#yes: an engagement story

This is a story of how a boy proposed to a girl. And you guessed it. It’s my story.

I wanted to publish a blog about this because there are moments when I think back to our proposal and I can’t believe it really happened. So much of my relationship with The Professor has been a fairy tale, and it was no different with how he went about asking me to marry him. I also wanted the opportunity to share our photos with you. The Prof’s roommate JF drove up from Georgia just to record our little piece of forever, and he captured some pretty magical shots. Combine that with all the random iphone snaps my bestie took on the hike up, and we basically have a pop-up “Once Upon A Time” fairy tale book.

Now, there is A LOT to this story, so just buckle in and hang on to your butts.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I’m enjoying re-living it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To give you a little backstory, The Professor has been planning this proposal for months. My dearest friends have been in on the surprise for quite awhile, as well. He asked me long ago if I was the type of girl who wanted her boyfriend to ask someone’s permission or blessing in order to propose to her.

“NO.”

I’ve been independent for 12 years now, living on my own, taking care of myself, handling my own business. The only permission a man needs is MINE.

…I think I made myself pretty clear.

Except that I didn’t.

And beyond my stamping my foot about my own independence he needed, as a pretty traditional guy, to ask someone’s blessing to pursue me in such a way. So a little less than two months ago, he dove up to Kentucky extra early to take my pastor (and surrogate father) out to lunch. As any good father would do, he put The Prof through his paces, grilling him about finances and marriage and what he would bring to the table. I didn’t hear about any of this until after he proposed. And when I heard, emotion rose up in me that I didn’t know I had or could feel. To know there was a father figure out there who was looking out for my best, who loved me enough to ask hard and demanding questions… and to know there was a man out there who loved me enough not only to endure this but to seek it…. there are few words that can sum up how that feels. And for a girl who grew up without great male role models (and certainly without a dad), this means almost more than the actual proposal does.

Anyway.

Around this time, my Bestie Boo called me to ask when we could catch up, if we could make some time to go hiking at our favorite place- The Pinnacles. The only real weekend I knew I’d have available was the last weekend of October. She also had that weekend available, and we were both excited to have the chance to relive some of our ridiculous photo shoots and hiking stories one more time before winter set in. And- again- I was thinking this was all happenstance when in reality she was already in cahoots about the proposal and needed us to go hiking that weekend. The Professor had already decided that was when it would happen, and that he would do it at The Pinnacles.

He loves nature. And hiking. And mountains. And sky. And the beautiful thing is that I do, too! He had decided early on that when he proposed he knew he needed to do it one of two ways: as a flash mob (which he thought was right up my alley), or on a hiking trip (which reflected both of us really well). I’m so glad he chose the latter. The second thing that is so beautiful about this story is that I’m a Super People Person. I LOVE to celebrate all things with all people all the time. The Professor is much more private than I am and prefers to celebrate one-on-one face-to-face. Not this girl. The more friends I have around me, the bigger the party. Literally and figuratively. So as he decided that his proposal needed to be more focused on me and what I loved than on his own desires, he began to invite people to be a part of it. And this is how it went:

Saturday, October 25th. 6:30 am. I woke up SO. EARLY. in order to drive the 2 hours south to get to The Pinnacles by 9 am- the time Sarah (The Bestie) and I decided we’d head out on our hike. She had a birthday party or something to go to with her husband’s family at 12:30, so we needed to get an early-ish start. I texted her around 8 am, halfway to the destination, to make sure she’d be there. I knew how hard it was for me to drag myself out of bed so early on a weekend, so I wanted to make sure she was up and at ’em. She texted me back that 9 am was too early, and could we do it a bit later? OHIWASMAD. I thought, great. Now we won’t get any time together because it’s getting later and she has the family thing and pout pout POUT. I’m not dramatic, as you can tell.

I decided to stop in at The Pastor’s House, where my Sweet Janice was preparing food for the college meal. Maybe I could hang there til Sarah was ready. And so began my morning. Coffee and chatting with Janice until Sarah arrived. She had asked me to bring a pretty dress and boots for her to borrow for that night (she was going on a date with her husband), and right away she had me run outside to throw the clothes in her car (so her husband could take them home). We left shortly after and headed out for our hike.

When we arrived there were so many cars! The weather forecast was bright sunny skies and a high of 70*, so I figured everyone wanted to get one last hike in. I thought we’d have the mountain to ourselves, but oh well.

We got out of the car hacking and coughing and sneezing (we were both sick), and we decided to pray before heading up. Pretty normal. But as we finished, she took her phone from her pocket and said she had just gotten a text from The Professor and he had left a note in my car secretly.

What?

I checked the glove box and- lo and behold!- there was a secret note hidden!

He had apparently snuck it in there the week before when I was visiting in Georgia. It said a few sweet things and at the bottom was signed “Enjoy your hike!” I couldn’t believe it! How did he know?! Had I told him I was hiking with Sarah?? Maybe!  This was so thoughtful, I thought, and something he does pretty often. Sarah seemed like she thought it was pretty funny, but really didn’t pay that much attention. We took off for the hills, and immediately began noticing rose petals were strewn about all over the place.

When we pulled into the parking lot, I spied a couple heading up wearing matching pale yellow shirts, so I figured maybe they were doing engagement photos and the petals were from them. I really didn’t pay any mind to them.

About a quarter of the way up, we hit a clearing with a bench that was occupied by my dear friend Emilee.

What is she doing here? Just sitting on a bench?? So weird!

She greeted us with this beautiful basket and blanket, and a little love note for me, written by The Prof. Aww! How precious is this?! The note was just a little something reminding me that I had pointed this basket out to him way back in the spring, on a date to a little mountain town in North Georgia. He had gone back the next day and bought it for me. He never knew when a good time was to give it to me, but he thought today might be it.

and then i became little red riding hood

This is where I should have figured that something was up. But I absolutely. did. not. You see, he had told me a couple weeks before that he would be going on a spiritual retreat the weekend that I was out hiking with Sarah. It’s something he does pretty regularly, and something I really admire in him. He’s also an incredibly truthful man, sometimes to the point of being overly blunt, and he would never lie to me. Especially not about his time with THE LORD. He also had sent me a sweet package in the mail awhile ago with a little love note that said the surprises inside were so I wouldn’t forget about him while we were apart. I honestly just figured he was stepping up that game. It didn’t occur to me once that this day was different. I thanked Emilee for being a part of this cool basket surprise, hugged her, and continued on my way up the mountain with Sarah.

Halfway up we met my sweet J Hart who was waiting with a wrapped book and another note.

Again, I SHOULD HAVE BEEN TIPPED OFF. But no.

