Turning places into Places

            The shop was filled with people and the sounds of coffee being ground and milk being steamed. Sunlight was streaming in through windows, landing on tables surrounded by friends, families, and strangers. It was bustling without being chaotic. No one realized that the girl sitting in the leather armchair in the corner (me) was trying to find a new coffee home.

I left many things and people behind in Waco—places and people that I miss every day. Waco became home during the four years I spent there. Common Grounds—my coffee home in Waco—was my hub for the majority of those years. It’s where I met up with friends, made friends, worked, laughed, felt at home even while feeling homesick. It was my Place. That’s what I’m looking for here in Nashville. I doubt I’ll ever find another Common Grounds—but I hope my doubts are unfounded. I hope I find a place where I meet just as many wonderful people; where they learn my name and what I like to drink; where I can feel at home in a new and—at least for now—strange city. A place to make my Place.

I tried the first coffee shop on my list today. Yes, there is a list. How are you supposed to conduct a thorough evaluation of a city’s coffee offerings without a list? Crema is located in the SoBro (South of Broadway) area of Nashville and, though it’s a bit far away from my apartment, I really loved the atmosphere. The baristas were friendly and the chairs were full, though the shop never felt crowded. It felt cozy and lived-in—the kind of place where life happens. Not just work or meetings or quick get-togethers, but actual complicated, messy, joyful, wondrous life. I was only there for an hour, so I suppose it’s possible I’m mistaken in my first impression, but for the time being I’ll take it as a good sign that I gathered such an impression so quickly.

My cappuccino was delicious and they even offer coffee classes (which I fully intend on taking part in once I’m able to stop pinching my pennies quite so tightly). Their espresso (at least, the one they were featuring today) seemed quite bright and acidic. I tend to prefer bolder, deeper coffee with more body—just a personal preference. That being said, this is a quality shop that produces quality coffee and exceptional drinks. 

 Crema has the potential to be a new coffee home—but like I said, it’s only the first shop on my list. I’ve got a little more exploring to do before I weasel my way onto a shop’s Regulars list. I believe it’s important to have your Place wherever it is you live. Your very own Cheers or Central Perk—the Place where you know them and they know you and you can always go when you need a lift. I happen to think that coffee shops make great Places, but you’ve got to find what works for you. Maybe it’s a book or music store (those still exist, right?). Perhaps it’s a bar (careful) or a café you eat at several times a week. 

Finding and making a place your Place takes time, persistence, and a bit of courage to put yourself out there, but they are so worth it. I can’t imagine my time in Waco without Common Grounds. Now, I’m looking for the Place that will make my season in Nashville just as wonderful...maybe even more so. 

For more information on Crema, check out their website: http://www.crema-coffee.com/

Simple Thoughts on a Great Hall and its Many Rooms

Let me begin by saying that the blogosphere probably doesn’t need yet another response to Rachel Held Evans’ article on millennials and the church, and it certainly doesn’t need one written by me. I have no deep, innovative insight to bring to the conversation. Neither do I have extensive knowledge of complex theological concepts. And I especially don’t have charts, numbers, or studies to back up what I say (mostly because I hate math). 

All of that being said, lately I’ve read many blogs and articles and taken part in many conversations (both over the internet and in person) concerning the church, its teachings, and faith in general. All of these conversations have gotten my wheels turning, which I count as a good thing. Wheels turning means something is happening, something is being processed. If wheels aren’t turning it means something is missing. I process things best through talking or writing about them, ergo, here we all are.

When I think of God, our powerful, wonderful Almighty God, I think of complexity. Lucky for us He has made some things relatively simple for us (emphasis on the relatively). Thinking of God Himself, though? I’m not sure how anyone could call him anything other than complex. I find evidence of this in creation...dynamic, complex, vibrant creation. Every person, animal, and plant is unique. Things change over time, people change over time, climates change over time. Creation is the definition of dynamic. And yet it is also consistent. It’s predictable to an extent. The natural laws, as we know them, provide order in the midst of chaos. In that I see a hint of God’s unchangingness (my computer is trying to tell me that isn’t a real world, but I’m going to use it anyway. Take that, Microsoft Word).

So here’s my thought: if creation is capable of simultaneously reflecting both the dynamic and unchanging aspects of its Creator, why can’t the church, the very body of Christ, do the same? I adore the foreword to C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity because he discusses this in such a clear, yet beautifully illustrated way. Undoubtedly there are certain tenants of the Christian faith in which everyone who would call themselves a follower of Christ must believe. But surely there are also elements of the life lived for Christ that need not look the exact same for everyone. There are constants, but isn’t there also room for the kind of dynamic variety we find in creation?

Lewis describes the ‘constants’ of our faith as “a hall out of which doors open into several rooms”. Finding one’s way into the hall is of the utmost importance, but it is choosing a room with “fires and chairs and meals” that leads to the kind of community I believe God always intended his church to embody. Lewis encourages us to choose a ‘door’ based not on its “paint and paneling,” but by asking the important questions: “’Are these doctrines true: Is holiness here? Does my conscience move me towards this? Is my reluctance to knock at this door due to my pride, or my mere taste, or my personal dislike of this particular door-keeper?’” (xv)

What is wonderful about this idea of simultaneous unchangingness and dynamic variety, this great hall and its many rooms, is that it “suggests that at the centre of each there is a something, or a Someone, who against all divergencies of belief, all differences of temperament, all memories of mutual persecution, speaks with the same voice” (xii). We all need to be careful to remember that it is not the hearth, nor the meals, nor even the other people in the rooms that bind us together. It is the one responsible for building the hall in the first place.

