the untold story

Living In Future Rooms

2021-10-03T12:09:00.001-07:00

There is a line in my favorite poem, "Holy Fallout" by Hafiz, that has been echoing in my head for a few months now: "Where is your music, your pet, a brush?"

My goal here is to be honest, so I will tell you, I don't know where my brush is. I haven't used it since Friday morning. Don't worry, I will find it before I have to be at work tomorrow. My cats are fed, my papers are graded, my dishes are done. I am depressed, but I am functional in my depression. I am not falling apart on the outside, though my hair has certainly seen better days. The last few months have taken a different kind of toll...more of an internal price that has me living in future rooms where I am jobless, my mother has passed away, my niece is all grown up and I missed it. I fight these scenarios with every corner of my brain and bring myself back to the present. Nothing is actually wrong. My job is amazing, my mother is happy and healthy, my niece is barely 5 months old. But the intrusive thoughts repeat throughout the days and sound the alarm in my head that life is passing by and that everything I know will change and eventually end. Unbearable thoughts that I've pushed aside for years keep coming. Grief will find us, won't it? I tried to put it off, and thought I had beat it, but there is no coping mechanism strong enough to stop the avalanche of the inevitable. And the load I held back for years finally broke free and has buried me.

Writing this is an attempt to dig myself out from underneath the heaviness. It's not the only tool I'm using in the endeavor. Daily, I reach out to friends for support, I cry and let myself feel what there is to feel, I seek therapy, I listen to a sermon, I let myself rest and try to be kind to my newly tender heart. But I am growing impatient. I am tired of shoveling the same awful things day after day. I am ready to feel like myself again....an adventurer, a laugher, a good friend. I am not sure what it will ultimately take, other than time.

I remind myself that this is what it means to be human, and that I am not alone in what I feel. This is the product of being alive in a time when so many are dying and to not feel the impact of that loss is less human than to feel it deeply. But I also know that I must seek joy or else I won't ever find myself again. So I notice the way my cats tackle and flip around each other, I listen to my mom's laughter in a live picture she sent, I thank God for technology that keeps me connected to people. It feels like it might take a billion small joys just to take the next step back to myself. It's a journey I never wanted to take, but it's the journey I'm on for now, so I will keep going.

Small and Beautiful Things

2020-12-31T16:18:00.001-08:00

It took a global pandemic at age 41 for me to finally slow down and learn to enjoy my mornings. I woke up early most days during 2020 and poured my coffee to the news of the world burning around me. Eventually I found comfort in the routine of sipping from my cup in the morning light. I don't have much to offer in the way of words to close out the year...just that small and beautiful things matter.

They have to.

Leaving Amberlot

2020-07-29T00:44:00.008-07:00

I'm writing this surrounded by half-packed boxes, chaotic furniture arrangements, and blank walls as I prepare to move out of the only real home I've ever made for myself. I moved into this dream of an apartment almost 5 years ago. Even empty, it was beautiful. My friend Kristy helped me find it, and I remember how thrilled we were by the vaulted ceilings, the loft, the huge windows overlooking a fountain, and the perfect amount of trees all around.

In some ways, I think this is a home I manifested. I bought my kitchen table in 2011 when I was unemployed, shopped the Anthropologie sale section for years, and collected art, only to pack it all into a storage unit in Alabama...just hoping, no...knowing, that at some point, they would be unpacked and fill the space around me. In 2015 my mom and I drove from Alabama to California with a U-Haul full of all of my treasures, and I moved in and started making my space what I had always wanted it to be. It didn't take me long to fall in love with the way the light danced around the apartment throughout the day, and I'd never had so much room to myself!

As much as I enjoy the things that surrounded me in this space, they are still just things. As I started to dig through pictures to add to this blog, I was struck by how many people have joined me in my home over the years. For my married with kids friends, it's been a retreat, for my younger friends, it's been a playground. My friend Richard and his husband took their pre-wedding photos here. And on the day my dad died, my friends came over and sat with me in my grief..this is the last home I have that my dad will have seen. Ria named the apartment, "Amberlot" after visiting one night, and quite a few out of town friends have crashed at the "castle" for anywhere from a night to a few weeks. This place has been the backdrop for countless conversations that lasted until the sun came up and a few dozen game nights full of laughter. There has been dancing in every room and more meals shared than I can begin to count.

