Flashes of Heaven

image Hey. I’m finally back in the ol Land of the Free. I’m jet lagged af and I’m kind of over humanity as a whole, so the best thing to do is probably to write you guys a blog. I left my apartment yesterday morning at 5:40am Dublin time (after a solid 2.5ish hours of sleep, oops) and I spent the whole day on a plane next to a frequent pee-er (whose toddler was also a frequent pee-er ) and a sweet little blonde gal who entertained herself by kicking my seat continuously. Good times. So I had lots of time to practice patience and to reflect on the last couple months. I went into this whole shindig with the goal of keeping my blog updated, but I didn’t have a ton of free time, and when I did have a minute, I really didn’t want to spend it behind my laptop, tbh. Instead, a couple weeks into the summer, my goal changed from trying to capture every second possible, to trying to be present for every second possible. In the words of my bae John Mayer, “I didn’t have a camera by my side this time, hoping I would see the world through both my eyes. … I finally overcame trying to fit the world inside a picture frame.”

Don’t get me wrong. I did take pictures. And I took notes and I tweeted and I texted my friends. But many of the most beautiful, stunning things and people I’ve experienced this summer won’t be found on Facebook. They won’t be on Instagram or Tumblr or even on some memory card stored away because I would’ve missed them. I would’ve missed the best parts. Some of the most special things I saw this summer were made precious because they’re mine.

I made my own memories and on the best days, I took pictures with my mind instead of my camera. They’re better than a 3×5 or a digital thumbnail. It’s a little taste of the Divine. I left every encounter a little different than I was before. A little better. I believe in the power of small moments because I can’t count the times I’ve been brought back to life by a brief brush with grace or a fleeting encounter with beauty. These last two months were made up of small moments. Little flashes of heaven on earth.

Sometimes it looked like seeing the sun go down over the River Liffey. Other times it was perfect strangers in a brand new church, reminding me of Truth I had forgotten. It was watching movies in the kitchen and learning about Saudi Arabian politics over brunch. It was saying, “I don’t believe that we’re both right, but I’m willing to learn what you’re willing to teach me. I’m willing to listen.” It was sitting on the edge of a cliff, looking out over the North Channel and seeing Scotland in the distance. It was silently watching for dolphins and seals and feeling small as we weaved in and out of the crooks and crevices of mountains. It was the 360-degree view from the top of the hill of Tara. It was funny stories and traditions and folklore of giants and fairies and Vikings. It was karaoke bars and hole-in-the-wall cafes. It was outdoor movies and early bus rides and Saturday nights that turned into Sunday mornings and strangers that turned into friends.

It was playing cards and eating pizza at 1am with people we just met, but still feeling like some sort of weird little family. It was teaching my new German friend American slang and going on our daily coffee runs. It was walking the friendly office wolf-dog around the city center and the point in time where my coworkers realized my diet coke addiction and just started bringing me one any time they went to the store (Dad, I know aspartame is bad and I am sorry.)

It was chasing down taxis in a sketchy neighborhood in Belfast and eating breakfast on a big stony beach in Bray (which is nice place, despite how much everyone hates on it!!!). It was coffee shop revelations and the overwhelming hospitality of strangers. It was a friendly group of Brazilians parading me around, introducing me to everyone as their “little American gift.” It was charades and Monopoly and spirit animal quizzes. It was looking out at the cliffs of moher and being dazzled and awestruck. It was walking around the Burren and realizing that even stony desolation has beauty written all over it. It was ordering in bland Irish-Thai food and sharing stories of our childhoods and laughing at how ridiculous it is that we all met each other under such random circumstances.

It was that stomach-dropping feeling when the bus kept stalling on a steep hill out in the northern Irish countryside, a 500-foot drop immediately to the right. It was spending the whole evening eating gelato and watching street performers. It was climbing the rocks at Giants Causeway and marveling at how much time God must’ve spent on some parts of the world. It was singing along to The Script with 83,000 people in Croke Park on a Saturday night. It was sitting in a weird movie theater on the outskirts of Dublin, eating too-sweet salsa, and realizing that we’re not all that different. And though there are differences, they aren’t all that bad.

It was doing life with people of different faiths, and of no faiths at all, and entering into worlds that are bizarre and controversial and broken and beautiful – like mine. It was hearing story after story of how we – the Church – have mistreated and abused and abandoned our brothers and sisters, and then being able to look them in the eye and say, “I am so sorry. I can’t promise that we won’t do that again but I can tell you about the One that never mistreats, abuses, or abandons.”

