Honest, I choose champagne

2016.2017.2018. Let’s just be who we are.

I am sitting in my favorite bar, as it becomes increasingly more crowded than normal on a Sunday early evening. Most are in pairs, or groups. I’m the sole solitary human, sitting at my favorite table tucked in the corner. My back is against the window and I am directly next to an outlet and the exposed brick.

I am pretty comfortable sitting by myself in most places. I am fine shopping by myself, I’ve traveled across an ocean and been alone in the Istanbul airport more than any other airport in the world.

I almost always get slight amounts of anxiety right before going somewhere by myself or to an event with a large amount of people. But here, and a smattering of coffee shops, public transport and airplanes- I am always good.

This year, I believe, has been about being as home as I possible can be in my own skin, in my own identity. It’s been about being where my feet are.

I don’t always do well at this.

But, I am trying.

And now, it’s the end of the year. Now, for me personally, 2017 has been eons better than 2016. But, as my work wife has pointed out, 2017 hasn’t been all confetti, champagne and sunshine.

In reality, I said the F word more times this year than last. I lost more faith in people than I ever have. I have had more anxiety and more moments of being alone.

I haven’t been as constantly exhausted but I for sure have hit more walls of “all done friends”. My schedule has been more busy than I think it has been in a long time.

And that isn’t going change when the clock strikes midnight and turns the year to 2018. Last year, I remember sitting, shortly after midnight, in my sparkly gold dress, barefooted, on the porch of my friend’s house, watching the snow fall with a glass of champagne that slowly became mixed with the tears falling down my cheeks. All I wanted was for the world around me to feel different.

I tried to believe it did- but it didn’t.

So I became busy in 2017. I did a lot of things. I rarely had a week go by that didn’t involve at least 3/5ths of the weekdays being filled with something, be it working at my church, hanging out with someone or having an event or organized group situation.

I think part of my reasoning for becoming busy was that busy equaled full. That my life could be classified as full because it was busy.

I could say that my life was full because my laundry had piled up to overflowing in my closet and didn’t even care that there were dishes in the sink.

Busy meant not being able to stop to hear what I needed to hear.

Back in August, a part time job popped up at a different church. It would have been 10-20 extra hours a week being a children’s director of a local churches smaller downtown campus.

It would mean a lot of things: extra income, no free time, getting paid to do something I know I love (and am good at), having no social life and not getting to go to the church I adore.

But, I had done that exact same thing before so I knew I was capable of that schedule.

I had a random day off in August, the day after the ad had been discovered. I had coffee with a good friend, lunch with my roommate and obviously talked to both about it. I headed for home to work on my cover letter and resume.

Because of applying for this job, I ended up having a very honest conversation with one of the pastors at my church. Through the conversation we had, I realized that I was running from being known. She, of course, called me on all these things, as she should.

I didn’t end up interviewing for the job. In all reality, though I want a job like that, but working 60 hours a week and moving from the two places where I feel like myself in Bellingham was not the best idea.

In reality, most of this year I’ve been running. I’ve been running from stopping, from thinking and from pushing in.

I have in certain places and situations. There are friends in my life with whom I can never run from my problems around. But I have reached that place here in Bellingham where I am known and that’s terrifying.

So, why have I said all of this?

It’s simple actually.

I want to encourage you not to make resolutions.

(What?)

I just want to encourage you to step more into who you are everyday. No matter what.

I spent this year trying to busy everything so far away, in the name of my resolutions that I forgot parts of who I was. When those parts were awakened they felt like hope, when in reality they should have just felt like me.

December 31rst and January 1 are no different from today and tomorrow.

There is symbolism in the changing of the year. It is a new book in your life. But it’s not a separate book. It’s a continuation.

So, as the holidays kick in full force and as my kitchen get covered in flour and coconut sugar. As we celebrate the year, the now and the yet to come, I want to remind you that the changing of a calendar doesn’t change who you are.

I want to encourage you to hope for more, but not put the more on a new year.

Don’t run from who you’ve become in all the things. Grab who all the things have made you.

Right now. Today.

