#batchelorsbefore30

High school, in the words of my friend is "a cakewalk". To all you who graduated today and got your diplomas I apologize for the offensive statement, but in a few years you will quote me word word for word.

High school was hard for me, really, really excruciating. Which is why I wasn't thrilled about more education. I really wasn't overjoyed at the thought of having to put myself in the realm of near failure all over again.

But I did of my own choice and I succeeded. One week after getting that diploma I'm still living on the high of actually earning a college diploma.

Its an amazing thrill that brings this silly grin to my face every time I think about it.  Because when your well into your 20's, way past the age of the average college graduate, there is nothing more satisfying than having a college degree.

Because all those years before school, during school, between school, and during school again you are your own driving force.

You are the one choosing to spend the money you worked so hard for on a degree that you don't even know is going to do anything for you.

You are the one choosing to write MLA style research papers when you would rather be blogging about some random hysterical moment at work.

You are the one choosing the stress to earn a degree that holds so much hope, but no promise.

You are the one choosing to do homework in your kitchen after you have worked all day and will get up early tomorrow to go to work.

You are the one choosing to spend your time on homework instead jumping into a ministry you love.

You are the one choosing to be in this season.

No one made me. People encouraged me but in the end it was my choice. A choice I questioned myself about  many times.  Was it so worth it to get that degree. After all its just a piece of paper and I wasn't really sure it was my ticket to anything.

When that flash of a moment happened and I was handed my degree a tsunami of emotion hit me that I wasn't prepared for. I finished something, something that was hard and something that I did not have to do, but I did it.

It was a journey, a journey where I gained so many precious friends, and collected a plethora of memories. A journey were a I learned many valuable things. A journey were I grew in myself both outside and inside the classroom.

Friends and memories from this journey are the precious souvenirs I will keep forever. I'm thankful that in my life toolbox are the core classes from my major which have changed the way I think and are still changing me.

But the classes I loathed so. The classes I got the lowest grades in. The classes that sometimes drove me to tears. The classes that made my neck ache with stress.

 Those are the classes that might have changed me the most. The classes that made the journey grueling and made me question why I was on the journey. These classes that taught me to be determined and persevere.

Because I didn't have to go on this journey, but if I didn't I would have missed out on the spectacular moments and people. The people who are still in my life. The frustration and joys of the college years knit us close and the relationships can't be ripped apart now.

The sweet things of this journey I want to never forget, but the hard things I want to keep branded onto the walls of my memory. Remembering the scorching pain of the brand is what made reaching the destination so fantastically amazing. Its true what they say, the hardest things do bring this is the most joy.

I really don't know what my life would be like if I would have skipped out on college, but this I do know.

If I hadn't gone to college I would have missed out on knowing that I could do something I never thought possible.

It was worth it.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I would wear scrubs. And this to me was the most amazing and exciting thought. Tomorrow I was going to go from playing nurse to training as a nurse's aid.


Its such a little thing, but I'm the little girl who dreamed of having a job that would make people feel better. I lovingly tended my siblings and my eyes have stayed glued to the goriest of medical reality shows. Something in me always wanted to be a nurse.


I'm not a believer in chasing dreams, which I know is completely cynical. I believe that sometimes you need to take a step back and look at what is best for the season and time and sometimes that is not getting what you dreamed.


And sometimes its even better than the dream and sometimes its much harder, but it doesn't mean you don't learn and grow stronger through it.


For me though, I have gotten a surprise.


When tomorrow came, I put on scrubs and I was no longer a child dreaming, but I was grown up learning.


This was the thrill of the unexpected joy of tomorrow.

Weekend Hashtags

And just  for the fun of it here are the hashtags of my day.#thisisdifferent 

Today I felt butter and flour between my fingers as it transformed into crumbly shortbread which will hopefully make some coworkers have a happy Monday morning. #thedayafterpiday

One week ago I was laughing very hard at one in the morning and trying hard to not wake up our gracious hosts. #cousinsmakemyday

Completely pondering this quote tonight "there are many versions of love, but I don't want a version I just want love".  #callthemidwife

Fall is my favorite season, but I love it when color comes back to the world. #ohhappyspring

I could spend my days walking up and down the streets and never get enough of spring. #blisters

If you need me find me at the local coffee shop, its my new office. #willthehomeworkeverend

Feeling lots nostalgia and missing my cheerful fun loving grandma but wouldn't wish her back. #gladyourhome

Somewhere over the Rainbow is on repeat in my head. #makesmesmile

Bedtime is close and the dishes aren't done, but the blueberry pie bars just came out of the oven. #bedtimesnack

Dear Uncle Gil

Dear Uncle Gil,


I just came back from a memorial service. Your memorial service, but the connection of you being gone from this earth has yet to confirm itself in my brain.


