Christmas Time!

I'm trying to be better about embracing all that encompasses the Christmas season. Instead of hiding behind my walls of cynicism and judgement, I'm slowly attempting to walk towards seeing the good in things...which includes the hustle and bustle and bells and whistles that Christmas brings with it. Thankfully, living in Nicaragua brings lots of Christmas themed celebrations to enjoy as I slowly attempt to remove my grinch-like mask and step into Christmas. { But I'll never be okay with Christmas before Thanksgiving...the pilgrims and Indians deserve some celebrating too, people. }

Dinner of thankfulness with the key Vida Joven leaders from all over Managua!

Fancy dinner with the small group ladies. ( We clean up well, we know.)

Vida Joven cookie decorating committee - yes, we decorated over 70 Christmas cookies...

...to sell at our Vida Joven Christmas leadership with all leaders from Central Managua!

Making it snow in Nicaragua at Young Life club.

Young Life leaders eating pancakes and white elephant gifting together.

 

Took a study break from finals week with some of my favorite ( & craziest ) high school friends.

2nd Annual Cabin Time Christmas Cookie Decorating Par-tay!

failure.

I don't remember at what point in my life it began to happen. This unshakeable feeling of inadequacy.  Perhaps it's always been there, stirring within me. I was, after all, partly molded and formed by society - a society where having it all meant success and having it all together meant popularity. A society where happiness is judged by the amount of things in ones pocket and a small number on the scale. A society where somehow things outside of one's control were the only source of a sense of worthiness.

I can't pinpoint exactly when I began believing it. When I allowed myself to think this thought and then grab hold of it - tightly. Allowing it to continually make its unwanted path in my brain and snake it's way down into my very soul. This thought that can so easily trump all other truths. Even when my mind knows the difference in what is true and what is not, the thought is there. Waiting to prove itself right when everything else seems to go wrong.

I am a failure.

To fail at something still lets me blame the circumstances. I failed because of this reason. I failed because that reason was outside of my control. But to actually become a failure - this kind of thought can slice down to the very marrow of my bone. Because when this creeping thought rears its ugly head, it's not just questioning my ability or my capacity or even my surrounding forces. It questions my very being. The core of who I am. My already fragile, weak, vulnerable heart.

Am I enough? At the end of the day, when all the success and popularity and happiness melt away, am I left with the conviction that yes - even without all these things - I am still enough?

These days it feels more like a defeating, saddening sigh. I've failed at one thing or another and because of that, I must be a failure. Isn't that how it works?

I didn't check off everything on my to-do list today. Fail.
I disappointed this friend or that person. Fail.
I didn't give money to the man begging on the street. Fail.
I snapped at my teammate this morning. Fail.
I didn't hang out with a single high schooler this week. Fail.
I watched an entire season of Arrow on Netflix and didn't open a single book. Fail.
I didn't wake up early to run. Fail.
I forgot to bring something important. Fail.
I didn't engage in conversation like I should have. Fail.

Most of these things are seemingly small and unimportant and simply part of life. But believe it long enough and it becomes a habit. Believe it long enough and suddenly - I am not enough. When I allow these thoughts to grow deep roots around my heart and overflow out into my words and actions, I lose. I may not realize it at first - I shake it off with the first available mind numbing tool I can find. But inevitable, it returns. With force. Powerful force. Because you see, when I feed this thought by a simple numb, I give it space to grow. And what it grows into is a disbelief in very person I am created to be. The person He created me to be.

And when I question the creation, I question the Creator. I question His goodness, His graciousness, His sufficiency. The real question is not - am I enough? The answer for me will always be no. There is always something I can find to better or fix or do. The real question washes over me - is Christ enough for me? Is He enough?

If my answer is not yes - an everyday, resounding, confidant yes - my days will be confined to defeating sighs and a continual search for something to fill that empty ache. If my answer is not yes, I will continue to lose every single day. He is always enough - even on the days where my failure seems to be all I can think about. The question is actually not in His ability or capability to be enough. The question lies in my heart of hearts - do I believe Christ is enough?

And today, I want to choose to believe it.

enjoy.

Isn't it funny how you feel as if you are moving so slowly - yet you are speeding through the air faster then you will ever realize. As I look out my small double glassed window, dirtied by the outside world and cool to the touch, I see the planes wing extending out into the jewel blue sky and white cotton clouds. With the deep carribean blue sea below me and the light sky blue above me, it feels as if I am in a dream - nothing but a majestic rainbow of blues and whites before me. I can hear the heavy, vibrating hum of the wing's engine next to me. It's comforting, in it's own way, easing my anxious heart that the plane is indeed functioning how it should.