So what do all of these rooms have to do with the Evans’ article and the internet tizzy it generated? So much of the language and so many of the ideas I read (both in the article and in responses to it) imply that there are only two rooms in such a hall: a right room and a wrong one. By all means let’s discuss the goings-on of our rooms and hall! But let’s leave the arrogance out of it, shall we? Let’s stop pretending that all of the secrets and truths are hidden in a single room, or within a single generation. This ‘room’ you’ve found yourself in? It was inhabited long before you entered, and will continue to be so long after you’ve left it for an even grander hall. Become a part of what came before you and help to grow it into something that will stand long after you’ve departed. But as long as our ‘discussions’ are full of accusations, arrogance, and “you just don’t understand” statements we will do nothing but tear the room, and each other, apart.

So let’s discuss! Remember how there’s space for both the constant and the dynamic? Let’s find common ground in the constant and recognize in each other the kindred spirits of this royal priesthood of which we are all, unbelievably, allowed to be a part. Perhaps then we’ll be able to approach discussions and disagreements (because they are inevitable) with love and humility. Perhaps then the discussions will produce fruit and greater understanding. Perhaps we’ll stop pelting the doors of other rooms with hate and disdain, and start meeting for family dinners in the great room of the hall we all share. 

So you see, I don’t have any fresh insights into why millennials are leaving the church, or any radically divergent opinion on whether or not such a phenomenon exists at all. I have an idea that there’s more than one way of doing things. I have an idea that there are some things that should be the same for all of us, those things that are represented by Lewis’ ‘great hall’. I have an idea that the focus needs to be on bringing people into the great hall in the first place. From there, with the Spirit and a mentor as guides, an individual can find which room they desire to be a part of. It shouldn’t be a choice made lightly or without prayer and careful thought, but it is ultimately a choice made by an individual. Let’s focus on making sure that, whichever room they choose, they are welcomed joyously into a community striving to love their God and Savior, one another, and the world.

All quotes taken from Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, published by HarperCollins in 2001.

Sarah's Rules for Packing (Guidelines, They're Actually Guidelines)

Summer is often the season for travel, which inevitably leads to suitcases and intense bouts of frustration. Since many I know are set to jet off at some point in the coming months, whether it be near or far, I decided to dwell for a bit on the subject of packing and share what little wisdom I've picked up during preparations for my own travels. Hopefully my musings are something of a help to someone out there! Before beginning, I should note that pretty much everything I'm about to offer is geared toward women. I'm afraid you men will be a bit left out of this post. My apologies. Here we go...

1. Do as the French do. Really, when is this not a good rule to live by? Kissing, pastry-making, Coco Chanel...it is rarely a bad idea to follow in French footsteps. Living in Europe, and in Paris in particular, however, leaves one with very little closet space. It is for this reason that French women tend to have relatively small, yet fabulous, wardrobes. Rather that having oodles of clothes, they have an assortment of classic pieces they wear much more frequently in a variety of creative combinations. I recommend this line of thinking when packing. Pick out the clothes you wear the most (and therefore presumably like best), and see how many combinations you can make. Add any pieces you deem necessary (using discretion, of course) to allow for the greatest number of combinations using the fewest number of pieces. It may mean you have to wash your clothes a bit more often, but it will also allow you to pick up a few pieces overseas.
2. There are, in my opinion, a few essentials no woman should travel without: a good, classic pair of black pumps (ones you can actually walk in), a classic black dress that can be dressed up for a date or night out on the town, and a black bathing suit. Okay, technically the bathing suit doesn't have to be black, it just provides a nice sense of symmetry to the rule. You just never know when a bathing suit will come in handy.
3. In terms of shoes, all of the books and movies that make it seem like sassy, chic 3 inch heels are totally wearable, particularly on the cobblestone streets of many a European city, are complete and utter bullshit. On the rare occasion that you are required to make it work in heels you will likely be miserable the entire time, so it really isn't worth bringing more than one pair, two at the absolute most. Use the room in your suitcase for flats and sandals instead, a couple of casual pairs as well as a dressy set or two. You will also be walking a lot more than you're used to. You're feet will inevitably begin to hurt quite a bit, probably within your first 48 hours there. For this reason, bring insoles. The Dr. Scholls aisle at CVS is your new best friend. Seriously, insoles aren't just for old ladies. They'll keep you from constantly wanting to cut off your own feet and chuck 'em out the window.
4. Be honest with yourself about working out. If you're actually going to exercise while you're over there, by all means pack the clothes and shoes you need. If you want to exercise while you're over there, but probably won't, use the room for an extra top or dress. But, really.
5. Books. You won't get any summer reading done while you're over there. Don't bring it with you. Fun reading can be bought once you're over there. The printing press was invented in Europe for goodness' sake...they have books.
6. On the off chance your luggage is lost on the way over, make sure you have the essentials with you. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, the bare minimum of make-up (enough to make you look human after a transatlantic flight), a change of underwear and perhaps a top. Pants can last an extra day or two if need be.
7. Just buy a hair straightener and/or curling iron once you're over there. Adapters and converters are notoriously unreliable and are just as likely to burst into flame (it does happen, I can attest to that fact) as they are to work properly. And if you plan on traveling abroad again at some point, you'll already be set with the necessary hair tools. 

