28 candles

Last week, just like on the eve of each birthday, I took a few moments to sit down and journal thoughts about the past year--the victories, the setbacks, the good times, and the super tough times. And then I reflected about how through it all, Christ was there. There for the change. Growth. Joy. Frustration. Brokenness. Wholeness. Sorrow. Delight. Not for even a split second of my 27th year or entire life was I alone. And nothing that happened to me was a surprise to Him.  

I also considered how with each passing year and each passing day, we accumulate more memories and experiences that at first are finely textured and vivid, but gradually blur together into muted strains of color. Yet there are brilliantly colored pictures in my head that haven't yet faded:

• Diving into the murky, warm waves at the beach with Andrea
• Tightly holding onto my 91 year-old grandfather's hand as he sang about the bluest sky
• Alternatively laughing and crying with Mom as we made the long journey west for my move to California
• Becoming a member at my small, new church, knowing in my heart I had found a home
• Rocketing down a snow-covered hill on a sled with Andrea and Jamie
• Sitting around the fireplace at Christmas, feeling that no matter happened in life, all would be well
• Taking in the awe-inspiring views of the entire Bay Area from the Twin Peaks
• Sitting around my friend's cozy apartment sharing about our lives 
• Gazing up at the navy-blue evening sky filled with countless stars flickering like candles
• Meeting a guy in the missions group at church who somehow quickly became a good friend and now boyfriend
• Walking down the dusty sidewalks that haven't seen rain in months, looking into the eyes of people seeking relief from pain and emptiness
• Falling to my knees many evenings to listen to God and once again, hand my life, dreams, and hopes back over to Him

So while my 28th year begins, I also look forward to those Kodak moments this year that will leave an imprint on my mind, heart, faith, and other people's lives.

Grace Cathedral in San Francisco.

Limited Holiday Edition- Part 2!

I spent the Fourth of July holiday in a different world: at home in Kansas.  It’s always a culture shock to return home for a visit, especially after living in China or California.  In all the other places I’ve lived, I’ve thought, “This isn’t the real world, compared to Kansas.”  But now I have finally come to the conclusion that Kansas is not the real world.  It is its own unique place—huge, barely populated, windswept, inexpensive, conservative, and slow-paced.  99% of the world actually doesn’t live like Kansas-- where most people can afford a house at only $100K, where complete strangers go out of their way to be friendly to you, where people talk even more slowly than they drive, where you are guaranteed to run into someone you know from your past whenever you’re out in public, where the weather and crops serve as universal conversation starters or sermon introductions, where American flags and bunting are year-round décor, where everyone already seems to know what has happened to you over the past year before you get a chance to tell them, where neighbors cut your grass for you when your mower is broken or call at 11 p.m. to tell you that you left your garage door open, and where time seems to stand still.

Growing up, I couldn’t wait to leave the Midwest for greener pastures.  Or at least a life near a body of water or a big city.  Now after 10 years away, my heart has realized that greener pastures don’t necessarily exist.  Things I used to disdain I now long for: so much open-space, a tight-knit community, a laid-back way of life, values that seek to honor family, friends, neighbors, fellow residents, and country, an evening where the summer night-life consists primarily of fireflies, countless stars in the sky, and games of Scrabble... 

I realize I am wearing rose-colored glasses.  Topeka has its own share of poverty, crime, brokenness, and problems, albeit much different than my current home in Oakland.  And I realize that I will never live in a perfect place until I am home in my eternal home in heaven.  However, I think some of my goals and values in life have shifted as I’ve grown older and lived all over the map, and my visit home has reminded me of those.  Where I used to once be quite ambitious about a career and making a name for myself, I am now concerned about being part of a community (rather than just a huge, bustling city), being closer to family (rather than as far away as possible), being actively engaged in a church (rather than just attending a church), being a light to those around me in all circumstances (rather than only befriending people I like being around), and being a loving and encouraging friend, daughter, sister (rather than doing whatever might be the opposite of that), and being a growing follower of Christ (rather than remaining stagnant in my walk with Him). 

Although I knew this limited edition holiday, part 2 (read about part 1 here), couldn’t and probably shouldn’t last forever, there were some wonderful highlights of all shapes and sizes:

-Being reunited with my family!

-Tagging along to numerous adventures with Andrea and Jamie—like slacklining, meals with friends, badminton games, delighting in dozens upon dozens of acres of wildflowers, eating a birthday picnic by the Gage Park rose garden, and gazing at the sky in the quiet evening while sitting perched on fence posts.

-Enjoying the unseasonably moderate weather and vast, green expanse of land as far as your eyes could see.

