more reasons than just being asked out by the school geek. I’m not sure I blame 15-year-old me for returning to school the next day and politely saying no, for rejecting a persistent young man I just didn’t have any romantic interest in. And yet, here I am, almost a full 11 years later, realizing: a yes would have been just as inconsequential as a no.

When you’re in high school, everything feels so much bigger than it ever really is. It’s a feeling that permeates almost every decision, every relationship, and every event. Homecomings and first dates and football games and class ring ceremonies all seem like they will hold eternal consequence, and the truth is: None of it does. And that doesn’t lessen their importance. It doesn’t make high school less meaningful. It just means sometimes, it’s okay to say yes to seeing Star Wars with a geeky boy you might not really like. I look back on that miniscule event, and I wonder, what if I had just gone? I probably would have had an okay time. It probably would have been fine, maybe even fun. I wouldn’t have married him, may not have even gone out on a second date. But I could have said yes, and even if things turned out miserably, I would have had a fine story to tell.

I know you’re almost done with high school. I know our experiences have been different, and in two days, it will all be over. I know you’re 18, not 16, and you’ve already had your first date, and you’re probably already realizing that some of this stuff that seems so major is actually pretty minor.

But I think the lesson applies to college just as easily as it does to high school: Don’t be afraid to say yes.

Say yes to cheesy things like social clubs and dance parties in your dorm room and $2 Tuesdays at the university dinner theatre. Say yes to cafeteria food and unlikely friendships and on-campus singing competitions (yes, those exist). Say yes to road trips and bonfires and late night runs to Walmart.

By saying yes, you’ll figure out who you are and where you belong. With every yes, you’ll embark on a journey of self-discovery; you’ll learn what makes you tick and why.

And — perhaps this is of most importance — the saying of yeses will eventually lead to the discovery of no.

My freshman year in college, I said yes to so many things I would never have said yes to before. Perhaps I saw, in my mind, that 15-year-old version of myself, saying no when I so easily could have just said yes. Perhaps the younger Annie wanted the older Annie to let go a little, to do things like dye her hair red (temporarily) and take off on random road trips to Atlanta.

By the time my last year of college rolled around, though, I knew I couldn’t say yes to everything. Those earlier yeses led to more responsible and careful nos. In college, I learned I don’t function well past 10 p.m. I get grouchy and frustrated and sensitive, and even though most people may not understand that, I do. I know because I spent many a night in college up well past 10 p.m., and you know what? It never really ended well. In college, I figured that out. I figured it out first by saying yes, and eventually, by saying no.

A lot of people will write you cards and send you money over the next few weeks. They’ll include passages from Scripture, verses like Jeremiah 29:11, verses reminding you God has a plan and a purpose for your wild and precious life.

Those are good verses; I’m glad someone is telling you those truths.

But I just want you to know you can let your yes be yes, and your no be no.

Our yeses and our nos reveal so much about who we are, about our goals and our ambitions and our life’s callings.

When I look back to those high school years, I see now how small everything really was. I understand that my yes could have been so easily spoken, perhaps even enjoyed. I look back to college, though, and I see that the yeses began to mean more. The nos too.

Say yes. Be brave and bold and adventurous.

Say no. Be deliberate and purposeful and confident.

Say yes in order to try new things, but say no to figure out who you are and what you want.

Both, I think, will be rewarded.

image from here.

give me a bigger heart.

"I think one of the most powerful apologetics in the gospel is when a group of people love one another and live in unity together in the midst of a broken, dark, and depraved world."

- Jeff Vanderstelt, Soma Communities

A few years ago, a fairly prominent minister came to our congregation for an evangelism workshop. On three separate occasions, he spoke to church members on the power of the gospel and how to bring people to Christ.

Do you know the only thing I remember from that weekend?

He never mentioned love.

I know that I'm a fairly critical listener, and I hope I'm not being too harsh, but I will never forget that out of all the lessons and the pointers and the acronyms and the lists, he never talked about love.

When we talk about evangelizing, when we talk about missionaries and "winning" people for the gospel, I think we forget that really, just like with everything else, it's all about love.

And I don't say that because love is easy, or because I've got evangelism and this "spreading the Word" thing down. In fact, I kind of stink at it. And I'd wager to say that it might actually be easier to pass out tracts and stand on street corners than it is to invite someone over for a meal or to go out of your way to be helpful, kind, and courteous to your coworkers and your neighbors.

Loving people is hard work. 

I wonder if that's why we go to evangelism workshops and write down three names of people we'd like to bring to Christ before we die. Because it's easier to make lists than it is to be a friend.

A few nights ago, Jordan and I were talking with a couple of our friends, and the subject of being a missionary came up. Our friends talked about their passion for going to Africa, about what it could look like if we just decided to do it and go.

I loved that conversation, loved seeing Jordan's eyes light up with the possibility.

But there was another part of me that hesitated.

I'm not a very good missionary right here in Tallahassee, Florida. Moving to Africa to spread God's word? I don't even remember to speak to my neighbor when we run into each other at the mailbox.