Happy packing!

Earthquakes & Aftershocks

I am a big fan of Taylor Swift. Say what you will about her voice, her music, her serial dating…girlfriend knows how to turn her complicated, abstract emotions into beautiful, articulate lyrics that speak to the soul of any girl who’s had her heart broken. I envy her that particular ability. I love to write (forgive me for stating what I hope is the obvious), but I find it almost impossible to properly describe my heartache. It seems too big, too complicated, too elusive to accurately put into words. But then tonight, sitting in bed, I had my Taylor Swift moment. I suddenly had the words.

It’s like an earthquake. It throws you off balance, disorients you, makes everything you thought was secure become terrifyingly flimsy. Everything you worked so hard to put together, all the details and order of your life, is thrown into disarray and chaos. For some people it only takes one earthquake before they move on in an attempt to find some place without tremors, where the earth doesn’t pull itself out from under them without warning. Others try to ride it out. They put everything, each picture frame, book and vase, back in its proper place. Some will take measures to protect themselves against future damage. Move to a safer building, buy a generator, keep bottled water handy. They know there will be future earthquakes, so they do their best to be prepared.

And then there are those of who have lived so long in the realm of earth-shattering days that we know the patterns well enough to avoid surprise…most of the time. We know to expect the aftershock. People think the earthquake is the scary part, and of course it is. Your world collapses, and you’re never sure until its over whether or not you’ll be able to put it back together. But what is even more terrifying is the idea of putting everything back in order, managing to feel secure and calm again, and being completely blind sighted by the aftershock. Suddenly you find yourself back in the shattered chaos, just when you thought you were safe again. But if you know it’s coming, it isn’t nearly as traumatic. If you know to expect another round of disorienting fear and pain, you can prepare yourself, and at the very least avoid the added pain of surprise.

Maybe you’re like me and have lived for years in an area prone to earthquakes…some so small you barely notice, others so big you look at the rubble and are unable to see the remnants of the past or any hope for the future. You become so accustomed to the sickeningly cyclical pattern of rebuilding, normality, and destruction that you forget there is any other kind of existence. Doesn’t everyone live this way? In a way we do. But there is a difference between those who experience the occasional, inevitable disaster, and those who choose to plant themselves in the middle of the danger zone.

So what do you do? Do you keep living in the danger zone? Or do you decide, finally, that enough is enough, pack up your life and leave the rubble behind? The world is never going to stop shaking, but anyone could tell you the fault lines aren’t suited to longevity. I’ve decided I’m moving away from the danger zone. I can’t live in a glass house built on a fault line and expect anything but shards and splinters. Maybe it’s possible to build an earthquake-proof house…but you can’t do it alone. I can’t do it alone. 
 

Lots of New, Lots of Doubt

            Goodness, it’s been so long since I’ve written! Maybe the urge to do so now is the result of the change in weather. Autumn is, after all, my favorite season, and the signs of its impending arrival have my skin and spidey-senses tingling. So much has happened so far this semester...where do I even begin?

            A couple of not so great things have come about. I realized, somewhat belatedly, that I am behind in credit hours, which translates into me needing to overload my last two semesters. While this isn’t my ideal situation, I trust in God’s provision to help me successfully get through it. I’ve also been dealing with a stubborn illness. I’m on my fourth round of Strep since June, with the last three rounds coming almost back-to-back in the last month. It’s been discouraging and frustrating, as well as downright inconvenient! But, praise the Lord, I am finally starting to feel better with this latest antibiotic. I just pray I continue to get better and heal, and stay healthy until December when I can get these blasted tonsils removed!

            Well that’s enough of the less-than-wonderful for now. I’m a silver lining kind of person (somewhat frustratingly so, I’ve been told before), so naturally I looked for them in these situations. Both have forced me to rely on the Lord, His provision and strength and, even though that isn’t always fun, it is a genuinely good thing.

            What I really want to talk about this go-around is identity. It’s popped up on my radar consistently this semester, and I have a feeling it will continue to. My college years have brought new people into my life at an astonishing rate, blessing me with new relationships as well as reconfiguring some old ones. I’ve recently started dating someone, and on top of all of that is the wonderful/terrifying experience of growing up (whatever that actually means). That’s a lot of new to process.

            How does all of that new influence who I am as a person? How does it impact my identity? Great questions. Confusing answers. I’ve learned a lot about myself because of the people who have entered my life…I’m a coffee addict, I love mornings but am actually a night owl, few things make me happier than receiving flowers, I appreciate thoughtfulness, being ignored may be the thing I hate the most, I love long conversations with the people I love…all of things I discovered through or because of my relationships with people very different from myself. I don’t actually have very many friends who are markedly similar to me. There are common interests and shared personality traits, but a host of important differences as well. I feel all the more blessed for that fact.

