the brave things

Courage
by Anne Sexton

It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heart
went on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.

Later,
if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
cover your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.

Later,
if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.

Later,
when you face old age and its natural conclusion
your courage will still be shown in the little ways,
each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen,
those you love will live in a fever of love,
and you'll bargain with the calendar
and at the last moment
when death opens the back door
you'll put on your carpet slippers
and stride out.

I wrote an email recently to a friend, reminding her as she once did to me that we are brave. I think as young-out-of-college-confused-twenty-somethings, we have to name the brave things. 

My brave things are somewhat embarrassing. My brave things are starting new health insurance, making a doctor's appointment, and then showing up at the wrong doctor's office, getting to the right doctor's office ten minutes late with confidential paperwork flying freely for all to see as I run into the office. And then getting lost en route to the waiting room after being specifically instructed by a nurse (who later had to come and get me down the hall and practically hold my hand to get me to the right place).

After that embarrassing episode I texted my friend in the doctor's office waiting room and said "sometimes I just suck at being an adult" ...and some days that is 100% the truth.

My brave thing is working out at lunch with my coworkers, my muscles shaking uncontrollably because I just can't hold a 1 minute plank gosh darn it! But I try anyway, even when it means falling to the floor when everyone else is holding those abs in perfect position. (to those who know me and my love for rap and hip hop music, i think i take "get low" to a whole new meaning, because I find myself on the floor way too often. but we're supposed to get low, right? ;)).

My brave thing is tutoring a woman in English on Wednesdays even though I have no idea how to teach English as a second language

I don't say any of these brave things to make me sound high and mighty (because really, I shouldn't receive a high five for getting lost in my hometown and reading an address wrong), but rather I write it to say that bravery is in the small things. And I think sometimes we're so wrapped up in the big picture, that we forget about the day to day, about how God is providing for us as we make our way through the frustrating Tuesdays and confusing thoughts we think about as we drive to work on Thursday morning. Sometimes I forget that it is in the small things that we see it, as Anne Sexton writes (It is in the small things we see it // The child's first step,

as awesome as an earthquake // The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.)

But we're doing brave things, you know? We're working and dreaming, applying to a jobs in the hopes of finding a good one, putting ourselves out there as we try to make friends, doing stupid things and falling on our faces (at least I am!!). We're connecting some of the dots, and others we're just watching and waiting for them to come together and connect themselves.

But we are brave, in the littlest of things, and the bigger ones too. Thanks be to God who guides us through the big and smallest of moments. 

Becom[ing]

I loved this article published by the new provost at my alma mater, Janel Curry. The article is entitled "The Education of a Provost" and was featured in The Chronicle of Higher Education.

Some of the most encouraging stories to me are from the people who worked the most random jobs, majored in Economics, and somehow wind up becoming a midwife in the inner city of Los Angeles. That story might be a bit of an exaggeration, but really, it's amazing to me to hear from people who did things that seem like scattered puzzle pieces, but slowly some of those pieces come together. No one's life has every piece assembled perfectly together, but it's inspiring and encouraging for me to hear about another person's becoming process -- and how there are so many stories and journeys, circumstances, hardships, and joys that are a part of that process.

And that's what caught my eye about Dr. Curry's piece -- she talks about lessons learned along the journey that have led her to her position that she now holds (provost at Gordon College). She learned about patience and working with others, management, leading a team, etc. and all of those skills are going to be used in the job she now holds.

I wonder about the puzzle pieces in my life too. Or maybe, it's more than just wondering, but a sort of fear that those pieces won't matter or that they'll be forgotten. I think about Nicaragua -- I wonder what those 10 days were for -- do they matter? What is going to be made of it? I wonder about some of the tears I've cried...do those matter? Can they be used? And what about the smiles and joys, what about living in a different place and watching the snow?

They're pieces right now. Pieces that slowly come together in certain ways that I do see -- and some pieces that I'm waiting to better understand. The word "process" involves a lot of waiting and discovering -- and that requires quite a bit of patience. Yet when I hear stories like Dr. Curry's, or from an older friend or mentor, I'm inspired and encouraged by the process that we all are -- and the ways God shapes and prepares us for tasks and opportunities.

And maybe as I learn patience in this process of becoming, I can remember that God is patient with me....because let's be honest: I'm a difficult piece of clay to mold. I'm thankful he's willing to work with me anyway :)

The Missing

It usually takes about a week to make it happen. The texts are long, full of options:
What about Saturday, 3pm my time?
Thursday after 7?
I babysit then ... Wednesday??

I think about my schedule...I'll rush home from the gym, help mom with dinner, and get on the computer. No wait, maybe i'll get up early and talk in the AM because it's 9:30 her time and 6:30 my time. that could work, right? Can i get myself out of bed that early?? Probably not. Dang it. AH THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING WHY CAN'T WE HAVE A CONVERSATION WITHOUT A WEEK OF PLANNING?! I think to myself

And when I finally see her face I'm so happy. We talk about jobs and living with our siblings again or finding a new home in a big city. she says things that totally resonate with me and what I'm feeling and makes me laugh because of her unique and witty humor.

But when we hang up I feel a sense of loss. We only had an hour and in that time we didn't get to talk about the time last week when I read a section of a book that made me think of her. We didn't have time to stop by each other's apartments mid-day in our leggings on a friday afternoon, eagerly awaiting the weekend. We didn't have time to vent (usually that would be me) about school and ridiculously long essays to write and obnoxious people in the library flirting while I'm trying to study.