And then we couldn’t open the package.

struggle all the things

Finally, I opened the book, which was a hardbound copy of some of our early writings, and all of his journal entries concerning me from the very first day we met. He also had photos printed and had copied down prayers about me (and what he heard the Lord saying about me).

Talk about mind-blowing! Another love note, another trail of red rose petals to follow, and we were off.

Many of you might be thinking I should have known by now, but truly- I believed with my whole heart that he was off on a spiritual retreat and this was just one of his grand romantic gestures.

Sarah was not helping ONE BIT. Everything she said was full of her classic dry wit and sarcasm, and I really didn’t think there was anything to it.

but she’s really pretty so i love her anyway

We kept driving upwards and about 3/4 of the way to the top we encountered yet another of my girlfriends waiting on a bench with a note and a computer.

newly-married olivia!

Liv sat me down and opened the laptop to reveal a video made of 45 second clips of some of the parental figures and mentors in our lives. They talked of their love and support of us, they shared stories of how they’d seen us grow and develop both individually and as a couple. Joe and Janice, my pastors and surrogate parents, were the last video.

Janice ended with “We can’t wait to see that big, pretty ring!” And Joe said “Happy Engagement!!”

…

WHAT?!?!

IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING!??!!?

IS HE HERE?? IS HE STANDING UP THERE WAITING ON ME?? Is he for real proposing? Is this happening? Is this real life?!?

Some of a million questions that instantly ran through my head. How did I not know?? How had I not gotten all the clues??

Olivia hugged me before Sarah led me up the final stretch of trail, at the top of which was standing yet another sweet friend- Jess K- waiting for us.

She led us off the trail and behind some trees where heavy curtains had been hung to provide a changing area. There was a full-length mirror and chair, makeup, nail polish, hair supplies, the works. Sarah had carried in her backpack the dress she had asked to “borrow,” which apparently The Professor had chosen for me.

They sat me down and loved on me, hugged me, handed me makeup, painted my nails, praised my hair (even though it was super dirty from the hike). They prayed with me and then sent me on my way. This last part I needed to do on my own.

Walking alone-for the first time- was quite nerve-wracking for me. I never thought I’d be the girl that needed to lean on someone, but in that moment I really thought I needed to hold Sarah’s hand. I was so nervous! Elated, excited, ecstatic, joyful- but definitely nervous.

I walked out to the edge of the cliff where he was standing and waiting for me. He turned around to see me and- gasp!- was finally wearing a bow tie and suspenders! I’d been nagging him for months to invest in those things and here they were! And he looked goooooooooood.

soooooo good.

The rest was a blur.

He hugged me, said some stuff, got down on one knee, and invited me into forever.

Of course I said yes.

Who wouldn’t?

We were laughing about this moment a few nights ago- neither of us really remember what he said in those precious few minutes. But we agreed on all the important stuff.

When he stood, he placed the ring on my finger, popped out his phone to play a song, and we danced on the edge of this mountain. Later he brought me champagne in a picnic basket, and showed me where he had taken nearly 3 hours over the course of 2 days to carve our initials into a huge rock. Unbelievable.

My girlfriends rushed out to celebrate with us, and we headed back down the mountain to go to my pastor’s house for an already-arranged engagement party! He really pulled out all the stops. He really sacrificed his own preference of celebrating one-on-one in order for me to feel celebrated by all my loved ones at one time in one place. And so many people were there! They had all brought food and desserts, decorations and cards and flowers. It was breathtaking. His mom had driven up to surprise even him, and having both our mothers there was so meaningful and lovely.

look at it look at it look at it!

It was the perfect moment. I’m looking forward to all the rest.

a change in the wind

Whew, it feels like summer just began and already my girls are back in school. You can’t tell because of the UNBELIEVABLE heat and humidity we’re finally experiencing (which, let’s just be honest, is about dang time), but autumn is quickly arriving and with it a new season. And I don’t just mean climate-wise.

Summer was incredible. Maybe just a bit too short, but wonderful none-the-less. Even with my 50-60 hour workweek, I have been able to do all sorts of things. The Boy came and “lived” up here for three weeks, I visited him for two separate weeks. There was the annual street swing dance in Lexington, and multiple USABDA dances on warm Saturday nights. I visited a zoo and an aquarium, went to considerably less movies than my usual summer haul, and ate more sushi than I care to count. I visited Ellice and my sweet Laurana, drank coffee in the kitchen with PJoe and Janice, and tried my hand at brand new pie and cake recipes. I started teaching my girls to bake.

I discovered a new pinterest interest (although I’ve had an account for years), and am currently on day five of a facebook fast. I’ve taken Jackpot to the dog park enough to make actual friends with other regulars who bring their dogs, and I’ve spent weeks laying out in the sun by a pool where V and K perfected their back dives and front flips. I’ve dressed up for two weddings, both of which were more emotional than I was prepared for. I have traveled so much I currently believe I’m actually living out of my car, rather than at an apartment with Mary Alice, who has been one of my best friends for years. And I’ve watched as our friendship has grown deeper and deeper, especially over the last month.

My love for hammocks has been re-awakened. I helped my mom move some stuff from storage into a moving truck so she could unpack at her brand new house- something she has been waiting on and praying for for at least a decade. I got my hair cut. And colored. And it is AWESOME. I even got a tutorial on how to use hair products and which ones to buy. I perfected the art of the dutch braid, thanks to youtube (and a little assistance from Mary Alice). I have ROCKED learning how to curl my hair.

I’ve gone putt-putting. I’ve juiced. I watched food documentaries and learned stuff. I went hiking A LOT. I’ve taken time on various road trips to pull off and spend time at a river, a lake, a mountain lookout, and a super-cool, slightly-hidden pottery house. I stayed for a weekend in a log cabin with girls who make me feel incredibly special. I reunioned with Sarah and her husband. I celebrated the 5 year birthday/anniversary of the best church on the planet. I walked through an abandoned mall that creeped me out. I’ve seen more deer and fawns than I can count. I paid off my credit card. I bought the perfect flannel shirt.

I got a Netflix account that equally improved and ruined my life. I watched every season of Parks and Rec, and The West Wing (except I still can’t bring myself to view the final episode, knowing it’ll really be over).

I went to an actual running store to buy actual running shoes. I ran 5 miles without stopping one time. And with a few stops another time. I went running more than I wanted to. I did barre workouts less than I wanted to. I did yoga even less than that. I took a lot of naps. I read a lot. I knitted and crocheted more than I ever have in the summer. I’ve celebrated new mamas and babies. I celebrated new friendships. I said goodbye a lot to people heading to the mission field. I welcomed them home.

