Have you ever been extremely frustrated with God? I'll admit it: I am.
I don't think I could pinpoint another period in my life where I have ever been as frustrated with Him as I am right now. It's not one of my proudest confessions.
Let me clue you in.
Right now, I feel like God put a singular door in front of me and told me to open it. Admittedly, it was a tough door for me to open because it came with a lot of risk. But I listened.
So I open the door and, lo and behold, I find a long hallway of doors on the other side. Awesome right?! So many doors. So many options. So many possibilities. In my mind, my life was about to take off.
Not so much. Let's fast forward a little bit.
Right now, I feel as if I have made it to the end of that hallway without making any step toward progress. I feel as if I opened every single one of those doors in that seemingly opportunistic hallway, only have them slammed in my face just moments later.
So, where do I go when I am at the end of the hallway that God asked me to walk into the in the first place? Why was I sent down a hallway of pathless doors? What is the purpose of getting my hopes up?
I ask Him these questions every day and I continue to tell myself there is an underlying purpose because He does, in fact, know what He is doing.
Disregard my cliche Christian girl quote here, but the man Francis Chan said it best: “Can you worship a God who isn't obligated to explain His actions to you? Could it be your arrogance that makes you think God owes you an explanation?”
True that Mr. Chan. And I completely agree. God owes me nothing. My struggle here is not that fact that I can't understand God because, well, that's inevitable. And regardless of how frustrated I am, I don't underestimate His ability to take care of me or put me on the path He needs.
Here is my struggle: I just sincerely wish my heart wasn't so bitter while trying to be patient for that slam-less door.
Here's another Chan quote for you: “When I am consumed by my problems-stressed out about my life, my family, and my job-I actually convey the belief that I think the circumstances are more important than God's command to always rejoice.”
Is that where I have fallen? That I am so consumed by my circumstances that I have harbored such bitterness in my heart that I am completely blind to any joy that God is trying to give me? Have I reached that level?
I was talking to one of my best friends on the phone a few weeks ago. It was late and I was walking back from sitting on the beach. Now, don't find me weird, but the beach is where I feel closest to God. For some reason, sitting on the beach at night near the ocean makes me feel small--in a good way--and I am able to really just sit, think and connect. But this particular time, I felt oddly disconnected and I called my friend in a mild panic, saying, "I can't hear Him. I always have the best quiet time at the beach but now I can't even hear him there. What do I do?"
Her response, as always, was straight forward and honest.
"Then you keep trying. He may not want to you to hear Him right now, but gosh darnit, you keep trying. You don't stop."
She's right, you know. Sometimes God wants you to hear Him and sometimes I think He intentionally remains silent.
I think that is where I am at. God is giving me the silent treatment right now. He's trying to teach me something. I've reached a point where I am so engulfed in the circumstances of my life that I have let them control my joy, not Him. I have put my trust in them, not Him. So here I stand, upset and frustrated.
I may be frustrated but I guess the best lessons to be learned will never be the easiest to grasp.
God had his moment of "conversation" with me when He told me to open that first door. But now, in this idiotic hallway of slamming doors, He is silent. Waiting. Watching. It's almost as if He is giving me the opportunity to completely trust Him and seeing if I will actually walk the walk.
Friday, December 26, 2014
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Hello, I'm Insecure.
No matter how much I try to argue myself out of it, there will always be things about myself that I don’t like. I will always have insecurities, and they will always be an uphill battle of pep-talks, sideways comments, and blushing cheeks.
But, even though these insecurities will never disappear, here is my attempt to convince myself that it is, in fact, going to be okay.
My birthmark has been with me, obviously, since birth. It’s rather large and obnoxious, rivaling the size of Texas or a small horse (in my opinion at least). I honestly didn’t even think twice about it’s existence until about the end of elementary school or beginning of middle school. That was when other kids my age started pointing it out, and they assumed it was a burn, or poison ivy, or some mega-contagious rash. And it was always a bother to have to explain that it was just my skin: normal, non-contagious, non-fungal, and non-painful. Just skin, that happens to be red in some areas on my wrist, hand, and fingers.
In all honestly, I don’t know why this birthmark is such an insecurity for me. I have yet to meet a single person who was disgusted by it, or changed their interactions with me based on it. Everyone understands. Everyone else likes my birthmark. Except me, and I don’t know why.
Then there is this beauty. My infamous scar from my broken-arm surgery, and it happens to be on the same arm as my birthmark. In short, my whole left arm is just kind of pathetic looking. I would love to go one day without a complete stranger pointing out my “one heck of a scar!” Or looking shockingly at my arm only to exclaim in the loudest voice possible, “That musta hurt!” I always feel like responding in some sarcastic way–“No, duh sir. It hurt a whole heck of a lot.” But, I refrain. Mainly because I know 99% of the people that point it out don’t intend to be mean, they are just curious and empathetic.
This scar is so new. It’s only a year or two old, but the sense of insecurity it gives me feels like it has lasted a lifetime. In my mind, it is extremely large, annoyingly bumpy, and stubborn. It just won’t disappear or fade.
Big insecurity number three: my glasses. I can sum up my feelings about having to wear glasses in one word: abhor.