As I peer out this window, I'm struck by the mystery of it all. Watching the plane's wing move seemingly slowly across the blue horizon...it feels like we are inching along. Yet, the rumble of the engine tells me otherwise. In fact, we are crossing thousands upon thousands of miles in mere hours. I don't think I will ever experience something that moves as quickly as this intricate piece of metal, sailing through the air.

Life passes this same way, it seems. Always. No matter what stage of life we find ourselves in - the idea that "days pass slowly and years pass quickly" rings true to all ears - no matter our age or job description or marital status or address.

There is this quote a read a while back - Mary Oliver's words have stuck to my heart:

"When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement; I was a bridgegroom, taking the world in my arms. When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular & real. I don't want to find myself sighing or frightened or full or argument. I don't want to end up having just visited this world." 

My days are passing slowly yet in the midst of the slowness, they are passing more quickly then I could ever dream or imagine. Isn't this true for all of us? And with realizing this discovery { or perhaps simply accepting this thing that we've known all along } the bigger, more challenging question is: What will I do with it? How does one respond to this type of tension? I wish I had an answer that was deep and inspiring and life changing. But the more I ponder this question, one word seems to echo itself inside my head: ENJOY.

Could it be that simple? I can't be sure. But if all I have is this one life to live I want to look for ways to enjoy, to see amazement in the simple, to look for extraordinary in the mundane, to discover the rawness of a real and authentic life. To enjoy and devour each day knowing that the slow, ordinary days are what make the years so magnificent and holy. Each day can be an adventure in this slow moving, fact paced life we live - if only I would grab hold of the wonder of it all.

Columbia.

All I could think about for the next week was water. It's such a simple thing - a basic necessity for living, a refreshing treat on a hot day, not nearly enough of it that's clean throughout the world. Yet the way it rushed through my city and reeked so much havoc is astonishing. You never realize how powerful water can be until you watch video after video of dams breaking, roads collapsing, houses destroyed.

All I could think about for the next week was my city. Twenty three years of my life lived there. It raised me, that city. From that wild, fearless little girl running amuck through the streets with friends  { both imaginary and real } - to that lost and confused high school girl who thought living in Columbia, SC was the worst thing that could ever happen to her - to the suddenly independent college student who discovered a sweet appreciation for not only her new-found freedom but also being so close to home - to the girl who moved to another country and grew an even deeper love of all her hometown had to offer. All this suddenly underwater...it's enough to take your breath away.

All I could think about for the next week was my neighborhood. The streets I rode my bicycle down as a kid nearly brought to ruin. The houses I used to play in with friends rotting in the aftermath of mildew and mold. The safe, beautiful neighborhood that I know like the back of my hand suddenly chaotic and messy. I look at pictures of streets and houses and yards and it doesn't even look real. It doesn't look like my neighborhood anymore. Memories I haven't touched in years flood my mind - of running free until dark, of exploring under the bridge, of jumping on that trampoline, of races down that hill.

All I could think about for the next week was my house. That house is all I've ever known. I've had many different homes over the past years but nothing has brought the same feeling of security and love as pulling up to my little dead end road to see that tan house and crooked driveway. In the midst of the transitions of college and post-grad and fundraising and over seas living, comfort was always found waiting for me on that back deck overlooking Lake Katherine or on that sofa snuggled up by the fire place or in that room where the sunlight spills softly through the window.

And now? All I can think about is hope. The response to the destruction that has happened in Columbia, SC is overwhelming. Even being so far, I can feel the love that is being poured over that city - from those on the outskirts and from those within. People bringing gallon after gallon of water, bag after bag of donated clothes, box after box of supplies. I hear of people walking around neighbors that were flooded - passing out food, lending helping hands to strangers, giving time and energy and sweat to clean up all that is ruined. I see relief funds being set up for people who have lost everything, volunteers coming to wash clothes for free, families adopting other families until they can get their feet on the ground. Even in the sadness and the disbelief and the overwhelmingness of it all - hope raises its little head among the brave and the courageous and the fearless - those so willing to dive into the mess of it all. So I thank you, Columbia, for showing what true hope can look like in the midst of tragedy. Forever to thee, Carolina!

soul smiles.

I had one of those moments the other week. One of those fleeting moments that somehow make room for the soul to smile - yes, even amidst the chaos.