When I call a different country, Costa Rica, I usually pause for a minute "Should I do it? How bad is my Spanish today?" I open up my journal from abroad and find the number that I wrote on the front page: 506.
The international area code is 506. I press dial. And wait.

It rings and I get so nervous. There's an answer on the other line and I say "Hola, es Alisa" and then the conversation comes. They say my name like they always did, I talk with Papi about food and making coffee and they ask for me to come back.

We remember you, Alisa, he says. And a piece inside of me starts to ache.

And then I miss. And I remember. And I smile. And I feel sad and happy all at once.

I smile because it was good -- our time together. I smile because we can still be together across many thousands of miles. I smile because my Tica family says my name differently and it makes me feel like I'm there with them.

And I feel sad because I want to be drinking coffee with them in Costa Rica. I want to be laughing at Papi's jokes again and making silly Spanish mistakes. I want to be in Maryland or Massachusetts or wherever you are.... drinking wine on the floor of one of my best friend's bed room, talking about life and transitions and all these unknowns. I want to be laughing with them as we reminisce about freshman year 8am philosophy where we wrote notes to each other to stay awake and cursed over 8 page essays about "epistomology." I want to be sitting on the couch on the second floor of Tavilla again laughing so hard at that story you told me about when you were in Africa. I want to watch my papi's face when he laughs, I want to eat gallo pinto again.

I miss.

We miss because we love, right? We miss because we were loved by people and places -- and when we leave them, it hurts a little (and sometimes it hurts a lot). We miss, too, because we got to love them back. We were given the opportunity to love the people and places in front of us...the car rides to school when the sunlight perfectly hit the hills of Costa Rica, the runs through the woods on a snowy afternoon in Wenham, the conversations over lattes at Atomic Cafe, the laughter on a long walk home from Spanish class. And we continue to love...just this time from a greater distance.

So, right now, I'll miss and remember. And I'll be thankful for those gifts.

Suitcases

There's a box inside my parents' garage that houses our camping gear and all of our suitcases. I have become very accustomed to this particular location in the garage -- it's where I would go each time I was getting ready to head to Boston or to Costa Rica, or even for the quick trips to Grandpa and Grandma's house. This weekend I got our our tent out for a weekend camping trip and as I was moving the suitcases around to get to the tent, I realized that I don't have any immediate plans to be using my suitcase.

And I felt a great sense of relief and peace about that.

I realize that's not a common feeling -- aren't most 20-somethings just antsy to move and go and be anywhere but in a familiar place? Granted, I still want to travel and have dreams of living abroad short-term for Spanish language study. I'm counting the days until I head east to see my friends and watch the sunrise on the North Shore. But I feel enormously grateful right now to be in one place without a need to be packing and unpacking, purchasing plane tickets, and transitioning from one home to the other.

My suitcase carried my heart from place to place and got all my clothes and jewelry and favorite sweaters and Lauren Conrad jeans safely across the miles. I never once lost a suitcase in my travels, and was always quick to spot a ginormous bag with a purple ribbon tied around it (strategically thought of by my mother for easy spotting) as it made it's way through the carousel.

Each time I got from Santa Barbara to Boston or Boston to Santa Barbara, I was quick to unpack in this specific way:
Step One: dump all of my crap out on the floor
Step Two: quickly put the suitcase away (in the garage, or under my bed at school)
Step Three: unpack

I always wanted that suitcase out of sight as quickly as possible...partly because I am a bit of a neat freak and like things to be put in their place as fast as possible. But the other reason is that I wanted to quickly acclimate to my new place and not think about the next time I was moving again. The suitcase sitting in the corner of my room would just remind me that I had to pack and unpack again and that just sounds a bit exhausting.

Do I sound like a an old lady who has reached her "travel limit"? Maybe...but that's not my point. I've discovered that traveling from place to place is beautiful and the places and people you discover along the way is incredibly meaningful. I've also discovered that planting yourself in one place is a good thing too and for me personally, gives a sense of peace and excitement for investing in a community in one place.

I don't know how long I'll be here, but I'm thankful that for now, the suitcase can stay in the garage and be used for shorter trips instead of the long and tearful goodbye ones. I'm thankful for the chance to invest in relationships in Santa Barbara and to be close to family. I miss so much about the East Coast, but I am at peace with being here and letting this become my home. Thanks be to God.

Now I was Sittin, Waitin, Wishin...(thank you Jack Johnson)

Thank you Hilary for inspiring this post. Read it here to see what I'm writing about :)

I'm waiting and wishing - that might be the best way to describe this season of life: waiting to know where I should apply for work, waiting for new friendships and community, waiting to catch a bigger glimpse of how God is going to use the puzzle pieces in my life.

And I find myself wishing too -- wishing that the waiting period would be just a tad bit shorter, wishing that I had faith like so and so or the relationship that person X has, wishing that I had a better idea of what I want to do with my life and could answer the question: where do you see yourself in 5 years? without so much hesitancy.

Last week my friend Hilary blogged about this kind of wishing -- and how we compare what we have been given (she calls it all "gifts"):

I think that all those young college graduates, young professionals, the promisers, the rooted and winged, all of us waste time wishing we could trade lives with each other like lunchboxes. We all wish for a different wild gift. We all wish we had the kind of hard but beautiful someone else is living.

This summer I read Lauren Winner's recent book Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis. I highly recommend it. Winner is an honest author and I think that's what I appreciate the most about her - there's no beating-around-the-bush with her and that's refreshing. Here's a particular quote I loved:

Maybe God has given some people belief like a pier, to stand on (and God has given those people's steadiness to the church, to me, as a reminder, as an aid), and maybe God has given others something else. Maybe God has given to some this humming sense that we know nothing, this belief and disbelief a hundred times an hour, this training in nimbleness (and maybe that is a gift to the church, too)" p. 15

My gift, my contribution to the church, to society, to my family and friend, is not the same gift that others bring. My gift is not a high level job. My gift is not a romantic relationship. My gift is not grad school. My gift is not DC or Boston or Baltimore.

