Weekend Pith: Cleaning Slates

I always switch gears a little once September is about to come around. Obviously, that’s usually because school is starting, and even though my grad school is set up a little differently, there’s still a definite summer’s end and fall’s beginning. Should my plans for teacherhood pan out, my life will always be this way.

And I don’t really mind; Autumn is my favorite season, and I take joy in pausing and rerouting, in digging down and musing. Autumn always means a return to both physical coziness and heightened mental work. I love the interaction between the two.

This fall, I’m switching gears from my summer writing projects to my very different school-time one. Sometimes the transition can be jarring. I’m going from my work on a heady, multi-faceted mystery to continuing my draft of a more creative children’s novel. 

Obviously, this is a huge change, so every time I make the jump from adult lit to kid lit and back again, I let myself take a week off. I don’t work on any big writing projects. 

Of course, I periodically take unnofficial breaks in my writing, more than I’d like to admit. But this one is different. This is a break to make a break. This is a break to retool my mind, to pack up the old work and bring in the newer-old work. This break creates a separation and clean slate so I’m fresh and strong again.

Lots of things in life need little breaks, sometimes. I’ve taken breaks socially, spiritually, educationally, the list goes on. And I think it’s important to remember that sometimes the presence of a break does not mean the erasing of a certain part of your self, or a rejection of and falling away from what you are. Sometimes a break is just that, a separation and clean slate so you’re fresh and strong again.

Remember to take breaks. 

Reading Like a Kid

I remember reading a lot when I was younger. I gobbled up books one by one, reading whatever took my fancy. Most of them were children’s classics, cozy tales with female protagonists.

Little Women made me want to be a writer. The Secret Garden inspired me to sketch the plans for my own secret garden, complete with a wall and gate I would somehow craft all by myself in my small-town backyard. Anne of Green Gables reminded me it was okay to be a little odd and poetic, even if people looked at you funny.

But then somehow, as I got older, it got harder to find time and energy to read, even when I still counted reading as one of my main hobbies. It’s hard to justify sitting down and reading for fun when you have a job, or laundry, or reading for a college class, or—let’s face it—when you’ve already wasted enough time on the internet.

A lot of adults have a similar story. We loved indulging in literature when we were younger, but now recreational reading seems just that—an indulgence we can’t quite justify.

Ironically, I think my nearly five years of undergraduate education made me hate reading for fun. And I’m the biggest nerd I know. I love school. I didn’t mind reading for classes at first. But that mindset of reading-for-credit really gets ingrained, even when you don’t think about it. And it turns on you. When I graduated, there was no one telling me, “Read this by that date,” no counting pages til I could be done, no direction, even, of what to read and what to look for in it. I found myself a little lost, and a little miffed that my long-time hobby had been taken away.

I soon realized that my motives and justification behind reading had become twisted. I had taught myself that reading was a chore. I had reduced literature into page numbers I had to get through. Sometimes books were on my reading list because they were “good books to read,” something that had been recommended to me, or worse, books which everyone referenced with ease and I still didn’t know about. And sometimes I didn’t read because it felt trivial to sit on the couch and read a book I wouldn’t get any benefits from besides inherent enjoyment and perhaps some useless knowledge.

But the truth is that any writer needs to read. It is also true that life is too short to read a book you don’t like (thanks Leonard). And finally, it’s incredibly smug to assume you have nothing concrete or useful to learn from a book. Any book.

So this summer I let myself read like a kid. I picked what looked interesting even if it wasn’t my genre or usual choice. I had books gifted and recommended to me, and I enjoyed them and let them lead me to new fields I’d never considered before.

And you know what? I’ve never read so much in a summer, not since I was a kid. Something about taking away the boundaries and expectations, of letting the imagination wander if it wants, makes you explore and soak in. You learn, and you have fun doing it.

This summer, I’ve read children’s lit, adult fiction, self-help, theology, and poetry. My reading has been like a hike: I’ve walked alone, followed along with a friend, run off the trail and darted back, and walked a few familiar parts of the trail over and over again.

My hobby has returned to me, or perhaps I to it.

The “V” Word

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One thing that’s pounded into you in writing class is the importance of good description.

I remember a class I took my third semester of college. It was an online creative writing class, so it was a little odd. I never met my teacher or classmates face to face; in fact, I don’t think I ever found out what my teacher even looked like. Her name was Dr. Smart.

Dr. Smart became more of an essence, a presence, than a person to me. She lived in my computer and wrote messages on my work with one overarching theme, which soon became the bane of my existence:

You need to write more vividly. 

