To you, to the people.

Seasons are what life is made up of. Some last years and others last less than 24 hours. There have been more people than I could name that have been part of my seasons. It is a little overwhelming to think about all of the people I have known over the last 23 years. Some I have forgotten about and others I think about almost every day. Many have spent years listening and loving me. Some I have had one incredible conversation with and never saw again. People come in and out of my life. 

Today, I am grateful for all of the people. The ones who have taught me something. The people who have held me while I have cried. Everyone who has showed me grace. Those who have a way to always make me laugh. Whether it is the people who loved me during my first year, the people who are currently in my life, and everyone in between, my thanks goes out to you.

There is no way I could go through life without you.

My life has been shaped by every encounter I have had. Each interaction has made a difference, whether it was good or bad.

Cheers to you, all of you, to the people who have lived life with me.

  

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Too bad technology was not the same 23 years ago, otherwise I would have pictures of the people who lived life with me then.

One day.

I went to Seattle, and then I came back.

Some dreams were formed, others fulfilled, and a few put on hold.
 
Locals told me that Seattle draws people in from all around, who never want to leave.
I entered into this magnetic field. 
 
There is something about this place that gives me peace. 

It could be the mountains and sea. 
Neighborhoods that each have their own flair, but all have a sense of belonging. 
Houseboats causing me to dream. 
Being able to walk or take the bus to the places I want to go.
Murky fog layered above the city in the morning, which is interrupted by the bright sun in the afternoon, and comes back again at dusk. 
Welcoming people. 

One day, these could all become norms. 
That day, however, is not today.

Many people know that I have an odd fascination for the city of Seattle. Even before I went there for the first time last year, I knew I wanted to live there. There is something about this city that I do not think I could explain unless you were in Seattle with me. I was blessed to be able to go back for a second time last month. I again had the desire to want to stay. I definitely am settled here in Minneapolis, but the idea of starting over is to some degree enticing. Making new friends is not the easiest thing a person can do, but a mentor of mine has told me, “there are good people everywhere.” That is why the idea of moving across the country is not the scariest thing to me. It would be somewhat lonely at first and emotionally draining. That is why-

If someone were to ask me, “would you move to Seattle today?” I would respond, “no, not today.”

I love the city, don’t get me wrong about that. The place I want to be right now, however, is Minneapolis.

What confirmed this was the night I got back to Minneapolis from my trip to Seattle. I unexpectedly stopped by my work for an event that was happening. Walking in, I was greeted by my neighbor and roommate. My roommate let out a scream when she saw me and gave me a tight hug. We were chatting for a few minutes, and then another friend came over to give me a hug and welcome me back. This continued as I saw more friends and neighbors. It was like I had been gone for a month. That night, I felt so loved and knew that this was my community. Hopefully, I will one day not have to vacation to Seattle. I just know for now that my home is Minneapolis. This is the place I belong.

rising sun.

Every day the sun rises. It is a promise of a new day. It is a reminder of new mercy and grace. Your love, God is always there. It will not fail. I can trust in Your promises. Help me, Lord to have more faith. Faith to ask for the small things and the big things, like the girl who told us about the children who were praying for the wells to spring up in their village and they did. I trust in you to provide support, to make a way to take a trip to Seattle, to hire a case worker for the Annex in January, to end human trafficking, to put the people in my life that need to be in it, to teach me how to have boundaries with my time, to have healthy friendships, to show my brothers how much you deeply love them and want a relationship with them, and to protect me while in Minneapolis. Jesus, you are the Shepherd of my life. I can use the sun to remind me that each day is not in my hands, but the One who came to give me abundant life. I praise your holy name.

Morning is always a peaceful time for me. This is from a journal entry I wrote while on a camping trip this summer. We slept outside under the stars so I woke up early to go see the sun rise. The pictures are from a morning walk I went on this past weekend during a retreat. The neat part about this is that some of these prayers have come to fruition. God is always faithful and the morning will always remind me of that.

thrift store stories

My roommate and I drove a few miles to the thrift store near our apartment. My car was packed full of bags and boxes full of stuff I wanted to get rid of. When we got there, neither of us were okay with only dropping stuff off. We had to go inside to look around.