            But it hasn’t all been self-discovery. There has been a lot of self-doubt thrown in the mix, especially when my own opinions and feelings start to change. It’s easy for others, and even myself, to wonder if such changes are personal growth or the result of influence from the people in my life. Do I actually want to do this, or am I doing it because it’s something they like doing? Do I agree with that, or is it just easier than disagreeing? Sometimes such doubts are valid, and even if they aren’t the questions they raise can be constructive and inspire valuable self-evaluation.

            Often, however, those doubts can become things Satan exploits in order to breed more doubt and insecurity in my life. Instead of feeling secure in my relationship with someone, I start to doubt myself and the strength of our connection. I’m talking about friendships, romantic relationships, as well as relationships with family. Satan loves nothing more than to cause tension and division, and one of the easiest ways to do that is to take advantage of the doubts we have about our own identity.

            That’s why I’ve found it is so incredibly important to root my identity in the Lord and who HE says I am. Knowing what He has to say about my identity serves as a filter for all of the smaller stuff. My likes, dislikes and opinions may change, but as long as I am faithfully pursuing and obeying the Lord, I can remain confident that the core of who I am remains unchanged. I also have to remember how much I love the differences in my friends and family…I would be disappointed if they tried to alter themselves in order to become more like me! I love them because of who they are. Why do I doubt that they feel the same way about me?

            Identity is tricky. It’s constantly changing and adapting based on the people and experiences life throws our way. But that’s why it is wonderfully imperative that we maintain an intimate relationship with God. He fulfills our identity, is constantly transforming us into the person He always meant for us to be, the very best version of ourselves. If we listen He will guide us…grant us peace when we’re living as we should, allow feelings of discontent when we’re pretending to be something we’re not. How blessed are we! Identity is a complex road to navigate, but I’m lucky enough to walk hand-in-hand with my God who paves the way before me. 

Curves Ahead

A Flawed Pursuit

I ran across the phrase “a flawed and imperfect pursuit” in my Bible study this morning, and it stuck with me. The study this week is, fittingly, over Sarah. I’m starting to think I share more with her than a name. She had control issues, liked to take things into her own hands, loved the Lord but often doubted His power…hers was a dedicated pursuit, but a flawed one. Oh yes, I share quite a bit with my namesake.

For most of my life I have been the ‘good girl’, making the right choices and doing what I should. It was a title I was proud of, until it started to chafe. The past few years, I’ve realized, have been a precarious balancing act between wanting to continue being the ‘good girl’ with a heart for the Lord, and wanting to prove that there’s more to me, that I can be just like everyone else and make bad decisions and mistakes. Talk about a flawed pursuit.

The wonderful thing about it is I’m not the only one doing the pursuing. My Savior, my Jesus, pursued me perfectly and wonderfully and saved my soul. My Father is in constant pursuit, through His Holy Spirit, of my whole heart. So while my pursuit is flawed and imperfect, His is perfect. He could change my heart instantaneously, put an end to the balancing game once and for all, but instead He chooses to lead me through the process of gradual transformation. When I fall or wander off and my pursuit starts to sputter, He meets me and draws me in again. Isn’t that amazing? In order that we might pursue Him better, God pursues us.

Ultimately it’s reassuring to know that my pursuit of God is actually a journey I take with Him. His mercies are new every morning and His Spirit is always with me, guiding me. The journey hasn’t always been, and won’t always be, smooth and without its troubles. But I know where it will leave me. I will end up in the loving arms of the God who moved heaven and earth to save me, who died so all the flaws could be left behind. What an incredible pursuit.

Changes

            It’s that time of year again (for some of us anyway)…graduation! Even those of us who aren’t walking across a stage feel a sense of change around this time. Some part of the routine we’ve spent the last year building is now going to change. I’m thankful for the fairly nontraditional college experience I’ve had (two colleges in different states, studying abroad in two countries) because it’s made me a little less susceptible to the stress and anxiety that usually accompanies major change. Here are the valuable lessons God has taught me about change in the past three years…

            #1. Our countdown is not the same as God’s. We think of countdowns in terms of the next big event happening in our lives…3 weeks until graduation, 2 months until the wedding, just a few more days until see each other again. But God’s countdown is so much bigger! His plans don’t end and begin anew with each new milestone in our lives…it’s all the same plan for Him! That is so immense a thought I can’t really grasp it, and yet I find incredible comfort in it. And you should, too.

            #2. If there is an end, there is also a beginning just around the corner. We tend to focus so much on what we’re losing, and forget to anticipate all the new and wonderful things God is about to bring into our lives. We don’t like to let go of dreams, or the things that make us feel comfortable, but if we can figure out how to we’ll be much more ready for whatever God has planned next.

            #3. Don’t get too caught up in missing or anticipating. When we focus too much on mourning what we’ve lost, or guessing what the next step will be, we miss the things we should be savoring in the moment. Let’s be honest, one of the best parts about making a cake is sneaking tastes of the batter. So appreciate the ingredients and anticipate the finished product, but be sure to savor the batter too. The end result will taste so much sweeter if you do.