That night, I mentioned the possibility of instead, moving to a home in a not-so-great part of town. I talked about living as neighbors -- true neighbors, neighbors that speak and trade sugar and invite each other over to watch TV -- in a community.

You know what?

The four of us weren't so excited about that possibility. My husband (who I love, and who I've asked permission to tell this story) talked about the safety precautions we'd have to take, about the efforts we'd have to make for something like that to be possible.

Not a few minutes earlier, he'd been talking about learning French and moving to Africa.

Loving people is hard work.

This idea has been bombarding me lately, in all kinds of forms. (My brain works in the funniest of ways.)

First, I saw this video and website about a group of 20-somethings who spent an entire summer living and working together on an Arkansas farm. (I got so excited after I watched that I literally brainstormed who of our friends would join me on our own similar summer. I love my friends, but I'm pretty sure that's not happening.)

Then, our Bible class watched a Francis Chan video about fellowship and the church. The entire video stuck with me, but there was this one idea I keep coming back to. In the video, Chan says he cringes when people talk about how they love Jesus, but they just can't understand the church. They just can't get behind the institution that is church. It's too hateful; it's too divided; it's too religious. Look, I get that. I've had my own battle with church for the past few months, but something with Chan really stuck with me. He said that perhaps the best way we can lead others to Christ is by being part of a church, because church takes work. Love and forgiveness and unity take work. And the best way to tell someone about the love and forgiveness offered by the Father isn't by telling them at all.

It's by loving the people at church who you just can't stand.

It's the forgiving people who stomp on your heart.

It's uniting with people who you may not have much in common with, save for the blood of Christ.

When people see that, they just won't get it. And then, you can tell them that you didn't get it either. But Christ does. Christ did. And so we keep on loving and forgiving and uniting, because that's what he did.

So I watched that Francis Chan video. We talked with our friends about mission work. And then, kindred spirit and blogging buddy Kara posted this tear-jerker of a video along with a blog post about the community dinners she takes part in every Monday night.

And every time I read an article or have a conversation or watch a video, I get these chills, because I want that. I want community. I want to love my neighbor. I want to be brave enough to open up my home to friends and strangers alike. I want to be the hands and the feet of Jesus, and I don't want to do it by handing out tracts or even by moving to Africa.

I want to do it right here. Right now.

Because that's where I am.

Too often -- and in all different kinds of circumstances -- we wait. We wait to act until we're married or until we have kids or until we have a house or until we're out of debt or until our church situation gets better or until our family situation gets better or until we move to somewhere new and exciting. 

What if the will of God starts now?

There are a lot of thoughts floating around this head of mine, and I'm not quite sure what to do with them just yet.

For now, I'll keep hosting small groups in my home every Sunday night. I'll keep preparing food even when people complain. I'll keep opening my doors even when people have not-nice things to say. (Sidenote: Opening your doors to people -- even fellow believers -- takes some seriously thick skin. That's not how it should be, but that's how it is.) I'll continue to love and to forgive and to show kindness. I will smile at my neighbor when I'm at the mailbox. I will be kind to my waiter and waitress. I will take food to the sick and to those who've just had babies. I will write sympathy cards and send flowers.

I will do my best to be Jesus right where I am.

"His love is worth me doing everything." That's what minister Jeff Vanderstelt said in the video I linked to above. You know what else he said? If I don't have passion or love for the people around me, for the people I come in contact with on a daily basis, I need to ask for a bigger heart. This isn't about whether I have the "gift" of evangelism or not. In fact, none of this is about me. "This is about God's glory and lost people who don't know the love of the Father."

His love is worth me doing everything, and that everything encompasses even the smallest, most menial of tasks. 

Maybe we'll move to Africa one day. Maybe we'll move into the inner city of Tallahassee, Florida.

But until either of those things happen, I've got a calling right here that I'm not fulfilling. 

It's not about me. It's about so many people who are lost and sad and lonely and hurting. 

It's about love. 

 *photo by Luisa Brimble

dear fuzzies.

A couple of weekends ago, my two cousins (you'll remember them as my "fuzzins") celebrated their spiritual birthdays. I didn't do anything major to commemorate these pretty major events, so I thought instead, I'd write them a letter, then publish it for the world to see. That's what blogging's all about, right?

--- 

There have been times, in the past three years, when I have wondered if moving back to Tallahassee and choosing to stay was really the best decision. It's not always easy to move back to your hometown, to become a grown-up in a world where people still see you as a very scrawny, nerdy child. I don't spend a lot of time looking back -- I've always been a "remember Lot's wife" kind of person -- but in the moments when I do, I wonder if Tallahassee is really, right now, the place for me. 

And in those moments, what brings me back, what confirms the decision Jordan and I prayed about and cried over, is you.

My entire family made this move doable, livable, but it's this relationship I have with you that I treasure. I didn't know that when I left to go to college, I'd be coming back, be able to get to know the growing-up versions of you. I think years from now, when I remember the years -- however long they are -- that I spent in Tallahassee, I will mostly remember you. How I was privileged enough to watch my little cousins grow into beautiful and strong spiritual warriors.