Dr. Smart didn’t just want to read my words. She wanted to touch, to taste, to see, to smell, to hear them. And to me it seemed like an awful lot to ask. “Use your imagination!” I often wanted to yell into the computer (where Dr. Smart lived, of course).

Vividly. Vivid. It was her favorite word. It soon became my least favorite.

That fateful online writing class was almost four years ago now. And now I get what Dr. Smart was trying to say. Now I think I’m better at writing vividly (although I still cringe at the word). I enjoy the challenge of arriving at a scene and figuring out ways to allow the reader to use her imagination, by giving her enough touching, tasting, seeing, smelling, hearing details she can pour her imagination into.

But a funny thing starts to happen when you get used to describing things: things start describing themselves for you.

In January I drove home for a few days to visit family. Oil City is about two hours away from Pittsburgh, and thankfully it didn’t snow on my way or it would’ve taken longer. It had stormed a few days before, and the fields and trees were still thick with six inches of snow, crisp like cream so cold it could be sliced and laid on top of the earth. The air was clear and sharp like a bundle of glass. As I drove, leaving the highways for back roads that took me higher into foothills and deeper into forests, the sun began to set, and the entire sky looked like an opal, all iridescent and smooth. The light got caught in the evergreen trees and made periwinkle shadows on the snow.

In short, it was gorgeous. Every new blink of my eyes was like bite of a feast.

How on earth can people hate winter? I thought, because people do. They choose to live in a place where they very well know it snows half the year, and they decide to hate it. Morons. (Sorry for the name calling.)

But to me, now, as I drove and probably wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to the road, the slew of gorgeous little details seemed so glaringly obvious. How do you not see the patchwork of lichens on a tree, or the way the grasses in a field are all a slightly different shade of brown, or the magnificent opaline sky?

The answer, of course, is that I’m a pedant, and that I only notice these things because I was trained to. I only notice these vivid details because some essence of a professor in a computer told me to write more vividly! So I had to learn to see more vividly! so I can write down what I see.

And then, as I drove through the Allegheny foothills in the winter sunset, I realized that writing vividly isn’t so important as an end in itself. It’s important for exactly these kind of moments; the drives through the woods, the strolls on the beach, the walks in the city. We write vividly so people read vividly, so they see vividly, so they live vividly.

I’m starting to like the word now.

 

Good Enough

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I’m graduating this weekend.

Well, that’s not quite accurate. I’ve been done with college for months now. I have my diploma. I just finished my first semester of grad school.

But I’m still going to walk across a stage in a cap and gown and throw a little party with my family. My best friend says she’ll get emotional. And knowing me, I probably will too. But I smile and roll my eyes at her a little bit, because while I’m sure I’ll enjoy the day’s festivities, right now my graduation feels more like a formality than a milestone.

When I sit at commencement and hear the speaker they brought in from Scotland talk about God’s plans for the rest of our lives, I’ll probably smirk a little. Not because I don’t believe God has plans, and not because I don’t like Scottish people, but because in many ways I feel like I’ve already moved on. The graduate glow has already faded from me. Now I’m just a little nonplussed. A little disillusioned. A little scared.

I graduated in December with a lot of wild plans of hitting the ground running, being a go-getter, and starting my writing career with a precocious flourish. Goodbye menial, part-time, minimum wage jobs! I’ve moved on! I’m good enough to go pro!

But now it’s May, and I didn’t do any of that. I was too busy living, I guess. Too busy taking care of other things.

I wasn’t good enough.

My biggest fear is that I’m not good enough. It’s been my fear for a while. The fear waits for the perfect moment to whisper to me, and it knocks me down every time. Friendships dissolve? You weren’t good enough. Arguing with the husband? You aren’t good enough. Didn’t finish a project? You weren’t good enough. Can’t find a job? You aren’t good enough.

The worst thing is, a small part of this is true. I can always be better and do better. And because I know this about myself, I will believe the fear every time.

Yesterday I went to the store to find a dress for graduation. Five years ago, when I graduated from high school, I got a beautiful, silky dress with a smocked waist and bateau neckline and full skirt. It was white with pink flowers, and it made me feel like Jackie Kennedy. Every time I wore it I felt perfect and beautiful and… good enough.

But this time, there was no magic Jackie Kennedy dress. Just a bunch of weird limp things with no lining and odd cutouts and garish prints. (My mom will be at this graduation, guys. I can’t wear stuff like this.) I did not feel perfect. I did not feel beautiful. I didn’t feel happy at all.

