Wide open

I've come to this place called McCormick Park, a small stretch of grassy and gravel banks along the Yellow Breeches, in a moment of respite before a leap into my senior year professional semester. I sit now and an ant aimlessly crawls across the adjacent page (having just tickled his way down my belly). I pull blanket and journal out of my worn napsack and lean my back against the base of a large tree that spreads branches like arms forming a canopy to encircle me from afternoon sun.  Light glints on the babbling brook and I watch a small leaf drift down from over-hanging limbs until caressed and carried along the cool water's rapids. These are the tiny moments that I want to fill life with, the ones that make me feel nostalgic, wonderful and a light melancholy thoughtfulness that longs to still the heart.

I come here today to ask for life's gifts. To remember similar days back when my toes skimmed seashore and I felt at peace. This time may be a re-creation; a grasping at the more natural posture of summertime but it's also my soul's cry to carry a bit of that pace with me as I adapt to changing tides. These gifts did not end when I folded up the beach chairs and drove off the magical bridge. Yes, many turned to memory and remain only in the pulses of my heartbeat but many wait to be discovered. That is why I sit here on the two day precipice of student teaching. Not to ignore the challenges and grit of this changing time and changing role but to call on my great Gift-Giver so that I may do more than merely survive this stage of my journey. I came to take this cool margin time by the brook to recreate with my Creator where He will re-create me.  To transform the mind that so easily translates work into stress and a job into a chore, to instead send a pulse of love that turns the palms upward to ask to receive. This time to fill with Him so that what I pour out to my kindergarteners, floor, teachers, staff is swollen with love. To fill with Him that my very identity is rooted and established in love so that even my brokenness, my limitations, are still beautiful reminders of grace. To fill with Him so that in this epic chapter of action and impact there remains gift, there remains grace, and I remain wide open to receive.

Broken and beautiful

The other day I set out along the beach, bucket in hand on a mission to collect shells for Ohana, my Hawaiian themed floor this upcoming year at Messiah.  Initially as I dug my toes in the flat low tide shoreline, I set out to find beautiful, whole shells.  After a few minutes of exploring, I began to notice the plethera of broken clam shells that littered the beach.  Typically I would bypass these shells and I realized that I actually felt bad for rejecting them, knowing they would never be selected as someone's treasure.  I've had those feelings on my treks before, grimly aware of how these shells just did not make my cut of perfection.  That's when I realized that this time I wanted to pick them up and as I did I began counting out one for each woman who is about to enter Bittner 3rd in just a few days. As I walked along the shoreline, God began revealing that these seemingly ridiculous feelings for inanimate objects were actually my hearts rebellion against the standard of perfection in my own life.  What seemed nonsensical and a bit foolish turned out to be my inward plea for acceptance just the way I am.  On this journey of life, I have struggled to accept the cracked and hole-y areas of my own life.  I have tried again and again to will away my flaws and limitations, incorrectly and unknowingly submitting to a scarring message that I must fix me because I am a Christ-one.  But I can't make my imperfections vanish by sheer will power and I have spent most of my lifetime building a web of anxiety trying to reach a standard I don't believe I am made to.  Isn't that sort of missing the point? After all, isn't that the beauty of it?  That God reached down and plucked me out of the crashing waves as is?

Each time I bent over to pile one broken shell on top of another I felt more and more giddy inside, imagining the confusion of passers-by at my absurd selection.  That must be how God feels.  A little bit silly-happy as He bends over to select the broken, those that seem untouchable and places them in the palm of His hand and makes them His treasure.  I am glad that I don't have meet the standard of perfection to be loved by my Savior and it is His love that makes me whole. The broken are beautiful, not because they were broken but managed by some great effort to prove that they weren't broken, but because they were chosen as is. That's what's transformational.  That's what heals the cracks of insecurity and hurt in our lives. That's why what is broken can be called beautiful. That's grace.

As I head back to Messiah in just a few days, I lug back a bag of 50+ broken and beautiful shells for 50+ broken and beautiful women of God and I am excited to stand before my floor broken and beautiful because of Christ.  Thanks be to God for a trail of maimed seashells along the beach. Thanks be to God for the broken and beautiful, for grace.

What's in your beach bag?