We're cousins, I know. We're called to love each other based on blood alone. But I think what makes me so happy, so grateful, is that I'd love you even if we weren't cousins at all. I would still want to teach your Bible classes, to curl up on the couch and watch Gilmore Girls, to cook with you in my kitchen, to invite you to spend the night on the weekends when my husband was out of town (even if those visits resulted in 3 a.m. phone calls and brothers brave enough to be superheroes). All of those things might have been kind of creepy if we weren't actually related, so I'm glad, grateful that you're the same cousins I babysat when I was just learning how, the same cousins who called me "mom" in the grocery store so we wouldn't all be abducted, the same cousins who cry over old movies and drink smoothies and plan parties that may or may not ever happen.

I love that as a family, we talk about the things that matter to us. I love that we encourage each other to see the Spirit of Christ, that we share song lyrics and Bible verses, that we ask questions with the understanding that we won't always know the answers. 

A few weeks ago, Jordan was teasing me about my introverted ways. We read before, somewhere, that extroverts are people who are energized by others (like Jordan). They go into a crowd or a classroom or a party, and when they leave, they are rejuvenated. Introverts (like me) are the people who go into a crowded room or hang out with friends, and when they leave, they leave exhausted. (In defense of introverts everywhere, this doesn't mean we're antisocial or can't have a good time. It just means once the party's over, we tend to head straight for bed.) And Jordan was teasing me about how generally, people leave me so emotionally drained, and then it hit me: Not everyone leaves me feeling this way. Jordan -- he was grateful to know -- doesn't make me feel that way. And you don't make me feel that way. 

The days I get to see you and talk to you and hear about your days: Those are good days. I am so grateful that I, in some small way, get to play big sister not just to Chet, but to you. I'm glad the four of us are kind of like siblings, and I'm beyond grateful that now, we're connected not just by the blood of our parents, but by the blood of Christ. Getting to see you two walk with Him is a highlight of my life. 

So happy belated birthday, fuzzies. You are both so special to me, and I'm thrilled that I even get to play some small part in who you are and who you are becoming.

defining 25.

{from here}

I turn 25 next week.

To my friends and family, this is not news. I’ve been advocating on behalf of my 25th year for months now, maybe since I greeted poor, overlooked 24 nearly twelve months ago.

My closest friends and loved ones are undoubtedly sick of my birthday, sick of the talking and the planning and the hyping, which does not bode well since the day has yet to actually arrive.

There is a method, though, to my madness, a purpose in all of this hullabaloo that I have created for myself.

In my head exists this version of my younger self, clad in flannel pajama bottoms, snuggled in a sleeping bag next to my favorite friends, whispering secrets and sharing dreams. This littler, naïve-er me boldly says that 25 will be THE YEAR: the year I get married, the year I get my dream job, the year everything comes together. In short, 25 is when I will enter adulthood, when I will make some sense of this life and how I’m meant to live it.

The younger me might be surprised to find out that I got married two years ago, I have a job I enjoy, and I live in an apartment over 1,000 miles from Manhattan.

Maybe that me would be disappointed in who she sees, I can’t be sure. Maybe she would shed tears over graduate school and magazine publishing dreams, plead with me to move to the big city, question the decisions I’ve made and why I’ve made them.

I’m okay with that. I think we’d maybe cry together, but then I think I’d tell her:

Suck it up, you.

This chaotic mess that I am living is life, and it is good. And the decisions I have made have been hard, but they have been right. And the you I was at 16 isn’t the me I am now.

I would tell her that those dreams she had so long ago have come true, but not in the way she had planned: better.

Because really, life isn’t meant to turn out the way we plan, and becoming another year older doesn’t mean we are going to magically figure it out.

--

The other day, during a moment of quiet reflection, I asked myself what it is I wanted. Forget raucous dance parties and bold decisions, what did I really think the gift of 25 would bring? Who is it I thought I would be on February 2, 2011?

And I realized: All I really want to be and do in this life is grace.

I want grace to seep out of my pores and cover the souls I come in contact with.

I want to bestow grace and mercy and forgiveness on my enemies, to laugh with those who laugh at me.

I want to handle life’s challenges with grace and humor.

I want people to like me, not because I am funny or witty or pretty or smart, but because there is a grace inside of me that makes them feel at ease.

I want my friends to love my home and my heart, not because of anything I have done, but because of the graceful One who makes His home inside of me.

I want to extend the hand of grace to myself: when I look in the mirror. When I have a bad day. When I want it to be sunny and there is only rain.

That’s what being a grown-up means to me, and I think, deep down, it’s what I’ve long wanted 25 to be.

More comfortable in my own skin, yes.

More free to be myself and to make my own decisions and to fully embrace what this life has to offer, yes.

But mostly, just filled with more grace. Lots and lots and lots of grace.