This is more of a mental insecurity, than it is a physical one. For the most part, I actually like the way my glasses look on my face. Nah, this insecurity is more than just the way I look; it is the way I feel.
It all started when I was around six years old. That was when I was told I needed glasses. My first pair were extremely large and round (just imagine a typical 90s pair of glasses). And, not only did I need glasses, but I needed to wear an eye patch too. The doctors thought that if I covered up my good eye with an eye patch, it would force my bad eye to work harder, and in turn, make it stronger to improve the sight. So, for months on end, I was the girl at day care walking around with this eye patch. I remember it clearly. My mom even let me color on it with markers to make myself feel better about wearing it. I hated standing out like that. And the smell of those sticky eye patches wasn’t too enjoyable either.
Then we get to the magnification dilemma. The prescription in one eye is so much stronger than the other eye, that without special lenses, my eyes look like completely too different sizes when I put my glasses on. Seriously, I could walk into a fun house and the funky mirrors would probably make it look more normal. I didn’t notice it for awhile, but once I did, everyone else did too. Around middle school too, that was fun.
So we have eye patches, and then we had different sized eyes.
Next we have my complete dependence on them. I remember in middle school, I was supposed to give this speech at an induction for our honor society. At the time, I didn’t have contacts. But, I didn’t want to wear my glasses because we were supposed to “dress up.” And I simply didn’t feel pretty with glasses on, so I didn’t wear them. Not a good idea–the moment I stepped up to the podium to read my section of the speech, the entire page went blurry and my eyes went out of focus from the bright stage lights. I stood there, wide-mouthed, speechless, and embarrassed, as the entire assembly just stared at me. I ran off stage and had to put my speech on hold for a few minutes while I looked for my glasses. So, not only did I have an embarrassing moment, I had to return to stage feeling much less “pretty” with my glasses on.
My most recent issue with these glasses is my sense of identity. Okay, okay, I hope I’m not losing you here, but just stay with me. When I think about myself and what I look like, I do not picture myself with glasses on. I feel better without them off. I feel more like myself without glasses on my face. Yet, as I got older, people started identifying me as the girl with glasses. Innocent pictures drawn of me included glasses. People always throw comments at me like “Oh, I’m so used to you with glasses on” or “You look different! Oh, it’s because you aren’t wearing glasses.” Oy vey; I absolutely despise comments like that simply because I don’t identify myself as a person with glasses. So, when other people do, I easily get self-conscious.
So, if you see what I mean, I am not as much physically insecure with my glasses. I am insecure with my dependence on them, and their constant ability to make me stand out.
My last, and less literally pictured, insecurity are my two-left feet. Obviously, I don’t mean literally. But, my clumsiness, while most of the time is funny, is really embarrassing.
I don’t know why, but I just can’t seem to get it under control. I am little sick of being the girl that is always falling, tripping, spilling, breaking, or bumping things. A majority, if not all, of the embarrassing moments in my life are due to the fact that I cannot control my own body.
Yes, these are my four biggest insecurities.
Yes, these will always be present in my life.
No amount of “It will be okay” or “You are still beautiful” sort of comments will change it.
But, I post this as a medicine to myself. To tell myself that it’s okay to have insecurities. I’m allowed to feel self-conscious sometimes.
The difference lies in the response to these insecurities. I could either wallow in self pity, which I had the habit of doing. Or, just embrace them
My biggest remedy just comes with talking to God, and saying “Hey God, this is how I feel. But, I know you made me this way, so, all in all, I’m okay with it.”
Feelings can only go so far. Decisions–to embrace, love, and accept your insecurities–go farther.
So, here it is folks: Hi, my name is Taylor and I am insecure. And I’m okay with that.
But, even though these insecurities will never disappear, here is my attempt to convince myself that it is, in fact, going to be okay.
My birthmark has been with me, obviously, since birth. It’s rather large and obnoxious, rivaling the size of Texas or a small horse (in my opinion at least). I honestly didn’t even think twice about it’s existence until about the end of elementary school or beginning of middle school. That was when other kids my age started pointing it out, and they assumed it was a burn, or poison ivy, or some mega-contagious rash. And it was always a bother to have to explain that it was just my skin: normal, non-contagious, non-fungal, and non-painful. Just skin, that happens to be red in some areas on my wrist, hand, and fingers.
In all honestly, I don’t know why this birthmark is such an insecurity for me. I have yet to meet a single person who was disgusted by it, or changed their interactions with me based on it. Everyone understands. Everyone else likes my birthmark. Except me, and I don’t know why.
Then there is this beauty. My infamous scar from my broken-arm surgery, and it happens to be on the same arm as my birthmark. In short, my whole left arm is just kind of pathetic looking. I would love to go one day without a complete stranger pointing out my “one heck of a scar!” Or looking shockingly at my arm only to exclaim in the loudest voice possible, “That musta hurt!” I always feel like responding in some sarcastic way–“No, duh sir. It hurt a whole heck of a lot.” But, I refrain. Mainly because I know 99% of the people that point it out don’t intend to be mean, they are just curious and empathetic.