-Catching up with neighbors at the annual neighborhood Fourth of July picnic in my Mom’s yard.

-Exploding massive fireworks that are most likely illegal in most parts of the country.

-Sharing a giant cinnamon roll with Grandma from Annie’s Place.

-Walking around our part of town while marveling at the huge houses and yards.

-Singing praise and worship songs contentedly while standing cozily in the church pews with the Freeze and Taylor families.

-Riding the very old Gage Park train and carousel for only $1.25 with my sister, dad, and stepmom.

-Having a surprise birthday party that included my 85 year old grandmother chucking a dozen balloons into the living room from the second story balcony.

-Sitting on the lawn of Topeka High listening to a patriotic music concert with the school’s venerable old tower chimes.

-Sleeping very little because we were always engaged in some kind of activity.

-Eating homemade lemon ice-cream in delicate little crystal dishes at the Keys’ house.

-Visiting my mom and dad at their respective places of work.

-Listening to freight trains rumble by the Kansas River.

-Laughing so hard until I felt nearly ill.

-Dining on plentiful portions of meat.

-Buying gas for only $3.38/gallon!

-Sleeping in the same room as my sister, who always promptly fell asleep before we could even chat.

-Glancing up every day at the biggest, bluest sky in the whole world.

I was so thankful to be able to make the trip back home, and now feel a renewed sense of purpose here in the Bay Area… Walking into work this morning, I felt a slight rush of excitement as buses honked impatiently, as I crossed the street with a rainbow of different kinds of people, and as commuters piled out of the BART train station. God loves these people and this place just as much as Kansas.  I have been called here for a time such as this, so I look forward to continuing to build my home here.  And I also am aware there are only 5 more months until Christmas: Limited Edition Holiday, Part 3!

Hanging out on split-rail fences like true Kansans.

Back at Topeka High!

Ahhh... the prairie.

Nearly lost Grandma to the cornfields.

A special place with special firecrackers.

Reunited with my sister/supermodel friend while wearing a birthday princess badge, of course.

Look at that flag billow in the breeze!

The one and only Gage Park train.

The lovely Freeze ladies.

Bon voyage to two of my favorite people in the whole world!

Stormy seas

It is rare that Oakland receives a decent thunderstorm.  As months have now gone by without any rain, I find myself thinking about life's storms.  My grandmother had an elder brother who was a pretty decent watercolor painter.  Several of his large paintings hang around her little cozy home.  The pictures have always captured my attention--they depict tranquil beach scenes and rustic sailboats in various soft brown, peach, and turquoise shades.  Grandma has other paintings of his tucked under her bed in a box.  Unframed, they sit nakedly on canvas.

She has allowed family members over the years to choose one painting for their own homes.  A long time ago I chose a painting, which still resides in that box.  One day I'll figure out a way to transport it.  Maybe all the other tranquil beach scenes had already been claimed, but I chose one that was in stark contrast to the others.  The seas in this painting are dark, angry colors of blue and purple.  Huge waves and gale-force winds nearly threaten to engulf a brave, tiny boat.  My mom asked why I would select such an unhappy scene.  There might be something wrong with me, but think I chose it because the boat wasn't sinking or overcome.  It was a reminder that there is something beautiful and raw and poignant about life's storms that crop up after seasons of relatively smooth sailing:

Sometimes God will calm the storm for you, but sometimes God will calm you for the storm.
~Ann Voskamp

Reflecting over the past year, other sea and storm-related themes have arisen.  For much of it, my life was remarkably tranquil and comfortable.  But then this spring I gradually became more aware and convicted of my sinful heart and sinful decisions I had been making in life that were not only affecting my life and walk with Christ, but also others'.  In response, I was moved to make some changes that unmoored me from my predictable, safe life.  As a result, the seas were stirred up, and rain descended.    

If you yourself do not cut the lines that tie you to the dock, God will have to use a storm to sever them and to send you out to sea.  Put everything in your life afloat upon God, going out to sea on the great swelling tide of His purpose, and your eyes will be opened.  If you believe in Jesus, you are not to spend all your time in the calm waters just inside the harbor, full of joy, but always tied to the dock.  You have to get out past the harbor into the great depths of God and have spiritual discernment.
~Oswald Chambers  

I think Satan wants you to feel that you're drowning in the thrashing waves and blinded by the rain, but:

There's a God who allows Himself to be a Lighthouse to us through storms.
And then God allows storms so we love the Lighthouse long after the storms.
~Ann Voskamp

I'm not sure at the moment where I'm headed, but I choose to trust and keep my eyes fixed on the lighthouse.  The storms have abated for a while now, but even when they start again, I know I don't have to bail water out of the boat on my own, as Christ never abandons us or leaves us to our own devices.  And in the midst of the storm, my emotions and heart that were being deadened to sin slowly came back to life.  Filled with competing feelings of pain, grief, anger, confusion, fear... and hope, peace, relief, joy, calm... I lifted my head to the sky, rain pelting my face, hands lifted up, and realized I am gloriously ALIVE!  Alive in Christ.  Alive for the marvelous purposes He has in store.  Alive to die to myself.  Alive to truly live for Him.    