We found two colorful flower couches that screamed bam when you saw them. Unfortunately, they were too big for us to buy. I found a book that is all about the moon with incredible pictures that I thought about buying. We also found a machine that is used to make a special kind of coffee that we didn't know the name of or purpose for. 

All of these items used to be owned by another person. Each has been part of someone's story. There is for sure a story about the two couches. That is what I love about going to thrift stores. I can make up a story of why someone owned loud, uncomfortable couches or a story about the person who served the coffee in the unidentifiable machine.

After awhile, we decided to look at clothing since it was $1 day.  

My roommate was looking at pants and I was a few aisles over. I heard an elderly woman say something to her. After another minute, I walked over to the aisle they were in. The woman was asking my roommate about a pair of white dress pants. After she answered her question, the conversation continued. I moved a few steps closer. We both started listening very intently to this woman because she started telling us her story.

Betty is 93 years old and volunteers at the thrift store every Thursday with a group of women. She's been doing it for 4 years to keep herself busy. She talked about the importance of working hard and staying busy. There is no point in being lazy. Betty talked about her job, family, and why she loved working at the thrift store. One last thing Betty told us was to always eat oatmeal with cinnamon (maybe that is how she looks so good for being 93). 

Hopefully, we will hear more of Betty's stories and advice when we go back on another Thursday to visit her. There is just something about being able to spend time with a person who is over four times my age.  

On this thrifting adventure, I realized that thrift stores are full of two types of stories. Stories you can make up about the items you find and stories of the people you will meet in the store.

Coming to terms with my friends moving

I was walking my friends to the door after a lovely afternoon of Greek food, a birthday doughnut to celebrate 22, a stroll around my neighborhood, and time of prayer. I did not want it to end. The fifteen steps from the living room to the door seemed longer than normal. My heart had been preparing for this moment, even though I have gone through this type of thing before. The gals put their shoes on and gathered their belongings.

One of them gave me a hug and everything seemed normal. 

While giving the other one a hug I purposefully said, "See ya later,"  to her. 

After a few more laughs and words, to prolong the ending, the moment arrived. I had to open the door for them to leave.

I took one last look as they walked outside and I said it again, "See ya later. I love you and will miss you." 

While closing the door, I stood in the hallway for a few moments processing what happened.

My friend is going to be in another country for almost an entire year. This is not the first time one of my friends has left the country or state for a long period of time. I have had five close sisters leave in the past year, some plan to return while others don't. That is why, "See ya later," has become more common in my vocabulary. Even with the use of technology, it still saddens me to see my friends walk out the door. Looking at a friend through a screen is nothing like sitting across from a friend at our favorite coffee shop or going with another one on an adventure in Minneapolis or sitting side by side praying with one.

Facing reality is not always fun. During the last year, I have had to come to terms with friends going away. I know they are shining the light of Christ all around the United States and even other countries; yet, there is part of me that is sad and even mad at times. Not mad at anyone, just at circumstances. After talking about this with my roommate, I've learned that grieving friendships that are changing (not ending) is a healthy thing. I typically have to take time to process what has happened. This is done through prayer, journaling, talking, and yes even crying. I also have asked God why people who are so precious to me keep leaving. In His grace, He has given me an answer:

I often have relied on people for my significance, comfort, and satisfaction. The Lord has shown me over time that I was not created to do this. I was created to find each of these from Him. God did create humans to be relational, but not to find our value from others. There are days that all I want is my sisters to move back or for me to hop on a plane and fly to them. As they are gone; however, I am learning to not have friendships be an idol.