This scar is so new. It’s only a year or two old, but the sense of insecurity it gives me feels like it has lasted a lifetime. In my mind, it is extremely large, annoyingly bumpy, and stubborn. It just won’t disappear or fade.
Big insecurity number three: my glasses. I can sum up my feelings about having to wear glasses in one word: abhor.
This is more of a mental insecurity, than it is a physical one. For the most part, I actually like the way my glasses look on my face. Nah, this insecurity is more than just the way I look; it is the way I feel.
It all started when I was around six years old. That was when I was told I needed glasses. My first pair were extremely large and round (just imagine a typical 90s pair of glasses). And, not only did I need glasses, but I needed to wear an eye patch too. The doctors thought that if I covered up my good eye with an eye patch, it would force my bad eye to work harder, and in turn, make it stronger to improve the sight. So, for months on end, I was the girl at day care walking around with this eye patch. I remember it clearly. My mom even let me color on it with markers to make myself feel better about wearing it. I hated standing out like that. And the smell of those sticky eye patches wasn’t too enjoyable either.
Then we get to the magnification dilemma. The prescription in one eye is so much stronger than the other eye, that without special lenses, my eyes look like completely too different sizes when I put my glasses on. Seriously, I could walk into a fun house and the funky mirrors would probably make it look more normal. I didn’t notice it for awhile, but once I did, everyone else did too. Around middle school too, that was fun.
So we have eye patches, and then we had different sized eyes.
Next we have my complete dependence on them. I remember in middle school, I was supposed to give this speech at an induction for our honor society. At the time, I didn’t have contacts. But, I didn’t want to wear my glasses because we were supposed to “dress up.” And I simply didn’t feel pretty with glasses on, so I didn’t wear them. Not a good idea–the moment I stepped up to the podium to read my section of the speech, the entire page went blurry and my eyes went out of focus from the bright stage lights. I stood there, wide-mouthed, speechless, and embarrassed, as the entire assembly just stared at me. I ran off stage and had to put my speech on hold for a few minutes while I looked for my glasses. So, not only did I have an embarrassing moment, I had to return to stage feeling much less “pretty” with my glasses on.
My most recent issue with these glasses is my sense of identity. Okay, okay, I hope I’m not losing you here, but just stay with me. When I think about myself and what I look like, I do not picture myself with glasses on. I feel better without them off. I feel more like myself without glasses on my face. Yet, as I got older, people started identifying me as the girl with glasses. Innocent pictures drawn of me included glasses. People always throw comments at me like “Oh, I’m so used to you with glasses on” or “You look different! Oh, it’s because you aren’t wearing glasses.” Oy vey; I absolutely despise comments like that simply because I don’t identify myself as a person with glasses. So, when other people do, I easily get self-conscious.
So, if you see what I mean, I am not as much physically insecure with my glasses. I am insecure with my dependence on them, and their constant ability to make me stand out.
My last, and less literally pictured, insecurity are my two-left feet. Obviously, I don’t mean literally. But, my clumsiness, while most of the time is funny, is really embarrassing.
I don’t know why, but I just can’t seem to get it under control. I am little sick of being the girl that is always falling, tripping, spilling, breaking, or bumping things. A majority, if not all, of the embarrassing moments in my life are due to the fact that I cannot control my own body.
Yes, these are my four biggest insecurities.
Yes, these will always be present in my life.
No amount of “It will be okay” or “You are still beautiful” sort of comments will change it.
But, I post this as a medicine to myself. To tell myself that it’s okay to have insecurities. I’m allowed to feel self-conscious sometimes.
The difference lies in the response to these insecurities. I could either wallow in self pity, which I had the habit of doing. Or, just embrace them
My biggest remedy just comes with talking to God, and saying “Hey God, this is how I feel. But, I know you made me this way, so, all in all, I’m okay with it.”
Feelings can only go so far. Decisions–to embrace, love, and accept your insecurities–go farther.
So, here it is folks: Hi, my name is Taylor and I am insecure. And I’m okay with that.
A Man Worth the Wait
Guilty as charged: I am a girl, and I have a thorough list of the qualities I look for in my future husband.
Don’t lie–you have one too. Whether or not yours is physically written down (my list may or may not be in my journal, rewritten and edited several times), you have one. It’s floating in that little head of yours, somewhere.
I’ve put a lot of thought into the qualities I look for in my future husband. My recent inner peace with my own single-hood lead me to realize a couple of things.
One; I don’t mind patiently waiting until God gives me my man. I know that my man will be handcrafted by God, for me, and well worth the wait.
And two, high expectations aren’t a bad thing. All things are possible with God, so knowing what to look for in a future husband (even if the list is extensive and detailed) isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Realistic? Maybe, maybe not. But, it keeps me on my toes and is a constant reminder to never settle for anything less.
Okay, now I’m starting to sound like a cheesy fortune cookie.
So, what are my top ten qualities on this recently revised and highly thought out list of qualities I’m looking for?
1. His love for God is unconditional and contagious.
I need a man who is just as passionate about serving the Lord as I am. In fact, I need him to love God more than me, and be a spiritual leader in our relationship. I need a man who isn’t afraid to walk across the room and ask a stranger if he needs a prayer, or afraid to lift his hands up in worship amongst a large crowd. I need a man who doesn’t base his relationship with God on how he is “feels”–happy, sad, angry, frustrated, depressed, or hopeful. In all times and emotions, I want my husband to strive towards God with me.