It happened late one Wednesday night, just finishing our weekly Young Life club. My car was packed to the brim with high school girls. Five different schools were represented there, five different friend groups, so many different lives all piled into my little red car. As I began the drive of dropping them all to their different homes, I glanced in my rearview mirror. And I saw smiling and laughter and chatter and questions and friendships being formed - right then and there, right before my very eyes. And I couldn't help but smile because this is what it's all about. These moments of realization that what I do matters. That this outpouring of my life for the sake of these high school girls can make a difference. Sometimes its hard to see the point of it all. And most of the time it can feel very emptying, very trying - almost as if everything I do is in vain.

But then I think back to the simplest moments like these - these soul smiling moments. And I remember. Oh, do I remember. But I don't only remember their smiles and laughter and jokes and singing...I see Jesus there. I see Him being faithful, Him moving in hearts, Him drawing them close, Him smiling down on this moment, loving His beautiful daughters just as they are - in their broken, masked, just-trying-to-keep-it-all-together form. And loving me in the mist of it all too.

Maybe that's why these moments seem like the soul is smiling. Because it's in these simple moments that His love is revealed - over and over and over again.

mornings.

Well, I'd hate to admit this to my 18 year-old-self with the 2-am-bedtimes and the midnight-Sonic-runs and the all-nighters and the sleeping-until-lunch and the general-night-owlish-tendencies...but I have officially become a morning person. No longer does the thought at waking up with the sun make me nauseous. No longer do I dread the impending alarm ringing in my ear. No longer does sunlight streaming through my windows bring annoyance and covers over my face.

No, there is something magical in those wee hours of the morning as the world is just coming to life. Something I appreciate more and more as I grow into the years. Maturing some might call it. Growing up. Adult-ing. But I would call it more of a reckoning. A wondering. A transitioning. Age isn't what changes a person - its the experiencing of life and how one responds to these experiences that pushes you into a different kind of person. For better or for worse.

But I think my push from a night owl to a morning person is for the better - at least for now. I get to experience things that I didn't before and realize how life giving these things are to me. Gifts, these mornings of mine. So I'm sharing and documenting the morning grace gifts here...so when one day if I am "pushed" back into a night owl state of mind, I can remember all I loved about these early { oh-so-very-early } mornings.

Okay, so I admittedly don't really love running. But I love how it makes me feel. I { almost } never regret it afterwards...oh, but its a battle to roll over and put those two feet on the ground. But endorphins are real, people. And I like them. And it's too hot to run at any other time of the day then right as the sun is rising...so up and at 'em! 

Bringing a Vitamix to Nicaragua was one of the best decisions I made in my moving process. I use this nearly daily. Yes, I'm one of those obnoxious people who generally only uses it for smoothies but at least I use it, okay! This particular smoothie has a hot pink fruit called Pitaya...it makes for a really pretty looking smoothie, if you ask me.

Mornings are also for checking our little fig tree for ripe fruits. I love counting how many figs are sprouting among these leaves and got to count seven this morning! It's really fun and random that we have a fig tree - but it came with the house, so I'll take it.

Candle lighting is a must. I love candles. I really think they can transform a room into anything you want it to be. This is a favorite of mine to light - "Iced Latte". It really gives the kitchen table a nice coffee shop vibe, minus the overly-priced drinks and hustle and bustle of people all around. 

Oh, sweet baby Cali. She's my all time fav morning partner, scampering about the yard during post run stretches and watching for opportunities to attack my shoes. She makes life more fun. And also looks kind of like a raccoon, which could be why she has stolen my heart. 

Books on books on journals and pens on books. Enough said. 

And you better believe if I'm waking up at the crack of dawn to do all of these things, it is not without the help of my BFF. { And inspirational coffee mugs. Those babies always do the trick. }

stability.

"Stability is in the wholehearted coming and coming and coming again. Prayer is not an act I perform, words I recite, a behavior I strive to maintain. It is a returning. It is a broken life finding healing, a misplaced soul recognizing home."

I read this quote over a month ago yet cannot seem to stop thinking about it. How nice the word stability sounds, does it not? It brings with it warm feelings of safety and knowing and surety. Yet, life often totally destroys this concept. Stability is not often found in the refuge of comfort and certainty. In fact, I'm starting to believe that it is only in the unstable trials of life that we can find true stability.