It hasn't been easy preparing to leave my home, and all it represents for me. Especially spending these last few months mostly alone in it. I wish I could have thrown the biggest farewell party and gathered here with everyone once more. I am not going far...only a few blocks away, but things will be different for a while. I'm grateful the people will stay the same.

A Decade of Reflection

2020-05-19T23:44:00.002-07:00

10 years ago, today, I was fired from my job as a Children's Minister. I started this blog around the same time. Don't go back and read from the start, trust me. Growth is wild, y'all!

The last few months of self-isolation have given me plenty of time to think, but as this date approached, I was having a hard time figuring out how to write about it. I couldn't find the tone that I wanted to use. Some drafts were bitter, focusing on the words of the pastor as he read Psalm 101 to me, emphasizing the verses that speak about cutting off the wicked from the city of the Lord. Those drafts dwelled on a horrible moment that changed my life, but did little to recognize the 10 years that followed that moment. Other drafts were boastful, too proud, too focused on...well, me. And while I am definitely proud of the hard work I put into rebuilding my life in the last 10 years, to focus only on that part would be to miss a huge part of the story.

I am a people person to my core. My journals dating all the way back to childhood and through college tend to highlight the WHO much more than the WHAT. At times the entries are just lists of people with smiley faces and hearts. People are how I breathe. So it seems like a much more fitting tribute to a whirlwind of a decade, to spend some time in gratitude to some people who have helped me along the way.

This is a picture I took while in Scotland in 2011.
I don't mention going to Scotland in this blog because it was already longer than I wanted it to be,
but I did want it noted that I got to go to Scotland.

On the day I was fired, my friends caught me in their tightly woven and well-cushioned net. I felt their comfort instantly. Susan told me to come over, and I sat staring at my favorite painting in her house as the news spread across the church and texts and calls of support came in. Later that night Amanda and Michelle helped me pack my office. There were very few moments over the following week when I was alone. During a perfectly timed beach trip, Joni read me comforting words as I processed the way my life would change in the upcoming months. I was one semester shy of finishing my MFA and needed to return to school at Fresno State for fall semester to do so. I could no longer afford my apartment, but several families let me live with them while I worked at Starbucks and wrote a thesis. The people who made up that church have mostly dissipated into other congregations throughout the city at this point. But I will always be grateful for the way that church held me from my first moment there, through the hard times that followed.

Joni, me, and Susan in Avila 2010

A few months after I finished my MFA, I was still working at Starbucks trying to land an adjunct position anywhere, but it was February, and classes were already assigned. My mom was the one who finally called it. I was living on my friend Holly's couch at age 31, and while my parents couldn't send money to help, they always guaranteed a bed of my own. So, when she called and said, "Amber, it's time to come home." I went home to Alabama to live in my childhood bedroom.

I got my MFA!

I eventually landed one class at Columbus Technical College. It was my first teaching job, and I loved everything about teaching. I knew this is what I wanted to do. But one class wouldn't be enough. Then one day, the International Director of the college, Ian, sent an email around asking if anyone wanted to go to China to start a teacher exchange program. I literally had no reason not to. I forwarded it to my friend Donna, and she simply wrote back, "I think you should go."

Donna and me 2008

6 weeks after the semester ended, I was on my way to Hangzhou, China. To this day, the year I spent in China is the most surreal year of my life. I can't believe I did it. I know lots of people do it, but I can't believe that I did it. I could NOT have done it without Benny. Benny's reputation on campus preceded him. Almost every student I encountered in my first few weeks on campus at Hangzhou Polytechnic asked if I had met Benny. Benny was the "best" English speaker on campus...he'd won competitions. About a month later, there was a knock at my door, and 22 year old Benny stood there with a little potted flower and some jasmine tea. We became fast friends in the way you do when someone else speaks your language in a foreign country. But a few months into our friendship, Benny, a graphic design/photography student, invited me to come see a video he made for Earth Day.

Benny 2012

I made my way to the soccer field where thousands of students were gathered, and Benny made his way to me...he confessed that he was nervous about the debut of his video. The stadium lights went down, and Benny's Earth Day montage began...tears started rolling down my face. The life in the images he'd captured, the music, the people surrounding us, it was all so beautiful. Then he looked at me and showed me the hair on his arm...it was standing up. "What do you call this?" I showed him my arm, which matched his, and told him "Goosebumps!" He grinned back at me, and I knew we were the same. Benny taught me how to ride the bus, went into town with me weekly, brought me food when I was sick, talked about movies with me, and was overall, one of the best friends I've ever had.