2. He is unconditionally loving of everyone and truly embodies Jesus’ well-known title “friend of sinners.”
There are many people in this world. And, big shocker here: we are all sinners. I need a husband who embraces the fact that he is a sinner himself, and uses that to love the people around him. Does that make sense? Everyone is important, and everyone deserves to be loved. I mean, for heavens sake, Jesus ate dinner with tax collectors, befriended prostitutes, and forgave the people that everyone else at the time considered “bad people.” I hope my husband can reflect that love in his own life, and refuse to pass judgment or block himself away from fellow sinners who desperately need Jesus as much as we do.
3. He bears fruit using whatever talents, characteristics, or quirks God has given him.
As much as I rave about wanting a guy who can serenade me with an acoustic guitar and angelic singing voice, I honestly could care less about the talents and interests he has. As long has he is passionate about what he does, and uses his talents in a way that glorifies God, I will love him.
4. He is tactfully outspoken.
I am not exactly known for being the most outspoken person. In fact, you could say I’m quite an introvert, so in turn, a lot of my thoughts and feelings tend to not make it out of my own brain. And from experience, two quiet souls in one relationship does not work well because communication is lacking. And, to add to that, I tend to get extremely lost in my own thoughts and I avoid confrontation like the plague. Therefore, having a bit a of that ying to my yang is a necessity. So, I need a man who is able to speak out, speak up, and speak the truth even when I don’t want to hear it. But, with that being said, I don’t need a man who uses his extroverted self to talk down to me. No–I need a man who will talk with me. Yes–there is a difference.
5. He isn’t afraid to use his mind in creative, intelligent or sensitive ways.
I am so over the extreme-macho psyche that men nowadays seem to cling to. Athleticism, bravery, strength: sure that is all fine and dandy. But, I need a bit more that that. I love a man who isn’t afraid to write a little love note and leave it on the counter. Or, watch TED talks just for the heck of it because it makes you think. Or, engage in deep conversations late at night, when we can’t sleep, about Ed Sheeran’s latest song’s lyrics or the book of Proverbs. Or, go to an art museum or puppy store with me, and genuinely enjoy it. Guys, it really is okay–no one is going to take your man card away from you.
6. He is able to teach and be taught.
There is something to be said about someone that has something to offer, but at the same time, can take correction with a humble heart. Humility is such an admirable characteristic.
7. He embraces his inner nerd.
What can I say? I’m a bit of a nerd. I love weird and quirky things. Like loose-leaf tea, cheesy boy bands, Broadway music, thrift store shopping, knitting, gigantic dogs, and British accents. I enjoy dancing like and idiot in the car to Chris Tomlin’s lastest hit and quoting every line to Lion King. I stay up late to write random stories or sketch pointless things. So, I feel as if my husband needs to be a nerd at heart too. I could care less if he likes the same weird things as me. But if he is a bit weird, knows it, and is confident in his own weirdness, then we’d be a quite a pair. Our quirkiness and humor would keep a smile on my face.
8. He cherishes growth, learning, and adventure.
My mom constantly tells me that I am really bad at “enjoying the moment I am in.” I have never been good at schedules, consistency, and sameness. I like moving, learning, and growing. Ideas like moving across the world to be a missionary don’t scare me. And, I’m always wanting to learn something new–heck, in the past year or two I’ve learned how to surf, play the ukelele, and knit. My hobbies are about has stable as Kim Kardashian’s last marriage–sometimes I like painting, sometimes it’s hiking, and sometimes it’s reading. So, if the idea of spontaneity, travel, and learning new things scares my husband, then that might not be such a good thing.
9. He is someone that I genuinely believe is out of my league.
I don’t care what he looks like. But I hope that this man of mine is someone that I am extremely attracted to, and love so much that I question every day why he chose me. And, I hope he thinks the same about me. Wouldn’t it be beautiful if we were so amazed by the other, that we were in awe and eternally thankful, everyday, that they chose us? And vice versa?
And 10. He has areas where he fails. And I can help, serve, and work through these areas with him. And vice versa.
I’m not under the assumption that marriage is all unicorns and rainbows. I am painfully aware that much of marriage is a struggle because, in all reality, it is a relationship between two humans, and us humans are not perfect. I know my man will have issues, baggage, failures, and problems. But, if I am to be a good wife to him, I will be able to help and serve him in the way that he needs. And, he can do the same for me. It’s a like a puzzle piece–we may not be perfectly shaped, but we connect to each other in a way that makes us complete.
And there you have it, folks. My semi-shortened, yet very thorough, list of my desirable characteristics for my future husband.
Of course, this is only my list. God my have a completely different idea of marriage for me than the ones I have daydreamed above. But, until then, I will bask in the idea that God is writing my love story, and enjoy the promise that He has a plan for me.
Any thoughts from you ladies out there? What sort of things are you hopeful for in your future men?
Don’t lie–you have one too. Whether or not yours is physically written down (my list may or may not be in my journal, rewritten and edited several times), you have one. It’s floating in that little head of yours, somewhere.