But my gift is many good things: my gift is being home, my gift is being able to train for a half marathon, participating in a new church, writing letters to people I love and miss. My gift is the beach and making pumpkin butter and sweet potato bread.

I think Winner is right - God has given some people "belief like a pier to stand on" and others "something else." That "something else" isn't lesser and the belief isn't better - they are each a different gift.

I've been using Hilary's word "gift" throughout this post, and I think it's a good word to use. I don't mean to sound glib about hardship or discomfort or the sense of being overwhelmed. I think honesty is important and choosing thankfulness doesn't mean we cover up the tears. But I think the word gift helps me focus less on what others have that I don't, and more on what I have been uniquely given.

"Lord you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure"

Psalm 16:5

season of summers

an important chapter of life has ended: school summer vacation. summer is always here (as long as the climate changes don't go too crazy), but i will (hopefully!) be employed sometime soon and that job will most likely not have 3 months of vacation time. boo. 

(summer '10 - ghiradelli in san fran)

 (summer '09 - libby's 8th grade graduation)

(summer '09 - hanging out with grandma and photobooth)

 (summer '10 - summers were incomplete without some dog sitting - here's one of my canine friends henri)

 (summer '10 - hanging at the grandparents' ...with mac of course)

 (summer '11 - mammoth family vacation)

 (summer '10 - dad hoping his height and our kbakes sign will help find kels after her HS graduation ceremony. i have never been so thankful for a tall father than during ceremonies like these where there are at least 2,000 people wandering a football field looking for 1 out of 450 graduates all wearing the same clothing)

(summer '11 - cousin reunion :))

 (summer '09 - reunion with the grimes in arkansas!)

 (summer '11 - making key lime pie for grandma's birthday -- 

with uncle alan cheering me on :))

 (summer '12 - walk on singing beach with lyss)

 (summer '12 - beach day with bekah)

(summer '12 - my 1st new england 4th of july! - with sam adams o' course!)

as i'm in the process of looking for work, i am reminded of the blessings of this past summer and the summers before that. each summer God has been faithful to provide both money as well as time with family and friends. i remember going back to Gordon for my junior year and feeling refreshed physically (yay for summer gym memberships!), spiritually (loved the church Bible study on the book of David), mentally (no papers to turn in! no Con Law briefs to write! No tests to study for! = decreased stress levels), and emotionally (cheers to laughing with my sisters and hanging with my family all summer long). that was the summer of '10, and summer '11 was different, but still so good - time with family and friends to process my time in Latin America, full-time work at the retirement center which i loved, vacationing with the family in the mountains, and doing spinning classes for exercise with some crazy athletic trainers.

this summer was different, but still wonderful. i confess i watched more TV than i would like to admit (netflix is a blessing and a curse) and at times was a bit lonely living by myself in a dorm, but i loved being in new england during the summer months, running to singing beach and exploring Boston during the warm summer evenings, laying out at west beach with dunkin' donuts iced coffee and a book in my hand, shopping at the outlets, and coffee dates with friends and co-workers. i read some good books and blog posts, learned more about managing a budget, and relished mcdonald's rolo mcflurries and $1 iced coffee (i think i have mentioned those two delicacies a few times already. i apologize. it's just THAT good). i felt like relationships with friends were strengthened and that i could rest. 

while i'm sad that this chapter of school-break-summer seasons is over, i am grateful for the rest and rejuvenation i have experienced during those late-may, june, july, and august months. i hope i'll find that same sort of rejuvenation and rest in these new seasons of life. 

a good-bye letter to new england

dear new england,

i'm leaving in one week. the thing that's scariest is that i don't know when i'll be back. with plane tickets ranging around $400 round trip (and that's a good price), and my current un-employed status, it's not looking likely to be soon.

as i begin my trek across the country to the west coast, i want to thank you for so many things. but i can't do that in a blog or even in a letter or poem or something else whimsical and wordy. but i'll do my best as i sit in starbucks, procrastinating with my road trip planning as i sip my blonde roast coffee. by thanking you, i want to remember what i love about you. maybe one of the biggest blessings of college for me was learning to love a place and the people who inhabit it. that place was you, and the people you hold are dear to me - so dear that it hurts to say goodbye. but for now, i'm not going to think about goodbyes, but rather memories and places. i think i can fit those in my tightly-packed honda civic alongside winter clothes and pillows shoved in a cramped back seat. i'll find a way to fit them into my life in california too.

thank you, new england, for whoopie pies -- not the cheap ones at the gas station, but the freshly-baked, freshly-whipped, perfectly sandwiched together, home-made whoopie pies. thank you for sam adams summer ale and friends to drink it with. THANK YOU FOR DUNKIN DONUTS, for teaching me to love iced coffee and to never fret that there will always be a Dunks within walking distance. thank you for apple-cider donuts and fried dough, for lobster, haddock, and clam chowder.

[maine lobster]

thank you for showing me beauty in the places where i run: out in the woods in the middle of fall, through beverly farms en route to the beach in spring and summer, and along my favorite 4-mile loop when the winter weather is above 30 degrees. thank you for the cold mornings in january as the sun rises and there's a hazy fog covering the grass, for the first sound of crickets at night (spring is here!!!), for lightning and thunder, for the phone call at 6:37 am that classes are cancelled because it's snowing.