I'm still thinking I will pick up the phone and hear your warm voice on the other end. You usually called for my dad, but you always paused to chat with me and see how life was going for me.


I'm expecting this summer to run out the front door and see you pulling up to our house for a visit. Straw hat on your head and a friendly smile on your face was how you greeted us. And of course and an embrace that could thaw the North pole.


Your simple life and wise use of money fascinated me, but yet your generosity knew no end. You paid me when I slept on the floor as a young girl so you and aunt Fran could have my room. I could have cared less about sleeping on the floor, but your generosity spoke more than the money itself.


Your gone, but you have left us with memories and lessons that will last a lifetime.

"and he walked with God"

This statement is the five words needed to describe your life. However if I were to choose just one word to describe your life I would pick faithful.


 Faithful to your wife and to your family. Faithful to your mission work and most of all you were faithful to God. Faithful to Him in all the little things.


You have left us all with a memory of a man who served His God and did it well. Not for a moment do I believe that you did it to be a good person. No your life was lived by the grace of God and you knew who the glory went too. You knew who gave the strength and you lived by that strength.


You lived simply, humbly, and you lived out God's grace. And this is the song that makes me think of you.

If I believe in my heart and confess with my mouth
that Jesus Christ is Lord
He is just to forgive, He is mighty to save
He is shelter from the storm

I love Him more than all these idols
I bowed to before I called Him Lord
And He came running, opening up His arms
"Welcome home, my child" I heard Him say
"Welcome Home"

I have called on His name, now I'm telling the world
The story of my Lord
How He raised me to walk in newness of life
When I had fallen short

And I'll see Him in His glory
As the angels say "Welcome Home"
No more crying, no more sorrow
No more death or pain "Welcome Home"

I heard him say "Welcome Home"
I heard Him say "Welcome Home, my child"
I heard Him say " Welcome Home"           

Welcome Home--Dutton Band    

One short week ago Uncle Gil you were welcomed home, not because you were a good man, but because you trusted in God's grace. While I'm going to miss everything about you, I know you have only gone on sooner to a place where someday we shall all worship our Lord together.

Uncle Gil, enjoy being home.

Comfort

That word, comfort.


 What we are to give and what we ask the Lord to give us, but in real life I don't know how to give comfort.


I know how to hand out a verse. I know how to whip up a batch of muffins and deliver them hot from the oven.  I know how to do, but I don't know how to speak. I'm proficient at busying myself with making coffee and arranging cookies but I don't know to approach a grieving family member.






He is holding my hand tight and telling me how he found out his wife died. The blow by blow account is like a sledge hammer chopping my heart into pieces. I don't speak. Instead I squeeze the hand tighter.




Tears are running down the face of the man who tells me he wants to run away from this place. The place where death came and swiftly took his wife before he was ready to say goodbye. He tells me how it all happened. The broken pieces of my heart are chopped into slivers.




People around me are grieving. I go from person to person. Unsure of what to do or say I simply sit . Sometimes I ramble, reflecting on the memories.


 I can't stand silence.


I'm grateful when they speak to me and fill the stillness. Instinctively I want to cover my ears and shut out the harsh painful words, but still I'm grateful that they speak and I can remain in the safety of silence.




What to do. What to say. What not to say. I want answers and wisdom what to do.


 I hold tight a hand and stare into eyes that are glazed over with tears.

"Jesus wept"

Christ did not bravely gulp back tears. He do not rush in and do something. Instead he wept his own loss and the loss of those close to him. He was there in the midst of the grief acknowledging the pain by shedding His own tears.


And this is comfort. Not saying a word, but not letting go of a hand that is used to holding someone else's.


Comfort is not the band aid of quickly said cliché words.


No, comfort is going into the chaos of grief and feeling the searing pain of loss along with the bereaved person.


Comfort is weeping with those who are weeping.