--

Age is just a number, this I know. But maybe my younger self was right: Maybe there is a little magic in 25.

Maybe knowing what you want is half the battle.

This year, I know I want grace.

Happy birthday to me.

dear 2010.

 {from here}

dear 2010,

thank you for chicago. and boston. and tybee.

thank you for getaways, escapes, and the peace found there. 

thank you for holding our hands through decision-making, for bringing family and friends inside our home.

thank you for new opportunities, for graduations and fresh starts.

thank you for book club and sunday suppers and chew* chats and community.

thank you for friends, new and old.

thank you what you gave and yes, even what you took away.

you were a roller coaster ride.

winter was relaxing and quiet.

spring was stressful, filled with decisions and choices and hard things.

summer was lazy and a little bit lonely, but wonderful in its own way.

fall was not how i imagined it to be: bouquets of sharpened pencils, papers written, grades earned.

it was not how i pictured, and i've had a hard time letting go of what i wanted it to be.

but i'm learning.

i guess, for me, that's what you will amount to in my history books.

you'll be the year filled with some growing pains, with stretching and learning who i am and who i am called to be.

you were a blessing. each year is.

but you also introduced us to some challenges, and i'm ready to embrace a new chapter, to take the things i've learned from you and apply them to a new year.

my aim for 2010 was to live intentionally and simply.

some days, that was true. many days, i failed miserably.

the purpose of goals and resolutions, i think, is to keep aiming. we're not always going to succeed.

but we've got to keep trying.

you were the year i kept trying, the year i didn't give up.

that's good enough for me.

oh, glenn.

Warning: This is going to be heavy (and lengthy!) for a Friday.

{Beck's original comments may be heard in the video above.}

Jordan and I have been watching The Office on DVD since the Olympics ended, so I’ve been a little behind in the world of news and politics. That is, until today, when I came across this post on Donald Miller’s blog. In it, Miller gives his two cents on a debate that apparently has been raging for days over “social justice” and what it means for this country and God’s people.

Apparently, the whole thing started with Glenn Beck. (Oh, Glenn. I’m just not sure what I think about you.) A few days ago, during Beck’s television program (which, admittedly, I do not watch), Beck began a monologue about “social justice,” during which he referenced a man named Jim Wallis, who, I’ve since discovered, runs a magazine/think tank/blog about social justice as it pertains to the U.S. government and Christianity. The mission statement of Wallis’ institution, Soujourners, reads:

Our mission is to articulate the biblical call to social justice, inspiring hope and building a movement to transform individuals, communities, the church, and the world.

Beck went on to compare Wallis’ beliefs with that of Karl Marx, which sadly, didn’t shock me all that much. From what I’ve seen of Beck, he’s kind of extreme. You know, one of those guys who gets your attention by being as “out there” as possible, by shocking you into listening. An exaggerator, if you will.

Later, on his popular radio show, Beck continued his diatribe, calling on Christians to leave their congregations if “social justice” was mentioned in sermons, on church Web sites, in communications materials, etc.

I think the whole thing is absolutely absurd, and sadly, I’m not sure Christians have responded all that well.

Wallis (of Sojourners fame) and other writers on the Sojourners site have blogged about the incident several times, even calling on Beck to have a thoughtful dialogue about the subject. I doubt Beck will participate, but it’s a nice gesture. Unfortunately (and I may actually disagree with Don Miller here… I know, I can’t believe it either), Wallis didn’t stop there. He’s continued to repost Beck’s comments on his own site — a gesture that I think is kind of unnecessary — and has called on Christians to boycott Beck’s show, which to me sounds an awful lot like Beck calling on people to leave their churches.

Beck and Wallis (both self-proclaimed Christ-followers) have inspired a flood of comments and discussions on blogs and news sites, and it's not the type of thoughtful dialogue that the Father of logic would be proud of. Christians commenting on both Wallis’ site and even Miller’s post have said things out of line and context, things I'm pretty sure I disagree with. Like this guy, who claimed: “Where in the Gospels did Jesus ask us to give the government our coat in order for them to give someone a pair of pants, or for that matter where Jesus had anything to do with the government or the state in general?”

He’s right. On the one hand, Jesus never instructed his disciples to involve politics in their healing or giving ministries. But Jesus did have a lot to do with the government/state. He stepped on its toes and got the leaders’ attention. And, ultimately, He (and those who followed in His footsteps) commanded disciples and other church leaders to obedience, both in giving taxes and in following governmental law (Mark 12:13-17; Romans 13:1-3).

I don’t know why we act like Jesus ignored government. He didn’t. Now, I don’t think Jesus came to earth to be a political leader or pundit (thank goodness), nor do I think He'd be an American Republican or Democrat if He were on earth today. (I'm inclined to think He wouldn't vote at all.) But I do think Jesus got the attention of government leaders just as He did the religious ones, and I do think, when asked, Christ gave His opinion on how we’re supposed to deal with rulers in authority over us.