A novel topic

I think I must be a recovering blog addict!  After writing blog posts diligently and consistently over the past several years, I seem to be taking a blogging break.  Not having Internet at home really limits my blogging activities.  But I have found a way around that obstacle today.

And I honestly don’t really know what to write about.  I could write about Oakland or work or life activities or my family or what I’m learning at fellowship.  But today I want to write about ballet—a topic I haven’t discussed much on this blog.

Tonight I would be going to my weekly ballet class, but since it is a rare 90 degrees outside, that means it will be approximately 106.3 degrees in the old studio in Berkeley, where air conditioning doesn’t exist.  So I will dream about it.

Of all the things I’ve ever done in life, ballet is one thing that has consistently brought the most joy for many years and now decades.  Not only was I built for ballet, but I love it.  So many other activities and pursuits in life have come and gone, but ballet is one thing I remain passionate about.  In ballet class, I have to think hard, but each movement seems to come naturally.  I know it wasn’t always that way—I had to train for years and years, but it is a wonderful feeling.  It is a wonderful feeling when everything else I seem to do or try feels like varying degrees of uneasiness or awkwardness:  Jobs.  Learning languages.  Conversing with people.  Playing tennis or other sports.  Dating.  Serving in church.

I appreciate the structure ballet offers.  There are hundreds of movements and steps.  You don’t just make up stuff, like most of the culture around me seems to do with everything else.  In ballet, you either do something correctly and beautifully or you don’t.  There seems to be sort of an absolute truth with ballet.  There are standards and I can know if I have reached them or are close.  In society around me and in other circumstances, there often doesn’t seem to be much of a standard, or that standard is always fluid.  Yet, there is still room in ballet to express yourself within that structure. 

When the music starts and class begins at the barre, the rest of the world fades.  I don’t worry about the poverty in Oakland, the politics in the U.S., not being married, stress from work, or what is happening tomorrow.  Everything seems to dissipate and I feel like I could accomplish pretty much anything. 

I’m so thankful for the ability to dance and to dance well.  It has brought me such joy (not to mention very nice legs!)  In the few minutes following my accident when I saw the blood covering my arms and legs and couldn’t move them, I immediately worried about if I could continue dancing.  Thankfully I would be able to after a few months, although I will never be back to where I was.  And I think about the joy that it has brought others.  You can dance anytime and anywhere.  This skill was particularly handy in China, where I was able to be the crazy foreigner dancing in school performances and on national television...

I know I’m not the best dancer in the world, but it is one thing in life that I seemed to have mastered fairly well and hopefully can continue with for many years.  And so today instead of dwelling on poverty stats, crime rates, or the future, I thank the Father for blessing me with this amazing gift!  And I thank my patient, dear mother who put me in ballet class in the first place so many years ago after I attempted so many other sports, cooked dinner when I'd return from the studio really late, bought me countless bobby pins and pointe shoes, and listened to my complaints about the teacher and grueling pace of classes.  And thanks to everyone else who encouraged me to stick with it and not give up!  

6 months and counting

Six months ago I was in tears.  I had just arrived from the Midwest in my dusty, trusty little black Ford Focus packed with all my worldly belongings (minus some things graciously stored at my mother's house).  The aforementioned mother had also come along, helping drive and encourage.  We joked that once we reached the desolate, sad town of Winnemucca, Nevada, that there was no going back.  Winnemucca marked the point of no return.  I was moving to Northern California.  In a lot of ways California seemed like the scariest move of my life.  Yes, I had moved around every couple of years in the U.S. and even across the Pacific Ocean, but this seemed different.  In my mind I had always been determined to never end up in California--it seemed to contradict every part of my Midwestern upbringing, Christian worldview, and sense of frugality and simplicity.  The negative assumptions of California seemed to hold sway over my hopeful thoughts that the move would represent a new start, while the gorgeous weather and recreational activities would be well worth any of the hardships associated with packing up your life and moving to the Wild West.