Here, in this bar, where I am the only solitary human, I am being where my feet are more than I have in a long time.

Right now. Today

Honest, ramblings

the leaves always CHANGE

Today, I was standing in church during worship and I had this moment where I felt like myself.I don’t know how to describe it really.
In that moment it didn’t matter who was around me or what I was doing, I just knew who I was-all the way to my toes.

I’ve been playing around with being called Meghan these days. It’s not a big deal, I’m not going to make people call me Meghan or Meg, they can call me whatever they want.

There was a few years there that being called Meghan brought me a feeling I didn’t like. It brought me a feeling of years of insecurity and sadness and depression.

My debit card obviously says Meghan so places that I frequent; a coffee shop, a bar, people call me Meghan.

So when people ask if I am Meg or Meghan I say yes. Both/and. 

And it got me thinking:

Do we give people the space to discover who they are because it seems like they should know?
It’s funny to me that as we grow we are called to make so many decisions without knowing even a percent of the information out there. And that’s fine, discernment, intuition, and going with your gut are incredibly important.

But what if when you turned 18 someone handed you a piece of paper and you had to write out all of the food you liked. 

And whatever you left off that list you could never eat again.

But then sometimes in your mid-twenties your taste buds change and you are suddenly eating food you never thought.

But wait, you aren’t because at 18 you decided what foods you’d eat for the rest of your life.

We have to do that a lot. From colleges in new cities that become homes to college majors, to first jobs that we find ourselves in ten years later. 

We don’t give people space to discover MORE of who they are.

People are fearful of changing their minds, even once.

Yes, there are people that abuse it. They change and bounce all over the place leaving others in the wake of their change and “discovery”. The people who’s resumes look like a not-so-greatest hit album. The single-in a relationship-single- consistently in your Facebook timeline.

But, because of those, the ones who have things happening in their lives and stories that cause them to be in constant motion, the majority of us sit in fear of grabbing onto something new about ourselves.

I will be the first to say that my conversation views have molded and changed immensely in the last 3 years. That things I believed and thought were “right” in college are very different now. That I’ve realized my viewpoints were based in fear and not love.

As silly as this is, my style is immensely different. I’ve walked into a few stores recently and realized that not only do I not want to wear clothes from stores I’ve purchased clothes in for years, but also I simply don’t understand them.

When I claimed Meg four years ago on the world race, it was like I was drawing a firm permanent line in the timeline of my life.

I know it means something right now. That I’ve been introducing myself as Meghan. That I’ve been allowing that piece of me to sink into this part of the story.

That I’ve been trying to give myself space to realize my story, my life is ever evolving.

So, when I started on this train of thought this morning in church, which coincided with the first message on story, I realized that not only was I not giving myself consistent space and grace to evolve and move and change, I wasn’t giving the people in my life that space either.

It would be like me telling the leaves on the trees that they have to grow back exactly as they did before. That even though a part of them was dying and changing, that they had chosen that path so they had to keep going on it.

If I ever haven’t given you space in your story to find something new, I sincerely, sincerely apologize. You don’t need that from someone else since I’m pretty positive you already give enough of that doubt and lack of grace to yourself.

I’m trying to decide what this in me. Who I am separate from my life as a teacher of tiny humans.

But, I feel something I’m supposed to grab onto is right in front of me. And it’s scary because the world has already told me that this is who I am.

I am Meg and I am Meghan.

Let’s choose this week, to be who we are, and give ourselves the ability to keep being and changing.

Let’s not miss something new, because we’ve decided we have no place for newness.

Honest, ramblings

I don’t like pumpkin spice lattes

All I wanted to do today was sit in my favorite bar and write about how I don’t like pumpkin spice lattes. I wanted to write about not liking them and fall and the darkness that it brings.

I wanted to write about the changing of seasons.

But, all I can think about right now is the bridge I have in my written words.

I’ve learned a lot in my life from mentors and fatherly figures. I have nuggets and advice and wisdom that cycle through my brain.

I know beyond a shadow of doubt that I am incredibly fortunate to have people who choose to make space in their lives to speak into mine.

