11 thoughts from 2011

Hi friends.  It's a little early to start wrapping up the year, but I just want to go for it.  There's a lot of shenanigans sloshing around in this brain of mine and I want to share some of it, both heavy and light.  Thanks for journeying with me this year:

1.   Firstly, the Lions will most likely never win the Superbowl.  Sorry, guys. 
2. More than ever, I feel like I've found my voice this year.  I've always been one of those quiet people who don't say too much, but that has definitely changed.  There's no shame in sharing your thoughts or what your life is like with trusted folks.  In fact, you might be surprised who cares enough to listen.
3. Don't let being afraid of failing keep you from trying.
4. Good friends will always find a way of reaching you--whether it's facebook, twitter, e-mail, phone calls, Skype, or making the drive.  They will find a way.
5. Home is so much more than a physical place.  It's the people who love you at your worst and the God who wants to know you, and resting in that place of being loved.  Once you know that, you can be anywhere in the world and not be shaken.
6. Taking too many literature classes at once will make you hate reading.  Don't do it.
7. Roadtrips are beautiful things.
8. Ask for help when you need it.  Yes, emotionally- but also in cases of moving large, heavy furniture down stairs.  To quote Bono, "sometimes you can't make it on your own."
9. Turning Motown on loudly and dancing relieves so much stress.  Coincidentally, I've become much better friends with the neighbors.
10.  It's okay to not have all the answers.  It's ok to follow what you love, as long as it is the right thing.  It is ok to not people please or justify every decision you're faced with making.  Not everyone will understand, and not every one will need to.  The future will come as it comes, and thankfully for us-
11. God cares more about who we are becoming than where we are or what we are doing.  I really believe that.

At the end of every year, I like to make things superlative.  "This has to have been the hardest year."  Or, "this has been the best season."  Yet those things are untrue.

Every year is its own piece, its own unique thrill and experience tangled in lessons and learning.  The truth is that these years will eventually add up to being my entire life. Instead of trying to sum it up into something I can wrap up neatly, I take a minute to breathe.  Maybe it's not all about what the year has taught me, but if I have lived it well- if you have lived your year well.  I hope you have.

Many things have come and gone this year, but the message is still the same.  Your story matters.  Each of our stories matter.  Peace to you tonight, wherever this finds you.  May you know your worth this year and every year after that.  May you find out what it means to live.

With hope-

Elizabeth

everyday courage.

"This takes a different kind of courage," my sister says.

I hear the sound of cellophane, even through the phone, and I know she is packing lunches for her daughters for the next morning.  It is after midnight and I can practically hear her super-mom-exhaustion creeping into the conversation but I'm inspired by her and her everyday courage.

I admire the adventurous.  I'm young.  I gravitate toward all things loud, big, and extreme.  Different, outlandish, and unheard of.  I like daring plans, wild dreams, and the feeling of jumping headfirst into the unknown.

What happens, though, when all that fades away?

I'm at the point in my life where I can predict what I'm going to do tomorrow.  And the day after that.  And the day after that.  I'm a college student.  I do many of the same things repetitiously, and it's hard to always imagine life as a grand adventure.

My sister, too, does many of the same things.  And she has done them for years.  For her girls, for her family, for their life.  And she smiles at me when I talk about seasons of my life that have held adventure, because she knows that the seasons come and go.  They don't always last.

When the season is over, you need a new kind of courage.

You need a courage that is strong enough to embrace everyday life.  It's a different kind of courage, though, and it's not the same kind of bravery you need to jump headfirst out of an airplane.  The older I get the more I recognize the changing face of courage.  Courage can drive you forward or anchor you right where you are.  Depending on the season of life, it can be both the thrill that propels a risk, and also the steadiness of a quiet, consistent faithfulness.  You need a courage that goes to class and does its reading.  You need a courage that gets up and does the same thing every single day and still rests in its value.  You need a courage that sometimes goes overlooked. 

You need a courage that can face everyday life, including the good, the bad, the mundane, and the peanut butter sandwiches.  The everyday kind of courage.  It's in us, and all the little things we do.  Unrecognized, unnoticed.  Maybe underrated.

I tell her to get some sleep.  She laughs at me.  The small things matter just as much as the big ones do.  We chatter more, back and forth, around this truth.  We hang up and return to our small worlds, settling back into the rhythmic gears of everyday life.  She stocks the fridge with juice boxes, and I finish my critical theory paper.

The loudness of my youthful pride would tell us that we're not brave at all, that we should abandon our posts for something different, something more exciting.  But my heart knows--these are our tasks.  This is our chance to be faithful.  This is what we've been given and it may not be loud or exhilarating, but it is absolutely beautiful in its own brave way.  And that is enough.