Yet, when you are job searching and need a way to support yourself, you will take leaps of faith.  Laura moving to California = leap of faith over the Grand Canyon.  The seemingly perfect job opened up, and I was on my way.  All along the journey, I found myself doubting.  1900 miles of driving through mostly bleak, desert landscapes doesn't do much to bolster your confidence.  But I was determined to make it and thrive.  Even after passing Winnemucca and arriving in Oakland, I wanted to turn around.  How was I going to find a place to stay in the overly crowded, competitive rental market of the Bay Area?  How was I going to find any friends or a church?  How was I going to figure my way around and not get shot?  How was I going to make this new, seemingly hostile place home?

A day after we arrived in the Bay Area, Mom and I sat at a little café in Berkeley.  Berkeley--the den of inequity, protests, and bra burning that I had heard about growing up and still heard about on the news.  I glared about me at the happy young pedestrians gallivanting about in their hipster clothes and the middle-aged to elderly hippies who had never outgrown their Birkenstocks and long skirts.  I fumed.  I didn't understand them and didn't want to love them.  I was adrift.  The boundaries of Berkeley blend into Oakland, which is where I was to work and live.  In Oakland I was also uncomfortable.  The diversity was amazing but overwhelming.  The extreme poverty and wealth living side by side was breathtaking.  The streets were colorful but blighted.  Again I fumed.  Surely this was a mistake.  How was I to create a life here?

Soon, however, everything seemed to fall in to place.  At least I wasn't living in Winnemucca!  I found a place to live.  I learned that my new job was wonderful and better than I could have expected.  I discovered that most people were actually very friendly, if not a little strange (but aren't we all?)  It took a while, but I found a small, amazing fellowship of believers.  I found activities that interested me: ballet classes, Spanish lessons, tennis, hiking, libraries, restaurants, historical places… I made fascinating friends and became part of a wonderful community of believers.  Even Berkeley has started to win me over.

Six months from now, I don’t know what life and the world will hold.  But that’s more than alright!  It’s freeing to take daily steps of faith holding onto God’s hand, knowing that when big leaps of faith are called for, you may end up experiencing a life greater and more fulfilling than you could have planned on your own.

Saved for something

Over the past few months I have felt very content and happy, which somehow makes me not feel very content and happy. Why is it so hard to just be thankful for God's good gifts instead of thinking it must be a trap and that I'm doing something wrong?  Aren't so many people on earth suffering?  Shouldn't I?  Or at least shouldn't I be expending effort in trying to end the suffering of others?

Yes, I live in Oakland working directly to cut poverty in the Bay Area, but somehow it doesn't seem enough.  I can work to help families get food on the table or pay for a place to live, but then I am still faced with the broken lives and injustice that cannot be solved or put back together because of some money or programs. 

Peel back the intermingled layers of graffiti, grit, sunshine, and palm trees, and there are real humans impacted by their choices and the choices of others:

There's the man who gave his life trying to save another man from the path of an incoming Caltrain.  The 13 year old shot to death while walking home from the Boys and Girls Club.  The mother who lost two sons to gang violence within two weeks of each other.  The 17 year old killed by her younger brother in a dispute over laundry.  The young man kneeling at the entrance to the freeway surrounded by rubbish and broken glass, silently begging for some extra cash.  The pastor's wife who has just been robbed once again of her cellphone.  

There are residents who are outraged at the violence and senseless waste of life, but they are also resigned to thinking things will never change.  There are people who don't know they have the choice and power to want more in life than the poverty and crime that surrounds them.  Even those who have wealth and opportunities that stand in stark contrast to most of their fellow residents are yearning for something more:  Hope, meaning, direction, calm.   

Yes, I am very white, very educated, and from a very middle class background in the Midwest.  But I have not lived a sheltered life--at least my dear mother made sure I didn't.  I started reading the paper every day when I was 10, went to a public high school where I was a minority in every way, had African-American roommates in college on the East Coast, lived in an impoverished part of China, and have worked in public service for a few years now.  There are so many facets to ending poverty and inequality, but it seems like Jesus is so often removed from the equation.  From experience and witnessing the transformed lives of others, the catalyst has always been Jesus: Brokenness and hurt and sin colliding head on with love and mercy and holiness.

I think deep down I'm afraid of becoming too comfortable and complacent.  After my accident, I had to decide if I would truly recognize that my life is in God's hands.  Safety is just an illusion.  Safety is fleeting.  Or at least how the world defines safety.  I know I am as safe as safe can be, whether that is in the middle of China, Indiana, or California.  Even death can't tear me from the arms of Christ--the safest place to be.        