One of those I reference often is Andrew.

Before I met Andrew I was slightly terrified of him. For multiple reasons, but one main being I didn’t used to/still don’t sometimes, feel comfortable around men in authority.

The first time I met him, a story I’ve told many times in writing, was in a pub in Mijas, watching a World Cup game. I was alive with nerves to start my first day of class and the last thing I wanted to do was meet this man.

But my friend Tiffany made me.

And the first words Andrew ever uttered to me were “Welcome home”.

I say this because I had chosen to trust Andrew because Tiffany did. I borrowed some trust from her just to get to Spain.

Andrew has since then given me a lot of wisdom and even more so he’s given me love.

He taught me a lesson in trust that has stuck with me for a long while. Trust is a bridge. Some hold more weight. Some hold less. But they still hold something.
I had to build a lot of trust in Spain. I had to learn how to trust men in authority. I had to learn how to trust my voice and myself. I chose to trust people that I didn’t think I would and those humans have made my life more full than I could have imagined.

But, the thing about bridges is that they need maintenance.

I was having a conversation with my friend Krys in a loud, karaoke-filled, restaurant about my ability to trust people.

And I have come to realize that I’ve let my bridges get pretty threadbare.

Vulnerability and trust take more practice and maintenance than I have been giving them

I’m not saying I don’t trust people.

What I am saying is that I struggling lately to extend my ability to trust.

I am great at borrowing trust. I am capable of trusting humans because someone I trust, trusts them. Hell, the sole reason I am in Bellingham is because people I trust, trust the people here.

I think the problem is I’ve been living on borrowed trust.

I’ve been building bridges on top of other people’s already built bridges because that, my friends, is the easiest way to not get hurt. I am pretty discerning about who NOT to trust. I know when not to share.

But, that moment where I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I need to share a little more, be a little more, give a little more, I know that I am not walking on the bridge that is built.

When you are in a season of building something, be it muscle, or skills for one thing or another, you can’t just keep doing the same thing. You can’t do the same exercise for weeks on end and expect a different result.

You have to find ways to stretch yourself.

You have to push your comfort zone and create new ones along the way.

And believe me, I know it’s hard.

I’ve been in more anxiety filled conversations than I’d like to admit these days, I’ve been in situations where I push past the curl up in a ball feeling to be present.

I WANT to trust.

I want to build bridges and practice vulnerability.

I don’t like pumpkin spice lattes. That’s surprising to some. It’s surprising that I, Meg, one of the most basic white girls some people know, doesn’t like the most basic beverage of all.

And it’s surprising to some that I walk in anxiety, and a lack of vulnerability.

But, I’m working on it. Again, still, probably always.

I am not working on liking pumpkin spice lattes though.

It’s not going to happen.

Honest

anxiety does not = brokenness 

I did something I haven’t done in a long while today.
I walked.
Now, I know what you’re thinking “Meg, you walk everyday.”

It’s true, but not like I used too.

Back when I lived in Orange County my friends nicknamed me Moses, because sometimes, when I would get home meandering somewhere in my rainbows my feet would look like I had just walked through the desert.

Today I walked 2.6 miles.

The past month or so, Sundays have been harder than normal.

Going to church has catapulted my anxiety in more ways than I can describe and if I’m being honest I have had absolutely no clue why.

Two Sundays ago I actually almost ran out of the building before having a full on panic attack, but instead, I sat in the bathroom for about five minutes. 

(I did bolt out though at the end of service.)

My last piece was about silence. The silence I’d been feeling, the lack of a path, the inability to give love and grace.

I had some things that happened in my realm of existence over the last two months that I am just now grasping the extent of how it caused me pain. I’m also realizing that for the last portion or so of this season of my life I haven’t given myself space to feel anxious.

You might think, oh that’s great.

But the thing about not giving space for things is that usually they end up coming out in some other way.

I’m not a mom, but I think I understand a piece of motherhood, that your children’s emotions and needs and wants come before yours. I spend my days helping the emotions of the 13-15 3-4 yr olds in my room, and trying to balance all the other emotions at play.