The Boy gave me a tshirt. We watched lots of sunsets and a few thunderstorms. I told him I loved him for the first time. I kissed him under a bridge at dusk. We ran a 5k and then I covered him in leftover colored corn starch. I kayaked for the first time. I paddle-boated for the first time. I paddle-boarded for the first time. I swam at night for the first time. I pretended to love red wine. I started to love red wine. I threw a surprise birthday party. I said “I love you” some more.

I drank a lot of coffee. I learned to love soy and almond milk, and I started to not love actual milk anymore. I didn’t take vitamins like I should have. I did floss like I should have. I wore sports bras and running shorts far too often. I didn’t wear dresses nearly enough. I did wear heels though- a couple times. I learned to love wildflowers…really and truly love them.

I bought a book about gardening vegetables.

I got the hiccups a lot.

I didn’t spend one weekend at my apartment.

People I barely knew taught me the real meaning of hospitality.

I coached the most amazing girls at a conference.

I only wore chacos.

I introduced V and K to the magic of Harry Potter. No pun intended.

I ordered something online.

I had to buy (and start regularly using) a patellar strap.

I bought things from local farmers.

I re-ignited my love of jigsaw puzzles and hummus. Not together. At least, not very often. I learned to love peanut butter. Especially with apples.

My love for nutella almost ruined my waistline. Again.

……

Whew.

It’s been an incredible summer. And now it’s over.

As wonderful as things have been, it feels as if I’ve lived totally in one of two camps: One being that time is simply going by too fast to keep up, and the other being the exact opposite- what’s next and why can’t I figure it out? For the first time in my life (maybe the second, if you count the World Race), I feel totally out of control of my time, my work, my relationships. But in a good way, like I just get to sit back and enjoy what happens as it’s happening. I’m going to stop looking very far in the future, and instead focus my energies on being as fully present as I can, and sopping up every ounce of joy and fulfillment that I can.

It seems like something is missing. Like I’ve been only enjoying half of my time, and the other half is spent just trying to catch up. So I’m making a few conscious changes for this autumn. Most particularly in reference to my job and all the time I spend there. 100% of my time this summer has been spent in workout clothes (so that I can take the pup running, and I can get messy doing projects with the girls). But I don’t want to be that girl who shows up only in yoga pants or running shorts. Not that there is anything wrong with that. But I want, need, to put more effort into my life, to not allow time to just slip by because I’m too busy.

So one thing I’ve decided to do is take one day and dress in actual clothes: shorts made of a fabric other than nylon, jeans, an actual bra. Really anything other than what I’ve lived in. I think it will be good for my psyche (and also my poor workout clothes that haven’t had a dang break in three months) to wear normal clothes once in awhile.

I’m also challenging myself to get out of my house and do something else one night a week. Typically I leave my house around 6 am and return anywhere from 7-8:30 pm. Which means I’m in bed and konked out by 10:30 at the latest. That’s not a lot of time for myself. But I’ve decided it’s important for me, as tiring as it may seem at first, to do something besides come home and work out/read/knit/watch tv or any number of quiet, solitary activities and then pass out.

I actually allowed myself to do something spontaneous yesterday during an afternoon break at work (sometimes I have 3-4 hours off in the middle of the day). I took myself to see a movie at a dollar theatre (it’s typically $3, but on Tuesdays it’s half-off). The theatre was at the back of an almost totally abandoned mall (which kind of felt a little ghost-like). The floor was so sticky that every time I moved my foot, my sole suctioned off and then back onto the floor. The chairs smelled equally like body odor and cat urine, and both were strong. So strong, in fact, that at one point about halfway through the movie I honestly thought about leaving. But I stayed to the end, and it was a really enjoyable film- truly entertaining.

Today I decided would be the day I wore actual clothes. I did show up to work in my normal workout attire, because within 45 minutes of arriving I walk the girls (and two of their neighbors) to school and then go on a run with Jackpot. But afterward I came back home (and since I had a break today, too) I took a shower and changed into cloth shorts and a plaid tank top. It feels weird. But this is the vow I have taken.

I also took myself out for coffee this morning. I went to a coffee shop I’d never heard of (but google swore it was the best in Cincinnati). And it was cute– built into what I’m sure had to have been an old historic home. Good coffee, too. But absolutely ZERO parking and the one place I found had a strict one-hour policy with a tried-and-true history of cars being towed. So I enjoyed my iced hazelnut almond milk latte as quickly as I could and then skedaddled. Thus began a cafe crawl to find a new place with free wifi and free parking.

So now I sit at Panera, typing to you. Because local coffee shops don’t have free parking, or parking without vehicles already parked. I’m not sure what this new season has in store, but I’m really looking forward to it. Autumn has always been my favorite season and, traditionally, it has been very good to me. There are a couple weddings coming up, and some really special birthdays. The Boy will visit me and I will visit him. My sweet Ellice will have her third baby. The leaves will change color and I will hike some tall peaks to better enjoy the view. I’ll unpack the boots and the scarves and the cozy sweaters I pine for all summer long. I’ll try my hand at making hot cider for the first time. I’ll finish my journal and begin a new one. I’ll keep loving coffee. I’ll keep running with Jackpot. I’ll keep trying to keep up with the girls.

And I’ll enjoy every minute of every day, lapping up all the abundance life has to offer, knowing

“The Lord will keep [me] from harm–
He will watch over [my] life;
The Lord will watch over my coming and going
both now and forevermore.”
Psalm 121:7-8

Bring it on, Autumn.

30b30: three. i MUST live in a log cabin… i mean, congrats betsy and josh!

It’s been a minute since I’ve done any real blogging, so here’s a toast to beginning again the process of publicly journaling my life.

This past weekend I traveled a few hours north of where I reside to have a wedding reunion with O Squad- the loud, colorful, joyous, hilarious, indescribable group of people with whom I journeyed the world round last year. Two of our own- Betsy and Josh- were officially tying the knot. It was a quick but lovely ceremony, followed by a reception dinner that was basically an excuse to continue catching up on what everyone is doing these days, who is dating whom, where everyone is living, and which of our numerous memories from our year together are our favorite.

everyone was SO clean…and smelled so good

It was an awesome day and a half.

Know something else that was awesome?

The log cabin some of us got to stay in for the weekend. Betsy’s family put the whole squad up in various locations, and I was one of the suuuuper lucky few to bag the cabin (thanks for your logisticing skills, Emma!) (#racebestie)

Seriously.

This place is a glimpse of my personal heaven.

I woke up each morning early…not even that early… but I had about an hour each morning totally to myself. “Not a creature was stirring” kind of quiet. It was incredibly life-giving.