It was the difference between reading about a Middle Eastern war on my CNN app, and living with someone who experienced it firsthand. It was a perspective check. It was a privilege check. It was building bridges and joining hands and laying down our biases and preconceived notions that we have about perfect strangers. It was the moment the little countries on the news became human to me. They became individual people with families and stories and souls. It was the freedom found in the realization that I cannot change anyone. That I cannot save them, I can only love them. It was the bold reminder that our fight is not against flesh and blood. It was saying yes, even when I didn’t have all the information. It was going on a trip with a stranger, and becoming friends before it was over. It was getting completely and hopelessly lost in the pouring rain (I was legitimately very upset ok) and having to rely on a passerby to help me get home. It was walking through Phoenix Park and eating Lebanese food and trying not to think about the fact that it would all end soon.

I’ve found that no matter where I go, no matter how beautiful and awe-inspiring the mountains or the cliffs or the seas, they pale in comparison to the complexity and the beauty of the souls standing right next to me. They pale in comparison to their Creator. I realized that you really can’t capture the best moments, because the best moments – the ones that really stun you and shake you and wake you up – are spontaneous and adrenaline-pinching, breathtaking and heart-stopping. They’re thick and vibrant and fleeting. They stop you in your tracks and engrave themselves right onto your soul, and I would never want a camera to get in the way of that.

Unlikely Candidates

Ok yeah so I’m in Ireland. Which I’m sure you know because I’ve been semi-obnoxious about it. Anyway. Basically you can’t walk 3 feet without running into a cathedral or a pub. A catholic paradise, essentially. So I decided I wanted to go to Mass somewhere, because Ireland. Luckily, there’s a church really close to UCD where we’re staying, so I found the name of it, looked up Mass times, and found the bus stop.

My roommate Abeer asked me on Saturday what my plans were for Sunday, and I told her that I was thinking about going to church. Her eyes kind of widened and she excitedly announced that she would go with me if it was alright. A little surprised myself, I told her that absolutely it was alright.

On the way to the bus stop, she asked me what to expect from Mass, and all I could think to say was, “There will be a lot of sitting down and standing up. Also kneeling. But don’t freak out. Oh, and we won’t take communion.” So I’m sure she went in feeling extremely prepared.

I wanted so badly for her to have a good experience and for the people there to really act like Jesus. I think I was more nervous than her, but I tried to make her feel as comfortable as possible, reminding her that she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t feel comfortable doing.

Just before the service started, this older gentleman walked up to us and asked (in a very thick Irish accent) if we would be willing to carry “the gifts.” “Uh…sorry?” I asked after a couple seconds of blank staring. “The gifts,” he said, pointing to the bread and wine sitting on a table a few yards to our left. “Would you be willing to take the communion to the priest when it’s time to receive?” “Yes!” Abeer told him. A little startled by her answer, I looked at her and back at him and shrugged, “Sure, are we allowed?” (I don’t know many Catholic things but I know communion is kind of a big deal, so I thought maybe they should get a more qualified person to handle it.) He enthusiastically assured me that of course we were allowed – we were family! I just shook my head and laughed and we told him we’d wait for his signal.

On his cue, we retrieved the items and in front of God and everybody, we marched them up to the priest, handed them off, and quickly filed back to our seats. After the service, we walked outside and Abeer, giggling, noted the irony of the situation and said, “Of all the people in that church to choose from, he picked a non-catholic Christian and a Muslim to carry the holy communion!” It was quite funny, but then I remember thinking, Of course he did. That’s just like Jesus – always choosing the most unlikely candidates to handle things they don’t feel qualified for.

That’s kind of his thing. He’s a God of inclusion. He makes a fool of everything that makes sense. He takes the people who are perfectly content to blend in with everyone else, and brings them front and center. He has a host of varsity players at his disposal but he puts the 4th-stringer in. In a crowd full of saints, he picks the sinner. In a church full of Catholics, he picks the ragtag, Chaco-wearing christian to carry his blood and the Muslim to carry his body.

I like that.

Let us continue to jump, despite our confusion, our smallness, and our doubt. Let us continue to say yes.