I also took issue with a separate commenter on the Wallis blog who referenced all the many ways Jesus cautioned against wealth, against making money your master; the comment was intended to support social justice, and I agreed completely, until I reached the sentence that referenced Jesus turning tables in the temple courts.

Honestly, I don’t think that had as much to do with a disgusting display of wealth and money (though it was) as it did with Jesus defending a place that belonged strictly to His Father. Money was an issue, perhaps, but my reading of that passage leads me to belief that Jesus had His Father in mind first, not, at that particular moment, social justice.

Finally, one other Wallis commenter issued the point I knew would be made eventually: That on one side stand the right-wing, evangelical conservatives who "believe in the Bible" (direct quote), and on the other sit the more progressive Christians who choose instead to "follow the man from Nazareth."

I wonder what happens when you're both.

The point is, these hateful arguments, irresponsible blogs, and illogical comments go completely against our call to “speak the truth in love,” to give our hearts, souls, minds, and tongues completely to our Father.

I’m not sure why Glenn Beck all of a sudden felt the need to berate “social justice.” Since his first comments, he’s changed his tune slightly, saying now that if your church is calling you to individually help the poor and the weak, that’s okay. It’s the government’s involvement he doesn’t like.

Okay. Fine. But because I’m a Christian, in addition to helping the cause of the poor and weak on my own dime, I’m going to keep paying my taxes. And if those taxes pay for programs that serve the “least of these,” even better.

In the mean time, I think we all could use a moment to step back and think seriously about the life we’re called to lead. The life that requires self-sacrifice (ever heard of it, Glenn?), a tight tongue (Mary kept it all in her heart), an obedience to those in authority, and help for those who can’t help themselves (whether you call it social justice or not).

church league basketball.

Remember in Remember the Titans, when the little girl gets all fired-up while watching her daddy's team play football?

Yes.

That girl is me.

Except, there are no championships at stake. Nor are racial barriers trying to be broken.

Nope.

This is just church league basketball.

And every time I watch a game, my heart beats faster and my chest tightens.

Seriously.

It reminds me of when Chet played high school basketball. I would go to the games and get so mad. Fouls? Missed shots? That's my brother, for crying out loud! With each missed three (or made three!), my blood pressure would spike. I was secretly relieved when Chet chose to pursue other interests. Watching him play wasn't good for my overall mental--or physical--well-being.

Fast forward to this winter, when Jordan began playing church league basketball. Chet plays too, and the padre coaches, so I am invested in this. Probably even more than they are.

And, boy, do I yell.

So I get some funny looks.

Much like Hayden did back in the day.

That's good company, right? I mean, she's pretty successful these days.

And look how cute she was during Remember the Titans. You didn't find her obnoxious, did you? I mean, she was adorable, right?

I hope I come across as adorable.

And not creepy.

Though I'm beginning to wonder...

{Side note: How come when guys get all intense on the court or on the field, it's called athleticism, but when a girl gets intense it's weird and over-the-top? Please, someone tell me. I'd like to know. Also, do you think my sideline reactions could be some kind of subconscious response to the fact that I CAN'T PLAY SPORTS? Again, analyses are welcome. And one more thing: I do kind of know what I'm talking about. I mean, I have basketball in my genes. So I don't think my comments are uncalled for... Mostly.}

i didn't forget.

Dear Chet,

This picture pretty much sums it all up. You always make me laugh. Always have. You are the best little brother ever. I hope you have (had) the happiest birthday yet.

Love,

Annie

dear life... a break

Dear life,
 
Please. I could use a break.

Between my sweet grandma being in the hospital and the impossibility of scheduling appropriate holiday plans for two sets of families (not for the faint of heart!), I am running on empty. 
 
Our laundry is literally overflowing. I’m not sure how I still have clean underwear. I think it may be a five loaves and two fishes kind of situation. I promise I’ll do a load before Jordan’s clean boxers run out. Promise. 
 
I’m hosting an outdoor dinner party tomorrow night—the one day this week with a 30% chance of rain. I also haven’t prepared a single dish, and three people have cancelled in a span of 24 hours. Should be awesome.
 
The hubs and I strategically planned our holidays to visit every person we care about, to make everyone in our extended families happy. Soon-to-be-married-couples, take note: this plan will always, always, always blow up in your face. Back to square one.
 
I bought my brother’s birthday present—before finding out he’d already bought it for himself.
 
Faulkner still hasn’t sent me my official transcripts. Do they realize graduate schools have deadlines?
 
We found out that Jordan’s sister and her boyfriend are coming into town this weekend for the FSU v. Maryland game. Which we do not have tickets for. 
 
In addition, Sunday is our first anniversary (whoo hoo!). We’ll be entertaining aforementioned guests and completing a service project with our church group. Just what I pictured it would be like.
 