That’s a place I’ve been here before.

So today, I walked.

I walked and took deep breathes and listened to worship music and tried to untangle the anxiety that has built inside me.

I’ve done a lot of soul work in my life. I’ve more hours of therapy than I can calculate, I’ve cried in more foreign countries over coffee with mentors and teachers than I thought I would.

And I forget, in the midst of my speeches of “man up or shut up”, “be who you are”the most popular “just do the damn thing” that feeling anxious, depressed, or emotionally empty doesn’t mean I’m broken. 

There were times where it did mean brokenness. It meant me, curled up on the floor of my Orange County apartment, crying.

It doesn’t mean that right now.

It means living.

And the process of untangling.

I’ve had up and down struggles with anxiety. I have seasons where I forget it exists and season like now where it seems like a prevalent fixture in my life.

I’m not 100% sure why I felt compelled to write this, but I think I wanted you, myself as well, to have more grace for people.

(I cannot tell a lie-that sentence was hard for me to write).

Wait, I guess scratch that. I sort of don’t want to tell you to have more grace for people. I don’t think I’m there yet.

I want you to allow yourself to have more grace for yourself.

I don’t want you to run. I don’t want you to equal grace for yourself for putting your emotions and feelings on others.

I want you to give yourself space to untangle.

I don’t want you to get so tangled that you become incapacitated.

I think anxiety is trying to rob me of some joy in my life. It’s exhausting me at times and attempting to meet me in doorways and keep from coming in.

I’m no where near the bottom of the barrel that I have been, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to do something about it.

It’s like laundry. I’m awful at keeping up with it (heaven forbid when I have to do more than just my laundry), but if I were to keep up with it and hang it up and put it away when I needed too, it wouldn’t be so bad.

I don’t want anxiety to rule my life (or yours), but let’s try to be humans how don’t let it pile up in corners like laundry so that it seeps onto our carpets and pours out of our hampers.

I think I’ve been letting my anxiety do just that, which is why it’s living in very specific places of my life right now.

So, on that note, I’m going to post this blog and figure out ways to do my anxiety laundry for the week.

And lastly, as always, deep breathes to the toes my friends.

We got this.

stateside

real

My friend and future co~bookstore owner, Patty wrote a blog about love (read it here) after we came back from Spain. I had tears streaming down my face reading it because I understood the love she was speaking about.

And I must confess, I’ve wanted to write a blog on love too. But my words I knew would be different than Patty’s. And I wasn’t sure what words they were yet. All I knew was my heart bursts and breaks now in ways that it never had before.

The other day I woke up with a beautiful passage from Velveteen Rabbit in my head and on my heart. I hadn’t recently read it somewhere, I wasn’t scrolling through Pinterest—it was just there. Sitting in my brain.

image
.quote from the Velveteen Rabbit. .picture from Sistarovat, Romania.

“But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand. But once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always

BOOM.

Here’s the thing: real love, real tear filled, hard words, silly laughter, silent book reading afternoon love changes you. It does something to you that you almost can’t explain.

I don’t want this to be read as if I’d never experienced love before- I had. And actually if anything the last two years have caused me even more clearly to see where I’ve experienced love like that before.

Where I’ve experienced CHRIST like that before.

I’ve ran a lot in life. I’ve hid. I’ve hid behind the fact that I know how to love well. And if I KNOW how to love well then I must be ok. If I can give it I must have HAD it.

And of course, I give really, REALLY good hugs.

But there is a difference between GIVING a hug and RECEIVING one. There is a sink your whole self into the person, wrap your arms around them and let all your troubles go because you know that person is going to take them, even if for a moment from you.

I was normally on the giving end of a hug. I would see someone needing a hug and I’d give. I’d rarely ask for one. I didn’t need them that bad.

And when it comes down to it how I interacted with people was how I interacted with God.

I feel like, for the longest time I never asked God for a hug. I never plagued Him with my burdens. I’d hug Him when I felt like I needed too. But never in a receiving sort of way.