Spring Cleaning

Ah. Another semester comes to a close. I’ve been through this six times now and I’ve concluded that I will never be used to the weird, nostalgic-yet-hopeful feeling that meets me here every time. This semester has forced a lot of introspection. I think college is kind of like middle school on steroids. In middle school you’re figuring out who you are. In college you’re figuring out why you are. It’s weird. I guess it’s an appropriate time for another obligatory end-of-chapter reflective essay. I didn’t intend for those to be my “thing” but it just sort of happened. Probably because I’m a creature of habit and also because I basically live in my own head and I have to deal with my feelings somehow. Reflections help me do that.
I guess I’ll start from the beginning.
I started the new year off in Stillwater, OK where I sat in a stranger’s living room watching Taylor Swift sing in the New Year and playing Catch Phrase with a bunch of OSU students that I’d never met before. Unique experience, that one. Then I rode a bus to Nashville with two of my best friends to a freaking huge Catholic conference. Not sure what possessed me to say yes to that but either way, I gained a whole new respect and understanding of the catholic faith and Jesus revealed a new side of himself to me through it all. Basically every non-catholic person in my life hated it 🙂 so much 🙂 I went through a terribly lonely season even though I was surrounded by people I love. Through it, though, I learned grace, I learned how to open my mind and my heart, I learned how to treat people better and I learned that the lord doesn’t lead us into the desert to die – like in Hosea, he allures us there to teach us and reveal himself to us differently and so, so sweetly.
I learned that sometimes you’re the mess and sometimes you’re the one who has to clean it up. And sometimes, on the worst days, you’re both. I learned that Jesus was never mad at me. I learned how to serve well and that loving people is a scary leap of faith and a soft landing is hardly guaranteed. I read a lot of books. I went to Atlanta. I learned that love takes on many forms. Sometimes it sounds like, “Let me know when you make it home.” Sometimes loving someone means staying up late with them while they tell you about their day. Sometimes it looks like helping them move into 3 different apartments and sometimes it’s driving them to their doctors appointments when they don’t have a car. I learned that love rejoices with those who rejoice and – perhaps more importantly – it weeps with those who weep. Love stands up and fights. Love sits down and listens. Love endures.
I learned how to have hard conversations and I learned that I’ll never like it. It’s just not in me, ya know? I learned that I’m still pretty awkward. I reevaluated my role models and stopped listening to those who make their living by burning others at the stake. I worked on my first 48-hour film project. I made new friends and grew closer to old ones. I watched the entire first season of Grace and Frankie in one day. I moved into a new (very old) house. I lived another semester with the best roommates ever and they have continued to teach me selflessness and service and that real life is found in the moments between the milestones. I learned compassion and empathy and that if somebody tells you that you hurt them, you don’t just get to decide that you didn’t. I learned that the people I look up to the most are human like me. I learned that they have flaws and shortcomings and sometimes are wrong. Hard lesson, that one.
I got to do a lot of what I love. I took a lot of pictures and I got to work on a documentary. I got to know some people that are a lot different than me. I learned that I often take “normal” for granted. I spent an above-average amount of time in Oklahoma. I got to see some of my favorite artists in concert (also I got claustrophobic and almost passed out right in front of the stage but hey, can’t have it all!) I learned the overwhelming worth of every single person. I learned that all along, I was much worse than I thought but I also learned that I was much more loved than I thought. I shared meals with people I disagree with and I learned how to be a better leader. I sat in friends’ backyards and talked about God and life and love and all the things we’re scared of. I wondered at the stars and marveled at the fact that something as wild as the internet exists. I let other people’s stories affect me and I took more opportunities to serve other people – often in unpleasant, inconvenient, and boring ways. I worked on lots of teams and I learned patience and compromise and that I’m still painfully selfish at the end of the day.
I also spent this semester unlearning and undoing. I have been trying so hard to undo the damage caused by harmful lessons I’ve been taught my whole life. I’m unlearning how to use the bible to cut people down instead of point them to Jesus. I’m trying to undo damage caused by people I love who decide it’s easier to share hateful articles on the internet than to try to open a door for healthy discussion. I’m re-bridging, rebuilding, repairing. I’m unlearning how to demonize anyone that thinks or looks differently than me because regardless of what MSNBC or Fox News or your Facebook friends say, it’s much more fulfilling to build bridges than to ostracize.
I learned that you have to get out of your own little world. When you don’t, you develop a fear of change and diversity and newness. You do things like decide people who have tattoos or wear different colored pants than you are bad. You say terrible stuff like, “That’s just the way things are,” and you lump entire groups of individuals into one sweeping label.
I’m learning how to help mend that damage. It’s daunting but that’s a burden I’ve learned that I need to dedicate my life to. My eyes were opened to the importance and the weight of our words. I learned that young minds are so impressionable and that it matters what you say. Sounds simple. I learned that we’ve got to to speak life. We’ve got to speak truth and love to our children and our nieces and nephews and we have got to be mindful of the jokes we tell and the remarks we make in passing because they stick. I’ve spent a long time undoing so much that I grew up learning. I’ve spent so much time praying for the renewing of my mind and my perspective and the way I look at people. I’ve had to do a spring cleaning of my soul. I’m still cleaning.
One thing I learned (in Nashville) and I tell myself every single day, is that there is no “us versus them”. There’s only “us”. I tell myself that because it levels the playing field. It reminds me that we all kinda suck sometimes. We all have desires we wish we didn’t have. We all fall short. And we’re all loved immeasurably. I did a lot of searching. I asked a lot of questions. I embraced community and help that was offered to me. I helped others. I listened to good music and drove a lot of miles. I changed pants in the middle of 8-lane rush hour traffic (not recommended) and had lots of Scandal watch parties.
This semester was made up of hilariously awkward, messy, muddy moments. It was made up of inside jokes, shot nerves, sleepy, early mornings and t-shirts. It sounds like, “It will be better tomorrow” and “Can I buy you a coke?” It looks like blood, sweat and tears. It looks like snow days and sweet tea and Netflix marathons. It looks like chacos and sweatshirts and roadtrips and friends that turned into blood family. I’m filled with on-my-knees gratitude as I pack up for the summer. It makes me laugh to say that I’m a senior in college and that some people think I have my life together. I can’t wait to see what this summer holds, and I hope that you’ll come alongside me as I try out Irish life. Thanks for everything.