In case you can’t tell, I’m a little tired and slightly irritable. I’m trying to focus on the positive. Like: 
 
Listening to my grandma’s stories of how she and my grandpa met
Buying blankets for people in need
Winning a football game for the first time in weeks
Hanging out with good friends
Playing volleyball in the fall air
Finishing another grad school application
Watching “When Harry Met Sally”
Snuggling deep under the covers for a thing called sleep
 
So maybe I didn’t bake cupcakes for my dinner party or get our whites washed. Maybe I still need to get tables from the church and finish Jordan’s anniversary gift. 
 
Maybe I’m learning to take this life thing one day at a time. 
 
Maybe I’m learning what and who is important. 
 
Even so…
 
Life, could I please catch a break?

dear family.

Dear family, 

You never cease to amaze me. 

Thank you for staying up past your bedtimes, for forgoing your own home improvement projects, and for helping me finish the one project that remained on my list: our backyard. 

You guys are awesome. 

And now, so is my patio. 

You are my heroes. I hope I'm just like you when I grow up. 

Love,

Annie

To whom it may concern

Dear Mr. Gervais,

I suppose this all bothers me more than it should. What can I say? I guess I just take my faith seriously. I realize that's probably hard for you to understand, but I'd like to explain in hopes that you might feel one ounce of remorse toward belittling the God that I serve (and the God you will one day have to answer to).

First off, I think you're a comedic genius. Really. The Office might just be my favorite show of all-time, and although I've never seen the British version, I'll give you partial credit for the U.S.' hilarious adaptation. I've also seen you interviewed on several occasions, and you've never ceased to entertain. That's something, considering you don't always have a script in front of you. In addition, Ghost Town remains a favorite of both my husband and me (though under appreciated, I think, at the box office).

But to the point at hand.

You are an atheist. 

And you chose to make a movie about it. 

Good for you. I admire someone who stands up for their beliefs. What I do not admire, however, is hiding behind laughs and well-positioned marketing to sell your movie as nothing more than your latest comedic endeavor. I wish you would have at least had the nerve to own up to the fact that this film is nothing more than your personal belief about the God billions of people call their own.

In a sense, all the marketing done for The Invention of Lying has, in fact, been a lie. How clever! Way to go, Warner Brothers. You definitely had me going. Unfortunately, I consider myself a savvy consumer, and I research my films before I shell out $20 at AMC.

But, this isn't a letter toward Warner Brothers, is it? Nope, this is to a talented writer and comedian who chose to make a movie that doesn't just poke fun at God, but calls Him the biggest lie ever told.

My, how original.

Honestly, I feel sorry for you. Not because you are an atheist, but because your beliefs-- and they are beliefs, like it or not-- about God are so very small.

See, the God I serve and call Father doesn't just sit up in His throne in the sky, pouring down edicts and striking us with lightening when we behave badly.

My God is bigger than that, and He loves me more than that.

My God doesn't choose to reign in the unreachable sky. 

He instead chooses to reign here, where I am, on the earth He created out of pure joy. 

He wakes me up each morning and provides my every breath and the blue sky I love. He blesses me with talent, with work, with family. He guides my feet, watches my path, and listens to my voice.

He cares so much about me that He gave of Himself so that one day, I could be with Him face-to-face.

What's more, He did the same for you.

The God I know is crossing his fingers for you, hoping you'll change your mind. He undoubtedly sends His angels to you, protecting you and comforting you, even when you do not deserve it. 

He cares about us both, loves us both. 

The only difference is that I love Him back. 

I have given my life to Him, and you know what? It wasn't hard or painful. It didn't rid me of my independence or ruin my chance at happiness. 

It made me better. 

A better daughter, a better wife, a better sister, and a better friend. 

A better writer, a better listener, a better worker. 

Perhaps you don't want to be better, and that's where the truth comes in. 

You don't have any God-shaped hole or desire for more. 

You're just a sad little man who gains success and attention not for your talent, but for your stance on something wildly off-base and completely untrue. 

My only real request is that if you are going to bash my God, please, do some research first. 

Stop spreading lies about the almighty God who rules this universe, who created your very breath.

Most of us left the "my God sits in the clouds looking down on me" stage of our faith behind with our diapers. 

Sincerely,

A proud daughter of a loving, kind Father 

some notes.

A few letters of my own:

Dear Mr. Polanski,

Please just go to prison already. I'm tired of you and your Hollywood supporters.

Dear John Krasinski, 

I didn't think you could get any cuter. But after this? Well, let's just say my mind has changed.

Dear Coach Meyer,

I hope Tebow's concussion put things in perspective for you. Seriously, get over yourself. Football just isn't worth it. 

Dear Conan,

I wish you came on earlier. I'm sleep deprived thanks to you. But I do think I have a solution. How about you replace Jay? I think we'd all like you better.

Dear Glee,

You're my favorite new show. When will the soundtrack be out?

Dear David,

This might be favorite one yet. I wish I could write like you.

Dear new job,

So, I think this might work.

Dear Tallahassee,

This weather reminds me why I love you. Keep it coming. 

Dear Kathleen Kelly,

You remain my fall fashion inspiration. And I want to be you.

Dear husband,

Thanks for picking up the slack while I get used to my new job. It's not going unnoticed.