[house on my favorite 4-mile loop run]

thank you for my rainboots. thank you for the pink checkered and green flower boots that lasted me for 4 years, for all the puddles they've splashed in, for carrying my reluctant feet to the gym when i was determined to exercise, no matter how hard it poured. thank you for the chance to experience summer rain - the huge drops that come out of nowhere and leave before you've had a chance to find an umbrella.

[boston in the rain with abby]

thank you for inviting me to be a part of an anglican church: for the liturgy and bodies turned towards the priest as he reads from the Gospels, for the recitation of prayers. thank you for communion, for teaching me that communion is about receiving a gift, getting on my knees with two hands open, chewing on a wafer after dipping it into wine. thank you for showing me that communion isn't something to fear, but to be enjoyed. sometimes that gift is the only reason i get out of bed and drive down 128 on a sunday morning to church: i want that wafer and wine.

thank you for teaching me that growing up is hard and good all at once: that dealing with car insurance  and credit card balances and plane tickets sucks, but that i can do things i never thought i could. thank you for teaching me about friendship and family, for showing me beauty and grace through people and lectures, through conversations and five-hour study sessions, through coffee which i finally came to love. thank you for being a place to explore with new and old friends -- for campfires by lake winnipesaukee in new hampshire, friday nights in boston carefully scaling the brick sidewalks in high-heels, pre-dinner outings to get ice cream down the road, and slumber parties -- the most fun (with perhaps the least sleep) way to spend a night with good friends and roommates, falling asleep in a cramped bed (or floor -- whichever way works!) after pillow talk and laughing at text messages from boys.

thank you for calling me "sweet-haht" and for making me smile with your accent. thank you for proving the assumption wrong that new englanders are cold-hearted, rather you're "wahm-hahted" and you've become my family.

thank you for being home. and home you'll always be.

love,

alyssa

choosing thankfulness

Ann Voskamp wrote a book awhile back about being thankful for the big and small gifts. her work has sparked a lot of talk, a lot of blogs and articles and iphone apps (you can take pictures of things you're thankful for and record them on your phone! crazy!) i guess it's silly of me to be mentioning her because i actually haven't read her book yet, but the premise is inspiration enough, and something i need to be more a-tune to at this stage in my life.

i've come to realize that being thankful is a choice. sometimes it can come naturally, especially in november when we're thinking about food and family and what we're going to say around the Thanksgiving table. it's easier to be thankful when we're pondering what we have in light of what many do not have and it's our first response often times when we're happy and content.

but there's this trap that hits me in the face frequently -- it's called comparison. it's sort of like a plague in my mind because it tells me i'm not good enough, that other people have it better, that i don't measure up, and that ...well, my life sucks and i don't have it together and everything is wrong. "comparison is the thief of joy" so they say and i believe that is 100% truth.

as a recently college-graduate, comparison is a huge temptation. when i have the attitude of comparison, i see everyone else's life as completely put together and perfect and i feel insecure and jealous. but maybe what's the saddest thing about comparison is that it just isn't fair. it's not fair to anyone because we are so different, our dreams and hopes and skills and experiences are so different -- and comparing ourselves to each other cheapens who we are as people and doesn't give enough attention to the uniqueness of who we are and what we can do. i'm not meant for the same sort of life as my friends are -- and that fact sometimes can feel like a tragedy to me, but really it would be more of a tragedy if it were true because i would be missing out on something that i am much more suited for. the tragedy is i wouldn't be using the gifts and abilities God has uniquely given to me and only me.

so, back to the word thankfulness. i think it's easy when we try to be thankful to lie to ourselves. if we're focusing on being thankful we can cover up our feelings and insecurities. we can repeat to ourselves the good things in life and force ourselves to be joyful and thankful and happy and put-together. we can force ourselves to "always look on the bright side" and see the "glass half full."

but thankfulness isn't about lying to ourselves; it isn't about covering up the feelings of doubt and insecurity and frustration and deep longing. i think thankfulness is a response to these feelings -- it's a response that demands that we stare these feelings and emotions in the face, that we wrestle with them and kick and scream at them, but don't let them lead us to places of comparison and doubt.

i would be lying to myself if i said it was easy, in the midst of weddings and engagements and late-night pillow talk about new boyfriends and first kisses, to be single. i would be lying to myself if i said i was completely fine not knowing what the month of september is going to look like. i would be lying to myself if i disregarded my desire to have a sense of career direction and immediate career goals.

because the truth? the honest, real, truth? i wish i wasn't single - i wish i was the one talking about romantic walks on the beach and fun dates. i wish i did know what september held and what i was going to be doing. i wish i had a sense of career direction and could experience a sense of peace in that path.

but, for now, i want to be thankful in a way that is honest and true. i want to be honest with the feelings and the doubts, but choose to see the big and small gifts -- the gift that i don't have to know right now what my job is going to be because i am in a good place economically. the gift of loving many things and knowing that i have many opportunities and the challenge will be choosing which opportunities i pursue.

i want to choose to be thankful for my body -- for legs that can run and arms that can carry things, and hair that gets wavy in the humidity. i want to be thankful for the muscles to move and to not beat myself up when i give in to the lemon meringue pie at dinner or the packet of M&M's i probably shouldn't have eaten.

i want to be thankful for the gifts of friends and a place to live (even without AC!) and a job for the summer and a beautiful place to live. i want to choose to enjoy McDonald's $1 iced coffee and being adopted into friends' families and watching TV and not having to do homework.