            These are the lessons that God has taught me, but I still struggle with them. Patience is not something I have in spades, so waiting on God and His timing can be extremely difficult at times. But He has been so faithful in teaching me these lessons through experiences, and looking back on the past three years there is no way I can doubt their truth and His goodness is fulfilling them. So for everyone going through a season of change…savor it and look for the lessons God’s teaching you. I promise they’re there.

Who knows where the path leads...

Bigger & Better

You can do good...

 Here’s the thing: an imagination is a terrible thing to waste, but it can also be a royal pain in the ass.

As previously mentioned, I devour books like a toddler downs candy on Halloween. I get lost in the pages of dialogue, adventure and far-away places. I fall in love with characters, laugh with them and cry for them. When I write, I write as if uncovering a story and getting to know the characters, not as if I’m making it all up.

When I dream of something, I tend to dream pretty big. Tilden and I have this thing we call “dream-scheming”. The dream is outrageous enough to be completely unrealistic, but just for funsies we think of completely rational ways in which it could come true anyway. I am a pro at dream-scheming.

As you’ve read, however, such a well-developed imagination can be an enormous pain in the ass. It leads to expectations, and those often lead to disappointment. Disappointment leads to disillusion, which forces us right back into imagination’s arms. We never really learn…it’s a vicious cycle.

But here’s something God has been teaching me: He’s the one that gave me my imagination; He created it. Anything I come up with in this puny little head of mine, He can outdo faster than you can say, “I’m engaged to Jake Gyllenhaal” (if only). When I look back, though things might not have played out like I imagined, I wouldn’t change a thing.

You see, my dreams and schemes have a very narrow scope. I think of me, my life, one event, one lifetime…God things big and eternal. His plans involve everyone, every life, all events, and eternity. So while my musings on how exactly I’m gonna get that proposal from Mr. Gyllenhaal may be fabulous, they’re so incredibly narrow. It’s like trying to plan a cross-country road trip with a map of only one city.

Dreams are wonderful, and an imagination truly is a terrible thing to waste. But our unlimited, unbound imaginations are undeniably limited and bound when compared to the ultimate creative mind…God’s. So dream and imagine, friends, and then watch as God puts all your plans to shame with something even greater.

...but God can do way better.

Shooting Stars

Oh how He loves us.

I have just had one of the most amazing experiences of my life. It brought tears to my heart and joy to my heart. But I need to start from the beginning.

I got frustrated tonight. Frustrated that people I love and care about don’t always act in ways that show they love and care for me…that the people I love aren’t perfect. I began to think about Jesus and his friends. Jesus, the Son of God, had friends that abandoned Him, betrayed Him, doubted Him…and He still loved them, enough to die a criminal’s death on a cross. Surely if Christ can love those who turned their backs on Him I can resist the temptation to give in to my frustration.

I realized that I had, yet again, let the day go by without spending any real time with my God. I decided to take advantage of the clear night and gaze out my window at God’s beautiful creation in the stars. I listened to Phil Wickham’s song “Beautiful” as I gazed, and I sat there truly amazed at how beautiful the sky was, and how beautiful my God is. I poured out my heart to Him, the pain and frustration I felt, and the need I had to know that someone cared about me enough to show me their love.

I remembered a passage I had read in “Captivating”, a favorite book of mine. The author tells about a time when she was walking on a beach and asked God for a ‘present’, a special gift just for her. God blessed her with one (I won’t spoil the story, you’ll have to read the book for yourself!). I asked God if He would send me a shooting star…not as proof, not as evidence, but as a gift. Then I asked myself, “Who am I to ask the God of the universe to send me a gift?”

I closed my eyes, reflecting on His great and mighty love, listening to the lyrics of the song. I opened my eyes…and watched as a bright star fell from the sky, its blazing tail glowing behind it. God has sent me a star…not as proof, not as evidence, but as a gift of love. It was one of the most intimate moments I have ever had with my Creator, and I couldn’t keep the tears from flowing down my face.

My first instinct was to wake my friend and tell her, or call my mom and share the story. A voice in my head said, “Of course you want to share it, show it off. Why can’t you just enjoy this moment with God?” And then, oddly, the song “Go Tell it on the Mountain” popped into my head. God commands us to go and tell, not sit and keep quiet! He gave me this wonderful, intimate gift not just for my own benefit, but so that I might go and tell of His awesome and mighty love!

So this is me telling it. This is me saying…frustrations will come, as will pain and hurt and stress and fear. But through it all there is a mighty, awesome, strong and faithful God of love who desires to draw near to us. A God who sends us shooting stars.

LORD, our Lord, 
   

how majestic is your name in all the earth!

You have set your glory 
   

in the heavens. 


Through the praise of children and infants 
   

you have established a stronghold against your enemies, 
   

to silence the foe and the avenger. 


When I consider your heavens, 
   

the work of your fingers, 
the moon and the stars, 
   

which you have set in place, 


what is mankind that you are mindful of them, 
   

human beings that you care for them?

You have made them a little lower than the angels 
   

and crowned them with glory and honor. 


You made them rulers over the works of your hands; 
   

you put everything under their feet: 


all flocks and herds, 
  

 and the animals of the wild, 


the birds in the sky, 
   

and the fish in the sea, 
   

all that swim the paths of the seas.

