I met a man in a coffee shop.

There is a time and a season for everything. At least that's what they say. And as far as I'm concerned that statement goes for days and weather as well. Sunny days beg for a book, a front porch and bare feet. Long winter days inspire a flicker in the fireplace and an over-sized blanket. Rainy days, whether cold or warm, are a whole other category in themselves.

As I left work yesterday, I decided I couldn't go against the forces of nature. The clouds in the sky, the droplets in the air, and the puddles on the ground told me exactly where I belonged. A coffee shop. Surprised? You shouldn't be by now.

I was planning on meeting a friend for dinner but had a couple of hours to spare. Lucky for me, I had the choice of two coffee shops on the street I was headed to. I opted for the "chain" option and pulled into the Starbucks parking lot. As it turns out, I was not the only one in the area embracing the same concept of how rainy days should be spent. This Starbucks in particular is rather short on seating to begin with, and yesterday, they were filled with rainy day goers such as myself.

I ordered my skinny caramel machiatto (which I am not so convinced was made skinny. I'm not complaining though. Who doesn't love an extra pump of caramel?) and scanned the room for an open chair. The idea of standing for an hour and half wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my rainy afternoon.

As I looked a second time, I spotted one seat open in a pair of easy chairs (do people still use that term?) in the corner of the room. The other in the pair was occupied by an elderly gentleman. I walked over expecting him to tell me the seat was being saved for someone, an adorable wife perhaps? However, when I asked him if I could take a seat, he informed me that it was unoccupied and I was welcome to sit down.

I took a seat, pulled out my book, set my laptop down, and set my phone down on the space on the chair beside me. Before I knew it, I was texting and tweeting (ironically to the same person), had my book open, and was running through a list of things I needed to accomplish later that day in my head.

When I looked up, the gentleman sitting beside me once again caught my eye. I noticed he didn't once look at his phone, he didn't have a book to read, and didn't appear to be waiting on anyone to arrive. Concerned I was taking the seat of a companion he would soon be meeting, I asked him if he was waiting on anyone to arrive and told him I would be happy to move if I was taking someone's seat. He quickly smiled and said, "No, I'm not waiting on anyone."

I tried to make small talk with him about the rain outside and the quintessential weather for visiting a coffee shop. However he just smiled and nodded his head, turned forward, and continued to be still. (Much to my dismay, I have determined that the only place people feel obligated to have a conversation with a stranger is on an aircraft. The option to exit the building takes away a sense of obligation from most. Take my word for it. Some of the best conversations happen on flights.)

Now that I had confirmed I wasn't taking someone else's chair and had accepted the fact that small talk was not what this gentleman had in mind for his afternoon, I turned back to my book, but instead of reading, I began to think.

I put my phone down and closed my computer. I of course, had come to Starbucks alone without the intention of meeting anyone or speaking with others. However, I had brought at least four different options to fill the void of silence and singularity in my afternoon trip. Though not connected face to face with anyone, I had with me connectivity to a list of phone contacts, social media profiles, and the author of the book I was reading.

My easy chair companion, however, as it appeared, had come with the intention of one thing and one thing alone, to be still. Just to be. 

I can't remember the last time I did that. No phone, no book, no headphones. Just myself.

But why?

Perhaps we have a fear of being alone. Perhaps we have trained ourselves to always be busy to the extent that lacking a task at hand leaves a pit in our gut. Silence is uncomfortable for many. I am sure the majority of you have been in a group where someone has drawn attention to "awkward silence". Maybe it's not the silence in the group that makes us uncomfortable, but instead the possibility of what the silence could draw attention to within ourselves.

Yesterday, I met a man in a coffee shop. I don't know what his name was or where he was going when he left. I don't know if he had a wife and kids or if he was retired or working. He did, however, have one thing that I envy. The ability to be still, the ability to appreciate silence, and a smile on his face to go along with it.