Our pastor recently said, "God never saves us from something without saving us FOR something."  I have been saved from my own sinful destruction for His glory.  But how do you live that out on a day-to-day basis?  In the post-modern, post-church Bay Area?  How do you not become paralyzed by all the need and emptiness?

I know there's a reason I am here, although I may not be able to know what it is yet.  Beside the occasional periods of sadness and fear, I also have a growing sense of love for this place that is becoming home-- the spirit of resilience, the incredible diversity, the authenticity of people you meet, and the countless Oaklanders working to end the poverty and conflict found in most cities that is only amplified in Oakland.  Last week, a couple of my girlfriends and I took the train south to the central CA city of San Luis Obispo.  In the hostel where we stayed, the mixture of Europeans and other Californians seemed in awe that we were from Oakland.  Yes, you definitely earn some street cred by living and working in Oakland, although I live in a relatively safer part of town than my friends.

Perhaps I was a little crazy moving to Oakland as someone who is recovering from PTSD.  But maybe this is exactly the place to heal, as I'm surrounded by people who are also in need of healing.  Hopefully years from now, I will be able to witness an economically vibrant, safer Oakland with flourishing churches, changed lives, and bright futures.  Until then, I will try to stay engaged and hopeful that I can also affect this city, even if it is only one step, one conversation, and one life at a time.

   

Limited Edition Holiday

Happy 2014!

I apologize for my lengthy absence from this blog.  It's difficult to have motivation to write when you feel like you're too busy, or you don't have anything necessarily worth writing about.  But with a new year, I have new resolve to continue blogging and processing through writing.

Currently I am wearily sitting in my Oakland apartment after work, which is getting hectic as tax season approaches.  Memories from the previous week's visit home to Kansas are still visible in my mind, however.

Each Christmas is always different, but amazing in its own way.  Last Christmas my Mom and Andrea came to visit me in Indiana, where we had a cozy little holiday.  This year, we all briefly convened in Topeka.  I left sunny, warm-ish, crowded, crazy Oakland for the little oasis of home on the range in the Midwest.  It snowed the day after I arrived and stuck around long enough for a white Christmas.  Our days were spent sledding, visiting friends, playing games, laughing until our sides ached, and eating.  Our evenings were spent hanging out, talking, laughing some more, and keeping warm by the fireplace.  

One afternoon I borrowed the car to drive to Lawrence.  I was a little teary-eyed from the beauty that surrounded me-- a kind of stark Midwestern beauty that is entirely different from the beauty of warmer northern California.  I wish I could have made the scenery into a postcard, but I'll just have to remember it in my mind.

For miles of open road there are mainly just a few farms scattered across the rolling plains.  Red barns, brave little farmhouses, rusty silos, and bales of hay were covered in several inches of soft white snow.  The sun shone meekly from a pure cornflower blue sky.  The 14 degree cold ensured that not a drop of snow melted from the trees or fields.  Harsh winters turn Kansas into a rather bleak and barren place, but somehow it is still one of the most gorgeous sights to me--in some ways more beautiful than national parks in the West, mountains in Bavaria, and jungles in southeast Asia.

Maybe there is something that endears you to home because of the people and memories you have left behind.  Maybe there is something that endears you to home because of your family and friends that will always accept you and love you and welcome you, regardless of how many years have passed.  Maybe there is something that endears you to home because it gives you a faint peek into what your heavenly home will be like some day: a place of love, belonging, and community that will never fade away.

To stay warm, I slept on the floor of Andrea's little bedroom, which is perfectly cozy and well-heated.  One of our last nights, I started to despair about leaving.  When you're tired, and it's past midnight, the thought of voluntarily returning to Oakland seems just a bit too daunting.  All my life I've bravely ventured to living all across the globe.  Perhaps my accident last year and realization of just how important family is to me has weakened my resolve to be brave.  For example, who in their right mind would trade home for the crime capital of the West Coast?  Christmas at home had been perfect, and I wanted it to go on forever.  As tiny tears threatened to slide my face, Andrea gently reminded me that it can't go on forever.  Just like the Russell Stover's chocolate boxes we were all fond of eating, this had been a special, Limited Edition time at home.  It was incredibly enjoyable, but couldn't last.  The magical kingdom of a Kansas Christmas would soon melt away.  We had to go back to our usual lives, while being thankful for the time we had together.

Now I'm back in the Bay Area, and of course I'm also happy and content here, but just in different ways.  Hope you are having a blessed New Year no matter where you may be--  whether you're close or far from home!     
        

The San Francisco skyline all decked out.

Silent, snowy night in Topeka.

Hung out with these fun kids most of my time home!