LORD, our Lord, 
   

how majestic is your name in all the earth!

            -Psalms 8

Don’t go through today frustrated or in pain. Turn to God; pour out your heart to Him. He will meet you there with shooting stars and so much more.

Solo in Scotland

It’s Monday afternoon and I am on a train bound for London. My solo-weekend in Scotland didn’t go exactly as planned, but it was wonderful nonetheless. Let’s start at the beginning…

Something you should know about the UK in wintertime: it gets dark early. We’re talking between three and four in the afternoon and the sun is not setting, it has already bid this side of world farewell for the night. I got into Edinburgh just after two, but by the time I made it to my hotel and back out again in search of lunch it was already after three and getting dark. I left my map in my room and stubbornly refused to believe that I would be unable to find my way around the city without it. Two sets of directions and an hour and a half later and I managed to arrive back at my hotel. I had found lunch despite the fact that many places close down between lunchtime (1 or 2) and dinnertime (6 or 7). I had gotten close to tears several times, frustrated with myself that I didn’t plan my trip better (or at all).

My friend Will was in Edinburgh for the night with his friend Paula, and after an acceptable spell of self-pity I ventured out again to join them for a ghost tour of the city (I remembered my map this time). I found them without trouble, luckily. Granted I met them on the Royal Mile, one of Edinburgh’s biggest attractions; it would have been particularly shameful if I had gotten lost attempting to find it. The tour was entertaining and informative, though not particularly scary or creepy (a fact I was more than fine with, seeing as I am a huge chicken). I’ll spare you the details of the rest of the night, but let’s leave it at this: we hit up two different pubs and the mulled mead stall at the Christmas Fair.

After a day/night spent mostly outside in the wind and occasional rain, it’s really no surprise that I woke up the next morning with my throat feeling like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper. By the time I got ready I knew it was a full-blown cold, and I would have to save some of my grander plans for a different visit. I gathered my strength, however, and went to explore the city by day, bundled up with camera in tow. I quickly grew frustrated again with my lack of planning. Don’t get me wrong; I think spontaneity is an integral part of travel. Planning every minute of every day of your trip is the one sure-fire way to ensure you won’t truly experience the place you’re visiting. But I don’t mind general outlines, a list of things to see and do (and knowledge of how to get to them), as well as a few places to eat or grab coffee.

Just as I was berating myself for choosing the first time I travelled alone to also be the first time I decided to not research the place I was visiting, I passed by the tourist information center. Now, I usually avoid any place with the word ‘tourist’ in its name, but I was desperate. It turned out to be the best decision I made whilst in Edinburgh, because I found a fantastic little book called “The Locals’ Guide To Edinburgh”. It followed through on the promise implied in its name, as every place I went to at its recommendation was free of the drippings of corporate monotony and touristy gimmicks. My only regret was that I hadn’t found the guide before I arrived in Edinburgh, because there were so many wonderful things it recommended that I no longer had the time to do.

I picked the café Patisserie Florentin out of the ranks of recommended places for coffee and a bite to eat. It was further north than I’d yet been, so the walk allowed me to see a new part of the city. I adored the walk as well as the small, bright-yellow café it led me to. Patisserie Florentin is shamelessly French in a Scottish city, and while their coffee wasn’t the best, the food was exactly what I needed. Delicious pasta in a tomato-based sauce with a bit of a kick, melt-in-your-mouth garlic bread, and a small salad with only the good stuff and a light dressing were all perfectly portioned and lovingly prepared. My soul was revived and I spent the meal lavishing attention on my wonderful travel companion that had led me there (that would be the guidebook, not some ruggedly handsome Scotsman I met along the way. Wish I could tell you differently, though).

Afterwards I decided I should go find some medicine for my cold and spend some time hanging out with the radiator in my hotel room. On the way, though, I passed by an adorable teashop with a chalkboard sign out front that read “Christmas Chai Latte”. Like I was gonna pass that up. This is what I mean by spontaneity folks, letting your heart (or your addiction to all things Christmas related) guide you to the hidden treasures of a city. This was the second best decision I made whilst in Edinburgh. I’ll tell you more about the shop a little later (hint: I went back) but let me tell you, that Christmas Chai Latte was one of the best dang things I’ve ever had. I wished, and still do, that the shop, Eteaket, had a branch in London, because that drink assuaged my longing for Starbucks’ pumpkin spice latte like no other drink has been able to.