I drove home in tears. “God, this is a really stupid thing for me to be upset about,” I said. “Like, talk about first world problems. I feel bad even talking to you about it. I do have clothes. I will be wearing something under my graduation gown.”

And then my fear whispered to me: “There was nothing wrong with the dresses; it was youYou weren’t good enough.”

So of course I cried more. Because I know, I know, I know I’m not good enough. I will never be 100% good enough. I will always have shortcomings and faults and bad habits. I will always have parts of me that I regret and hide and smooth over.

I will always despise myself just a little bit, cringe at myself just a little bit. I will always feel guilty for asking people to stand in the gap for me, for asking God to stand in the gap for me.

“I know I’m not good enough,” I said. Got it, duly noted. “But what can I do about it?”

The fear didn’t really have an answer to that. And honestly, neither do I. I still don’t know the balance between getting better and being okay with never being good enough. I’m a little depressed that I couldn’t just pray about it and suddenly have an epiphany (or at least find the perfect graduation dress).

But I do know this: there is life beyond not being good enough. I haven’t reached it yet, but I know it’s there. I am told that God’s grace meets my weakness and makes me not just good enough, but perfect. That Jesus stands in the gap, and that He chose to do so even before I knew I needed him to. I am clad in righteousness even if I never find another Jackie Kennedy dress.

I poured out my clothing woes to my husband, who, even if he doesn’t fully identify with my struggle, still tries to understand.

“Wear that green dress you wore the other night,” he said. “It’s you. It looks great. You look beautiful.”

“I don’t think it’s good enough,” I said. I really meant I didn’t thinkwas.

“Who cares what other people think? It’s you. It’s perfect.”

To those who love me, I am loved. To those who love me, I am good enough.

And that’s good enough.

What am I Doing?

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When I was a teenager, I was awkward. Really awkward. Painfully awkward. I had a hard time talking to people and making friends. I was shy. I was insecure. Being home schooled was not helpful for me in this department. (My taste in clothes at the time probably wasn’t helpful either.)

But then I became a woman and put childish ways behind me. Well, sort of. I became a woman around the time a bunch of other awkward people were becoming adults too, and by the time I arrived on the scene with a driver’s license and voter’s registration, being awkward was incredibly cool. Introversion was in. What a time to be alive.

This is a huge oversimplification, I realize, but it makes me laugh. I spent all my teen years wondering what was the matter with me, trying to push and prune myself into assertiveness, and then I got to college and realized that it was okay to not do all that.

This was a blessed relief to me. I didn’t have to bring myself up to some standard of social interaction. I could choose what was most important to me and not feel guilty for cutting out what wasn’t. I could celebrate the personality God gave me without regret.

But my newfound pride in introversion came with a dark side: when you’re an introvert, you don’t tend to do things unless you have to. So if millennial internet culture says being anti-social, loving naps and coffee and Netflix, and getting anxiety every time you go out is okay, introverts have a hard time coming up with the oomph to disagree. We’re terrible at disagreeing with a majority, we introverts. We also have very low stores of natural oomph. Besides, the land of naps and coffee and Netflix is our native country.

Is this bad? Should we force ourselves to get off our pajama-clad butts and be more Type A go-getters? I wonder. While I’m naturally drawn to a quieter, slower-paced life, I also know myself enough to realize that if I don’t push myself, I’m going to miss out on accomplishments, relationships, and opportunities because I fall back on the introvert excuse.

I’m totally fine with missing out on some of those things; I have no desire to be some amazing networking socialite. But I know I’ll hate myself forever if I miss out on everything because I couldn’t learn to keep it together in the face of awkwardness.

Oddly enough, all the jobs I’ve had have been pretty extroverted. It’s not until recently that freelancing has given me some freedom to hide behind a computer. I’ve done food service, retail, and office work. One time I was telling my friend about my various experiences working in malls and she shook her head.

“How did you get into that business?” she asked.

“I honestly have no idea,” I said.

I forgot to tell her about the year I worked selling jewelry at house parties. I went to strangers’ houses and sold jewelry to them and their friends. Even looking back makes me cringe. What the hell was I doing? I loved that job in theory, but in practice I was a bundle of nerves. And I know I’ll never do anything like that again. But for a year I did it, and I survived. Because I pushed myself. (Also, money.)