I have to start at the beginning. You see, my version of heaven includes lots of trees and wilderness, and a house resembling, well, a sweet-looking log cabin. Lots of natural hardwood flooring, big windows, open ceilings with visible rafters. There’s an old-timey front porch with handmade rocking chairs, for sure, and definitely a back porch.  A big kitchen with a table for everyone, and a warm feeling you get as soon as you walk in, that spreads from your head all the way down to your toes.

THIS WAS THAT PLACE.

From the front porch- wildflowers and weeds and tall grasses as far as you can see.  From the back porch, nothing but woodland and underbrush. Then to the side of the cabin was a small pergola opening into a garden.  The house was surrounded by a picket fence that looked as old as the ages (and yet also well-maintained).

Heaven.

That first morning I woke with the idea to grab my bible and journal and head to the front porch to spend time with Jesus in a rocking chair. But I was so overwhelmed with the aesthetics of the place that all I could do was walk around and around and try to drink in every sight. I picked some wildflowers from along the “road” (an extremely long gravel-and-dirt driveway), place them in a piece of pottery from the cabinet, and start the morning coffee. I walked all over the side garden, and across the “driveway”, where a little pond was surrounded by a grassy path that led through a tunnel of small trees. I did rock on a chair on the front porch, but only for a minute, because there was so much else to see. There were little walking paths all over the place, made of flat rocks, with pieces of weed and grass growing between them. The sun was still rising above the trees behind the house, so only the tops of the trees and flowers at the top of the hill in the front was illuminated. Everything was still and quiet and covered in dew and my feet got wet and grassy pretty quickly.

I went back inside to unpack some of the groceries Emma had picked up for the house, and to stand in the middle of that silent kitchen and just dream. What an amazing place to be able to live! A big island in the kitchen to prepare food on while your family sits or runs around. A huge table with lots of seating. There was even one of those old metal hangy-things that had peppers and garlic drying from it. And also old pans and skillets.

I felt so clean and de-cluttered. I felt in that moment, standing with my coffee, listening to the sounds of the early morning, that I could do anything, be anyone. I dreamed of my own future house with my own future family, and how I hoped it could be like this- big and open and lived in. As my squadmates woke up and filed in and life began, I kept thinking what a wonderful place it would be to even simply live in community- just have a big cabin and fill it with my best girlfriends- women who would sharpen and encourage and challenge each other to live closer to Christ.

It was simply a breath of fresh air.

Sunday morning was similar, except instead of running around marveling at how creative God is, and how creative His children are (to make such a perfect building), I just sat in the nook with my coffee and my bible and read about how awesome and faithful and loving He is. I sat in the again-quiet kitchen and drank in the goodness of the Lord. After spending all afternoon and evening with my squad, laughing and sharing and storytelling and bonfiring, I still woke up feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. I felt like I had been at a retreat. That’s the power of finding your place– those spaces that make you feel new.  For me, it’s a cabin in the woods, far from internet or cell phone service (SERIOUSLY, OHIO), full of hardwood floors and walls, big windows, and some history. A place to escape life and responsibility and tasks for just a little bit. A place to take a walk and meet God in nature- to see His beauty in His magnificent handiwork.

I’ve recently discovered a love of flowers (wildflowers in particular), and a love of lacy things, and a love of feeling feminine in the most old fashioned ways. This weekend was all of those things.

I consider myself an introvert and really need a pretty good amount of time alone to recharge. And yet, God plopped me down in the middle of more than half my squad to celebrate a momentous occasion. And even with all of those things, He gave me just the tiniest amount of alone time in the perfect space, and I feel new. I feel so refreshed. Such a full, busy, travel-y weekend, and still I am fully ready for another 50-hour work week.

The power of the perfect place. Thanks, Ramser family, for allowing us to live in your cabin. Thanks, Jesus, for knowing and blessing my heart. You’re so good, and I’m so full.

it’s the little things

As I sit here eating the last few crumbs of my birthday cupcake (thanks, meggy-poo!) and waiting on the first pot of coffee from my brand new coffee maker, I’m reminded of how lovely the simple things in life are. A quiet apartment all to yourself, the warm welcoming hug of a friend you haven’t seen in awhile, a blue sky and a bright shining sun. It’s the little things that make life so worth living.

This past Friday was my birthday. The end of my twenties, the Last Hurrah, the countdown to the big 3-0. I honestly wasn’t expecting much. With the exception of one fabulous game night at PJoe and Janice’s a couple years ago, I haven’t really done anything special for my birthday in years and years. And I’ve grown to be okay with it. In school it was always on spring break and no one was ever around. In college it never seemed to really matter that much; there was always so much else to think about, to dwell on, to do. So it just became a smaller and smaller thing until, finally, it was a day that came and went as quietly as most other days, except for the quickly-growing facebook congratulations fad (which is always lovely in and of itself).

But this year has been different. I worked all day on the 7th, but when evening rolled around, my roommate Mary Alice had made plans to go into downtown Cincinnati for some good conversation and good dinner. Little did I know that she had put out a message to our small group and to some other friends in the area, and many had responded! A group of happy faces was waiting on me when I finally rolled into this sweet little pizza place on this crowded, busy little street.

On Saturday I headed back to Richmond to see my church family, and spent the day being overwhelmed with delightful little surprises at every turn of the page. And Sunday was spent in the company of my mom enjoying good conversation and delicious snow crab.

It was an incredible weekend, so full of friends and hugs and birthday songs. Here are some of the little things that filled me up:

*Meghan’s love note
*text message pictures
*finishing a good book
*sleeping in on Sunday
*a nice, long, hot shower
*worshiping with my mom
*the fact that skype is a thing
*munching on some thin mints
*driving home with Mary Alice
*listening to the sounds of silence
*experiencing sunlight at 7:30 pm
*Angela gifting me Catching Fire (!)
*buying a new movie for less than $5
*enjoying a viewing of You’ve Got Mail
*helping mom pick out new work shoes
*talking with Julia and Janice about life
*holding Jess’ baby for a long, long time
*feeding Jess’ baby for a long, long time
*talking with Julia and Janice about boys
*listening to Jess’ baby’s precious hiccups
*a quiet drive home in the bright sunshine
*talking with Julia and Janice about Jesus
*having my friends sing the birthday song to me
*getting dressed up for the first time in a long time
*snow crab legs and shrimp with my mom at the Lob
*spending 3 hours in the kitchen with Janice and Julia
*eating freshly-baked chocolate chip Janice Wood cookies
*watching 4-year-old Laurana attempt to master chopsticks
*lunch (delicious sushi!) with my darling Ellice and Laurana
*eating a home-cooked dinner with Meghan (and by Meghan)
*hanging with Jess and her precious little 6-day-old foster baby
*white christmas lights being the major source of light in my room
*listening to the serious sass Laurana has picked up since Christmas
*opening the perfect gift from them (a huge hand-painted coffee mug)
*getting a quick hug from PJoe as he ran in the house and right back out
*receiving my handmade card and knit scarf from the precious girls I nanny
*being super surprised at the cards and gifts from the girls in my small group
*sitting on the couch, painting our nails, and gabbing up a storm with Meghan
*having my precious Alex’s grandparents hug me and give me a birthday present
*having time to clean my house at the end of the day (this is actually therapy for me)
*the many wonderful phone calls from far-away loved ones wishing to celebrate with me
*the life-changing bacon, egg, and cheese bagel Mary-Alice made for me saturday morning
*opening the beautiful card I got in the mail and following the clues to my birthday present
*reading a book at Purdy’s Coffee by myself with my favorite chai tea latte in a for-here mug
*having a table full of people order a handful of different kinds of wood-fired pizzas and try everything
*experiencing the glory of Graeter’s ice cream for the first time (mocha chocolate chip. mmmmmmmm)
*the restaurant deciding not to play overhead music because the sound of conversation and laughter was music enough
*mentioning off-hand to Janice that I thought her kitchen smelled like baked-goods but I didn’t see any, and having her offer to bake cookies right then and there
*PJoe starting his sermon off by telling everyone I’m a World Champion martial artist and super-dangerous (this was one of the highlighted highlights of a very highlighted weekend)
*watching a bartender (a man with a beard so enormous it could rival a yak’s in winter) light orange peels on fire in the process of making what appeared to be the Ryan-Gosling-in-Crazy-Stupid-Love drink

What an incredible, abundant, lovely, bountiful, surprising, delightful, joy-filled weekend. And the thing is… every single weekend is this beautiful. Every time I go home to Richmond I am surrounded by people who make me feel valuable, wanted, and loved. I don’t need a lot to get by. But the things God has decided to bless me with are innumerable and I don’t even have to make a point to think about my blessings- they’re too many to count.

It’s the little things in life that make life worth living.

But so often those little things are big indeed.

xoxo
one-year-older andi

do you want to be an olympian?

This past weekend I heard a marvelous- and hard- teaching at Vineyard Community Church Richmond on suffering. PJoe has been in a series called “Olympic Life” and it’s about finding strength, power, and perseverance in Romans 8. It’s been a fantastic series and has really encouraged me to live a little louder, a little stronger, and a little bolder. This Sunday he spoke on the suffering and agony we go through before we get the brass ring. He opened with this statement:

We often see the winners on the podium. What we don’t see
is the suffering, the agony, of those who didn’t end up there.

He said, “We don’t often think of or understand the suffering that comes with a hupernikao life (Greek; meaning “more than conqueror”). It is entirely impossible to live a more-than-conquerors life without it happening.

PJoe went on to give illustrations from previous Olympics where athletes had experienced terrible accidents, had broken or torn different parts of their bodies, and yet still went on to compete. They knew that to push through the pain meant something. I was personally reminded of Kerri Strug, every little girl’s hero in the mid-90’s. In the 1996 Olympics, competing for gold, she sprained her ankle and badly damaged a tendon on her first of two vaults. When told that her team needed her to do the last vault, she sucked it up and went full-out despite the pain she was in, landing her dismount perfectly, and finally hopping onto her uninjured foot. I remember watching (from our tiny television set) her coach carrying her from the mat, and then later onto the podium for the gold medal. She knew what it meant to push through. She knew what was needed to get to that next level, and she decided it was worth the momentary agony to get there.

I was also powerfully reminded of my own days competing for Team USA- not in the Olympics, but in the WKA World Championships. PJoe had started to talk about what it meant to train like an Olympian, to agree to live with pain every day, to live with exhaustion every day, to intentionally put yourself in positions where you could get injured. He discussed what it was like to consciously sign up for the inevitability that you will get hurt, that you’ll go to a doctor or surgeon, get cut up and sewn back together, push through therapy, and then get back on your feet as soon as possible, because what you were working toward was worth so much more than this moment that hurts like nothing before. He talked about even when we go to the gym- the act of lifting weights literally tears our muscles, and when they grow back, they’re a little stronger than before. That‘s why Olympians keep going out over and over, even if/when/after they are injured: because through pain and suffering come growth, strength and healing.

I found myself nearly in tears as I reminisced on my time training in martial arts. I competed for a place on the National Team on the morning of my Junior Prom. I competed later that year- the beginning of my senior year of high school- in my first World Championships. I came home with jet lag, about a hundred bruises, and four bronze medals. I competed in two more Worlds- one in Switzerland and the other in Canada, and brought home three more bronze medals, two silvers… and my GOLD. I won the Gold Medal in 2004, 9 years after beginning my training with Lantrip’s East West Karate. The amount of muscle and bone bruises, pulled and torn muscles, hip joint displacement and pain, ripped toe nails, sprained everything, bleeding feet, bloody noses, deep blisters that I walked through to get to that place are innumerable.

I can remember training with a school just outside of Washington DC for a month one summer before the Worlds, and thinking to myself I don’t remember the last time I woke up without pain. But the thing is I never second-guessed my being there. I never considered what life would be like if I didn’t train the way I did, or the amount I did. Every single second I spent working in or out of a studio was completely worth it. It was nothing for me to sign up for that kind of pain because I knew what the prize was, and my eyes were locked on it.

Is that what my life with Jesus looks like? Do I have my eyes locked so singularly on the prize of being with Him that the pain or agony or suffering I feel in this moment does not for a second make me second-guess my devotion to Him? Or do I get sidetracked or even sidelined with how it feels when I hurt a little. Was my devotion to some tiny piece of metal more deeply rooted than my devotion to the Son of God?

I, like PJoe, am not trying to downplay the real suffering that goes on in life. Relationships are broken, parents or children are lost, jobs are ripped away, health is stolen… These are examples of the real agony that we go through in this life. And it’s okay to feel hurt, brokenness, and anguish. I feel those things, too. But my hope is that these things we go through are fleeting moments that only serve to grow and strengthen me. If, through Paul’s writing, God does indeed say “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness,” then I am all in. Through trial and turmoil, through storm and famine, I will- I must– keep my eyes on the ultimate prize, and lean into the inexhaustible power of Christ. The bruises, the sweat, the blood that it takes is- and I apologize for the cliche way this may come out- is worth it.