sometimes i forget i have a choice in this matter -- i have a choice in what i decide to do with the beautiful life i have been given. in this season of life, i want to be a person who is honest about the challenges and worries, but chooses thankfulness as her response.

learning to laugh

yesterday i found myself letter writing. i took a stolen copy of the wall street journal (well, not exactly stolen - perfectly placed in the mailroom for someone like me to pick up!) and some markers and pens i had in my desk drawer and sat on a patio chair overlooking coy pond. i wanted to catch up to speed on all the political hype about health care, but instead began coloring and writing about my week to friends i miss (don't worry, i read it the next day :)) my college campus is beautiful every season, and i'm grateful to be soaking in its beauty this season ...with warm summer nights and green trees and thunderstorms that come and go within seconds.

in lisa's letter i said "i miss costa rica and speaking spanish. when i was there i laughed all the time because i never understood what was going on. maybe i should approach this season of life with laughter because right now i don't know what's going on; don't know what my next move is; don't know where i'm going. and maybe i should get me some rice, beans, and plátanos to go with the laughter"

one evening in costa rica my family and i went to my sister's soccer game. we took two cars down to the game (only 1 mile or so away) and when we got there, mami's car stopped working. in latin american culture, you don't worry about those kinds of things - you just sit awhile, then liesurely call someone to help you and know that they might get there in 10 minutes ...or maybe 2 hours. and if it's two hours, that's perfectly fine and you'll be happy to wait.

this time around the tow truck came fairly quickly and we were off within an hour or so (not bad!) ... i drove in the other car with my sisters and about 3 blocs from our house, our car popped a tire. it was one of those moments where i wanted to say "are you serious?!?" one car towed. one car with a flat tire. terrific.

again, no panic.

i tried not to laugh because i wanted to be respectful, but the situation was pretty funny: we were SO close to home and had JUST had a tow truck deliver the last car to our house. just our luck.

but mami and my sister just sat themselves down on the curb. mami looked up at the stars. i said something along the lines of "we're not lucky tonight" but she thought differently about it -- she thought that God was protecting us because it happened so close to the house and everyone was fine.

so we waited along the side of the road for awhile. one family member tried to use another tire. papi drove down later (too late) with his box of tools and somehow we (not me) switched a tire on the side of the road, at 9pm, in a suburb of san jose, costa rica.

the night was not my style. that's not how i work. i like high-efficiency: everyone call who you know, get them here as fast as you can because we need to get home NOW. there's no waiting, there's no relaxed pace: let's MOVE people.

but mami was different. she just sat there peacefully and looked up at the stars and knew she was safe and nothing else mattered. and while i was frustrated and wanted to be home, i decided to laugh and think it funny ...because i was in latin america and things like this happen all the time and reactions are so different than what i'm used to.

so, now. maybe laughing in the midst of uncertainty and frustration is the best medicine. maybe laughing and smiling and choosing to sit on the side of the road and looking at the stars and the beautiful person next to you -- maybe that's what i'm supposed to do. maybe i'll look for humor in the foggy future, the unexpected surprises, the frustrating turns we take that lead us to popped tires and tow truck journeys. maybe i'll look to the person on my right and my left and we can laugh with our iced coffees and bounce our confusions off of one another.

maybe, just for now, i'll let the uncertainty and confusion be a source of laughter and adventure -- and let the questions not cause panic, but rather an ability to take things slow, with grace, and with a laugh.

of late

post-grad life has been treating me well. it's been different and low key, but overall i've been enjoying it. i have been up to a few things:

1. work. i am blessed with a JOB FOR THE SUMMER. i am really grateful to be working in the gordon admissions office with great staff and at a school i love.

2. watching one too many episodes of friday night lights (not to be confused with the movie). one of the reasons i love this show is because of this character:

forgive me for the crush...i do have more legitimate reasons for loving this show than tim riggins.

especially the 4th & 5th seasons there has been a lot of interesting stories relating to important issues: gangs, the prison system, family loyalty, football culture, abortion, male and female roles, marriage, etc. it's an entertaining show for sure - but it also makes you think.

3. running. trying to exercise more since the past month of college consisted of a lot of ice cream and little exercise ;)

4. book reading: i finished a short romance novel about a cross-country road trip. it was quite cliche but i loved every page.

up next on my shelf:

5. Christians in Political Science Conference 

this past weekend my college partnered with the center for public justice and the institute for global engagement to host this conference (i believe it happens every two years). throughout the weekend, many christian political scientists participated in panels, discussed papers they had written, and engaged in Q & A over a wide range of topics.

one of the speakers, peter feever, spoke about the tension between theory and practice in politics -- and he spoke with experience leading in the white house (foreign policy specifically) under presidents clinton and bush. 

gordon's college president, dr. michael lindsay, spoke the following night about his in-depth research through the Platinum Study which studies the top leaders in the United States, and specifically the impact of religion in these positions. it was really interesting to hear dr. lindsay speak as a sociologist instead of as a college president and i was honestly blown away by all that he has done to conduct this study -- 550 interviews and thousands of hours of research to understand how faith has impacted the "elite" in a variety of settings -- businesses, non-profits, political offices, etc. 

afterwards, my friend and i approached him to ask a specific question i had been thinking about during his presentation:

what about women??

this past semester i took a fascinating sociology class that made me see a lot of injustices and problems that men and women experience due to gender discrimination and sexism. as i listened to dr. lindsay's study, i wanted to hear what he had to say since most of the "elite" (CEOs, political officials, etc.) are men -- and if they are the ones with the most power, what does this mean for women, and ultimately, is this a good structure for a flourishing society?