I came across this link from one of my favorite LBI bloggers and tweeters and thought it'd be neat to take a peak inside my beach tote while I sit here soaking up some August rays:

-a hairbrush

-half full (optimist) water bottle

-a green shovel with a wooden stem

-white bathing suit cover up with braided straps (I've had this for years and can't seem to find a much better replacement despite a few small holes and a stain)

-two containers of bubbles

-my neon green billabong hat (which I'm actually wearing so does it count? It's typically in the bag)

-a bag if microwave popcorn ( not sure how that fits unless the sun gets hot enough to pop it without the microwave)

-two sticks of banana boat lip balm with SPF  

-my green nalgene (does it show that green is my favorite color?)

-a teensy tiny empty tube of sunscreen 

- a mason jar filled with seashells and sand dollars

-a miny tube of L'Oreal kids SPF 40 sunscreen (for my nose!)

-Christy Miller series book (corny beach read!)

That about sums up my beach bag! What's in yours?

http://www.lbisource.com/island-skinny/whats-in-your-beach-bag

When tears are a good thing

When you drive two hours into the unknown. When you can't quite jiggle the locked door free of your new dorm.  When you begin unpacking your stuff into an unfamiliar closet and a few crates in a common lounge because they don't fit in your room. When you can't sleep because your feet don't quite fit on the bed.  When you panic just a bit because the first few days of work are filled with long 9-10 hour shifts.  When faces are strange. When you are unsure of when you will make any connection. When your heart flutters a bit with the twinges of anxiety at the start of something new.

When you are asked to run down to the beach in the pouring rain.  When you bound the steps of the dorm and are greeted by your sisters. When you pull out a variety of outfit choices out of you closet and have endless free fashion advice. When your bunk mate assures you that you can let your long legs run over onto her bed at night. When you dance to the beat while cleaning up from your shifts in a psuedo flash mob giggling with the other servers. When you are welcomed to try out all three food service positions, server, kithen and dish (all but baker!). When you write encouraging messages to the dish room in the cake residue on the pan because you know you are a team. When you hang out in the pantry on your day off because that is where your friends are. When you bike to the beach at sunset to play ultimate or soccer with the whole gang. When you float for long hours in the deep ocean or when you skim across the foamy surf. When you take adventures to the lighthouse and body board at sunrise and build a sandcastle.  When you have deep conversations with friends that fill up your love tank. When you chat with your top bunk mate during gloomy weather and drift off to sleep for an afternoon catnap.  When you tow a guy friend on his longboard back from the beach on your bike. When your friends spend a late per to go out for your last night to spin around and stare at the stars.

 When you have celebrated the joy and grace filled moments of the last two-months. When you are bombarded with hugs and words of affirmation spoken like whispers to your heart. When you realize that this goodbye carries with it the transformation of uncertainty into the beautiful gift of a new family. When your eyes swell with all of the happiness, love, joy, friendship and blessings of a summer that rests heavy upon your insides as you drive away.

When tears are a good thing.

A morning well spent

Peeling out of a gravel lot with friends passing the motivated few who rush towards the dawn. Cotton candy clouds, wisps of color. We run up the dunes. A reddish orb breaks over horizon. Footfalls in the sand meet the cool, refreshing foam of the crashing waves that lag on the shoreline of low tide. Our boards slap the water, mist sprays my face from a clean wave that breaks just beyond me. I play, invigorated by the salty depths and pink rays that slant through the sky tinging the time with the adventure of sunrise. I manage to tuck into the barrel of one of the waves and am met by the compliments of one of the guys. A morning well spent. A summer well spent. A few more days by the seashore...

Just a summer night

Finished the post-dinner clean up. Cue the dining services ice cream party announced by your super visor earlier in the day. Eventually the whole staff joins in for some chocolate and vanilla goodness. 

Hop in the jeep. Top down, roommate co-pilot and another in the back. Grab some surprise

secret brother gifts for tomorrow night. 

Back to HCBC. Hit up the Davis to watch staff brothers take on the guests in basketball. Erupting cheers (and many giggles). Game ends, and knock out commences. 

Curfew. Blushing girls gush over guys and cuteness. Snuggle up to a letter from a friend. End with a read-aloud of an old favorite.

Summer nights.

'Merica

I found this gem that ever got posted, enjoy!! 

The fourth on LBI

HCBC family...

...and the sibs!