So I think the problem is not with being an introvert, but in forgetting that while introversion has its strengths, it also comes with inherent weaknesses, just as any personality has. Introversion’s weaknesses are sneaky, though, because they wrap you in a blanket of comfort and say, “There there, just slow down. Sit this one out. You’re delicate. It’s okay.”

Yes, introverts often need more downtime than others. But giving self-care doesn’t mean we should self-coddle. The world misses out on all the thoughtfulness and sensitivity that introverts can offer because introverts are just too damn scared to speak up about it, so no one has any reason to listen.

Personally, I’m still trying to figure out the balance between self-care and self-coddling. It’ll probably take me a while to find that balance. And that’s okay. It starts with being aware of my strengths and weaknesses as an introvert. It starts with learning when to push myself and when to relax.

This week, I’m presenting some of my writing in public. I’m terrified. There are moments when I ask myself what the hell I’m doing. There are moments when I wonder what the cancellation policy is on public readings. But ultimately I know this is a time where pushing myself into assertiveness will positively impact my writing and well-being.

What the am I doing? I’m learning to do what I love and live with the pain of awkwardness.

 

Avoiding Mid-Life Crisis

Today’s post sounds pretty informative, until you remember that I’m only in my twenties. Sorry about that. 

  
I’m bad at waking up early. I do all the tricks: drink water before bed, put my alarm on the other side of the room, keep the curtains drawn back as best I can. But somehow I’m still always rushing. I wake with the alarm, bring it back to bed with me, and fall asleep with it. 

Sometimes I wake with minutes to get ready, and I start crying “oh no, oh no, oh no!” And I wander around the room wringing my hands and lamenting my life. Alex calls these moments my midlife crises. 

“Let’s go to bed early,” he’ll say, “so you don’t have a midlife crisis tomorrow.” Good advice, if a little odd. But sometimes it still doesn’t work. Sometimes my brain decides to stay comotose until twenty minutes before class. Sometimes I forget to pack a lunch or brew coffee. Sometimes we’re running to school, slipping on ice and bounding over roads, racing the bells that chime the hour. 

Sometimes I get home so utterly exhausted I want to do nothing, when I have everything to do. I start to cry and wring my hands again, hating and loving and lamenting.

These are the moments that make me a volatile person. I never thought myself someone with a short temper, but maybe instead I have short nerves. Neither of those is good, and I wish I’d caught it sooner. Alex waits for the storm to pass, and I realize that none of this is worth a storm. Nothing is worth treating the people I love this way. 

So I give myself permission to make little decisions to avoid midlife crisis. I take ownership of my days. I decide not to go to this one class today, or to be a little late to this other thing so I can have dinner with my husband. Even a year ago I’d be wracked with guilt for playing hooky. But nothing is worth being Crazy Lady. 

The biggest challenge, of course, is taking ownership of myself, of reminding myself to nourish what is most important and to remember what isn’t. It means being independent of my circumstances and choosing to be myself, whole, calm, and strong, even when a hundred crazed outside voices tell me otherwise. 

I’m still working on all this, of course. But recognizing that I must is a start. It’s a start I hadn’t made before. 

Call in the next ten minutes, and you too can avoid mid-life crisis!

I Made Something! And Other Matters

Every week I used to have a “Crafterday” post here (think clever pun between “craft” and “Saturday”), which I haven’t done for a while. I guess I found different things to talk about. That, and I got too busy on Saturdays.

But if those posts were your cup of tea, you’re in for a few! (Cups of tea.)

Ever since we moved I’ve been obsessed with homemade banners to decorate the house: they’re cheap, they’re easy, and they’re whimsical, all winners for a poor college student!

(I apologize in advance for the crappy photos. I lost my light and the camera was put out about it.)

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I’ve made a few tiny triangle banners like this, using paint sample cards from Walmart. This is my Valentine’s palette, but I also have a winter one, a Christmas one, and a longer strand of blue and gray for our bedroom. I’m a tiny bit obsessed.

So imagine my joy when one of my favorite bloggers featured a No-Sew Heart Garland for Valentine’s Day!  Disney over at Ruffles and Stuff has the best ideas. (And the cutest kids, btw.)

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This was my version. I didn’t have the felt the tutorial calls for, and I wish I had – these scraps of Minnie Mouse-esque silk were hard to work with. :) I simplified the design with only three hearts; they pack a punch!

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Disney’s tutorial also inspired me to make another garland using my leftover crocheted hearts from last year. I love how it turned out!