dr. lindsay answered the question with a lot of understanding and said that he tried really hard to interview women in his study and out of all of his interviews this totaled to 12%. one of the biggest areas of difference between men and women in these high positions of power was their tension between working in the office and carring for their families. dr. lindsay's research proved that women struggled more with this challenge than did men - meaning that women felt more of a burden to care for their families instead of working in high-power positions (and this is a big deal considering the average person in a position of power worked a LOT of hours -- more than 60/week usually). 

i have a lot of questions and am eager to engage in conversation about the study and what it means for women in leadership and positions of power.

the following night, we heard the annual Kuyper Lecture, hosted by the Center for Public Justice. the speaker was Miroslav Volf and he has a long list of accomplishments and teaches at Yale. i'll confess i couldn't follow all of what he said, but he was talking about the compatibility of religious exclusivists (those who believe that their faith is the true way to life and eternal life) pursuing a pluralist political order.

what do i mean by "pluralist political order"?? well i guess having just graduated as a political science major i should have that answer pat-down, but i don't. i'll do my best :) 

i think the best way to talk about pluralism is to think of the root word plural, meaning more than one. when we talk about pluralism, we can discuss structural pluralism -- the variety of structures and institutions that compose a society. we can also talk about religious pluralism where many peoples express different religious view points.

dr. volf was interested in proving that as a religious exclusivist, you can support a pluralist political order that supports the flourishing of different religious groups. there are a lot of questions about what this means, what it looks like, especially when various religious (or a-religious) perspectives do not affirm certain institutions, or do not like the way they function (such as education, the family, etc.)

you can find a much better and well-written piece about the conference here if you're interested and haven't fallen asleep while reading this ;)

all in all, it was a great conference and i enjoyed hearing from my fellow students as they presented papers, the guest lecturers, and the panel discussions.

more thoughts to come! :)

why we need the pep talks

so what's next?
i hear the question in my head as i make my breakfast in the morning, as i trek to the train inbound to boston, and as i watch my doctor show private practice with friends on thursday nights.

i don't know what's next.

and in the state of not knowing, i start to doubt myself...

but i've noticed something: i don't doubt my friends who are sitting right next to me, thinking and feeling the exact same things i am. i believe that they can do it, i believe they can figure out finances and resumes and cover letters and job interviews and writing papers and saying goodbyes and finding time to go for a run on a saturday morning. i believe that they can find a place to live on their own and pay their car bills and walk across those steps at graduation.

but some days i don't believe any of that for myself.

as we sit eating our simple dinners of macaroni & cheese, soup, and anything frozen, i tell them that all those things we've learned in class - all that mind-bending stuff we've learned about racism and political philosophy and counseling theories and constitutional law - i tell them it matters. i tell them that our roads aren't going to be straight paths and we're not going to understand why we had these experiences or how it is going to impact people, and continue to impact us. but i tell them it will, someday, some how. the road is going to be curvy and unclear and frustrating, but it's going to be okay. it's going to be better than okay.

i tell them this because in saying those words out loud, i start to believe them for myself. i tell them they are going to do exciting things and impact people because of what they have learned and seen.
maybe that is true for me too
i tell them that their experiences in uganda and mexico and spain and those hard internships and cross-cultural craziness taught them something - even if they don't know what it was yet.
maybe that's true for me too
i tell them to take one day at a time (my mom's words) and that they are beautiful and wonderful and have a heart that is passionate for something - even if they don't know exactly what it is yet
maybe that's true for me too

i give the pep talks because i desperately need the pep talks. i believe my friends can write these long papers and work in schools with difficult kids and apply for jobs and train for half marathons.
but i usually don't believe that i can.

so we pull each other up - the one of us who is doing the encouraging isn't just encouraging the one who is crying in the corner. she's actually speaking the same truth to herself (sometimes i'm the one crying in the corner, sometimes i'm the encourager - depends on the day).

i could give a thousand reasons for why we need friends, but this month i'm discovering that i need friends because they are a reflection of myself and the things i need to hear and listen to. i am so blessed to do life with these beautiful friends who laugh, dance, shout, run, walk, cry, and learn with me. i want to listen to their advice, and to my own.

i want to believe in them, and in doing so, believe in myself.

because i'm limited

time is running out.

that's what i feel like saying to myself as i think about the papers that need to be written and the places in boston i want to see and the friends i want to spend time with and the plans i need to make and the responsibilities i need to take care of. may 19th (aka graduation) is just around the corner and with that comes a whole new world of decisions and questions and transitions and so many things i'm just not prepared nor ready to face.

a wise mentor recommended i read a book called The Wisdom of Stability: Rooting Faith in a Mobile Culture by Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove. WOWZA. the book is short (a mere 146 pages) and says things that are very counter-cultural and provocative. he [wislon-hartgrove] asks questions that i am not used to asking myself (especially as a westerner)...but questions i must ask myself.

i remember talking to a friend before she moved over seas for an internship and she talked about how limited we are as human beings and the miracle that Jesus became limited (in human form) to meet us on earth. i had never thought of it that way before: Jesus could have done a bazillion things at once - like miracle here miracle there, evaporate to egypt then hit up turkey to save as many people as possible. but he didn't. he WALKED. he let people wash his feet. he hung out in a desert for 40 days, he slept on a boat.
Jesus lived within limits ... do we? do i??