Georgia on My Mind

WARNING: This post contains a week’s worth of activities. Feel free to pace yourself and take breaks. 

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Remember that time that our National Broadcasting Society (NBS) convention was in Atlanta? It was last week. Also, this was the week after Spring Break. Aka a school week. But, being the responsible scholar I am, I got my assignments ahead of time (only one paper was due – yay!) and vowed that I would work on it during Spring Break.

Lol.

So I spent spring break hanging out with my family which I feel is a very legitimate reason for not getting caught up on homework. Not to worry, I was going to write that darn paper on Saturday before we left.

But, as fate would have it, I instead spent the remainder of my Saturday afternoon watching Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt with Kase (which is impossibly hilarious, btw) instead of packing and/or finishing up my homework. You see, sometimes I have ideas that are not “good”.

We didn’t have to check into the convention until Tuesday and the conference didn’t technically start until Wednesday, but who was looking for an excuse to spend a couple extra days in Atlanta? That would be my dear friend Kase and I. We absolutely were looking for that excuse. So, with sparse planning (on my end) we decided it would be a good idea to get on a plane at 5:30am on Sunday and that I would somehow be able to handle that like an adult(????)

To get on our plane by 5:30, we had to leave at 3:45. In the morning, you guys. When I realized this, I audibly whimpered. I do not do mornings. Especially when it is still dark outside, for crying out loud. I can set 37 alarms and KNOW in my heart that I NEED to wake up but I will look out and see darkness and be like, absolutely not and go right back to my slumber. It’s a curse. Thus, I decided I should just stay awake. I had to pack and I had to write that paper – I had plenty to occupy my time. Ha. I was done with everything by about 1:45am (also approximately when I hit the exhaustion wall) giving me two hours to kill. I did everything. I read the whole internet. I rearranged my room. I cleaned the kitchen. I did all the things. Finally I went to McDonalds to get some coffee around 3:30 (where the lovely gal at the drive thru was quite annoyed at my existence.) Then, I promptly spilled said coffee all over my shirt as I walked out the door. Bless.

The Amarillo airport was silent and dry except for a few nuns who were even earlier birds than us. One of them, bless her heart, was extremely concerned that she would not be allowed to take her inhaler with her on the plane, and hounded the security agent for a solid few minutes before the agent finally had to tell her to sit back down. (She was able to bring it.) We arrived in Dallas about 7am. Let it be known that I sleep for entire flights. Also, let it be known that I do not “sleep”, okay, I go into a small, mouth-wide-open-coma. But, I awoke with a jolt when we landed because I was fairly certain the landing gear was going to come up through the fuselage and also that I now had whiplash. “Welcome to Dallas,” they said.

A few hours later, after coffee, breakfast burritos, and an accidental nap in front of lots of strangers, we were ready to board for Atlanta. We heard a crying baby in the distance, and Kase stated, “Boy, I hope we don’t get a baby on our plane.” But Kase being the jinxer of all things actually won us TWO babies. Bless. Sweet Jack and his baby brother, Kevin, got VIP seats directly in front of us. Jack, 3(ish), entertained himself by scribbling all over the side of the plane, and when he wasn’t scribbling, he was wailing while his adult braces-donning dad repeatedly whisper-shouted at him, “JACK, DID YOU GET TO SEE THE COCKPIT?!” No, dad, he didn’t. And if he did, he doesn’t care.

We landed in Atlanta about 1pm and took a train to where my hotel was. The train situation was a whole thing in itself as we tourists were just expected to know how to buy a little magic smartcard pass thingy and navigate the colorful map. By the grace of the Good Lord, we found our train. Then, bless our hearts, we stepped off the train into a torrential downpour, and began lugging our oversized suitcases up a hill – immediately regretting our packing choices, as cars sped past us, drenching us even further in dirty street water. After checking into my hotel, we had to step back into the downpour, back onto another train and locate Kase’s place of temporary dwelling. Our GPS took us around the entire state of Georgia before we saw the shimmering hotel sign. The Promised Land. We must have looked pretty pathetic as the bellman, Javier, sprinted out to us to relieve us of our luggage burden, and tried not to laugh at us.

We spent the evening at a fun little diner, and then driving around the hotel about 28 times before successfully finding it. (My sense of direction is probably my biggest downfall.)