The last 10 years have had many low points, but the months following China were pretty tough. Taking the position in China helped me get a full time job at Columbus Tech, and I loved my co-workers there. Kelli, Lacey, and Varonika all knew I would be temporary, but showered me with friendship anyway. I was still working the 10pm-4am shift at Starbucks, then teaching from 8am-6pm with an hour commute across time zones. I was exhausted and just wanted to be out of my parents' house. I realize now, that this time was a gift, as so many times are when we look back on them. Each morning I came in from Starbucks while my dad was drinking his coffee and we would briefly catch up. These tired exchanges now provide some of my favorite memories with him, and I would give anything to go back to those exhausting days if it meant being greeted by his kind smile every morning.

Lacey, me, and Kelly 2013

After a few years away, I realized that I just wanted to get back to California. I started making contact with department chairs and deans, and during a visit to Fresno, on a whim, I wandered into Clovis Community College and asked Cynthia if she had any classes to give me for the upcoming fall. She pulled out her schedule right there and gave me two. My foot was finally in the door. After summer semester at CTC, I packed my car and drove back across the country.

On the leg of the trip between Albuquerque and Las Vegas, my friend David asked if I could get to Lemoore for an adjunct interview the next day. I could not. So...I turned a mirror into a white board, and interviewed for WHCL via Skype from the Luxor Hotel in Vegas. I got the job, and before I even crossed the California state line, I was at 4 classes...and Starbucks of course.

Jeanine and me 2015

Speaking of Starbucks, I couldn't have done any of that without my friend Jeanine. Jeanine was the assistant for the Children's Ministry when I moved to Fresno in 2006. She eventually left that job to go work for Starbucks, and by the time I was coming back to Fresno in 2013, she was a manager at Starbucks and helped me transfer to her store. In fact, there are few moments from 2010-2017 that exist without a fellow barista by my side in some capacity. Here are a few of their names: Meredith, Jessica, Grace, Amber, Noelle, Nick, Allison, Ashley, Jaimie, Brenton, Richard, Edgar, Marc, Emma, Brenda, Tim, Indira, Carlos.

In 2015 I picked up classes at COS and realized that maybe the adjunct thing could work out. I lived with my friend Amanda an impressive go-getter who kept me motivated, and then Holly, a nurturer, who helped me keep my head up on days where having four jobs felt unbearable. 6 full years after leaving my last apartment, I got my own place again, and was fortunate enough to get a grant-funded position at WHCL, and...I was finally able to quit Starbucks!

Me an Amanda 2013

The last few years at WHCL have been incredible. I was so sure that I had been called to work with kids, but as it turns out, I'm probably better with college students! I love the people I work with, both students and faculty/staff. They inspire me to be better every day and have become a valuable part of my life.

Just a few of my favorite people at WHCL! 2019

When I was fired from my job at the church, there were days I thought my life was over. It wasn't just the loss of a job, it was the loss of a community I had come to rely on. I lost my home, my routine, and my identity to a degree. I had to start completely over. I haven't really gone back to church in the last 10 years. I've popped in occasionally, but so much of it doesn't ring true for me anymore. The faith part still settles deep in my bones, in some unshakable way, but I've found the other parts outside of the walls of a church.

The part I miss the most, the community....well, I still don't have it in the same way that I did then. But it's there. Community comes in pieces, in seasons. During moments of grief, I have found endless comfort in the words of my friends. In times of transition, the right people have been there to push me forward to the next right thing. In times of financial trouble, someone provides help, a job, an opportunity. When I'm daydreaming, there is always someone there to dream with me. I am learning to trust that the right someone will be there, but more importantly, I am learning to trust myself. Telling this story in this way makes me proud of what I've accomplished, but more than anything, it makes me want to hold onto the seemingly meaningless moments of joy...the ones where uncontrollable laughter breaks through the daily dullness and shines its light on everything around me...because everything can change in an instant.

My Best Day of 2019

2020-01-01T00:35:00.002-08:00

As 2019 closes, it seems that everyone is ready to see it go. I am among the many. 2019 has, in many ways, been hard. I thought about writing about the things that were hard. Things like experiencing anxiety for the first time, adjusting to life without my dad, and the other low moments of the year that seem to stand out most of the time. Especially in hard times. But as I think back over my year, I had a lot of great moments. I went to 7 concerts, took some great trips, and made some wonderful memories. So I decided to write about my best day...