I’ve put a lot of thought into the qualities I look for in my future husband. My recent inner peace with my own single-hood lead me to realize a couple of things.
One; I don’t mind patiently waiting until God gives me my man. I know that my man will be handcrafted by God, for me, and well worth the wait.
And two, high expectations aren’t a bad thing. All things are possible with God, so knowing what to look for in a future husband (even if the list is extensive and detailed) isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Realistic? Maybe, maybe not. But, it keeps me on my toes and is a constant reminder to never settle for anything less.
Okay, now I’m starting to sound like a cheesy fortune cookie.
So, what are my top ten qualities on this recently revised and highly thought out list of qualities I’m looking for?
1. His love for God is unconditional and contagious.
I need a man who is just as passionate about serving the Lord as I am. In fact, I need him to love God more than me, and be a spiritual leader in our relationship. I need a man who isn’t afraid to walk across the room and ask a stranger if he needs a prayer, or afraid to lift his hands up in worship amongst a large crowd. I need a man who doesn’t base his relationship with God on how he is “feels”–happy, sad, angry, frustrated, depressed, or hopeful. In all times and emotions, I want my husband to strive towards God with me.
2. He is unconditionally loving of everyone and truly embodies Jesus’ well-known title “friend of sinners.”
There are many people in this world. And, big shocker here: we are all sinners. I need a husband who embraces the fact that he is a sinner himself, and uses that to love the people around him. Does that make sense? Everyone is important, and everyone deserves to be loved. I mean, for heavens sake, Jesus ate dinner with tax collectors, befriended prostitutes, and forgave the people that everyone else at the time considered “bad people.” I hope my husband can reflect that love in his own life, and refuse to pass judgment or block himself away from fellow sinners who desperately need Jesus as much as we do.
3. He bears fruit using whatever talents, characteristics, or quirks God has given him.
As much as I rave about wanting a guy who can serenade me with an acoustic guitar and angelic singing voice, I honestly could care less about the talents and interests he has. As long has he is passionate about what he does, and uses his talents in a way that glorifies God, I will love him.
4. He is tactfully outspoken.
I am not exactly known for being the most outspoken person. In fact, you could say I’m quite an introvert, so in turn, a lot of my thoughts and feelings tend to not make it out of my own brain. And from experience, two quiet souls in one relationship does not work well because communication is lacking. And, to add to that, I tend to get extremely lost in my own thoughts and I avoid confrontation like the plague. Therefore, having a bit a of that ying to my yang is a necessity. So, I need a man who is able to speak out, speak up, and speak the truth even when I don’t want to hear it. But, with that being said, I don’t need a man who uses his extroverted self to talk down to me. No–I need a man who will talk with me. Yes–there is a difference.
5. He isn’t afraid to use his mind in creative, intelligent or sensitive ways.
I am so over the extreme-macho psyche that men nowadays seem to cling to. Athleticism, bravery, strength: sure that is all fine and dandy. But, I need a bit more that that. I love a man who isn’t afraid to write a little love note and leave it on the counter. Or, watch TED talks just for the heck of it because it makes you think. Or, engage in deep conversations late at night, when we can’t sleep, about Ed Sheeran’s latest song’s lyrics or the book of Proverbs. Or, go to an art museum or puppy store with me, and genuinely enjoy it. Guys, it really is okay–no one is going to take your man card away from you.
6. He is able to teach and be taught.
There is something to be said about someone that has something to offer, but at the same time, can take correction with a humble heart. Humility is such an admirable characteristic.
7. He embraces his inner nerd.
What can I say? I’m a bit of a nerd. I love weird and quirky things. Like loose-leaf tea, cheesy boy bands, Broadway music, thrift store shopping, knitting, gigantic dogs, and British accents. I enjoy dancing like and idiot in the car to Chris Tomlin’s lastest hit and quoting every line to Lion King. I stay up late to write random stories or sketch pointless things. So, I feel as if my husband needs to be a nerd at heart too. I could care less if he likes the same weird things as me. But if he is a bit weird, knows it, and is confident in his own weirdness, then we’d be a quite a pair. Our quirkiness and humor would keep a smile on my face.
8. He cherishes growth, learning, and adventure.
My mom constantly tells me that I am really bad at “enjoying the moment I am in.” I have never been good at schedules, consistency, and sameness. I like moving, learning, and growing. Ideas like moving across the world to be a missionary don’t scare me. And, I’m always wanting to learn something new–heck, in the past year or two I’ve learned how to surf, play the ukelele, and knit. My hobbies are about has stable as Kim Kardashian’s last marriage–sometimes I like painting, sometimes it’s hiking, and sometimes it’s reading. So, if the idea of spontaneity, travel, and learning new things scares my husband, then that might not be such a good thing.
9. He is someone that I genuinely believe is out of my league.
I don’t care what he looks like. But I hope that this man of mine is someone that I am extremely attracted to, and love so much that I question every day why he chose me. And, I hope he thinks the same about me. Wouldn’t it be beautiful if we were so amazed by the other, that we were in awe and eternally thankful, everyday, that they chose us? And vice versa?