as westerners i don't think we understand limits -- we think we can do it all and do it all well. this is one of wilson-hartgrove's biggest themes. the way he describes limits is thinking about a tree and how it grows within a specific circumference and gets the nutrients it needs through its "drip line." it's the extent of those roots that allows the tree to quench its thirst -- and only within the extent of those roots.
the book has a lot of themes i would love to talk about - but that's for another post. as for now, i am thinking about how i am a limited person, and being okay with this at a time in my life where i wish i could do everything and be everywhere, especially as i prepare for goodbyes and leaving people and places i have come to love so much.

so i must enter this phase, (every phase for that matter!!), of my life recognizing my limitations -- recognizing that i can't get it all done, i can't spend every hour of my day relishing the sunsets and eating ice cream with a friend or walking along the beach, or writing a brilliant paper for every class (that doesn't mean i shouldn't try to write well, though!!). some days i will have to spend 6 hours in the library, some days i'll have to go to bed early, and some days i just will simply need to sit on my bed and read a book even though my day's ambitions are anything but that.

i'm convinced that the way Jesus lived his life is a way i need to model, a way i need to try, however imperfectly to model in my own life. if there is anyone on this earth who had a reason to live frantically and stressfully, it was him. but he didn't. he lived gracefully and peacefully and fully. i want to learn to do likewise.

the one where i say "hell" maybe too many times

about a month ago i wrote a question that was featured on my friend hilary's blog. she writes posts in a life (un)masked series in a question-answer format. i asked her if i could send a question and she happily accepted. this was my question:

Dear Hilary,

I write because I’m scared. I’m scared of the coming and leaving, the hellos and goodbyes, the falling in love with people and places and experiences and then having to put it all away, like they’re only memories and nothing more. I’m scared of the “next steps” - the new relationships and the new places I’m about to embark upon as I graduate because I know I’m going to going to fall in love and get my heart broken. I already have — haven’t we all? So I’m asking if it’s worth it to give ourselves completely to the people and the places and the relationships, knowing we’re going to weep and be heartbroken? Is it worth it to invest myself in the things that I do, even though I know I’ll be disappointed and hurt? I guess the question really is... is it worth it to live fully?

Sincerely,
Scared


please read her response here. she wrote to me about "living the hell out of life" -- that we have such a short time to love and that we can't run away from the fear, but must embrace it and live the hell out of it. 


a few days later i was sitting in my car waiting for the train inbound to boston with the rain pitter-pattering on the roof and i needed to write words in response. here they are:

Dear Hilary,

Sometimes I think writing is a better way to express than talking. Sometimes words in my voice don’t convey the meaning I want them to.

So: live the hell out of life.

Yes.

I interact often with senior citizens and I love it. I realize something when I hang out with them: they didn’t regret loving people, places or things. They look at me with joy when I tell them I go to school and work and run and bake and hike with my family. They have people visit them who were apart of their story, part of the loving and losing and living. And when my elderly friend turned 101 a year ago and we sang "happy birthday" to him, I had tears in my eyes because 101 is a lot of years, memories, loving, learning, falling, jumping, mourning, celebrating — it’s 101 years of life. And there’s no doubt in my mind that he doesn’t regret loving his wife of 70-something years or loving the place he calls home. And maybe that meant grief over an illness his wife suffered or struggling to build community in a place that is your home but at the same time leaves you feeling like an outcast. I never asked him, but I think he would tell me to live the hell out of life: that it’s worth it no matter how many candles are on your birthday cake. It’s worth it because God didn’t put us on earth to be protected or to run away.
I’m still trying to figure out why he did put me on earth. And while I’m uncertain, I am confident he didn’t do it to scare me.

So let’s live the hell out of life...and help show each other how to do that.

Love, 

Scared (aka Alyssa) 

C.S. Lewis writes in The Four Loves that "to love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one...

We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armour" (121-2).

Aren't those good words?? And as scared as i am about the vulnerability, i'm convinced that love rocks any reason to hold back. 


so...live the hell out of life? let's do it. 

dear 2011: looking back as i look forward

a month or so ago i had a conversation with my friend hilary about having the courage to do the things we're often reluctant to do. i was telling her about a difficult situation i had just faced and she stopped me after i finished my thoughts and said "wait, stop. do you realize what you just did? do you realize what just happened here? you did something, alyssa, you faced something hard and you have to take a second to recognize that before moving on."

i think i live my life this way - moving from one thing to the next, two o'clock to three o'clock, monday to tuesday, october to november, never taking the opportunity to pause and think about what just happened, what good things i experienced, what hard things i was able to overcome or the footsteps i left in the dirt behind me.