My best day of 2019 began when I woke up early in Otis, Oregon one Sunday full of adventure. I loaded up my car and began the long trek back to Fresno. The drive is a beautiful one, but on this particular day, I wanted more. I took a detour and aimed my car toward Crater Lake National Park. The freeway dwindled into a winding two-lane road. I couldn’t drive my usual preferred speed on this road, but it didn’t matter. It was early October, and the leaves were starting to change colors. A river (in Oregon, there’s always a river) ran alongside the road to my left, and the various shades of golds, oranges, and reds popped through the forest on my right. I turned my music up loud and rolled my windows down. The crisp air filled my lungs and energized me all the way to the Cascades.

I had no cell service, which made the trip even better. An uninterrupted stretch of time on Sunday with nowhere to be until Monday morning is a gift. As I drove through the mountains, I had to turn on my heat in order to keep from freezing, but there was no way I was going to roll up my windows. The smell of the trees-pine, fir, and spruce-mixed with the clean air was better than the best candle. I was completely in the moment.

Snow!

I stopped at every pull-out to get pictures, but when I got back in my car to look at the pictures, I laughed. There is no way to capture what I was seeing. These views were my views to see.

When I got to the Crater Lake entrance, there was snow on the ground. Just 24 hours earlier, my bare feet were in the sand with the tide washing over them. Stepping into the snow seemed like a dream. I drove up the last ridge, parked my car, and jogged up to the rim of the lake.

Beach feet!

Snow feet!

This was my second time seeing it. The first was just a few months earlier when my mom and I visited. It’s one of the most stunning sights I’ve seen. On this day it was even more breathtaking. The rim of the lake was white which made the blue water seem bluer, which is saying quite a lot for a place as blue as Crater Lake. I took in the view, took a few more pictures, laughed at them, and proceeded to the next pull-out.

And I never saw blue like that before....

As I drove from sight to sight, I watched groups of people from all over the world snap their selfies, set up their tripods, and lose interest in pictures as they became enamored with the lake. The only sounds were the occasional laughter or cries of wonder carried by the wind. I was the only lone traveler on this journey from what I could tell, but it didn’t matter. In many ways, national parks are like concerts. The joint experience with strangers creates a community in itself. I was anything but alone.

Happy Amber!

I spent a few hours at the park before remembering that I still had a 9 hour drive ahead, and decided it was probably time to leave. I descended into the valley toward Klamath Falls, which only meant more beauty. The road slowly opened back up to a freeway as it led me toward I-5. But not before giving me an incredible view of Mt. Shasta. I got out of the car at the viewpoint and caught an engagement in process! I was mortified to impose on this moment, but it was serendipitous. I took a few pictures for the happy couple, and took a few of the mountain for myself before continuing my journey. I was home by midnight and even EARLY to work the next morning!

It was one of the most beautiful and peaceful days I’ve had in recent memory. And if there’s any real goal or word that I have for my 2020, it would be to experience more days like that one.

Breaking Down

2019-09-17T22:19:00.000-07:00

Yesterday wasn't great. I can't pinpoint one exact thing that determined the verdict of the day. It was more of an accumulation of small things. Maybe some of them perceived, maybe some of them exaggerated, but all of them, contributing factors to my shitty mood. I knew by 3pm that I should try to avoid anyone and everyone, so I sat in my car during my break and watched the wind pick up until the trees around me were bent like candy canes. The sky changed fast while I waited for my class to begin and wished for the day to be over. Class was, as expected, frustrating. I hauled it to my car the second it was over. Only, my car wouldn't start...dead battery.

I knew this because it's something my dad taught me. He taught me how to fish and worked with me on throwing (I had a bad sidearm everyone was always trying to correct). But my dad taught me a good bit about cars too. It was a pretty critical skill to have in my family because we never had nice cars. They were always breaking down. In high school, I learned to park on a hill and pop the clutch to start my Datsun. I cranked my Nissan Sentra WAGON with a screwdriver for a while during my sophomore year of college. And I remember one time I spent the weekend at a college friend's house, and she lived in this super nice area of some other city. Her family left for church around the same time I planned to leave for home, but after they drove off, I realized that my car wouldn't start. I called my dad (I am shocked I had a cell phone at this point) and he helped me fix it over the phone using some tape and an old t-shirt. We made it work, and he always knew how to fix it.