I believe joy is a God given gift. We are given moments, days, weeks, and years. We fill the time and the seasons with those things we deem fit. Maybe, just maybe, there is joy to be had in not filling every moment of our days. What God has for us in the silence is unknown, but perhaps it's the key to what we are missing to live a joy filled life.

In Psalm 46, we are told to be still. Not only that, we are told to be still and know that He is God.

If I really took the time to be still, that knowledge, that God is who He says He is, would be more than enough for me to put down my phone and shut off my mind. To fully grasp who God is and just be in His presence, I'm sure, has the power to make all that I busy myself with seem trivial. That void, awkwardness, or silence we fear is just that. A fear. Whispers from God aren't something to be met with fear, but with joy. 

Yesterday, I went to Starbucks thinking I was seeking silence, but realized all I was doing implied I was running from just that. 

Yesterday, I met a man in a coffee shop. He was still. What He didn't say told me everything.

"s" is for spectacular and other common misconceptions

Looking back at childhood, most people have memories of what their favorite things to do were. Growing up in the  eighties and early nineties, POGS, collecting Beanie Babies, and playing with Polly Pockets may have ranked high on many individuals in my generation's lists. You may have been the star on your tee ball team or the fastest kid in P.E. class. If someone were to ask you what your favorite thing to do growing up was, what would be the first thing that pops into your head? (the real first thing, not the one you think of after you decide your first answer is lame)

I have a confession. Growing up, I was a nerd. Take note, somewhere in the past ten years, being a so called "nerd" has become cool or trendy. Taking a photo of a book and your glasses on instagram with the caption "I'm such a nerd" seems to be what the "cool kids" (or maybe just hipsters) are doing these days. Let's be real. I wasn't a "trendy" nerd. I was a cry if I didn't get an "A", read books for fun, curve breaking nerd. During a group project in high school, a classmate asked me if all I did in my spare time was read books. He meant it as an insult. At the time, I wanted to slap him across the face (Funny, I would be flattered if someone issued that question to me now).

Though I have countless fond memories of building dream houses for my barbies out of tinker toys with my sister, when I ask myself the question I presented to you, the first two words that pop into my head are as follows: Spelling Bee.

Most of you probably participated in a spelling bee growing up. I actually think it was a requirement in our elementary classes to participate in the preliminary class level competition. Most kids probably viewed this as an opportunity to get out of the normal day's routine, get a chance in the spotlight, and try to spell a word without be penalized on a report card for incorrect placement of a letter. Though I generally had stage fright and lived for getting A's on my report card, I viewed the yearly spelling bee in a slightly different light.

A few weeks before the "competition", they would give us a packet containing nearly 1,000 grade level spelling words. The day I got the list, I would take it home and began to memorize it. Every single letter. My mother got roped into my obsession. I would have her quiz me on the words every night, starting at the beginning of the packet. If I missed one word, I would make her go back and start at word one, even if I had already made it to word 867 (or the like).

Most of the time, my studying paid off, and I would make it to the next round participating with students from other schools. I have an embarrassing box of spelling bee trophies in my childhood closet to prove it (and a superfluous knowledge of the spellings of words I will never use in conversation such as "tintinnabulation". Look it up).

I remember one year in particular. I was called to the stage to spell agape. I walked up to the stage, and I spelled the word. a-g-a-p-e (I still affirm it was correct). Much to my dismay, the judges told me I had misspelled the word and to take my seat with the rest of the class. My annunciation wasn't clear enough and the "p" and "e" had blended together. I resigned to tears and walked my 4th grade self back to sit with my mom. The fact that I have memory of this implies I am still bitter about my loss. I'll let you make that determination. I had memorized all the words. I knew them frontwards and backwards. I was a walking spell check. That knowledge wasn't enough, though. I wanted the recognition. There is a certain competitive gene I am lacking when it comes to contact sports that I make up for in situations such as these (and games of Scrabble and Boggle. Let's play sometime).

