Pink Bows & Stilettos

God gave me the gift of expression. In other words, I am ridiculously expressive. It shows on my face, it comes out of mouth, it flows from my hands. It is sometimes uncontrollable, although I am slowly getting mastery over my body and face. It's a process. However, I was just made aware of an odd idiosyncrasy of mine. It was first pointed out by a student, then by a co-worker. When I am listening, really intently, my face becomes entirely intense. Intense to the point of disapproving or angry. My eyes narrow and the corners of my mouth tense. Now, I know it is because I am thinking. The person speaking to me thinks otherwise. In the case of the student, they believed they upset me somehow or said something wrong. In the case of my co-worker, they wondered if I understood them or if they were completely off-base. And I am there - but really not - chasing my thoughts into action. I am always a step ahead, considering how this could work, how to phrase my question, or how we ...

Today, my pastor said something profound that was also very simple. That he was chosen to go and love. That he was placed where he was and when he was to love the broken. If we lived like that, like our one purpose in life was just to love, how beautiful this world would be. It also challenged me to think beyond myself, to not see the personal gain or advantage in what I do. I'm at a place professionally where I feel the need and desire for growth. But what if I am placed where and when I am just to love others? To help them feel safe, to help them grow, to teach, to comfort, to love. The young adults I serve every day come with high hopes and expectations for themselves that often fall short within months of their first year in college. Some grow depressed, hopeless, stressed, frustrated. Many walk into my office just wondering what they will become. What an amazing opportunity for me to show them grace and hope. And I wonder, how many times I may have missed the mark becau...

I am slowly learning to be intentional on building in times of rest throughout my day. Not minutes of "doing nothing" but times to refuel and reflect. Recently, I began a morning routine that is not "work" but rest that includes yoga and devotion time. I am trying to stop looking at social media in the mornings in order to quiet my mind and energize my soul. At the end of the day, when my daughter wants me to play, I am trying to be entirely present, both physically and mentally. I try my best to take a walk each day at work, in order to allow my eyes and mind to refresh. It's amazing how these moments of rest have rejuvenated me. I no longer feel as though I don't have time to myself or am desperate for a vacation far, far away. This morning, I read a blog post about "white space" that encourages turning off technology, being silent, and just being and thinking. This is a time that grows creativity, innovation, inventiveness and problem-so...

Over lunch, I try to make time to read about a chapter from an inspirational book, something that prompts me to want to grow and learn. In January, I finished Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes. Only took me 3 MONTHS to complete. Why so long? No, I am not a slow reader. What it came down to is time. I used to consume books like food. Once when my husband and I were just dating, I asked him to hand me my purse. We were sitting on the couch and he was watching TV. I was not because I can only be entertained by television for so long. When he lifted my purse from the floor he let out an audible groan. "Why is your purse so heavy?!" In response, I lifted out a thick, hard cover book. His eyes grew large. "What is that???" "A book." "Why is it so big?" It was Game of Thrones. (Enough said, to my fellow readers, of course.) I literally carried books around in my purse. Large ones. And when I was bored, in the grocery line, walking into wor...

Recently, my husband just started a new job. It has truly been a blessing but did not come without its challenges. He has been a stay-at-home dad for all of my daughter's 22 months of life. While I can not be there myself all day to feed her lunch or make sure she has her nap, knowing he was there with her was the next best thing. She has had an incredible amount of stability throughout her life and loves being on a schedule. Of course, it is HER schedule, no one else's. Doctors and parenting books tell you to put your child on a schedule for eating and sleeping and pooping (seriously?!?) but she is incredibly stubborn and insisted on setting it herself. Therefore, it changes slightly with each phase of growth, but it works.  Now she is being uprooted and doesn't like it - not one bit. Her eating is erratic, her naps are almost non-existent, and she wakes up at least once a night for mommy's cuddles. It's like she needs assurance that we are still there...

I remember the first time I learned about the concept of a melting pot, what that meant to me. That we were a country of immigrants. That were a beautiful, and sometimes challenging, mix of ideas of cultures. That we welcomed diversity of thought and color, all under the notion of unity and "one people". I built my very foundation of history and politicial theory, and ultimately my college education, that America was a melting pot. I pursued a career that would help those less fortunate, that would support the idealists, and encourage diversity. I traveled around the world and saw evidence of our country's impact, both positive and negative, on other systems and people. But I held in my heart that they were not "other" - they were "us". America is so integrated into the sense of immigration creating a productive economy, and that by accepting people into our fold, we are becoming stronger, more unique, more beautiful - more American. That is MY AME...

I have a confession. I have worn my pants with the top notch undone the last two days. Why, you ask? Because the pants could not contain the additional carbs I have ingested over the holidays. It's my pants' fault, really. They just aren't doing their job. But if I was honest with myself, I just haven't felt "right". My back hurts, my hips hurt, my feet hurt. And now my stomach hurts. That one is new. I am completely and totally aware that it is not my pants, but me. Or rather, the bits and parts of me that I have added on the last couple months. Before Christmas break, I was headed to a presentation with a co-worker. She was talking about all of the cookies she had been making and just being around these foods prompted in her this need to eat healthy. All she wanted that morning was a protein shake. She said how funny it was that our bodies seem to speak to us, to tell us what we need...I added silently, "even when it's not what we want"...

I rang in the new year without fanfare, without balloons and confetti, without even a glass of champagne. Instead, I laid on the couch with my husband watching Harry Potter and trying desperately to stay awake until the clock struck midnight. There's no room for balloons and resolutions in my life. I gave these up long ago in exchange for an actual life, full of actual dreams and actual people I love. So there's that. HOWEVER, I do love setting a goal every now and then. My motto is, make it achievable and make it worth your while. Every January, my church does a corporate fast and I work hard at finding something to give up. A few weeks ago I heard very clearly in my heart of hearts that I needed my priorities examined. I already knew that because I felt like I was wading through sludge every day, the moment I woke up. It was weighing me down, sucking up my energy, swallowing my passion. I felt empty - worse than empty. Pathetic. Hopeless. It was silly, really, c...