My first instinct is still to call him when something goes wrong, or right, with my car. If there was any connection we had, it was over cars. When I take a long road trip and get peak performance out of my car, I know he'd be proud. He complimented my driving the last time he was in the car with me, and I will never forget that. But...I hate getting my car serviced now because it just makes me think of him. I've had a few breakdowns in the last year in front of a few Nissan Service people. And last night when my car wouldn't start, I immediately tensed up and felt sick. He's not there to call about it and never will be, and it's something I have to say to myself out loud sometimes to remember. It's still so shocking.

And maybe it's somehow even more shocking as time goes on. The fact that time DOES go on feels impossible to admit. This week marks a year and a half since my dad died, and time just seems to be faster and blurrier. I don't think about him as much as I used to, which comes with its own set of complex emotions. Some guilt, some relief, which brings more guilt, but when I have a moment where I wish I could call him, there is always a deep guttural reminder that he's not there.

A few months ago, in preparation for my summer of road trips, I invested in a car safety kit, so I was prepared last night. But even if I hadn't been, it didn't matter. My students filed into the parking lot after me and within a few minutes one of them helped me, and I was on my way home.

Through unrelenting (borderline ridiculous) tears, I watched the most dynamic clouds form as the sun set. It was such a beautiful night, and the kindness of my student was a real gift, but the ache in my heart was so deep that it felt like these good things were being buried...falling into a black hole and getting covered up. It's not fair to pretend that those beautiful things rise to the top when sadness persists.

And I'm not sure how to give this a sunny ending...remember the sun set in the paragraph before this one....

Fat Girl, Losing

2019-09-06T16:43:00.002-07:00

Recently I've made a few posts on Facebook regarding some substantial weight loss. The posts were met with cheers of congratulations and encouraging messages from friends and acquaintances near and far. They received the most likes of anything I've ever posted on social media.

It's pretty intoxicating stuff.

50lbs down

But the entire truth isn't contained in the number of pounds I've lost. As with anything, the data rarely reveals the narrative that led to the results. Thinking back on all the times I watched others lose weight, announcing their progress on social media, I remember wishing they'd give me the magic fix and share their tricks. I remember being jealous of them and beating myself up that I hadn't gotten it together yet. If they could do it...what was wrong with my slack-ass!?

So I'm pulling back the curtain.

It's no secret that I've struggled with weight most of my life. I grew up thinking I was fat when the truth is, I was tall. The tallness made me feel big, but looking back on pictures, I wasn't. I was pretty average. In college, I gained the normal amount of weight that comes with 24/7 access to a cafeteria, but it came on faster once I quit band, intramural sports and just generally became less active. Then I moved to New Orleans! So much stress, so much food! I remember having to buy new clothes to interview for jobs after seminary. But I can pinpoint exactly when it got out of control. The year I lived in Nashville I had a pretty abusive supervisor, and I remember driving to Chili's every Sunday night after church and getting the Triple Dipper, a Queso, AND a Cheeseburger.
Like...EVERY Sunday night. So....Yep.

That was 15 years ago.

In the last 15 years, I've tried to lose...well...kinda tried. I've never committed wholeheartedly to anything for fear of failing. It's such an embarrassing thing to fail at, and I eventually got tired of trying. Especially in all the programs with accountability. I get that the public, weekly check-ins work for some people, but it was just another way for me to hate myself after a week of starving myself and not losing. I really just started to embrace being big. I was tired of hating myself constantly. I even started referring to myself as fat in casual conversation, which my friends just loved! Ha! I knew that I didn't want to gain any more, so adding in activity was the best I could do. I joined the gym, and that had basically been my way of not gaining beyond my already severely obese frame. But I didn't go regularly and stopped altogether about 2 years ago.

That's also about the time I started waking up in the mornings super sick. I've never had good mornings. My stomach has always been upset in the mornings. My mom could never figure out what to feed me and my brother for breakfast because the idea of food in the morning is gross. I don't even enjoy my coffee until I've been awake for an hour. So nausea in the mornings wasn't really new, but the vomiting was, and I was miserable. The pattern was basically that I would eat a normal (for me) dinner, which seemed to not be digesting overnight, and so when I woke up...the food was still in my upper digestive track and, well, the rest is gross. I would go through this involuntary purge most mornings, and it could last hours, depending on what I ate the night before.

This killed my appetite. I hate throwing up, so I began doing anything I could to NOT get sick the next day. I accidentally started intermittent fasting, only eating within a small window of time each day. I carry so much weight that this new eating schedule gave my body time to burn through the food and the fat before the next morning. But if I ate too late or too much, then I would pay for it the next day.