A little later, back in my hotel room, I curled up with my freshly brewed magic feel-better potion (a.k.a. cold medicine they make you think will taste something like lemon tea, but is actually like drinking liquid menthol) and a trashy romance novel I’d borrowed off one of my hotel’s communal bookshelves. The Jasmine Veil is quite possibly the most laughably bad and blatantly risqué book I’ve ever read, which meant is was perfect for a weekend alone while feeling sick. Seriously, all you women out there, this is one of my favorite ways to chill out while alone. Curl up by the fire with the trashiest romance you can find, drink a hot drink, and laugh. That night I ate dinner at another restaurant from the guidebook called ‘Bar Roma’. They deserve a paragraph of their own…

I chose Bar Roma because the guidebook said they had over 30 different pasta dishes, all of them delicious, and because it was close by. I walked into a restaurant so Italian I almost laughed. The waiters walked around with the tops of their shirts unbuttoned, thick gold chains around their necks shining, and talked with their hands like their lives depended on it. Frescos of Italy were painted on the wall and a synthetic tree sprouted from the middle of one section of the dining room. I’m not kidding. At the same time, I knew I’d found good food. My pasta was delicious, as was the garlic bread my waiter insisted I have (you know you’re in a real Italian restaurant when the waiters do all they can to stuff you with as much food as possible. It isn’t because they want you to spend more money, although that’s a plus, but because they want you to be full of wonderful food). The cheesecake that followed was good as well, though the coffee was not. The staff was friendly and affectionate to the blonde girl from the States eating by herself, a fact I was most appreciative of.

This morning I woke up early in spite of all my body’s objections and packed to leave. I went back to Eteaket to try their food and coffee, and grab a few other things. Allow me to paint you a picture of this place: their turquoise and fuchsia color scheme was bold and funky, but was offset by the delicate patterns of the wallpaper and vintage chinaware. Their specialty is obviously tea, and the two page menu devoted exclusively to their different varieties affirms it. My granola, fruit and yogurt tasted fresh and had a flair of presentation. And here’s the kicker: my coffee was actually quite good. It was smooth without being too creamy, and though the espresso shone through well there was no lingering aftertaste. It wasn’t the most extraordinary cappuccino I’ve had, but it was good.

Having been well fed I grabbed some of their chai tea (it smelled so good) and another coffee mug (don’t judge me). I grabbed my luggage from my hotel, caught a taxi to the train station, and am now rushing past the beautiful Scottish countryside. My cold is still mercilessly present, but at least I’m going ‘home’ where I can lie in bed without feeling guilty that I’m missing out on something. I’ll be going back to Scotland one day, and Edinburgh too. There’s something about it that captured my heart. It wasn’t immediate (see above) but more of a ‘Pride and Prejudice’ kind of thing; I didn’t realize how I felt until I was already knee-deep in it. But fall in love I did with a country that has its feet firmly planted in the present while at the same time refusing to let go of its rich past. You feel the pride and love that so famously infuse the country and its countrymen, even as you walk down a street crowded with tourists. There’s a ruggedness that even an abundance of Starbucks and kitschy souvenir shops can’t dispel.

Farewell, Scotland…I’ll see you again.

Reunited

A true friend is someone around whom you can be utterly yourself. You don’t filter what you say or how you say it, you can act like a goofball and be in a bad mood, because you know that they’ve seen you at your best and your worst and still choose to stick around. As it happens, I am lucky enough to be blessed with more than one true friend. This week, however, I spent quality time with just one of them.

She's here! 

Tilden was my roommate my freshman year of college at Washington & Lee. That year was one of the toughest of my life, but I’ve learned to see God’s design in it. One of those designs was Tilden. There is no doubt in my mind that if she hadn’t been my roommate, hadn’t become one of the best friends I’ve ever had, I wouldn’t have made it through that year. Most people think of a soulmate as the romantic love of their life…I think that definition is a bit narrow. For me a soulmate is someone God created with me in mind, just as He created me while thinking of them. There is a part of my soul that speaks to a part of theirs. That fact makes mistakes a little easier to forgive, love a little easier to share, challenges a little easier to face. I have a few soulmates that I know of, and Tilden is absolutely one of them.

In Kensington Gardens amongst the leaves.

If you doubt the depth of my affection for her, let me prove it with this: I woke up at 5:30 in the morning to pick her up from the airport. I epic-failed at getting there on time (I would share the whole story but it’s much too traumatic) but I did eventually find her. We only get to see another twice a year, once in the fall and once in the spring, so it had been eight months since I’d actually seen her. There really is nothing like hugging someone you haven’t seen in a long time; you can actually feel the love pass between you. Having successfully gathered her up we journeyed back to my place in South Ken. We grabbed lunch at Kensington Square Kitchen, one of my favorite spots for both food and coffee (something we both needed badly). Afterwards we walked around South Kensington and Kensington Gardens for a while, taking in all of the beautiful fall scenery.

At Covent Garden

Monday we woke up and made our way to Covent Garden for an outing before I had to be back for class. We’re both Christmas fanatics and loved seeing all of the decorations. We got cider that, contrary to my understanding, was apparently alcoholic (we were congratulated by the servers for ‘getting an early start’). We wandered around, finding cute places we wished we owned, and ended up in Trafalgar Square. From there we hit up Tapped & Packed for great coffee and talked about our plans for the coffee shop we plan to open one day. Dreams are even better when you have someone to share them with. After my class we made a trip to Harrods where the phrases ‘one day’ and ‘I could justify that’ were uttered so many times I lost count. We grabbed tea and cake at an extremely odd little café…we’re still debating whether it was more French or Turkish. For dinner that night we grabbed Thai food (a new experience for me) at a restaurant across from our hotel. We had Jesus talk and life talk and it was marvelous. Afterwards we stopped by Whole Foods where we got Strawberry beer and berry Chantilly cake, all of which we ate and drank whilst watching ‘Bridesmaids’ back in our room. Basically, it was the perfect way to start the week.