And 10. He has areas where he fails. And I can help, serve, and work through these areas with him. And vice versa.
I’m not under the assumption that marriage is all unicorns and rainbows. I am painfully aware that much of marriage is a struggle because, in all reality, it is a relationship between two humans, and us humans are not perfect. I know my man will have issues, baggage, failures, and problems. But, if I am to be a good wife to him, I will be able to help and serve him in the way that he needs. And, he can do the same for me. It’s a like a puzzle piece–we may not be perfectly shaped, but we connect to each other in a way that makes us complete.
And there you have it, folks. My semi-shortened, yet very thorough, list of my desirable characteristics for my future husband.
Of course, this is only my list. God my have a completely different idea of marriage for me than the ones I have daydreamed above. But, until then, I will bask in the idea that God is writing my love story, and enjoy the promise that He has a plan for me.
Any thoughts from you ladies out there? What sort of things are you hopeful for in your future men?
Sunday, November 16, 2014
7 Observable Habits of Those Adorably Cute, Old Couples
I've worked at a newspaper for about three months now. So my camera and I have had the privilege of attending endless local fundraisers and celebrations, many of which are attended by our older and wiser generations.
My attendance is usually just credited to gathering enough photos to cover the event. But even amidst each snap of the camera, I can't help but take a particular interest the cute, older couples.
Granted, I realize that every marriage--heck, every relationship--has its ups and downs. But from what my lens and I can see, these couples are happy. And each time, regardless of who they are, I see a pattern of habitats in these established marriages that seem to be lacking in some of the younger relationships I've seen lately.
1. They don't use the word "I."
It's always a "we" or an "us." I admittedly have good eaves-dropping skills and I hear it in almost conversation. It's never "I'm sitting over there in that seat." It's always "We are sitting at table 13." Or, "We are having a great time." Very rarely do I hear them speak about themselves without noting their other half in the conversation.
2. They ask for each other's opinion, even though it's not really needed.
It's cute, really. Whenever I ask for a picture, nine times out of ten the couple will look at each other and the man will say "If it's okay with her, it's okay with me. Do you want a picture?" At the endless streams of silent auctions that Sussex County seems to hold, they always decide together on which items to bid on. Clearly, the man has no interest in the floral purse that is up for grabs, but the wife insists on asking his opinion. They just seem to feel better knowing they both made the decision.
3. There are never any phones. Ever.
I can't recall one moment when their phones were out. At the dinner table, they are chatting with each other or walking around the room offering small talk with everyone else. The only time I see a phone is when they are taking a picture, and then it goes right back into their pocket. Now, I am not discrediting their technological abilities. Most of them text on a regular basis and update Facebook daily. But, they know how to turn it off.
4. The husband does "old-fashioned" chivalrous things without a second thought.
Holds the wife's coat. Pulls out her chair. Introduces her first in conversation. Holds the door open. Carries her plate at the buffet. Since when did small gestures like this become a rarity instead of a norm?
5. They genuinely enjoy each other's company.
First and foremost, they act like friends. The man tells jokes, the wife giggles. They goof off on the dance floor (Side note, I hope they don't mind, but is the picture above not the cutest picture you've ever seen?). They don't indulge in excessive PDA or b
6. They always compliment each other.
The gentlemen especially comment on their wife's beauty. It's cool to to see them still attracted to each other after so many years. A common comment by the husband is usually, "Sure, you can take a picture, but make sure she is front. She's the good-looking one." And the wife usually responds with, "Oh please, let him know he is handsome too. We are taking a picture together."
7. They pray.
Before a meal, they join hands and pray. Together.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Come at Me Twenty-Three
"Life sucks. Right when you think you're doing good, even when you have done everything right, it just pushes your right back down again. It's not going to be fair."
Don't you hate it when your mother is right? Each syllable stings with a heavy, weight of transparent honesty. Still, I hate that it is, in fact, accurate.
2 weeks. 4 days. 1 hour. 20 minutes. That is how long I have until I turn 23-years-old and I am still completely uncertain about the direction I'm headed. I realize the older and wiser say "You're young. You have time. You don't need to figure it all out." But I say, "True, but I wish I had at least something figured out."
I'm almost 23-years-old. The same age as Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran and Emma Watson. Leonardo DiCaprio was 23 when Titanic was released. Heck, people I graduated high-school have two kids and a husband already.
I'm almost 23-years-old. I resent being called a teenager, but my lack of height suggests I just passed my driver's test. I don't quite feel worthy enough to be called an adult, but sometimes "young adult" is just one word too much effort and "20-something" just seems too trendy.
I'm almost 23-years-old. I love my hometown more than I could explain, but I'm keenly aware that the world goes beyond my comfortable borders. I got a taste once of the international sweetness, only to return back to American soil unable to finance a return. I want more than anything to dip my toes into some place I've never been, but my wallet wants nothing more than two dimes to rub together.
I'm almost 23-years-old. College was four of the best years of my life. I made best friends and took classes that instilled a strong sense of post-graduate hope. But now I'm just left with a lot of questions. What's better? A practical career that ensures your taken care of, or a career that requests high risks but results in a passion fulfillment? Then there are loans. Was it worth going thousands of dollars into debt, when the person who went to community college for less is getting the same job as me? Should I spend more money to go to graduate school, so I can get a better job? I don't have "job experience." Were the all-nighters, unpaid internships and volunteer hours pointless? Questions. So many questions.