We all long for approval. Our sinful nature drives us to selfish thoughts and the need to bring glory to ourselves, our accomplishments, and our desires. If we are going to put in the work and do the right thing, we want to reap the benefits from it.

The women's small group I am blessed to be a part of just started Matt Chandler's book and study titled, The Explicit Gospel. I am only one chapter into the book, and we are one week into the study, but I can't stop thinking about the things I have read. In the first chapter, Chandler repeatedly reminds the reader that the purpose of everything God created and has done is to show His glory. Nothing God has created and no plan he has purposed is intended to bring glory elsewhere.

When it comes to creation, it's easy for me to think about God's glory. I am in awe of every sunrise I see on the way to work, and the sound of a mountain stream stops me dead in my tracks. Maybe that's why I love being in Colorado so much. It's the one place I fully recognize that I am constantly surrounded by God's glory.  However, when it comes to the future and my actions, I have the tendency to turn the focus back to me, even in spiritual matters.

"God is for you and he delights in you. You aren't spectacular. God is making much of God in your salvation." -Matt Chandler

Wait a minute. It's not about us?

I've been thinking a lot this week about the things I do, my motives, the things I say, the plans I make etc. and how they pail in light of bringing glory to God. So many of the things we want aren't bad things, but maybe we want them for the wrong reasons. Are we truly seeking to give God the glory his presence demands with our lives and daily decisions, or are we seeking to further our selfish desires?

Maybe you want to move up in your career. Are you looking to glorify yourself to others through possessions or are you looking for ways to bless others with the abundance God blesses you with? Perhaps you are single and hoping for a marriage in your future. Is this born out of selfish desires and seeking fulfillment in another person, or are you praying to ask God to only give you a spouse if you will be able to better serve his Kingdom and glorify Him better within a marriage relationship than you could alone?

In his book, Chandler states that our sole purpose is to glorify and worship God. How do we do that on a daily basis? A portion of his definition of worship says this: "It is the way of life for those entranced by and passionate for the glory of God."

It all comes down to the heart. This week I am praying for God to make my heart His. If our hearts are in tune with the Lord, our natural response will be to live out a life that gives Him the glory he deserves. God doesn't need us, but he wants us.

We may not be spectacular on our own, but we don't have to be. Because he is. He is more than spectacular. He is glorious. We don't have to live for approval or recognition. We have been given a greater purpose. No matter how much we memorize and how much work we put in, if we are living for a trophy at the end, we are missing the point. The letters we place on the pages of our life story, no matter the order, should all spell out the same thing. Glory to God. Glory to Him who created us, wants us, and gave it all so we could live.

Unwanted Purchases.

A week before Christmas, I decided to give myself a "night in" as I am accustomed to do every few weeks. You could call it a mental health night if you so choose. I love being around friends and stay busy most nights of the week, but no matter how full my schedule gets, I can't deny that I am an introvert at heart.

In one of my favorite books, Emma, Jane Austen writes, "There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort." (I am currently eying a wooden sign with that inscription for my apartment on Etsy.)

Anyways, this particular night, I felt like cooking a full meal, even though it was just for myself, so I headed to the grocery store and picked up the ingredients I needed for my recipe. On the way out, something red caught my eye. The impulse buy of the cinematic world. You know what I am talking about. Redbox.

Typically, I spend my night in with a good book, a warm blanket, and a hot drink, but I was feeling particularly tired, and, in that moment, getting lost in a movie sounded like an ideal evening (including the warm blanket and hot drink listed in my previous plan). Even better, I had a code for a "free" Redbox rental that was given as a part of a thank you Christmas gift for serving in the children's department at church. 

I love a bargain and with the word "free" ringing in my ears, I went over to the machine, scrolled through the titles, and picked what I already knew was a winner, The Lucky One, based off of one of Mr. Spark's fantastic reads.

I watched the movie, enjoyed my hot tea, and put the movie back in it's plastic case when I was done. Great, relaxing night. Case in point. No problem, right?

Wrong.