Beer, cake and a chick-flick...what more could you ask for?

Tuesday was our long day (I decided to skip my class…such a delinquent). We headed over to Brick Lane and the Spitalfields Market. We went in cute shops and vintage stores, and lusted after beautiful clothes and fun useless things. We had lunch in a great place called The Luxe, which isn’t as snazzy as it sounds (it was great, just not a shmancy as the name would have you believe). The food and drinks were delicious, and we found out they were going to ahve live music in their basement bar the next night. After lunch we decided to check out Kensington Palace and its ‘Enchanted Palace’ exhibit. If your reaction to that statement was: “Hmm, that sounds like it would be both incredibly interesting and utterly bizarre”, you were absolutely correct. I can’t even describe it, so I’m not going to try. It was weird but great; let’s leave it at that. We went to the Winter Wonderland fair in Hyde Park later that night, though I’m not sure either of us actually had the energy for it. We ended up glad to have gone, though. It was kind of like the Texas State Fair, but Christmas-y and more German. We had burgers and fries whilst listening to a great (and attractive) musician who was playing at the ice rink. We may or may not have gotten more beer and cake at Whole Foods. We also may or may not have watched ‘Stardust’ (a great movie, by the way; full of whimsy). It was another full day with another perfect ending.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Wednesday I had to go to work, but Tilden decided to come with me to that side of town. I dropped her at another of my favorite coffee places (sensing a theme?) with a promise to meet up for lunch. We did, at Farm Collective (great food), and afterwards I showed her around my museum. She headed off to the Museum of London while I finished up at work, but we met up again after I got off at St Ali’s (a great coffee place just around the corner from my museum). In all honesty I wasn’t in a great mood that day; the brisk pace we’d been functioning at finally caught up with me, and I was not at all pleasant to be around. Like a true friend, though, Tilden stuck it out and didn’t let me out of the Thai food/live music date we’d planned for that night. We got terrific pad thai at a little place called Rosa’s near Spitalfields, then hurried over to The Luxe to catch the music. The first act (which we actually thought was the only one) was good, but not the best of the night. We saw Nikki Murray, Morning Lane and Citizen, all wonderful bands (Morning Lane was our favorite though, not least because their lead singer looked like a mix of Javier Bardem and Jeffrey Dean Morgan in P.S. I Love You). We drank mojitos and Coronas, listened to awesome music, talked, laughed, and basically had a fantastic night.

At the Texas Embassy

Thursday was Thanksgiving and I had work again. Tilden decided to check out the British Museum and another coffee shop on my list. We met up after work for tea at the Muffin Man Tea Shop across the street from our hotel, which was delicious. The slump I’d experienced the day before hit Tilden that night, but we decided to push through and head to dinner at the Texas Embassy (not an actual diplomatic establishment) with a group from Baylor. We ended up being happy we did, of course. The Tex-Mex wasn’t the greatest, although I thought mine was pretty delicious, but it was a great way to spend the holiday. It felt like being back at home, and we were in great company. It didn’t hurt that our waiter was ‘absolutely precious’. We headed back that night and watched ‘The Holiday’  (it’s officially the Christmas season now, don’t judge). We fell asleep dreaming of Jude Law knocking on our door at three in the morning (it didn’t happen).

Friday was our last day, and I had asked to get off work a bit early so we could have another full day of adventures. Tilden headed off to St Paul’s and the central part of the city for the morning, but we met up for lunch when I got off work at 1. We were both a little worse for wear from the cold and a lack of food. Our wonderful lunch at The Fence turned us around, and we talked for over an hour while we finished our wine. We crashed for an hour when we got back to the hotel, and what a lovely nap it was. We did laundry at my place afterwards and I packed for my trip to Scotland. While the clothes were in the dryer we went to find dinner and ended up at a lovely place called Muriel’s Kitchen. We couldn’t have asked for a better last supper; it felt like being in someone’s kitchen, surrounded by people in a kind of community atmosphere. The food was delicious and we had another great talk while we finished off our drinks. We grabbed dessert to go, got the laundry and my suitcase from my place, and made for the hotel. We got showers and packed, then settled down to eat cake, drink beer and watch a movie (‘Catch and Release’ this time) for the last time…until March, anyway.

This morning she headed for the airport and I made for the train station; she’s on her way back to Virginia and I’m travelling towards Scotland. I’m sitting on my train, writing about the best week I’ve had in London and listening to a playlist I made for Tilden at the end of our freshman year. The songs all have titles like ‘I’m Only Me When I’m With You’, ‘Seasons of Love’, ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’, and ‘You Raise Me Up’; they make me smile and tear up at the same time.

'Till March... 

I already miss my best friend. Twice a year is not nearly enough, but it’s what we’ve got at this point in our lives. We had a week filled with adventures and new experiences, but my favorite part was the talking. We talked about Jesus, dreams, guys, dream guys, coffee, travel, family, friends, struggles, clothes…there was actually very little we didn’t talk about at some point. We laughed a lot and made plans for the next time we’ll be in the same place. My heart is full of love and joy right now, and I find it completely appropriate that the final song on the playlist just finished. In the words of Timone and Pumba: Hakuna Matata.