so i'm doing that now. we think of new year's as the time to think about all that's going to happen in 2012, the things we're resolving to change, but what about 2011? what happened then? there's thousands of memories and special people and places and tears and laughter and heartache and joy that we don't want to forget that happened in 2011. so maybe i'm a little behind as it is already january 1st, but i'm not ready to let go of last year quite yet - first i want to remember it for what it was...

~~~

dear 2011,


i think i have a love-hate relationship with you because the journey has been a bit of a roller coaster. i started the year off in a different country, i spent a summer at home processing it, and then somehow managed to get on a plane to study once again at a place i have come to call home. 
i lived in costa rica, paid 250 colones for every bus ride, walked 45 minutes to spanish class every day, ate more meat in four months than i did all year, carried my little coin purse every place i went and memorized the music rhythms of car alarms. i held a new born baby and tried really hard to learn how to cut plátanos and how to teach math in a foreign language. i lived in nicaragua for 10 days and learned in the shortest period of time what "going with the flow" really means and how to live in a state of constant confusion. i learned about bus rides where "the eye of the tiger" is playing and women are selling bread and another man is preaching in his loudest voice about Jesus and another man is trying to sell medicine -- all within about a 100 foot bus. i went to cuba and laid on the beach and drank espresso and listened to politicians and educators and doctors. i laughed with my friends as we attempted to learn how to dance and move our hips. 


i came home and processed some of those questions with family and friends. i worked with senior citizens and spoke spanish at work which brought the biggest smiles to my face. i ate birthday cake with my grandparents and went to spinning classes and grocery shopped and vacationed in the mountains. i did finances with my dad and drank coffee with my mom and laughed until my stomach ached with my sisters. 


i came back to massachusetts and learned about the middle east and pan-arabism and the country of lebanon. i struggled for hours writing papers in political theory and was troubled by the words of philosophers who influenced the founding of my country. i talked about women and feminism in spanish and learned about the devastating civil war in spain. i learned about theology: about the trinitarian unity and the importance of community and relationships which we see in the essence of who God is. i learned about ecclesiology and eschatology and how it all comes back to the question of how i am choosing to live these lessons out in my life. i learned about being a TA and how to write better and help others write well. i learned from books, from professors, from speakers, from art, from friends, from family. 


it was a full year. i made a lot of new friends, had many good conversations, and learned a lot. it was a year i can't capture with words or pictures or sounds or smells. but i know i'm a different person because of 2011 and i know i'll be a different person at the end of 2012. i am gearing up for the journey - preparing myself for what i believe is going to be a good but challenging year as i transition from college and say goodbyes and welcome new people into my life.


i'm thankful for you, 2011. thankful for what you taught me, what you showed me, and the memories i have of you. i'm thankful for the footsteps i traveled with you and am praying that i don't forget where they took me. 


love, alyssa 

it's been 8 months since...

i ran in the Gordon woods to my favorite lake, laughed loudly with my apartment-mates, made pasta with veggie burgers for the umpteenth time, marveled at the colors of fall, joyfully made myself butternut squash for dinner, walked to chaps bundled in my blue puffy jacket, prepared hot chocolate with a peppermint at the bottom to sustain me to Jenks for long study-hours, watched an episode of glee all cozied up in my pink down comforter, ran to the beach passing the cutest New England cottage houses, got out of breath reaching the top of frost to talk to a professor, enjoyed a butterscotch candy after cashing a check at the cashier’s office (usually a Friday tradition), rode on the T into the beautiful city of Bah-stun, worked out in the often times over-heated gym, finished a run and proceeded to watch a soccer game on the quad, trekked to Maine to visit Maris and her family, huffed & puffed my way up to Laurie’s office on the 3rd floor of the chapel, learned another reason why I love studying political science…

I have missed all of those things and so many more for the past 8 months. But the past 8 months have been filled with its own blessings through new people, places, and returning home to my California family for the summer.
I am excited, nervous, anxious, and grateful for the opportunity to head back to Massachusetts in just a couple of weeks: Excited to see good friends, anxious to begin another year of classes, nervous about transitioning and what is coming post-graduation, grateful for Gordon and all the many things I love about it and how God has blessed me there.

a rich piece of chocolate cake

this past week i have been thinking about how often times (not always) life is like a rich piece of chocolate cake. not the pillsbury box kind, but the real stuff: the cocoa, butter, flour, sugar and the decadent frosting (we're talking about cream, sugar, butter, and chocolate). does that now sound incredibly rich and heavenly??

i am a fast-paced person and run from one thing to the next: and that's not always a bad thing, but i am coming to realize more and more how important it is to stop, breathe, think, liten, and learn from what is going on around me right NOW. when you eat a rich dessert like chocolate cake, you should...
sit down
actually cut a piece instaed of just taking bites from all sides
get a glass of milk
make sure you get a small dessert fork
eat it s l o w l y and savor every. single. bite.

(i am definitely not good at this)

it's at moments like this, sitting in the san francisco airport, realizing that i just said good bye to my friends for 8 months, realizing that i may not see some of the same people at gordon ever again, and realizing that i am over half way done with college, these moments are when i realize that life is moving fast and i need to stop and savor the precious moments God has given me. life is not always going to be a piece of cake, it's going to be hard and scary and tiring and stressful, but there are so many moments along that journey where i need to take time to pause and SEE what God is doing. i love the verse "Taste and see that the Lord is GOOD" (psalm 34:8) -- What a blessing it is that God doesn't just want us to see his goodness, but He wants us to TASTE it ourselves and to see his goodness in our lives, through struggle and triumph.

this week has been so full: full of saying hellos and goodbyes -- hearing stories from friends who came back from study-abroad semesters and goodbyes to ones i have lived with for two and a half yeras. it's been full of stress as well with exams and studying, but what comes with that is bonding in jenks and forming friendships over pagesof notes and study sessions. it's been full of packing: putting things in boxes and thinking quickly what i need/don't need/can live without for 8 months and putting it in someone's garage and hoping no animals get into it.

i am thankful for massachusetts and am really going to miss this place: a place that has become a second home to me. i will miss 128 (minus the crazy on ramps), climbing the endless fligh of stairs to get to Laurie's office each week, making dinner in 202 and hearing "my life is in shambles!" over & over again. i'll miss hearing our coffee maker going constantly throughout the day and making the trek to jenks with stops through chester's, lane, and KOSC in an attempt to keep warm. i'll miss seeing familiar faces, talking to my professors, and hanging out in my living room or "the nook."

and now i am thankful for the chance to be HOME: for 12 hours of sleep, home-made split pea soup, time to relax & rest, prepare for another advenutre in a new place: another chance to make new friends & discover a new home.
and hopefully i will learn how to eat my cake and to savor each bite :)