Perhaps I'm drawn to this idea because everything about life overseas seems unstable. You must learn to expect the unexpected but even then, everything is surprising or shocking or unfathomable. Constantly teetering between your heart culture and this new culture. Attempting to live in the tension of the haves and the have-nots. Stumbling through the language as if a new child learning to speak for the first time (yes, even after living in country for multiple years). Stability is a thing of the past, a worn dream, an unreachable status.

Yet, I'm finding, through prayer true stability is obtainable. Prayer and stability are so closely related, so braided and woven together that it seems impossible to separate one from the other. We find stability when we give up our own strengths and sheer forces of will to come and come and come again - to never stop coming, depending, leaning on Him.

Everyday I want to wholeheartedly come and come and come again to the feet of Jesus, even when confusion clouds my vision, my dreams, my hopes, my present, my future. I want to consistently return over and over and over again to the only place where I can make sense of who I really am. I want my wild soul to give up its misplaced desires and realize its true, life-giving home.

Stability is found in the surrender, in the acceptance, in the letting go, in the healing...in the places we often do not think to look.

waves.

There's this moment. This seemingly gravity defying moment, suspended in thin air, hanging there with all its uncertainty. It's terrifyingly peaceful, this one second of grace. Watching the waves, I can't help but notice it. Each wave comes softly - sneakily almost. It builds and builds and grows and climbs - quietly and steadily. But before it comes crashing down, something surreal happens. The moment. My heart stops, my breathing quiets. The silence somehow engulfs my entire being. Oh, the majesty of pure stillness. The wave idling before me - the silence, the peace, the surrender. Yes, there is even surrender. A certain letting go that happens in this moment. And just as suddenly, it's gone. The wave forms its perfect tubelike shape and it all comes crashing down, from every which way, wreaking havoc and chaos all in one fail swoop.

He is in these wave moments, this faithful Lover of my soul. I see Him there, beckoning. Calling me into the uncertainty of the stillness before Him. Do I trust Him enough to meet Him there? To walk forward into the tension of that one second? Yes. I must go to Him. I must sit there with Him. Without moving into that moment with Jesus, the chaos that follows crushes me. It is simply too much to bear. I need that moment with Him - that moment of letting go. Of courage. Of silence. Of majesty. Of grace. The waves teach me something: the necessity of the holy amidst the chaos. Amidst the confusion. Amidst the crashing. 

cloudy.

The worst is when you can't see anything.

When you look out that small, rounded window and all you see is a white haze of clouds. Nothing.But.White. No beautiful blue sky, no comforting green trees below...just white.

I don't like anything about flying. Something about being suspended in air thousands of miles above the ground in a metal box with wings brings out an inexplicable anxiety in me. But when the view outside my window turns white....it's all I can do to grab hold of my arm rest for dear life { or the hand of the person next to me, if you are so lucky as to receive the gift of sitting with me in an airplane } and focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Because it's in the white when everything becomes bumpy, when turbulence hits the strongest. The slightest jolt of the plane sends my heart into panic. With each bump, I'm sure that we are falling to our death. I don't think straight. My knee begins to shake. The anxiety builds to the point of debilitation. Suddenly, I am controlled by my surroundings...the white cloudy mess of it right outside the window.

Oh and isn't that how it works in my life? When the cloudiness and confusion seep in, everything seems to be falling apart. Can't think straight. Don't know which way is up. Every little bump in the road of life throws me into even more confusion and desperation and the assumption of my impending doom. Will I ever make it out of the fog?

What else can I do but wait. To grab hold of those arm rests - to reach out to people I know are safe and to stand on what I know is true. And breath in deeply the grace of God as I wait for the cloud the pass. I rest in the mystery of what God is doing. The white haziness of life can't stay forever.

Eventually, I spy a peep of sunlight or a glimpse of sky or the ground unfolding below me...relief washes over me and I remember: everything will be okay. The cloudiness will not kill me. The unknown will not break me. The anxiety will not overcome me.

It's in these moments, I stand firm on this promise..."Behold, I will be with you always."

Even in the distortedness of a cloudy window, He does not leave us alone. And I will trust this - I must trust this - with every inch of my being. Because without it all hope is lost. And I cannot lose this grace-filled, loving, trusting kind of hope.

familia.

So, our family went to the beach. First time in a NUMBER of years that we have been able to take a trip with all five of us and it was too much fun. Ups and downs ensued, normal to any Salley family vacay { this one included strep throat and walking two miles to find the doctor...you know standard things like that } but overall it was great to all be together again at the one and only place that can unify us against the world...the beach.