I'm almost 23-years-old, and my standards are admittedly high. I've witnessed both horrid and beautiful relationships in my lifetime and I vowed long-ago to only settle for the latter. My fifteen-year-old self would want a male-model that sings angelically in a British accent while playing worship songs on a guitar. No, my 23-year-old self doesn't need that. God. Character. Honesty. Humor. And an appreciation for simple, beautiful things. That's it. But my age group spends a majority of their time hovering over books in a library, slaving in a 60+ hour a week entry level job or releasing steam in a crowded bar on a Saturday night. How is one supposed to find meaningful connections amidst awkward small talk, drunk pick-up lines and social media posts?
I'm almost 23-years-old and can't seem to focus on the present. I'm constantly trying to decipher which is better--the past, or the future? On one hand, I long for the days when a I could finish a homework sheet on the school bus in the morning. Don't you miss the days when you could simply call three or four of your friends for a movie night and junk food, and not worry about the twenty other things you could be doing? On the other hand, I day dream constantly about where my life will be in five years. Will I still be in the state? What will my husband (hopefully) look like? What countries will I have traveled to, if any at all? I can't decide if the past or the future is more exciting. And the poor present gets completely neglected.
I'm an almost 23-year-old introvert in a society that demands you need to be extroverted. The question "Why can't you just be more social?" is not uncommon. I am not a shy person. I can talk with the best of them. In fact, I've been called by some loud, chatty and bubbly. But if I am acting that way, it means one of two things: I'm extremely comfortable, or I used almost my entire fill of energy to do so. I can only be in crowded rooms for so long before I'm lonely, and I need alone time on a regular basis to balance myself out. I typically don't speak unless I feel like my words hold a valuable weight. While all these things are true, the world pressures me to "break out of my shell" because I'm "too shy." But I am here to say that I am not.
I'm an almost 23-year-old that loves God more than anything, but can't quite figure out what He wants of me 99 percent of the time. That results in mistakes and regrets, which leads to guilt. And then to apologizing for feeling guilty. It's an endless cycle.
I'm an almost 23-year-old who is a complete Type B and can't maintain a consistent schedule. Schedules feel too constricting. Yet, I can't be productive without one and have mastered the art of a color-coded planner. Tell me how that is fair.
Here's the bottom line: Life sucks. It's confusing. It's happy sometimes and stressful other times. But, as an almost 23-year-old, I realize that life will suck in nes ways when I am an almost 24-year-old, an almost 30-year-old and an almost 75-year-old.
So here's another heart-shooting piece of advice from my mother that is dripping with brutal honesty:
"I'll tell you one thing, you have to keep your head up. If we all could just stay in our rooms and cry, we would. But that would get us no where. You just got to get back up and keep going."
Hey 23, come at me bro.
Don't you hate it when your mother is right? Each syllable stings with a heavy, weight of transparent honesty. Still, I hate that it is, in fact, accurate.
2 weeks. 4 days. 1 hour. 20 minutes. That is how long I have until I turn 23-years-old and I am still completely uncertain about the direction I'm headed. I realize the older and wiser say "You're young. You have time. You don't need to figure it all out." But I say, "True, but I wish I had at least something figured out."
I'm almost 23-years-old. The same age as Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran and Emma Watson. Leonardo DiCaprio was 23 when Titanic was released. Heck, people I graduated high-school have two kids and a husband already.
I'm almost 23-years-old. I resent being called a teenager, but my lack of height suggests I just passed my driver's test. I don't quite feel worthy enough to be called an adult, but sometimes "young adult" is just one word too much effort and "20-something" just seems too trendy.
I'm almost 23-years-old. I love my hometown more than I could explain, but I'm keenly aware that the world goes beyond my comfortable borders. I got a taste once of the international sweetness, only to return back to American soil unable to finance a return. I want more than anything to dip my toes into some place I've never been, but my wallet wants nothing more than two dimes to rub together.
I'm almost 23-years-old. College was four of the best years of my life. I made best friends and took classes that instilled a strong sense of post-graduate hope. But now I'm just left with a lot of questions. What's better? A practical career that ensures your taken care of, or a career that requests high risks but results in a passion fulfillment? Then there are loans. Was it worth going thousands of dollars into debt, when the person who went to community college for less is getting the same job as me? Should I spend more money to go to graduate school, so I can get a better job? I don't have "job experience." Were the all-nighters, unpaid internships and volunteer hours pointless? Questions. So many questions.
I'm almost 23-years-old, and my standards are admittedly high. I've witnessed both horrid and beautiful relationships in my lifetime and I vowed long-ago to only settle for the latter. My fifteen-year-old self would want a male-model that sings angelically in a British accent while playing worship songs on a guitar. No, my 23-year-old self doesn't need that. God. Character. Honesty. Humor. And an appreciation for simple, beautiful things. That's it. But my age group spends a majority of their time hovering over books in a library, slaving in a 60+ hour a week entry level job or releasing steam in a crowded bar on a Saturday night. How is one supposed to find meaningful connections amidst awkward small talk, drunk pick-up lines and social media posts?