I have been keeping something from you. I have a problem. No, I'm not a druggie or an alcoholic. It's a problem of a completely different sort. I make unwanted purchases. Over and over again.

Back to my story. A couple of days later, I was packing to travel for the holidays and caught a glimpse of the plastic movie case sitting on my coffee table. I immediately realized I had forgotten to take it back and resigned to the fact that two dollars would be charged to my card. I would take it back on my way out of town. Three days later in Texas, I went to get my keys out of my purse. What did I pull out instead? That same movie case. I would take it back after Christmas Eve dinner. As the pattern would tell you, I made it back to Tulsa and by the time I realized I still had the movie, It had been 14 days, and I determined it would be better to keep the movie for 11 more days and pay the $25 pricetag Redbox puts on their movies for "those people" who never return them. I ended up paying $25 for a "free" movie rental. If you have ever wondered how Redbox makes any money, wonder no more. I just explained it to you.

Now if this was a one time occurence, it might be worth mentioning in passing, but probably not worth writing about or encouraging you to read. As it turns out, I am the owner of not one, but THREE redbox movie rentals. I won't go into the details of the two other unwanted purchases, but you can know the stories were very similar. One of the movies was ironically another Nicholas Sparks pick, however, it completely mutilated the plot of the book and insulted his writing in my opinion (I obviously don't recommend Nights in Rodanthe. The book, yes. The movie, no. I reluctantly own both). After these first two occurrences, I swore off Redbox and promised to never slide my debit card through one of their machines again. Many of you have been with me to a Redbox where I have agreed to give you a dollar bill for the movie, but refused to slide my plastic past their magnetic strip in fear of reliving my past shortcomings.

Though thoughts of those previous "incidents" crossed my mind that December night last month, I went against my better judgement, knowing my movie rental inclinations, and did it anyways.

Is renting a redbox movie bad? In itself, no. Did I pay the consequence for following the same destructive (if you can call it that) pattern over and over again? Yes.

It's so easy to look at your life and see the things you want to change, especially this time of year.

"I am going to lose weight...but it's my cousin's sister's best friend's birthday, so I'll eat a piece of that cake." "I am going to stop gossiping, but that girl is getting on my nerves and she is asking for it. We are just being honest after all, right?" "I'm going to start saving money, but it would be wrong to pass up the VS and Bath & Body Works Semi-Annual Sales. 60% off?? They are practically giving stuff away."

If we aren't actually taking the time to change our "destructive patterns", what are we really doing other than making a list in our head of an ideal individual we will never be. You will never grow into the man or woman you aspire to be or God calls you to be unless you take the steps to get there. Think about a man or woman you admire or look up to. Think about their character traits and actions. I guarantee they didn't get there unintentionally.

At my church, the sermon series has been talking about living a better story. "We can't change our past but we can take steps to determine our future." What story are you living today? Are you taking the steps to be who you want to be or are you carrying your bad habits around in your purse for weeks at a time?

Take the steps you need to take. Listen to the voice in your head telling you that you have made that mistake before. Don't make any more unwanted purchases with your life choices.  Be the you that you aspire to be. Ask God who He wants you to be. Take the steps to get there. Take the steps to live a story you would love to tell.

life's to short to not crimp the edges

{& other ramblings on baking & living a joy filled life}

Over Christmas , I had the blessing of traveling home. As a single girl, I don't have the opportunity to cook for others near as often as I would like to. Unfortunately, cooking a four course meal for one person is not feasible in my every day life. Leftovers of leftovers on day 6 aren't nearly as appealing as the beginning product. During both Thanksgiving and Christmas, I took full advantage of being surrounded by family and took over the kitchen for as many meals as I could. 

In addition to cooking , I had to jump on the opportunity to bake and not intake all the calories myself. Baking is nothing new in my life. When I was in Texas a few weeks ago, I was thumbing through old photo albums and found a picture of me around age 4 standing on a chair by the counter in the kitchen with an apron on and flour covering my clothes. Baking is my release. I love the process putting ingredients together to make something both beautiful and delicious.