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth
comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.
Romans 8:18

 

completely worth it

 

new book, old memory

I was recently given Gary Chapman’s Love as a Way of Life, the sequel to The Five Love Languages. I just opened it twenty or so minutes ago, and I’m already so inspired to live and love a different way, I had to pause and blog about it.

My senior year of high school, I began my first dating relationship. And for the most part, it was awesome: we laughed a lot, he made me feel secure in him and our relationship, and I was confident of his care for me. But there was something really missing, and I didn’t know what it was. Every few weeks or so, I’d cry in his general direction that I thought we were being selfish, that we needed to be focusing on others- that our relationship should be focused on serving others. It was great that we were so happy and carefree (what else can you be in high school?), but I needed something… more.

And for a minute it would work. We would go volunteer somewhere, or just in general be on the lookout for how to serve and love people better: striking up conversations in the hallways, providing a listening and non-judgmental ear to anyone who needed it, inviting people to hang out or go to the movies or have lunch. Whatever. It was awesome for a minute.

But then we would inevitably fall back into the routine of self-focus and that feeling of needing something more would begin its slow struggle to the surface where I would, once again, cry in his general direction that I was unhappy and needed… something more.

What was I missing? Why was I staying in this cycle?

Because I was right. According to Dr. Chapman, “First, love is an attitude that says I choose to focus my life on helping others.” When my mind and heart were focused outwardly, I was being my true self, and receiving satisfaction in that thing that we were made for- relationships- whether it was a long-term or momentary one. When my focus shifted back to “us” those feelings of discontentment seeped up. My problem was that, simply as a seventeen-year-old in her first romantic relationship, I didn’t know how to juggle my feelings toward that relationship with my feelings toward the rest of the world. I was simply unprepared for how to handle life in all its complexity.

Fast-forward ten or so years, and I’m sitting in a Starbucks watching the snow outside tumbling down like a Hallmark card, and this book in my hands is confirming everything I always knew to be true and necessary. And it is such a bolster, such an inspiration to learn to handle myself and all my relationships in a way that is others-focused and serving-oriented.

Now all I need to do is live it out.

Thanks, Dr. Chapman.

waxing nostalgic, home edition

originally posted at http://andimoore.theworldrace.org

Today I’m missing home.

Today I’m pining not just for what was, but for what could be in the future.

I miss living in an apartment, with a big ol’ room all to myself, a bed I share only with myself, and a window to look out of without fear of mosquitos or burglars or the unknown.

I miss sitting by a window with nothing but the screen between the rain and me.

I miss the coffee shop that lives two blocks away, with its cozy brick walls and cushy leather chairs and comfy warm atmosphere. And I really miss its soy chai lattes.

I miss late night movies with the roomie, or the bestie, or the ministry student. I miss my home ministry and all the souls that are interconnected and intertwined and all tangled up in it.

I miss the quiet. I miss my prius. I miss driving myself around with nowhere to go and nothing to do but roll the windows down and breathe in the cool wind. I miss seatbelts and rules of the road and feeling safe while on the road.

I miss real hospitals and doctors and dentists.

I miss hot showers. I miss showers at all, any kind with actual fast-moving, running, cleansing water.

I miss my yoga classes. Ones I teach and ones I attend. I miss my students and my teachers. I miss getting adjusted. I miss being touched and pressed and petted and soothed. I miss being stretched. I miss 108 Sun Salutes to welcome Fall and Spring.

I miss my gym and fitness classes and feeling healthy and in shape.

I miss Friday Night Dance Parties at Arthur Murray and 3rd-Saturday-a-month ballroom dances. I miss Swinging On Main and Goose and all my favorite dance partners.

I miss vegetables and salads that cost less than $10. Or salads that are simply available. I also miss steak and sushi and seafood in general. I miss Zeppoli from Olive Garden. Also pancakes with syrup.

I miss living in a place where my friends or students can walk to my house, open the door, and sit on my couch or start working on the ever-present jigsaw puzzle without knocking.

Today I miss an income. I don’t really miss the last job, specifically, but I miss making money and paying bills, and not just hanging in limbo waiting to get back and restart.

I miss shopping and movie theatres and meeting friends in random locations all by accident or divine appointment. I miss hearing my name called out when I’m walking through a food market or a craft store.

I miss crafts. I miss my yarn and knitting and having 8 projects going at once. I miss scrapbooking and roadtripping and discovering mom-and-pop shops in weird little towns with unpronounceable names far off the beaten track.

I miss good, strong, fast, reliable, dependable, sweet, loving internet. I miss text messaging.

I miss not being home for everyone’s wedding or anniversary or baby shower or birth or birthday.

I miss Caroline jumping into my car in the driveway of Chick-fil-a.

I miss hearing Lydia’s laugh. I miss Lindsey’s laugh, too. And her old apartment with Sarah.

I miss Mikyla’s pleas to get me to go see a band play in Louisville.

I miss buffalo bites and dance shows and complaining on the couch with Ellice. I miss Laurana, and long talks about epics with Brad.

I miss baking and talking with Janice, and being interrupted by Joe who always begins to preach because he can’t help himself; he has to talk about Jesus. I miss their wisdom and their hugs and I miss their dogs who are really livestock but like to pretend they’re lapdogs. I even miss hanging out on their couch when they aren’t home.

I miss small group with Tierah and Sydney and Emily and Lydia and Caroline and Angela and Casey and Meghan.

I miss small group with my 707 girls. I miss my 707 Coaches. I miss 707 and Sunday Afternoon Ultimate.

I miss dogsitting at Wendy’s. A lot. Also Katherine-and-Wade’s and Mary Alice’s.

I miss sewing and quilting and laughing and dancing and baking and all-night-talking with Mary Alice. I miss game night at Derek’s.

I miss game night. I miss jigsaw puzzles.

I miss interpreting at Vineyard. I miss worshipping at Vineyard. I miss fellowshipping and laughing and crying at Vineyard. I miss the Knoll Family and the Allen Family and the Brownings and the Keelings and the Walkers and everyone who made me feel like a part of their life.

I miss my knitting group and how we were all like little grandmas, with our needles and yarn and homemade snacks from homegrown herb gardens and fancy pinterest recipes.

I miss long walks to the Farmer’s Market and sneaking tastes of Vegan power food in that weird aisle at Whole Foods with Alex. I miss being jealous of Alex’s super sweet hipster style and trying unsuccessfully to imitate it.

I miss talking to Aunt CJ on the phone. I miss her laugh and how she tries to get me to talk to her doggies every time. I miss the rare and occasional 3 days off to go visit and lay around in her pool for 12 hours.