Dear life,

I love you.

A prayer.

Dear Lord, 

Sometimes I wish so badly You were here. That I could talk to You. That I could really know exactly what it is I'm supposed to know. 

Yesterday was rough. I've been disappointed in people, in situations, in behavior and words that I can't comprehend. 

I don't understand hurt. 

Or judgmental behavior. 

Or hateful words. 

Especially in light of the God we all serve. 

The God who loves. 

The God who understands. 

So why do we-- His people, His children-- find it so hard to love? 

To understand? 

To walk around in the shoes of others? 

To feel what others feel?

To see situations how others might see them?

Lord, I just feel like some people don't get it. 

They don't understand that not everyone has our beliefs

Our opinions

Our convictions. 

That some people just need our love. 

It's hard for me, Lord

To see in Your people 

A lack of understanding

Of love. 

So, Lord, what I'm asking is for your help.

To love

The unloveable

Even when the unloveable

Includes Your people. 

Help me to forgive

And help me to look to You

The perfect image of love

To know what it truly means to be Your follower. 

Help me to not be hurt or overcome by the actions of others

People who may not understand what exactly it is they are doing

Who they are hurting. 

Protect my heart. 

Soften it. 

So that I can be more like You

In how I treat everyone. 

Lord, help me to remember 

That I can't control how others behave.

But I can control my own actions.

Help those actions to be Yours. 

Help me to always and forever be in awe of who You are and what You do.

In Jesus' name,

Amen.

dear movie maker...

To Whom It May Concern:

It is with great sadness and frustration that I question your movie adaptation of the bestselling Jodi Picoult novel, "My Sister's Keeper."

My biggest question is actually pretty simple: Did you read the book?

I know you Hollywood types are really busy, hanging out with Steve Spielburg and keeping your eyes on Jon and Kate, but really, your latest attempt at a dramatization of a book was downright pathetic.

I'll forgive you for casting Cameron Diaz in a role that probably should have gone to someone a tad more matronly. I'll even give you a little credit for seeing potential there that I didn't see.

And I actually understand that movies can't be identical to the books they're recreating. That's fine. As a lover of books, I don't expect movies to fulfill the role of bound paper in my hands.

But when a movie claims to be a retelling of the book-- complete with the same title and premise-- I expect more than just similarities. I'm expecting something comparable (with some details removed for the sake of time).

Imagine my surprise as I sit in the theatre and find the characters dry and void of personality. Key parts of the story wiped away.

Imagine by utter astonishment as I watch an ending that bares no resemblance to the book I'd read not months earlier.

I don't know how much you paid off Jodi Picoult, but both of you should be ashamed.

And don't bother telling me about focus groups and ratings.

If you wanted to completely revamp the story, the title (My Sister's Keeper) and tagline (Based on the novel by Jodi Picoult) should have been changed.

That way book lovers like myself could have saved the cash and gone to see Harry Potter.

Because clearly, it is possible to create a movie adaptation of a book.

You just don't know how.

Sincerely,

A disappointed viewer

dear people who think you have money issues.

You do not.

If you call “saving” not visiting Starbucks every day, you don’t have money issues.

If your definition of pinching pennies is only seeing one or two movies a month, you don’t have money issues.

If you call “scrimping” choosing discount instead of designer, you don’t have money issues.

If your savings account has enough to put down on a home, you don’t have money issues.

If your splurge this month was a $200 pair of sunglasses, you do not have money issues (but you probably will one day).

Now…

If you’re on first-name basis with your bank’s customer service department, you have money issues.

If you eat lunch at home every day and still run short on cash each month, you have money issues.

If you post wish lists on your blog just to get it out of your system, you have money issues.

If your savings account has been depleted by legitimate emergencies, you have money issues.

If your splurge this month was takeout from Whataburger, you have money issues.

Guess which category we fall in?

c/o: miss montana

Dear Hannah:

You and I. We’re more alike than I thought.

In fact, I’m ashamed to say that until this weekend, I kind of brushed you aside.

But now I want to buy your music and blare it on my iPod.

Because, I kind of relate.

The whole best of both worlds thing resonates with me.

I bet a lot of people recognize the feeling.

The wanting the best of both worlds feeling.

Of course, I don’t mean being a celebrity.

I actually don’t want that at all. Yuck. Just thinking about it makes me sick. In the spotlight all the time? No thanks.

I mean, that’s great for you and all. But not me.

But the best of both worlds isn’t just about being torn between celebrity and normal.

Is it?

I didn’t think so.

It’s just about being torn.

Which is what I am, oh, about 99% of the time.

That sounds bad.

But it’s not.

I just have an imagination, so I think a lot.

Plus I happen to like a lot of things.

Like traveling.

And big cities.

But also farms.

And quiet.

Design.

And writing.

But also helping people.

And organizing.

So you can see why I am torn so much.

Why I want the best of both worlds.

The villa in Italy and the farm in Kentucky.

The loft in NYC and the cottage in Tallahassee.