I'm almost 23-years-old and can't seem to focus on the present. I'm constantly trying to decipher which is better--the past, or the future? On one hand, I long for the days when a I could finish a homework sheet on the school bus in the morning. Don't you miss the days when you could simply call three or four of your friends for a movie night and junk food, and not worry about the twenty other things you could be doing? On the other hand, I day dream constantly about where my life will be in five years. Will I still be in the state? What will my husband (hopefully) look like? What countries will I have traveled to, if any at all? I can't decide if the past or the future is more exciting. And the poor present gets completely neglected.
I'm an almost 23-year-old introvert in a society that demands you need to be extroverted. The question "Why can't you just be more social?" is not uncommon. I am not a shy person. I can talk with the best of them. In fact, I've been called by some loud, chatty and bubbly. But if I am acting that way, it means one of two things: I'm extremely comfortable, or I used almost my entire fill of energy to do so. I can only be in crowded rooms for so long before I'm lonely, and I need alone time on a regular basis to balance myself out. I typically don't speak unless I feel like my words hold a valuable weight. While all these things are true, the world pressures me to "break out of my shell" because I'm "too shy." But I am here to say that I am not.
I'm an almost 23-year-old that loves God more than anything, but can't quite figure out what He wants of me 99 percent of the time. That results in mistakes and regrets, which leads to guilt. And then to apologizing for feeling guilty. It's an endless cycle.
I'm an almost 23-year-old who is a complete Type B and can't maintain a consistent schedule. Schedules feel too constricting. Yet, I can't be productive without one and have mastered the art of a color-coded planner. Tell me how that is fair.
Here's the bottom line: Life sucks. It's confusing. It's happy sometimes and stressful other times. But, as an almost 23-year-old, I realize that life will suck in nes ways when I am an almost 24-year-old, an almost 30-year-old and an almost 75-year-old.
So here's another heart-shooting piece of advice from my mother that is dripping with brutal honesty:
"I'll tell you one thing, you have to keep your head up. If we all could just stay in our rooms and cry, we would. But that would get us no where. You just got to get back up and keep going."
Hey 23, come at me bro.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Airport Reflections
Rapunzel sung this cute little song in Tangled. She twirled around her castle, painted walls, read books and looked longingly out the window while singing:
"Stuck in the same place I've always been.
And I'll keep wonderin' and wonderin'
And wonderin' and wonderin'
When will my life begin?"
It's funny how one can relate to a Disney character. Obviously, it's by no means the next Mozart. And, no, it doesn't have quite the poetic beauty of an Ed Sheeran lyric.
But, I feel like I'm stuck in my own castle at this point in my life. Am I happy? Of course. I'm healthy and blessed. There's not much more I actually need right now. Yet things still feel repetitive, stagnant and uninspired.
I blame the airport for this feeling.
Most people love flying because of the take off and landing, or the beautiful views of the sky. I love traveling because I love airports. Airports are the coolest, most eclectic places in the world.
This past weekend I booked an impromptu ticket to Columbus to visit my lovely college roommate Kirsten. I left from Salisbury and that airport, while conveniently close, is admittedly unexciting and underwhelming. The Columbus airport isn't much different.
However, both arriving and leaving Columbus, I had a lay over in Philly. So in other words, I had hours to roam in a giant airport. I was like a kid in a candy shop (pardon my cliché).
Why this interest in airports? The answer is simple: think about all of the stories there. I brought a book to read but barely got through three pages of that story because I got too engulfed in the hundreds of stories walking by me in the airport terminal.
One family was traveling back from Disney World. The parents were a bit on the older side and their little boy was adopted. But his over-sized Goofy hat and cheesy grin proved he just had the time of his life.
Two college-aged girls missed their flight to Richmond. One was nonchalant about the whole thing. The other was panicking because she needed to make her night class the next day.
As I got in line for coffee, the man in front of me has just got in from England and was picking up a quick bite to eat before heading to his next flight (side note: ordering an Italian panini sounds much more elegant with a British accent).
A well-dressed man was on the phone with a close friend while waiting for the plane to board. You wouldn't be able to tell by his polished shoes and tie, but he had spent all weekend in a grimy t-shirt and shorts helping his buddy remodel a house.
When I was walking through security, an older Hispanic women was in tears as she walked away from her daughter toward the terminal. I so badly wanted to give her a hug. Her daughter's eyes weren't much dryer.
I could go on and on. I have a list of memories from that one trip to Columbus about a dozen strangers. You could call it beautiful curiosity or incredible eaves-dropping, but either way it's incredible how eclectic the people in an airport can be.
And then I was reminded just how big the world is.
And then I was reminded that I was flying back to Delaware.
And then I felt like my life in Delaware shuts out all of the beautiful stories.
And then I felt guilty because I know I need to take a risk, but admitted to myself that I was too scared to do so.
And then I asked myself, like Rapunzel: When will my life begin?
I guess in this case, the airport was my Flynn Ryder. The airport rescued me from my methodical schedule and reminded me that there is more beyond the castle walls.
I just really love airports.
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