Then I got to the point that I couldn’t even hug him. I’d been there before, during times of depression and times of brokenness. But after the race and the beginning of Spain I had to force myself to even be in his presence. During an exercise in class last summer we had to picture Jesus with us in this field. I was sitting on a blanket when he came up. I promptly told him to not sit down next to me. To stay away.

Then He overwhelmed me. With words from people, with gifts, with love. He poured so much into my arms even while I was STILL telling him to stay away.

And then I ran. I made myself busy. I did a lot. I volunteered for things, offered myself for jobs. Which is my normal. It is what I did.

And then, like so many times before, I got tired.

And He was still there.

Through all of it. He had watched me run and do and be all of these people and places and things that I didn’t need to be. Like I had done time after time after time.

And He was still there. Like HE had done time after time after time.

And then out of sheer exhaustion and the inability to solve any of the “problems” going on around me I let Him hug me. I gave up really. I gave up running, gave up turning to things that I had been turning to for years, and I let him hug me.

And really, REALLY allowed myself to open my arms and receive love. Let it saturate me. Let it wear me down. Let myself hear what he thought of me. Let Him whisper that He LOVED me.

That He Loved me FIRST.

That He loves me ALWAYS.

And then, without knowing it, I became a person who can give and receive love.

Even when it looks messy and when it’s hard and when it causes your heart to burst and break. I have experienced the love of Christ like I’ve never known. Like I never chose to see or receive.

So I sit here, tears streaming down my face knowing that it isn’t possible to go back from this. Knowing it is in me.

And no matter how I struggle or where I go or what ups and downs happen in life I have this love from my God in heaven that has sufficiently rocked me to my core.

Without knowing it; I became Real.

(And once you are Real, it is for always)

Honest, Spain g42

lovely, once more

I don’t like writing things out by hand. It feels as if the words that I place on paper have more power and emotion behind them then the words that I type out.

I don’t know why.

I just know that it is scarier for me.

It is scarier for me to place things handwritten in a journal.

It is scarier for me to place HURT in a journal.

There is so much pain involved in placing phrases and story in my own hand, phrases that hurt parts of my soul.

My journal is sacred. It’s filled with notes from class, quotes from books that impact and lovely musings.

It is where I separate the light from the dark. It is where I should be able to be vulnerable.

But here in this moment I want nothing to do with vulnerability.

I don’t want to fill my journal with words and phrases.

It is terrifying

It terrifies me so much that I bought watercolors to paint the pages in my journal and make them beautiful so I would WANT to write in them. To entice me to place words inside its covers.

I have another blog started on another blank page.

It’s about one of the reasons I am at G42.

A reason I never talk about.

I was going to explain it.

Because in all honesty I just want it to go away.

But while in conversation with one of my precious people in the haven and warmth of her home I realized I still hurt.

I still feel ugly in those things.

As the women who are influential in my life always say tears and anger are a map.

My tears showed me a lot today.

And it’s tough. I’m sitting here on the floor trying to even eek out a sentence in regards to all that’s in my head. All the beginnings of sentences I began in conversation with my dear friend.

I guess I want to encourage myself and in turn encourage you to write the ugly things. I’m writing mine on beautiful painted pages in my journal. I’m surrounding things I deem ugly with beauty.

I think it’s wonderful that I live in a world where ugly things are made lovely so often.

And that’s what I want to strive to do. Show people what they deem ugly in their story and show how they can create out of it beauty

That’s what I’ll be doing in my journal. Sentence by sentence, line by line, I’m going to paint pictures with my words and make the things that aren’t lovely, lovely once more.

Honest, Spain g42

an aggressive wind

Last night as I walked back and forth around my little town the wind was blowing something fierce. I had to put on a sweatshirt to walk to a friends and I was in love with the cold,almost violent wind that was making a noise down the sweet cobblestone streets of Mijas.

The wind never stopped last night.

It got louder and more consuming. Slamming doors, throwing things off clotheslines, shifting our curtains with every inhale of air. And I couldn’t find peace amidst it.

Normally the wind brings me home, hope, calm. Even in it’s most rowdy, I revel in its presence.