I miss ballroom dancing and dinner dates and movies with my mom, and having a beer with my brother.

I miss coldweather running and yoga and Downton Abbey with Casey. I miss Barre Workouts.

I miss Thai Bodywork- giving and receiving.

I miss random visits and youtube battles with Patrick and seeing live theatre with Thomas.

I miss an reunions with Peyton and bi-monthly run-ins with Mel where we instantly begin quoting from shows or old professors or memories.

I miss Tim and Ashley, in general. I miss yoga at the top of the Pinnacles with Erik. I miss hiking the Pinnacles. I even miss Capoeira class.

I miss signing and laughing and crying and Twilight-watching with Sarah and pizza. I miss driving around praying for the town with her. I miss us both living in the same place at the same time. I miss her dry humor and how she supports me and calls me out and encourages me. I miss how we’re game show hosts together, and I miss quoting Adventure Now for hours on end, even though we’re totally lame. I miss that one time when she got married.

I miss dresses and sandals and being clean all the time. I miss tights and cardigans and scarves and the smell of autumn arriving in Kentucky. I really, really miss Autumn in Kentucky. Like, I’m literally missing it. Right now. It’s happening. And I’m missing it.

I miss my black leather jacket. I miss my winter boots, the ugly snow-ones, not the cute leather ones. Although I miss them, too. I miss my holey skinny jeans and my legit yoga pants, not the target version I brought with me on the race. I miss my washing and drying machines, my sewing machine, and my kitchen with all its space and ability to host, entertain, and improve life for anyone who shows up to it. I miss my tv and I really miss my giant dvd collection. I miss my Chuck Taylors.

I miss holding an actual book in my hands, and feeling the spine loosen and wear. I miss bookstores.

I miss the kettle corn that the local movie theatre makes. I miss going to that theatre. I miss random Wednesday afternoon movies dates with myself.

I miss theatre and singing show tunes at the top of my lungs without fear of judgment or laughter or upsetting someone’s nap or quiet time. I miss floor work in modern dance class.

I miss when I wasn’t addicted to soda.

I miss traveling around alone. I miss planning and plans and organization. I miss visiting friends in faraway places.  I miss Washington, D.C in the winter. And in the summer. I miss the Northwest.

I miss home videos of dancing and martial arts and singing and basically being reminded of how awesome life was many years ago. It’s good to be reminded life has been awesome every step of the way, and it isn’t only now becoming awesome.

Life is still awesome, and I am loving where I am.

But it’s okay to miss home. And it’s okay to wax nostalgic about it.

But I just gotta keep my eyes on the prize! I am exactly where I am for a reason, and it is beautiful. Life is. Life is beautiful. In every season, and in every place.

I miss home and I miss the luxuries of being there, but I wouldn’t trade today and this place for anything. I’m representing the kingdom of heaven (just as I do at home), here in Africa, soon to be Asia. And I couldn’t be happier or more blessed.

Life is beautiful.

grieving my losses: grandparents

originally posted at http://andimoore.theworldrace.org

I’m preparing to go speak at a church next Wednesday to raise funds for this trip. It’s the first church that has asked me to come speak. It’s my Grandparents’ church.

My grandparents, Joan and RL, were 2 of the most incredible people I’ve ever known. RL (whom I called Pawpaw), died when I was young- maybe 8 or 9. My mother, brother, and I moved in with my grandmother right before I turned 11, and I got the incredible privilege of living with and getting to know my incredible Grandma. We lived together until I left for college and then, in a tragic arc of events, she passed away after a long battle with a bad heart at the very beginning of my sophomore year.  It was the single most painful thing I’ve ever gone through, by a lot. She was one of my dearest friends.

Every time I think of her, I cry. Most of the time it’s a weeping/sobbing kind of cry, and not a “adorable few tears” kin of way.

I’m crying right now.

As I’m preparing to go back home, to walk into the church she went to for her entire married life (which was a loooong time), to stand and look at people I haven’t seen since her funeral- people who grew up with her, who loved her, whom I associate with her (and with him, too, for that matter), I’m finding that I’m beginning to have nightmares.

Last night I had terrible nightmares about the loss of my grandparents- ways that they did die, and ways that they didn’t (but did in these dreams). I had nightmares about the pain they suffered, both real and imaginary, and other scenarios of tragedy. I woke up this morning with a terrible knot in my stomach and tears racing down my face. I haven’t woken up crying in a long while- this was really startling to me.

I’m still not sure why all this is happening- I’m sure it has a lot to do with going back to that church. I went there for years with my grandmother after my grandfather died. It holds a lot of memories.

But I also haven’t been back in nearly a decade.

So why is this such a big deal?

The best I can guess is that I haven’t properly grieved the loss of my grandparents, and it’s causing some serious backlash. It has been years and years and years since the two of them passed away, and one would assume that’s plenty of time to heal the heart. But as my pastor said a couple Sundays ago, “Time does nothing to heal wounds. You have to be intentional about them.” And I guess I’ve just been letting time slip by in the hopes that I won’t miss them as serverely anymore.

And so I guess I’m going to have to really sit down and figure out what it is that is causing me so much sadness- why I’m still missing them both, and pining for them both. It will take time-but time on purpose. Intentional Time. And I think I’m prepared to deal with it.

Maybe I don’t really want to let go… Maybe I’m worried that letting go of the pain will mean letting go of how sharp their memories are, and I don’t want them to fade. Maybe I’m worried people will think I didn’t love them as much, or it doesn’t matter to me that they aren’t with me anymore. I’m not sure.  But what I do know is that this is causing a sustained problem in my life. Do you know I can’t walk into nursing homes without erupting into uncontrollable weeping? I can’t look at older people without feeling a sharp pain in my chest. These are seriously debilitating problems! If I don’t deal with this- if I don’t grieve these losses properly, there is going to be a time on the Race where I am rendered impotent- completely useless to the Lord.

I love my grandparents with a love that never ends. I know I will see them again and, together, we will praise our Lord and worship for all eternity. But I have to let them go now. Because the Lord clearly needs me on earth right now, and useful- and not emotionally or mentally with my beloved grandparents. This is a foothold the devil is using to stop the advancement of the Kingdom in my life. And I haven’t recognized that until I woke up this morning from those horrid dreams.

I love you, Grandma and Pawpaw. I will until the end of time. But I have to let this pain and pining fade, so that I can still be useful here. We’re both serving the Lord, you and I- and I’ll take my comfort in that, until I see your beloved faces again. I love you both.