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I also copied this with some plain fabric cutouts for my sewing corner:

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Gosh, I need help! We’re drowning in beautiful heart garlands!

In all seriousness though, I have been wanting to share Ruffles and Stuff on this site for a while (so thank you, garlands). I’ve followed Disney’s blog for several years now, and it’s been a constant source of encouragement to me. This is not only for the clever DIYs, but also for her honest and joyful approach to life, even when life gets really really bad. She has helped me to see that life is a very beautiful thing, and that one of the truest ways we can worship God is to live in gratitude, because He’s created every beautiful, ridiculous facet of life as a gift to us.

These ideas played a part in my resolution to “Take Joy” this year. Last year was difficult on many levels, and I learned a lot about myself and the people around me – lots of good things and lots of bad things, which are still good to know. As someone prone to anxiety more than I realized, learning to take joy in the little gifts of life is literally a life saver.

So go visit Ruffles and Stuff; you’ll be glad you did! Every day there’s something a little different to enjoy, and and Disney really is the sweetest ray of sunshine. :)

Have a great week folks! (Sorry about all the hearts!)

6 Things I’ve Learned from Being Married in College

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As you know if you’ve read this blog in the past few months, I got married last June. My husband and I, however, are both still in college. I have less than a year to go for my Bachelor’s degree while he has over two.

Married college students are a rare sight. I know a few classmates who are in the same boat, but it’s unusual in our culture. Unfortunately, young marrieds are largely ignored or even chided as culture embraces young  unhindered singleness. While I agree that the single college years can be incredibly fulfilling, today I want to share six things that can be learned from being a young married student.

 

1. Life is Not the Same for Everyone.

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Our society has road-mapped life to a T. Go to college, get a job, get married to your soulmate. But this is neither fair nor realistic. For as vocal as we are about individuality, why do we allow such a cookie-cutter life schedule to be imposed upon us?

I’ve learned that there’s not one life plan or lifestyle that’s inherently perfect. What’s a good choice for me isn’t a good choice for the next person. It’s okay to come to a point in your life where you decide that it’s the right time for something, not popular opinion. For us, it was getting married. We didn’t have everything planned, but we knew we loved each other and wanted to marry each other. It was the next logical step for us, and we took it.

 

2. Love is Not the Same for Everyone.

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Our generation has this grandiose view of love in which you meet someone who gives you perpetual butterflies and after much angst you finally decide to marry them and live happily ever after. Cue harps and singing birds.

For us – and for a lot of people – love is simpler and stronger, bolstered by a deep friendship, commitment to shared convictions, and a healthy dose of Mike and Ike’s and Netflix.

Marriage, although it does radically change your life, does not signal the heavenly end of your life. You are still you, with your same faults and hopes and dreams, and so is your spouse. Life goes on.

Just because our life might not look like everyone says it should doesn’t mean something’s wrong with us, nor does it mean our life is less valuable. It simply means we have to figure out what marriage looks like for us in our unique situation.

 

3. I Need People So I Can Be Myself.

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In our hyper-individualized society, admitting you need people is considered overly dependent, especially if you are a woman saying it of a man. We say things like “I just need to find myself” or “I need to love myself before I can love others”. While these attitudes may have a place, I think when taken too far they create isolation and selfishness.

The truth is that I cannot be a whole, well-rounded person without other people. Other people shape me, sharpen me, and soften me into an ever-better version of myself. This is especially helpful if, like me, you have trouble being yourself.

In marriage, having another person to show you a different perspective in life is rejuvenating. Now I have a built-in best friend who loves me unconditionally and encourages me to be myself. He shows me how to push myself and embrace life, and now I get out and try new things more as a married person than I ever did while single. I have the courage to explore the world because I know at the end of the day I will come home to my favorite person and we will talk about our discoveries together.

 

4. College is not designed for married couples.

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This is a fact of life, one I’ve noted with resigned disappointment. The undergraduate system as it is now takes for granted that its students are unattached to anything but itself. It takes for granted that I live on campus and don’t need to clean up a house at the end of the day or that I will eat my meals in the dining hall instead of running home to cook. It demands that you be there for events, practices, and trips at the drop of a hat when you are trying to build a separate, independent life as a married adult.

That’s just the way it is, and acknowledging that puts us in a better place to work out how we juggle our various responsibilities as a couple. It gives us the chance to learn how to draw boundaries, manage our time, and to consciously make our relationship a top priority.