Monday consisted of all the touristy things including the World of Coca-Cola, where I was absolutely 100% sucked in by their marketing and didn’t even attempt to fight it, and got to try Coke products from all over the world. Also, sorry, other countries, but you drink disgusting stuff. If you know us, you already know we had to hit up the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library too. And before you make fun of us for being 65-years-old, take note of our selfies. That’s right – definitely still Millennials.

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We also went to the Georgia Aquarium, where I was stunned by the entry fee, and loudly declared that we would in fact stay for at least three hours, and maybe circle back through a second time. (I’m so embarrassing.) Our tickets also got us access to a dolphin show where we caught scoliosis from sitting in the terrible chairs, but, I will testify that it was worth it. I’m a sucker for a friendly sea mammal.

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On Tuesday we decided we’d like to go to the Martin Luther King district. So, after breakfast (at the Flying Biscuit, whose biscuits are a small glimpse of Heaven), we set off for the train station. Looking at our maps, we could see it would be quite a jaunt from the stop to the site, but it ended up being a longer trek than we calculated. Uphill, of course. Our calves aching, this was the only time either of us has missed the flat Panhandle, I think. Once we got to the site, we were greeted by about 9 million loud, rambunctious high school kids on a tour with their school. It made me wish that I had these places available for field trips when I was younger. But more than that, it made me wish that I had the magical ability to silence about 9 million high school kids on demand. Can’t have it all, I suppose.

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One of my favorite things that I got to do on this trip though was tour CNN. Their newsroom is ginormous and also Robin Meade from HLN is my spiritual animal and I’ll always have a celebrity crush on Anderson Cooper even though he’s gay. We even had an opportunity to take a picture at a CNN desk, but I decided to let Kase take the pic solo considering it would probably be in his professional portfolio someday. He’s such a pre-scandal Brian Williams.

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After our adventures through the Cable News Network, we went to Publix to pick up a few items. I went to the restroom and when I walked out, I see Kase with an excited expression on his face, and he begins to whisper-shout, “ALLISON. THAT IS LISA KUDROW.” I slowly turned, and sure enough, there, in all her glory is Phoebe Buffay. My breath got shallow as I began to undergo a small, undetectable heart attack. Kase and I quietly argued for a good two or three minutes about who was going to ask her for a photo. I, obviously could not, as I was busy having a stroke in the Vitamin Water aisle. Alas, Kase politely approached her and she politely declined, but we were in arm’s length of Phoebe and we will both hold onto that brief encounter, probably forever. I had plenty of time to take a front photo of her, but in the midst of my fan-girling, I forgot I had a phone, I forgot how to use it, I probably couldn’t have told you my own name. Thus, this photo of the back of her will have to do until next time. (One might say I was fallin’ in love as she was walkin’ away?)

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But, not all was lost (for Kase) as for the remainder of the trip, he got to use the line, “Would you mind ________, since I asked Lisa Kudrow for a picture?” *Sigh*

Another noteworthy expedition was the Atlanta Movie Tour. We got to see places where scenes were shot from popular movies and TV shows including The Walking Dead and Hunger Games. I wish I could’ve been as excited as TWD fans on the tour when we pulled up to Terminus, but we also went to District 12 [photos below], so yes, Katniss and I breathed the same air. Not that I was thinking about that the whole time I was there. Then the tour guide asked if anyone ever watched Real Housewives of Atlanta and I was the only one to raise my hand and the judgment was tangible. But whatever, because I know I wasn’t the only Real Housewives viewer on that bus.

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In between all these excursions, we did actually attend a convention, and we did actually learn a lot. We got to hear from all kinds of media professionals from local news stations to CNN and from filmmakers to professors. So rest easy that we did get a lot out of the actual reason that we went.

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We actually brought home more than 10 national awards, and after the awards ceremony, one of our comrades suggested that we go to this fancy restaurant to celebrate. Let it be known that “fancy” and “Allison Myers” don’t typically go in the same sentence because I have a tendency to do awkward/embarrassing things pretty often and I try not to do them in front of society’s elite. But, nonetheless, we went. I walked in and immediately felt an urge to say, “I’m sorry everyone. I know I don’t belong here.” As fate would have it, I wasn’t able to read anything on this French menu, and ended up paying about $30 for a Frenchified hamburger with a very salty salad while the server fake-smiled and judged me with her eyes. On the bright side, I only managed to drop a couple things and spill my drink down my shirt once. Win.