My Grandmother, Joan, at my high school graduation
Yes. I was blonde.
But wasn’t she a knock-out?!

sometimes scars don’t heal perfectly

originally posted at http://ohdancewithme.blogspot.com

I think I’m traumatized. I really do. Watching my new favorite show of the moment, Grey’s Anatomy, there was a scene with an elderly couple. The wife had a brain tumor that needed surgery. She signed Do Not Resuscitate forms in case the surgery went awry and she came out on permanent life support. Before she went under, she kissed her husband and said “Goodbye, Darling,” to which he responded, “Goodbye, Love,” knowing that they would just say hello again afterwards. The surgery went fine, but due to her age and frail body, her heart stopped anyway. He begged the doctors to do something, but they couldn’t…because of the DNR. He panicked and started giving her CPR himself.  And I just sobbed like a little girl whose puppy had just been killed.  Sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

I lived with my mom and my grandmother (along with my brother and my aunt) for about 10 years. We moved back home, moved in with my grandma and aunt, when my mom and stepdad divorced.  I was almost 11.  My grandmother loved me very, very much. She would take me to karate classes in the evenings and watch my training, telling everyone within earshot how proud she was of me, and how beautiful she thought I was. Sometimes she would be the one to take me to school, or to pick me up from soccer practice. She would let me sit next to her at church, and the sound of her singing hymns like Because He Lives is something I will never, ever forget. She always told me she loved me and was proud of me. Always. She never neglected one moment, one chance to make me feel special and important.

I loved her. I loved her in a way that is nearly indescribable. She was the best woman I’ve ever known. Best in every way.

I left for college in the fall of 2003. It was the first time I lived away from anyone in my family; it was the first time I lived on my own.  I loved it! Classes were fantastic, I made fast friends, and my program was everything I wanted it to be. And the following spring I had an incredible opportunity to go with the Baptist Student Union on a mission trip during spring break to Panama City Beach, Florida- college’s spring break capitol city.

It was an incredible start to the week. And my birthday was that week, too! I woke up that morning, and all the staff and students participating in the mission sang to me. What a great day! After the morning pancake breakfast we served to students off the streets, I spent the day fellowshipping and resting, preparing for the work that we did at night- walking around, having conversations with people, building relationships, praying, and giving drunk college kids rides so they wouldn’t have to pay for a cab or attempt to drive somewhere on their own. About 30 minutes before we were supposed to head into town- the night of my birthday- I got a phone call from a family member:

“Andrea. Your grandmother had a heart attack. She’s in the emergency room.” And then he hung up.  My heart stopped, too. I tried to call back repeatedly…no one answered. We were at a church, just having prayed in preparation for our work. I was in the hallway.  I remember falling back against a wall and sinking down to the ground…hyperventilating….weeping. I was alone. I was states away from my family, from my grandmother who had practically raised me through adolescence. And I couldn’t get hold of anyone for more information.

My campus minister, Jon, came into the hallway to see what had happened. I just cried and cried and cried while he prayed for her, and for me. And then, because we still had a job to do, everyone left. But me. I stayed in that hallway and cried until I fell asleep. I just cried myself into exhaustion.

Everything else was a blur. At some point, someone called me to let me know she was stable. I came home from the mission trip when the week was over. Sometime that semester, my roommate Tagan drove me the four hours home so I could lay in her lap and listen to her talk for just 2 hours before we had to come back to school. She was scheduled for open heart surgery the next day and the doctors couldn’t tell us if she was going to make it or not. She did, but had to stay in the hospital, pretty permanently. I finished the semester and came home to spend my summer sleeping next to my grandmother every night in the hospital, curled up as best I could on a chair. Sometimes when the nurses would come in early in the mornings to give her food and medicine, I would hear her telling them to please bring in an extra bag of cinnamon teddy grahams, because she knew I liked them. And if they couldn’t, she would just hide hers in the top dresser drawer so she could surprise me later. I remember opening that drawer one day and there must have been 20 or 30 little bags of cinnamon teddy grahams in there. She loved me.

She got to come home for a bit that summer. She was home for a day and a half. One night. She taught me to cook fried chicken and broccoli cheddar rice. I slept on the couch in the living room, because she had to sleep in the chair, and we didn’t want her to have to sleep alone. She had another heart attack that night.

…It took me until just last fall to step into a kitchen again.

She went back to the hospital after that… and never came home. She stayed in that hospital for quite awhile. She went to a nursing home for 2 weeks, and then on to a different hospital.

And then the time came when I had to go back to school. It was a Wednesday. I went to see her one more time, and she was sitting up in her bed, surrounded by her whole family, talking and laughing, and making jokes. She hugged me and told me she loved me very much, and was proud of me. Then I left.

I got a phone call from my mom that Sunday morning, early. As soon as I answered the phone, I knew.  She was gone.  My whole family was there in the hospital, but I was 5 hours away at school. And all alone.

I came back home for the funeral, where I sat in disbelief while people who knew and loved my grandmother filed past me, patting me and whispering words of condolence with looks of pity and sadness on their faces.

I don’t think I ever got over it.

It’s been 8 years.

…I think I’m traumatized. I really do.

Since my grandmother died, I have a genuine fear of elderly people. I’m afraid at any moment they’ll collapse, or have a heart attack, or forget who their loved ones are.  The nursing homes that I frequently volunteered at in my youth suddenly became havens of grief and terror for me.  I remember one summer I was working at a Christian camp in North Carolina and I was helping to oversee some of the mission work a few youth groups were doing in the area. I went with my supervisor to visit a group at a nursing home. I didn’t even make it to the front door before collapsing into hot, horrible tears. I had to escape back to the car and wait for my supervisor to finish.

It’s been that way since her funeral.

And watching this stupid Grey’s Anatomy episode, seeing an elderly man begging his dying wife to come back to him just wrecked me.

I’m not even sure why I started writing this. Maybe it’s cathartic or therapeutic in some way. Maybe it’s just to make sure I never forget how truly lovely my grandmother was. I often think about what she might think of my current lifestyle, or the choices I have made or am making. I imagine things she might say to me, to encourage me on my path, or to help nudge me in the right direction when I know I’m not heading that way. I dream about what she would say to me on my wedding day, when she sees me all in white, beaming and eager to run down the aisle toward a new life.

But the reality always comes back. And sometimes scars don’t always heal perfectly.

I’m sure I’m leaving some things unsaid. I’m not even positive I have the order of events perfectly correct. What I do know is that I was lucky and blessed enough to know Joan Eloise Harris for 20 years. I got to listen to her laugh, I got to learn from her wisdom, I got to feel her warm embrace.

And I’m grateful.

This was my grandmother and me at my high school graduation.

Yes, I realize I was blonde.

But just look at her smile.

She was extraordinary.