 

5. Money Will be Tight, and That’s Okay.

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This is not a fun lesson, but in a way it’s kind of liberating. When you’re newlyweds in college, you just don’t have a lot of money. That’s what deters a lot of people because again, as a society we expect to have the lifestyle of forty-year-olds – complete with a house, car, and picket fence – as soon as we receive our college degrees. People don’t want to get married until they have a decent job and have paid off a decent amount of college loan.

For us though, getting married streamlined everything. His money and my money became our money, his savings and my savings our savings, his debt and my debt our debt. Instead of striving as individuals to make it financially, we can come alongside each other and work together toward a common goal. That helps us to stay responsible and accountable to each other and to learn together that life’s meaning is derived from relationships, not possessions.

We live simply, but comfortably, and we are sustained in ways we don’t fully understand. People have told us we’re lucky to be able to live so independently, and they ask how we do it. Honestly, we can’t answer. Each week, each month we find ourselves provided for by God in ways we never expected. We could try to be more logical and worry about it, or we could just live in peace in His provision. So we do the latter.

 

6. It’s totally worth it.

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I’ll be honest; I was a little terrified when we got married. Vowing to commit the rest of your life to someone else is huge. But each day I grow in certainty that this was absolutely the best decision to make at this time in my life. I feel like I was born to be married. I love putting together a cozy home and cooking yummy food (apparently I’m pretty good) and sharing my life with the kindest, goofiest guy I know.

When people ask what it’s like being married in college, I most often say “it’s really fun!”, which is an odd way to put it. But it honestly is. You can’t live a life of fake martial arts face-offs, stuffed animal obsessions, and Disney movie character impressions and not have fun.

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And I know, as I’ve always known, that married life isn’t always fun. There are hurt feelings and misunderstandings and pet peeves and tears. Ironically, we seem to most hurt the people we most love. But it’s that amazing ongoing lesson of Christ’s love, that picture of God and His people that marriage is meant to sketch, that keeps our perspective steady. We respect and love each other as people, which allows us to love each other as a couple much more fully.

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Obviously I wouldn’t encourage someone to go out and get married for the heck of it. But if you are at a point where you feel ready and yet society is squeezing you with its worries and expectations, know that you aren’t alone.

Getting married young isn’t for everyone. Staying single isn’t for everyone either. And that’s the point. There should never be pressure one way or the other, whether marriage is better or singleness is better. There should never be rolled eyes and raised brows. There should only be encouragement and respect in the myriad ways God chooses to plot out our lives.

Which, I suppose, is the seventh thing I’ve learned.

We Moved!

Within these past couple weeks we packed up our little nest and moved to a larger one an hour and a half away to be closer to school. After several trips to and fro, lots of carrying up and down stairs, and lots of guilt over how much stuff we have (which is still not a lot), we are MOVED!

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We have a cozy little two-bedroom three blocks from campus, with a front porch and grassy yard (which Alex promptly mowed after all our boxes were in the house. He’s a sucker for lawn care :)). Putting everything together in the rooms was a ton of fun; the furniture (which we don’t have enough of) and the decor (which we have too much of) are so beautiful and welcoming, and it’s really starting to feel like home after only two days.

I get really attached to places. There’s something about thinking your thoughts, doing your stuff, and dreaming your dreams in your own corner of this wide world that makes each place sacred. I get sad when old buildings are torn down, or when walls are plastered over or when I move out of rooms I’ve only inhabited for a few months. I’m thankful for this new spot, however, and there are corners of it that fill me with such joy. Anyone else the same way?

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Enjoy your Saturday, my friends!

Winding Down

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Happy Tuesday all!

It’s finals week, or for me, finals day, since I have two tests and I’m done!

Then begins a month of crazed preparation for the wedding, for which I really can’t wait.

Of course, with the end of the school year, sentimentality sets in. I will miss my little dorm room and roommate, as well as all the people on my floor and the routines we all have. This year was great, and I’m thankful for the memories.

Now, remember my news about being published? Well my flash fiction piece went live on Friday! Head on over to Foliate Oak Magazine and check out my story “One Kiss”. Don’t stop there, though; there are tons of super talented writers featured in Foliate Oak this month! Seize the chance to discover a new source of entertaining and thought provoking writing!

And of course, I can’t help advising you to take a look at The Bestiary of People We Know and Love and Hate as well! I got my copy on Friday, and folks, it is seriously amazing! Support blossoming writers (and treat yourself) by obtaining a copy of this sweet little book. It’s life. It’s culture. It’s the future.

Have a happy week and HAPPY SPRING!