Unfortunately, as all good things do, the trip had to come to an end. We were scheduled to head back to Texas the next morning. 3:55 in the morning, in fact. Bless my heart. Being the morning person I am, I set my alarm for about 3:30 (giving me like a solid 12 seconds to get ready) and prayed that I wouldn’t bite anyone’s head off in the morning. I’m sure you will not be surprised to know that when I reserved my spot on the airport shuttle, I entered the wrong phone number, and could not figure out how to change it, but I was sure they wouldn’t actually need it. So yeah, I did not get the text that morning saying the shuttle would be early – scheduled to pick us up at 3:31am. Luckily Kase is like a human Siri and his phone call woke me up, along with a text that said, “Are you up?!” I was now. I jolted out of bed exclaiming, “THE SHUTTLE IS EARLY! WEAR WHAT YOU HAVE ON!” This resulted in mass chaos in our hotel room, one roommate running out the door with her pajama pants on, the other muttering angrily as she flung her things into her suitcase. Good times.

Long story short, we made it to the shuttle and we made it to the plane and we made it back to Texas about 10am. Kase and I then decided we should go to church because we needed some Jesus before we took on the week from hell. We bobbed and nodded for the whole sermon, but our hearts were in the right place. Needless to say, I was not ready to get back into the groove of real life, and this week was very hard. But I wouldn’t take it back. Like I always say, you didn’t make the most of your trip if you don’t come home broke and impossibly exhausted. We definitely left it all on the floor.

Atlanta, I like you. And I’ll be back soon, because even though “other arms reach out to me, other eyes smile tenderly, still in peaceful dreams I see, the road leads back to you…”

The House That’s Building Us

This time of year is the worst. Seriously. Mid-February is when I begin to lose all hope that I will ever be warm again, and as we enter into March, I see no light at the end of the tunnel. I am shivering and we have to borrow our friends’ showers because our water pipes are frozen and if one more person talks about “how pretty the snow is,” I will become so violent.

We live in an old house. A super-old house. A hundred-year-old house, actually. At times, we affectionately refer to her as Geraldine as that’s the first great-grandma-ish name that came to mind, because that’s what she reminds us of. She is worn. There is not a room in the whole place where you can’t feel a draft and her old wooden floors creak and groan no matter how lightly you tread. She has old windows that whistle when the wind blows and the tired floor furnace in the front room can barely exhale enough heat to warm up the few feet around it. Ask me if we knew what we were getting into. (Hint: We didn’t.)

It’s been a long winter.

Our hands and feet stay cold and we lounge in sweaters and thermal underwear. We keep a bucket of blankets in the living room for our guests and we often hang out in the bathroom with the hazardous gas wall heater that is basically an open flame in a cage. “Let’s live in that yellow house!” we said. “It’ll be so fun and cute!” we said.

We are building so much character, you guys. Lot of bonding going on around here. Good times.

I’m remembering the first night I stayed here. McKenzi and our friend Rae also stayed here. I should also note that Rae is the real MVP for still being our friend after we made her sleep here. It was December and it was the coldest night of the year. The windchill was like -15 and I slept in about 9 layers that night. We didn’t know how to light our bathroom heaters at this point, and our weird thermostat was still quite foreign to us, as we were not used to the Pilgrim-style setup of it all. I woke up and I couldn’t feel my nose and I was convinced that we were all definitely going to freeze to death at some point this winter. It might have helped if we would’ve realized that the windowpane in the downstairs bedroom had fallen in, but alas, we did not. It was about 38 degrees in our house, and I was on the verge of a minor emotional meltdown. I’m so not a winter person.

But I’ve come a long way since then. Now, I hardly notice when my fingers are about to fall off due to frostbite.

Geraldine is tired, but she is special. A unique sort of dingy yellow, with olive green shutters, she is a sight to see. She’s got character. Her stained glass windows and weird little intricate doorknobs tell stories of her prime,and I like to imagine the families that lived here first, and the many residents that have been here since. They must have been hobbits or possibly leprechauns, because they’re the only people small enough to really utilize our closets and short doorways. Quirky and eclectic, we covered her with Morgan’s sketches and old thrift shop gems that we bought down the street. The rail going up the stairway adorned with Christmas lights, the kitchen counter stained with coffee, and the mismatched furniture welcome every guest that walked in.

Our house is lived in, for sure. If her walls could talk, she would tell of all the people that walk in and out of this house. She would tell of the card games on the living room floor and the lazy Saturday afternoons filled with 80’s movies and grilled cheese sandwiches. The early mornings, the bills messily clinging to the refrigerator and the cluttered secondhand coffee table suggest that maybe adulthood is harder than it looked.

These walls have heard hard conversations about faith and heartache and fear of the future. They’ve heard inside jokes and “I-love-you’s” and lots of Taylor Swift. They’ve seen nights that turned into mornings and makeshift beds on the worn out couches for friends that were too tired to drive home. They’ve heard the Skype sessions and the middle-of-the-night prayers weaved into the folding of socks. They’ve seen a million episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and way too many Julia Roberts movies. They’ve heard a billion “maybe-college-isn’t-for-me’s” and even more “it’ll-be-better-tomorrow’s”.

Winter gets us in our feelings.