Last night it scared me. It brought me unrest, I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted it to stop, I wanted there to be a moment that I could take a deep breath before it started again.

I wanted to yell at the wind. I wanted to open my mouth and shout. I didn’t like what it was riling up. I didn’t feel the peace it normally brings.

I know that wind stirs and settles and calms. It mixes things up to make them look new. It brushes away debris that doesn’t need to be there. It cleans and makes a mess all at the same time.

The wind wasn’t cleaning last night. It wasn’t allowing anything to exist inside of it. It was moving things to places where they didn’t necessarily belong and it was up to us to open doors and put things back together.

We needed to clean up what the wind left behind.

After last night I feel as if the wind left me in a mess. It was the exact picture of what I feel inside. There is this massive destructive wind going on within. Pressing against the places I’m pushing into and challenging me to stop.

To be silent and to stop.

But here’s the thing: the wind may be aggressive; but I can outlast it. The wind may put everything in disarray, but I know how to clean. The wind may scare me in the night but eventually it will be day.

And the wind will stop.

The wind will stop before I stop.

So this morning when the sun finally peeked its head out over the mountains, my curtains stopped rustling.

I opened doors and windows again and cleaned up what the wind brought.

Last night was a reminder that something stirring up isn’t the greatest, that something being pushed around and reaching the point of feeling unsettled isn’t fun.

But it also brought the picture that morning will always come. And that we can outlast the night no matter how dark it seems. Right now, the wind is doing something in me; even when it isn’t outside for me to see. It’s pushing things around and calling me to sit in the dirt and the muck and be ok.

The aggressive wind showed me that I can sit in the chaos and not become chaotic. That there can be destruction around me and I will not collapse.

And the wind will stop before I do.

Honest, ramblings, Spain g42

more to you than this

I’ve had a lot of trouble putting words to paper the past few days. I’ve tried to write multiple times. Tried to put together a thought or two. I’ve started I don’t know how many blogs, backspaced, deleted and closed my laptop.

I’ve tried paper and pen, my phone, anything just to get a word out.

And I always have to stop.

The thought won’t finish, I don’t come to a conclusion, I don’t HAVE a conclusion, it’s not flowing right or I just don’t want to share.

Last weekend I watched Little Women for the first time. (Yes, I’m a horrible English major.). But in it there was a moment where the German Professor had just read Jo’s manuscript and he didn’t really like it. It wasn’t enough of her heart.

“Jo, there is more to you than this; if you have the courage to write it”.

Whitney promptly told me that it would be my quote for the week.

(She was right.)

It’s been turning in my mind since that night.

I feel in regards to writing I’m pretty honest. I share what I’m learning; where I’ve been, where I’m going. I let the “raw” come out every once in awhile even though that’s a bit harder and takes a moment more for me to press publish.

But there’s more to me. And that more I don’t really know how to share.

So here is a piece of my more:

If there is one statement about myself that I’ve never had the courage to attempt in print it’s this:

I belittle myself all the time.

Things I’ve gone through, places I’ve been, hurts I have.

Which is why when I sit down to write a blog and can’t see a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel or any kind of peace in the midst of chaos I choose not to write because I feel it must not matter.

It’s a problem I have; choosing to brush under the rug feelings I have, hurts I have and places I’ve been when I think it’s not worthy of telling.

I am advocate for story. I supremely believe every nook and cranny in our life is a story to be told. Be it the story of the people who watched Grey’s Anatomy at my apartment every Thursday or eating tuna sandwiches at my grandma’s in high school or the hours I spent in the Bakersfield hospital when my mom was sick.

Everything big or small leaves an imprint on our hearts.

We need to not push the bad and ugly parts aside. Or even the supremely joyful.

I need to not push those parts aside.

So all this to say I’m choosing to share one of those things that I have been belittling myself up and down about. The thing I found myself with tears running down my face because I was beating myself up for feeling this way.

Selfishness.

In a myriad of ways and moments. I won’t share the why or the what, but every time I’ve had a feeling or emotion or reaction to this specific major thing that just occurred I bat it away because I feel selfish.