The own-my-own-business and the non-profit organization.


The design and the writing and the grad degree.

And the truth is, I haven’t had to choose between too many things.

But when I have had to choose… it’s been rather painful.

So I get what you’re saying. I understand your pain.

In about a year, I have a feeling I’ll be in the midst of another life-changing decision.

When I might have to choose between two worlds.

Because some people say you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

(Although, that’s never made much sense to me. So…)

But the point is, in a year, things might be changing.

And I’ve been doing a lot of complaining lately.

So it’s time to stop. The complaining, I mean.

Because, like you said, it’s all about the climb.

So I’m going to enjoy this little life I have here, this little world I’ve been given.

And when the time comes, I might choose something else.

But for now, I like what I’ve got.

Thanks for opening my eyes to that.

Sincerely,
ASBJ

Dear Chinese Medicine Man...

Every time I enter your office, I begin to relax. The wind chimes, the music... I immediately Zen out. Of course, that changes if I have to wait and pull out my planner/newest book I'm reading/latest issue of Newsweek. Then I get lost in my to-do list/the plot/the recession, and I'm not really Zen-ing anymore. Plus, I think you might judge me. You know, since I can't sit for two minutes without doing something. I beg you, don't. We both know idle hands are the Devil's plaything.

I've come to notice some consistencies in my visits. Anytime a needle is placed in my hands, my nose begins to itch. You've told me to ring a bell if I ever need anything, but I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you scratching my nose, so I suffer.

In addition, I've realized that without fail, you will require me to lift my pant legs to above my knees. Of course, I won't have shaved in days. I used to be ashamed of the prickly hairs running up and down my legs. That shame is quickly fading. I apologize. When it's warm again, I'll try to shave more frequently. (For your sake and my husband's.)

Also, could you paint over the tiny brown spot in the ceiling that holds my attention each visit? I promise I won't be the only one who notices.

I'm curious, too, as to what hand sanitizer causes your hands to smell like syrup... Every time. I warn you, this is probably why my stomach growls each visit. I can't help that you remind me of iHop.

I wanted to apologize for any drool stains I may have left on the chair during my past few visits. I don't mean to fall asleep, but those nature noises just get me every time. In fact, I'm remembering that I used to listen to nature noises to do my homework by (I was/am a bit of a nerd); I had to stop because they made me sleepy back then too.

And if you ever think I'm embarrassed by having to answer questions about the consistency of my bowel movements or the timeliness of my period, don't worry. I teach your kid in Sunday school.

Anyway, thanks for what you're doing. I really do feel better. And unlike so many people, I really don't think this is all a hoax, this whole acupuncture thing. I actually think it's working.

Oh, I forgot. Just an FYI: if you catch me laughing to myself while you're with another patient, no worries. I'm just writing a blog post in my head.

Sincerely your patient,

Annie B. Jones

i'm just not that into you.

Dear Jason,


I don't watch The Batchelor. But I've got a cold, so I figured I'd give last night's season finale a go. After all, you'd been getting rave reviews as a single dad and classy TV bachelor. Why not waste a couple of hours and-- bonus-- be able to contribute to water cooler conversation in the morning?


As I sat and watched you humiliate one girl after the next, I couldn't help but be in complete and total shock at the lack of moxie each one of them possessed. You proposed and broke hearts on national television... After whining countless times about the same thing happening to you.

Then, as if your annoying tears and helpless whimpers weren't enough, you subsided each girls' protests and confusion with the same cliché crap millions of women here the world over:


- "It's not you... It's not anything you did. It's me. It's all me." Right-O, there, buddy. YOU are a scumbag who likes to break women's hearts almost as much as you like yourself and reliving your own heartbreaks.

- "Sometimes, you just have to follow your heart." In exactly how many different directions does your heart lead you? It doesn't sound like the most reliable compass.

- "I just have to listen to what's inside. It feels right." Great. Let's go on feelings, because, you know, feelings never change. In fact, I think that's how my marriage vows went: "I promise to always feel the same about you, no matter what."


What's really baffling to me, though, is why anyone would want to be with you now? I'll give you a pass for changing your mind on who you want to marry. You're not the only guy to ask for a ring back. That's not the issue. The issue is that you chose to publicize your break-up on national television, at the apparent shock of the other party... After living that same kind of humiliation yourself.


Why anyone would ever want to date you is beyond me. You're indecisive, overly emotional, focused on the past, and like to see yourself on TV.


If I were Melissa, I would have thrown that ring in your face.


Lucky for you (and me), I'm already taken. But for all those single girls out there (and I know lots, all of whom are too good for you), let this ridiculous show be a lesson to you all: a) A guy who won't tell you he loves you doesn't deserve you, b) Wait for someone who believes a ring means forever, c) Never agree to be someone's second choice (shame on you, Molly!), d) A man who tells you he has fallen in love with two women simultaneously is lying, and e) Don't fall for the single dad trick. Cute kids will get you every time.


Sincerely,


A happily married, independent woman