We have a love/hate relationship with Geraldine. And I know that any of my friends from the North will be happy to tell me that Texas doesn’t even get “real snow” and that it is -274 degrees where they live and that if they were here, they’d be wearing flip-flops. That’s fine. Because I can sleep knowing that at least I’m not straight-up insane like they are.

Anyway.

I guess what we’ve learned since living here is that you shouldn’t take basic commodities for granted. Like showering, and being warm in your own house. But we’ve also come to realize that a lot of people have to drive far distances and even pay money to go camp out in the harsh elements, when we can get the same experience in our living room, and with less bugs!

All in all, we are so #blessed, and even more #thankful. Thanks for being part of our story, and the story of the house that’s building us.

10 Things I’ve Learned Since Living in Dallas

  1. People are more likely to read lists than something written in paragraph form.
  2. Be that person that lets people over on the interstate. Because a) They’re going to cut you off anyway, and b) You really do get a small sense of fulfillment knowing that you held off those monsters behind you long enough for the other person to not run into the lane of orange barrels.
  3. That said, blinker early and blinker often. People will run you into the lane of orange barrels.
  4. Everything is bigger in Texas, including the mosquitoes. Five minutes and a few ounces of bug spray will save you days of itchy misery. Also, chiggers. (Don’t google pictures.)
  5. Owning an umbrella and knowing when to bring it are two different things and are both significant aspects of having your life together. Happy medium: Keep one in your car.  
  6. Leave early. Not to speak evil into your life, but you will probably catch the red lights (all of them), there will probably be construction that was not there the day before, there will probably be a fender bender (aka 5 cop cars, 8 ambulances, and 12 fire trucks) and you will probably be rerouted around the outskirts of North Dakota before you get to your destination that was originally 6 miles away.
  7. Have an emergency stockpile of canned green chile at all times.
  8. If you feel nervous about the person walking by you, make small talk with them. First and foremost because someone shared something on Facebook once that said attackers are less likely to come at ya if you do, and you should believe everything you see on social media. But I mostly do it because I honestly would never try to kill someone who said, “Man. Beautiful night, isn’t it? Lovin’ this rain we’ve been getting!” Even if I had planned on killing them before, I definitely couldn’t follow through after an affirmative comment like that.
  9. Neither social media nor texting are adult venues for confrontation. They’re just not. They’re not. Please. Stop posting vague, passive-aggressive subtweets and give them a call like a grownup.
  10. There is a lot of Texan, Better-Than-Thou condescension. There are people with egos bigger (and louder) than their trucks and in my mind these folks had become the unofficial ambassadors of the state. However, my theory has been disproven and I’d like to clear it up by saying that there are a lot of really, really nice people here, and most of them don’t actually even know that there are good places besides Texas. But I’m not gonna be the one to tell them.

 

Well Done Wednesday // Agape Children’s Ministry

Hey guys,

Today’s Well Done Wednesday features a really cool ministry that I just recently learned about. Agape Children’s Ministry began in 1993 in Kisumu, Kenya. It was founded by Darla Calhoun who was working as a nurse in community health in villages and small towns around Kisumu. She always saw little boys when she came to town for supplies. They were hungry, dirty and desperate, and she knew she was the one who needed to do something about it.

She started out by giving them bags of peanuts and pieces of soap to bathe with. Naturally, the more children she helped, the more flocked to her. Eventually, she rented a house, hired a guard and a cook and took in 5 boys off the streets to come live in “Agape”. By 1995, she had 16 boys. Today, there are three main campuses, operated by a Kenyan staff of more than 70 people, including teachers, guards, cooks, administrative personnel and parents.

They are able to reach scores of young boys through several different means:

Main Campus | This is a 1.5-acre campus with two dorms and 96 beds. The primary goal is to rescue hurting boys off the streets and show them  the redeeming love of Christ. The boys go through a three-week transition class, devotionals, weekly worship services and are led by a staff that values discipleship. This ministry is not long-term, but rather helps the children get reintegrated into their families and homes.

The Farm | This 10-acre farm is a vocational training center where boys can learn and study either masonry, carpentry or mechanics and learn about agriculture at the same time. It’s overseen by missionaries and run by 17 Kenyan nationals. It allows the boys an escape from crazy city life, they are tutored in their academics, study their trade and continue to be discipled in their faith.  To see these boys off the street and loving their academics and learning a trade is a really cool thing. Check out the link for more info.

Agape Girls | A very new branch, Agape Girls was opened in 2012 and is working to help girls in Kenya get off the streets and restore their lives. They go through a process of reintegration that is similar to the boys’ program. While new, this branch is growing and is definitely awesome. Click the link for more info.

Another really cool thing that I encourage you to check out is Gifts of Hope. You can purchase hand-made ornaments or simple e-cards and select the amount of money you want to give. Christmas is right around the corner and you have the opportunity bless many different people with a gift like this. Click the link to check out the gift catalog or see the numerous ways you can get involved with this ministry.