It’s a vague thought, but that’s the spot I’m in. It’s not necessarily something sacred that I can’t share; but it something ugly I don’t want to share.

There’s more to me than the shiny. And that’s ok.

I’m not perfect, I’m not glue, I’m Meg.

Yes, there is more to me than “this”.

And I am gaining the courage to write more from my heart with each passing moment and realizing what that looks like. The feeling of not writing for anyone but myself and knowing that it probably actual is for someone

So amidst my ramble,and my wacky thought process and what came from a simple quote in a movie I want to leave you with another lovely quote that is a favorite of mine. It is something I hold onto and will take into the next.

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hope is a verb

an emotionally-naked sit in

I feel naked.

Really emotionally vulnerable and out there.

I’m about to get trampled and wrecked

And after that no one is going to recognize me after.

I’m ok with all that though. Really, I’m totally used to getting trampled and wrecked. I’m used to people not being able to see who I am anymore because I am so unlike what I once was.

photo 4( (swazi//feministry//team leader))

I’d be lying though, if I said I was ok with not being able to recognize myself.

I’m so sick of not recognizing myself. I’m so sick of thinking that I’m done with hurt and anger and unpacking my life and then I just find another layer. The person that got off the plane in December has been plaqued with loneliness, heartbreak, sadness, joy, doubts.

I’m sick of holding back tears because I’m so afraid of the bursting dam

But I see the blue skies. I see the reason why. I see the HOPE that is out there that I want to give to others. I see how because of all of this I can help others figure out how to move.

That, that in fact, is my movement. My purpose. A call to help others move.

And because of that movement and that purpose I have to keep allowing myself to be naked. To open up my soul and pour out my heart.

To learn. To gain more tools.

To take one more terrifying step into this wild unknown.

I remember taking the first leap into the world race last year. It was easy.

The first leap is the easiest.

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It gets harder after that.

Because people don’t expect you to jump a second time. They expect you to place two feet on the ground and start life again how everyone else is. That after taking such a big leap you’ll have more answers.

I myself had less answers.

Some of the last words I wrote while on the world race were that I wanted to “live a life that was nothing normal and everything Christ.” And goodness that proclamation is hard.

It’s that promise to the self that got off the plane in New York 6 months ago that leads me to get on another plane in a month.

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This is my beginning. This is the culmination of years of silence, bible studies, speaking out, stepping out, reaching out of my comfort zone, this is years of walking through hell and depression, years of sitting on my therapist’s couch NOT crying, this is the year of world race and time spent across the coffee tables and walking down dirt roads.

This is me taking all of those lessons, all of those tears wept or not, and going to Spain for 6 months. I am going to sit (emotionally) naked before Jesus and get rocked, trampled and wrecked. It’s taking the fears I have, my incredible discomfort in certain scenarios and literally staging a sit in.

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((a realization that I need to carry with me))

I feel like the World Race was the realization that I want more. And that there is more. It was the realization that I have gifts, and talents and joys. It was the beginning of this process of unpacking heartache and disappointment.

And so now, I go, taking one more terrifying leap into the unknown. I bought a plane ticket I can’t get refunded for and am stepping into the more.

And I need your help.

I have 3 weeks to raise $3000 (I need a total of $6000) in order to get picked up from the airport in Malaga.

Any amount of money makes a different, any amount of support helps me. (To donate please go here: Donate | G-42 Leadership Academy )

And I need prayer. Lots and lots of prayer. Like I said, I feel as if I am going to be staging an emotional sit in with myself. I am going to be battling a couple of monsters in my closet. And learning, learning, learning. Learning how to step into this crazy role God has called me to in my life and I need each and every one of you behind me. Please subscribe to this blog to follow my journey there. I hope to continue posting once a week and sharing what God is doing and where He is taking me.

Thank you for your support and love. It means more than you know.

If you have questions about Spain or supporting me or comments or words of love/truth (or if you need words of love/truth)

contact me below!

photo 1((Abby//my heart//waiting for me in Espana//check her out here))