In the past, I stuck to cookies, cakes, brownies, etc. Growing up, I was under the delusion that I didn't like fruit pie, and if I didn't like it, why would I bake it? Boy, was I wrong. Two Christmas's ago in Colorado, after a family dinner, we started talking about pie. The next thing I knew, I was on the way to the store to buy ingredients for both a blueberry and a cherry pie. I quickly learned that my previous assumptions about pie could be equivocated to a five year olds perception of vegetables. My eyes (and my palate) were opened.

Sticking with tradition, I once again made "Christmas" pie this year. Before I began the process, I got it in my head that a normal braided crust wouldn't be enough. My mind wandered back to a play dough tool my sister and I used growing up. It resembled a small pizza cutter but had wavy edges allowing for "crimped" edges on our creations. I decided I needed it for my pie crust, and my gracious mother went with me into our attic to search for the sculpting tool. The attic was filled with remnants from my childhood including Polly Pockets and Tinker Toys, however, the playdough tool was no where to be found. I resigned to go into the kitchen and create an ordinary pie crust.

Fast Forward. A couple of days ago, I went to my mailbox and had a package from home. My sweet mom had found a pastry crimper (turns out Betty Crocker knocked of Play Dough's design) and put it in the mail for me. As soon as I opened the package, I started racking my brain for something or someone could bake a pie for. My mind drew a blank, but instant gratification won me over, and, before I knew it, I was baking an apple pie, crimped edges and all (Disclaimer: I did not eat this entire pie myself. Shame on you for thinking that).

Did the crimped edges make a difference in the way the pie tasted? Honestly, no. But, did they make a difference? Yes.



Life's too short to not crimp the edges. 

Every day, we have a choice. Are you going to make your life ordinary, or are you going to go the extra mile to add a dash of meaning to your days.

A couple of days ago, I received a text from my friend Allie. She is one of the most genuine-hearted and wise women I know. After reading these words she sent me. I am sure you will agree. 

She said, " Why does the world revolve around money? Why not the exchange of a smile, a long embrace of strangers, a single flower, the whisper of 'thank you' and I love you? Oh, the joy the world would be filled with...Struggles would fade. Calm consideration for others would take its place. People would say 'how do you do' and listen when spoken to. 'Living' would take on a whole new meaning."

 What kind of living are you doing?

Several things have happened and come to my attention this week that have reminded me the importance of slowing down, stopping to smell the roses, and adding a dose of intentionality to my daily choices. As we go through our days, checking off our lists and moving onto the next thing on the schedule, we too often become one-tracked. We become "me" focused and set our path straight to reaching our intended goal, failing to recognize the people and opportunities that lay on the path all along the way.

Perhaps there is a way to go through our days accomplishing our goals, but also taking in our surroundings, making sure not to overlook anything or anyone God has put in our paths unexpectedly. I for one know that my plans don't always match up with His. Assuming that is true, shouldn't the things not on my list, those things coming from Him, be the things I am focusing my attention on? 

Will I still make it through my day if I don't stop to tell those I love I care about them? Probably. Will the world stop turning if you bypass someone in need? It hasn't so far. Does a task oriented lifestyle inhibit you from experiencing the joy filled life God intended for you? I'll let you answer that question.

Life's too short to not crimp the edges. Stop to say hello. Ask questions with care and intentionality. Be a blessing and observe the blessings God places right in front of you.

And if in doubt, bake the pie. Crimp the edges. There is always someone waiting to share it.

home (n.) (pl.) \hom\

Over the past few weeks, I have had the blessing of visiting home.

Merriam Webster lists several definitions for the word "home", one being "one's place of residence." As with any other word in the dictionary, when looking it up, I was provided with the parts of speech attributed to the various definitions, the phonetics of the word (which I remember all too well from Advanced Grammar), and either a "si." or "pl." signaling the word to be singular or plural. Merriam Webster would like to tell you that the word, home is singluar.