This is an incredible ministry full of good people doing good things for good reasons. I hope you’ll take a look at all they’re doing, and all they’re going to do.

Cheers,

Allison

Well Done Wednesday // Hookers for Jesus

Hey kiddos! It’s Well Done Wednesday! The purpose of this blog series is to highlight good people doing good things for good reasons. Last week, I told you guys about Rescue Her, and you can read my post about it here or you can go straight to their website here.

Today, the organization I want you to check out is Hookers for Jesus. I know. I was a little confused at first too. This organization in Las Vegas was founded in 2005 by Annie Lobert, a former prostitute and drug addict who desperately yearned for money, nice things, revenge against men, but ultimately – love. She quickly fell into a downward 11-year spiral of darkness, searching for something – SOMEONE to save her. After hitting rock bottom, she knew that Jesus was the only option she had left. You can read her full testimony here. Today, she’s carrying out the calling on her life to go back to the strip where she became a slave to darkness, and share God’s love with the girls who are still enslaved.

She’s doing this through numerous projects:

Destiny House| this is a transitional house for teens/women who are trying to get out of their old lifestyles of prostitution and drugs without resorting to homelessness. At the moment, they are looking for a larger location for this house.

Ladies of Destiny| this is a support group for women who’ve been/still are working in this industry. There are weekly meetings for Ladies of Destiny and there’s sure to be fun, friendship and lots of food! Most of you reading this are probably not located in Las Vegas, but everybody knows somebody somewhere, so I still encourage you to check it out! For more information, click the link.

KISS| Keeping Innocent Sisters Safe works with local jail/prison ministries. Their outreaches “have included personal visitation, mentoring, Bible studies, cultural events, provision of literature for libraries, all designed to improve the quality of life behind bars.” The ministry also helps underage prostitutes, and aids the women incarcerated in making the transition into their normal lives.

Saturday Night Love| SNL is an outreach to the ladies working on the Las Vegas strip as prostitutes or human trafficking victims. This is simply to let each lady know that they’re precious, loved and valued by their community. This ministry has turned into “an incredible outpouring of love with gift bags of luxury bath items, perfume, makeup and Bibles with coffee & restaurant gift cards”.

This is a growing ministry and they rely heavily on your donations and support. If you’re looking for a good cause to give to, I encourage you to consider this one. Click here to see a full list of support/funds/items needed, and click here to make your donation. If you have more questions, shoot them an email at info@hookersforjesus.net.

Cheers,

Allison

Well Done Wednesday // Rescue Her

Hey there,

Welcome to “Well Done Wednesday”. That’s a lot of alliteration. Anyway, the purpose of this blog series is to highlight good people who are doing good things for good reasons. If you don’t know this about me, my future career aspirations include shooting documentaries for and promoting Christian non-profit organizations. This is very important to me because I believe that meeting physical needs and meeting spiritual needs go hand-in-hand. You can feed a child’s body, but if you don’t feed their soul, you’re ultimately not doing them any good. I’m doing this because I want you to become aware of organizations or ministries that are not only meeting physical needs, but spiritual needs. I’m also doing this because I want you to consider supporting them and/or getting involved with their ministry.

The first organization I want to tell you about is Rescue Her. Rescue Her is a non-profit organization in the Dallas/Fort Worth area that fights human trafficking around the world. I share a passion with the people from Rescue Her in our sincere desire to give a voice to the voiceless and take a stand against injustice by whatever means necessary. Their vision is to Raise Awareness, Raise Funds, Rescue and Restore.

 

Some of their Gospel-centered projects include:

Glam Girls  | this is an outreach in the US that prevents human trafficking of minors. This is a very real problem, yes, in the United States, and even right here in Texas. Teen and pre-teen girls are ministered to through free makeovers and practical education in the communities where they live. Check out the link for more info.

India Rescue Home | India is home to 5.3 million children forced into human trafficking. This is a place for underage girls that have been victims of abuse to “get healing, restoration, education, counseling, medical care, and the loving home they need.”

India Prevention | To think that you can help prevent a young girl from being forced into labor trafficking, sex trafficking and exploitation is a really huge deal. You can sponsor a high risk girl for $35 a month. Check this out. Click the link to become a sponsor.

Zoe Coffee  | This is the original Rescue Her Project and is perfect for all of you coffee lovers. “Zoe” represents one girl, one life that matters – one life that needs rescuing. Obviously, this has to do with you purchasing some delicious coffee – check out the Zoe Coffee link to read the full story and purchase your first bag of this glorious stuff.

Consider what you can do to get involved with some of these projects, and check out their website to find out how you can become a volunteer and commit to praying for their ministry. Rescue Her is doing big things, and I really encourage you guys to check them out and consider supporting them in the fight against human trafficking.

Cheers,

Allison