Jan 28, 2011

fabulous friday video goodness—saint joseph's

More Avett Brothers. Because they're just that good. Also they're crammed into a gondola at Jackson Hole. Which is awesome.

Bonus: this song makes me all mushy inside.

Jan 27, 2011

thankful on a thursday—people

A father daughter date. That's what it was. We sat across from each other at a little cafe, my latte warming my hands, his green tea still too hot to drink. "I feel like I'm in a rut," I say, "like I've gotten into this routine and I don't know how to get out. It's comfortable and safe, but what I want is adventure." It is freeing to say these words. It is healing to confess them to him, to one of the fathers I've been blessed with, to have him listen, to have him offer words of kind intention. "What about teaching English somewhere?" He asks, "you said you'd always wanted to see Japan."

I consider his words, consider uprooting myself from this place–from these people, and it hurts. "I don't think moving is the answer," I reply. "It would feel like running, and there is nothing here I want to run from."

Weeks later I am on the phone with a friend, recounting this conversation to her. "You can run or you can dig in," she says, "those are the two ways to get out of a rut." Her words are true, and they confirm the direction I have chosen to go. Not that it was a hard decision.

I choose to stay. I choose to dig in. I choose to invest in the people, in the relationships that seem to multiply weekly. How did I get here? How am I suddenly surrounded by so many incredible people? Though if I consider consider the road I've walked, these people have not appeared so suddenly. Looking back I see how many different intersections I've crossed, the ways our paths have joined and continued on in the same direction. I wonder if this is how Paul felt when he would sit down to write his letters to the churches, thanking God for them and for their faithfulness. What a gift it is to be surrounded by these people, to love and be loved by these people, to serve with these people, to simply encounter them, even if only briefly.

This week, I am so very thankful...
  1. For the high school leaders and the way they love the students.
  2. For the high school students, for their beautiful hearts and the ways they struggle to love and serve the Lord.
  3. For friends, new and old.
  4. For a run with Sarah around a beautiful lake, and for all the conversations we had.
  5. For an upcoming visit to see my Dad.
  6. For how different my relationship with my Dad is only a year later.
  7. For all the different fathers my Father has blessed me with.
  8. For a place to share my stories and my mess.
  9. For getting a card in the mail from Kath.
  10. For the most wonderful weekend with Erica, and all the subsequent phone calls, emails and texts.
  11. For the way he holds my hand.

Jan 21, 2011

fabulous friday video goodness—the weight of lies

My love of The Avett Brothers should not really be a surprise anymore. [Unless you're new here, and in that case, hi, my name is Haley and I LOVE the Avett Brothers.] They posted this the other day and I just about lost it.

Seth and Scott on their family farm in North Carolina singing the weight of lies. As someone who's struggled to speak truth [both to myself and to others] this song is one I really love.

Please to enjoy.


We sit in her car outside my house, the engine still running to keep out the chill of the December evening. We discuss the words I will write, the stories I will tell.

The words catch in my throat as I examine the dashboard instead of her face. “I feel like there’s something wrong with me because I’m not married,” I say. “Like if God were really at work in my life, were really transforming me and healing me, then I would be married by now.”

The beginnings of my very first post at A Deeper Story. I am beyond amazed at this community of women, and still a little shocked to be among their writing ranks. To read the rest of the post, click over to A Deeper Story.

Jan 12, 2011

expelling thoughts

I'm so used to sitting down and just cranking out my thoughts. I wait until they're seconds away from overwhelming me, and then quickly expel them on the page or screen in front of me.

But not now. Not with this. It is a combination of intimidation, a desire to take this seriously, fear of failure, and fear of engaging in real conversations.

So I sit and stare at screens and pages. A smattering of semi-connected thoughts, waiting for me to do something with them, to elaborate, to connect the dots.

I know my story. I know what I want to tell you. It's just never been this hard before.