Friends are going to continue to come and go from life. That is why I'm beginning to see the phrase "see ya later," as a blessing in disguise. It is definitely better than goodbye.

is it free?

five gallon-sized buckets were spread out on the round table. each contained a different flavor of ice cream- cookies and cream, mint, fudge swirl, chocolate, and sherbert. four of us girls stood behind the table preparing for the mob of children (and the young at heart). the sun was shining, making ice cream the perfect cure for the heat. my first task was tearing open the ice cream cone packages and spreading the cones around the table. then the lids were taken off the buckets as someone on the stage announced, "ice cream is going to be served in the back of the parking lot." within 15 seconds, kids came running.

people gathered around the table and we were in service. as each person came up to us they were asked, "what kind do you want?" some knew right away what they wanted. others would get a thoughtful look on his or her face like they had the biggest decision to make of their lives. (i don't blame them. ice cream flavor choice is important).

after the first twenty people, things started slowing down. the ice cream began turning into a shake consistency and i began to wonder if we should keep it outside for much longer.

at that moment, a small Somalian boy walked to the table. there were only two of us serving now. i asked, "what flavor do you want?" he hesitantly responded, "is it free?" i quickly replied, "yes, of course it is."

a huge grin came over his face. "can i have two flavors," he asked. "yep, which two would you like?"

after thinking for a few seconds he pointed at two of the buckets. i scooped up the slightly melted chocolate and mint into a cone and handed it to him. he licked up the ice cream that was already dripping down the side of the cone and looked up at me with a smile. before he went back to his friends he timidly said, "thank you." smiling back, i replied, "you're welcome."

in that moment i realized why we were putting on the Fallout Art Fest- to show love to our neighbors and make sure they knew that we, the Source community and nonprofit i work for, was there for them.

this little boy was not the only one who asked if the ice cream was free. in fact, i heard it multiple times about the sno cones, meal, and interactive art. some people assumed that this festival would cost money.

like the little boy who i handed a free ice cream cone, i always think i have to pay for things. not many events or food are free in our society. when i find out something is free my excitement level shoots up.

i'm not sure what to conclude about this, other than i am so blessed to work for an organization and be part of community that truly loves our neighbors. i don't know if it is a good or bad thing that some kids and adults expected to have to pay for the food and art at the festival.

should we expect to be given anything for free or should we expect to have to pay for everything? there is a point in working for what we get, but there is also a thing called kindness. maybe we need a balance of working for things and having some things be given to us.

all i know for sure is, i will not forgot the smile the little boy had on his face when i handed him a free ice cream cone.

who is an artist?

art i saw last month.

can i be creative? typically.
can i be artistic? not really.
can i be crafty? always.
can i be imaginative? sometimes.

i live in what most people define as an "artsy neighborhood." i've also met a number people in the last two months who are artists by profession or want to be. my question for the people in my neighborhood, the people i have met, and anyone else, is this- what makes someone an artist? is it your skill, how much time you spend doing art, or something else?

some people think that everyone is an artist, while others disagree.

last weekend, my friends and i went to a senior art show at the u of m. there were a few pieces i would have bought right there, if they were for sale and i had the money to afford them. some pieces i had questions about and wanted to know what inspired the artists to create them. there was also artwork there that i did not like or understand. i then went to a concert that night and would definitely describe the band as artistic.

does this mean it is the viewer (or audience) who decides what is art or is it the person who created it who decides?

when i think about myself being an artist, i do not typically believe i am (especially as the amount of high-quality art i am exposed to increases).

creative and crafty are words i would associate more with myself. i like to repurpose things. some can be more elaborate than others. a granola bar box now has a cs lewis quote painted on it and is hanging in my room. a beehive box i found in the woods is now a picture frame. dozens of coffee sleeves were glued onto cardboard which is hanging in my kitchen. these items seem like crafts more than art, especially compared to a lot of the artwork that has been created over the last few centuries.

maybe one day i will view myself as artistic, but i might need to take a few classes from my artsy neighbors first.

do you see yourself as an artist? what is the difference being crafty and artistic for you?