I disagree. I defend that the word "home" is plural (pl.).

Let me give you a brief rundown of the last month of my life. First on my list of destinations on my month of travels (if you can even attribute that word to crossing a single state border) was Dallas. "I'll be home for Christmas. You can count on me" is running through my head. Well I was, and you could, because I was there. Often my family travels to Colorado for Christmas to visit my mom's side of the family, but this year, we were truly home for the Holidays. I made the trek from Tulsa and my sister, her husband and their precious daughter made their way to Texas from Phoenix (I guess I don't have a right to call mine a trek, despite my 2 hour detour attributed to my directional impairment). There, we got to celebrate and enjoy company with my parents and my wonderful grandfather. Although Colorado is one of my favorite places, and I would give about anything to be sitting in the mountains right now, there's something special about spending Christmas in the house you grew up in. It's home.

Post Dallas trip (did I mention it was a white Christmas?), I headed back to Tulsa. If you asked me a year and a half ago, even a year ago, there is no way I would have attributed the word "home" to this city. It was a place I worked and slept, counting the days until the weekends I could travel to visit somewhere else. If we have ever sat down to talk about my move from Oklahoma City, or if you are a follower of my blog, you probably think I sound like a broken record talking about God's faithfulness in my life this year. I can't say it enough. Despite people, things, and places I left behind in Oklahoma City, God made the trip with me. He didn't delay, and most of all, He provided. Perhaps not in the timing I would have chosen, but in the best way possible. I am overwhelmed with joy and gratitude when I think about my life here and how much has changed for me over the past year and a half. On New Years Eve, I was sitting at a restaurant with a group of six people who I wouldn't have recognized on a sidewalk a year ago. My life and my heart have been filled in the past year with some of the deepest friendships I have ever been blessed with. Looking around the table, I couldn't help but smile as warmth filled my heart. Tulsa is home.

Finally, this weekend I made a trip to Oklahoma City. I attended college and lived there for four and a half years. My move to Oklahoma City after high school graduation was the first time I had ever lived away from my childhood home. What once was a sea of strangers quickly turned into a loving community I enveloped my life in. During those four and half years, I formed deep friendships I know will last for the rest of my life, began to discover who I was, and for the first time really took hold of my personal relationship with Christ and began to believe He had vision and purpose in my life. It just so happens that this weekend, a dear friend I met on my hall in the freshman dorms got engaged this weekend. Of course there is no way I could let a few tolls on the turnpike stand in the way of being there to celebrate that special day (shout-out to the future Mr. and Mrs. Henry!). Isn't it beautiful the way that God created joy to be shared? I sure think so. In addition to celebrating their wonderful engagement, I was blessed to spend time with people I love with my whole heart. On Sunday morning, I attended the church I went to for the majority of my college career. As I sat in the pews and sang the the worship songs, I looked around the room. So many memories were held even in that sanctuary. In front of me were altars where I had shed tears and shared joys. Next to me was an aisle I have seen several friends walk down as beautiful brides to meet the men who are now their husbands. Surrounding me were familiar faces and a support system I relied on for so long. In that moment, I knew, it was home.

My life has taken me places over the past 6 years I never imagined it would. I have lived in Dallas, Oklahoma City, Breckenridge, CO, Panama City Beach, FL, and now Tulsa. It's exciting to think that I have no idea where God will take my life over the next 6 years or even the next 60. Though the unknown can be frightening, I have come to the conclusion that the growth and the joy that come from God's provisions through life's changes far outweigh any fear that comes along with it. There is one thing I know for sure. Whether I am here in Tulsa or halfway around the world, I don't go alone. God is always with me.

I am beyond blessed to have more than one place to call home. Home is more than just a word in the dictionary. It's a feeling. It's a warm embrace from a familiar face. It's the unfaltering faithfulness of a Savior full of abounding love.

 If you ask me, home is plural (pl.).