So I erred on the side of barely eating. All of the voices in the back of my head that tell me "don't waste that!" or or "a second helping won't matter" or "wouldn't McDonald's be great after class?" were countered with my firm and guttural response, "I don't want to be sick in the morning."

Eventually and unintentionally, I curbed my own appetite, which made food less important than it's ever been to me. This might seem pretty contradictory coming from someone who posts so many pictures of yummy food on Instagram! But this has been a key part of changing my own habits. I stopped eating so much junk and started eating more unique, flavorful, delicious things. If you an only eat a little, you want to make it count. The last 5 times I've picked up fast food, I've tossed it after the first bite. I really don't want it. I want what fuels me and tastes amazing. This shift in how I eat, what I eat, and when I eat it, helped me manage my mornings a little better.

Back in the Spring I started taking care of myself a little better, overall. I started going to therapy, doing yoga, reading more, writing more, focusing on people who were supportive and kind, and I finally got into the right doctor who could help me figure out what was going on. When you're fat, doctors are mostly just happy you're losing weight. But she listened and ordered the right tests, and my bloodwork showed that I was deficient in multiple things. Essentially, I was malnourished! Wild. She prescribed some supplements and advocated for me with referrals, and I ended up at a Gastroenterologist.

This week, after over 70lbs of unintentional weight loss, the GI diagnosed me with Gastroparesis. This basically means my stomach isn't blending/pushing the food through as it should. While it is a chronic illness, a pill can be taken to stimulate the stomach muscle into doing its job properly.

It's nice to have a diagnosis. My lethargy over the last few years has left me pretty depressed, the vomiting is maddening, and I've felt a little insane at times.

But I won't lie...the weight loss has been pretty exciting.

And something that I can't take much credit for.

Here is what I've learned:

1. Learn to listen to your body.
2. We don't need as much food as we think we do. It's fuel, make it count.
3. Water. Water. Water.
4. Movement is good, but it isn't enough.
5. Eliminate stress.

Brilliantly original stuff huh?

My new habits should help me continue to meet my weight loss goals, but as someone who has struggled, it felt important to share the whole story. To explain that I didn't get some superhuman boost of self-control.

Nope. I just got sick.

And I'm looking forward to continuing to get healthier!

Memories of My Mom

2019-06-17T00:38:00.002-07:00

I am 4, and my mom holds my hand as we walk on the busy road from our trailer to the nearby K-mart. I am a shy, skittish child, and I grip her fingers tight when the cars pass by. She gives my hand a quick squeeze to reassure me. After we do our shopping, she feeds some coins into a photo booth and pulls me into her lap. She shows me how to make faces at the camera, and we do it 4 times before the pictures print. When they do, we look at them with delight. On the walk back, her arms are full of groceries, and my free hands gently hold the strip of pictures. Our matching faces peek through my fingers.

K-Mart Photo Booth 1983

I am 10, and it seems like there are hours of errands to run after school. I start my math homework in the front seat, while my mom stops by to pay the power bill. Today is the due date, and she races into the office trying to catch the workers before they leave for the night. She sighs with relief as she gets back into the car. I ask if we are going home, and she tells me the grocery store is the last stop. She doesn't feel good about leaving us in the car for too long, so my brother and I dance around her in the store, grabbing at the colorful packages on the shelves. She directs us toward The Little Debbie cakes and tells us to each pick out a box for our lunches. I stare at my options, scanning for anything new, before reaching for the rectangular brownies with the nuts on top. When we get home, it's almost 6:30, and my mom begins to make dinner. We sit to eat the second my father walks in from work, and I watch her wipe the sweat on her forehead back into her hair before taking her first bite. It's my job to clean up the kitchen, and while I do, mom begins a load of laundry. By the time I am done in the kitchen, my dad is asleep in his chair, and she wakes him to tell him to go to bed. I hear my mother reading stories to my brother, tucking him in, while I brush my teeth and use the bathroom. She tells me that I can keep at the math homework as long as I need to, but I give up close to midnight. I go find her to tell her goodnight. She is perfecting the peaks on her meringue. Tomorrow is an office potluck, and she signed up to bring Banana Pudding.

My High School Graduation 1997

I am 15 and devastated. Jill has broken the rules of The Anchor Club to warn my mother that I didn't get enough votes to get in. I have never been popular, but the rejection scars me deep. In time, this feeling will settle somewhere in the middle of my being, and it will make me inclusive, always searching for the outcast. In time, it will make me an advocate to the underdogs. But for today, I am a pariah. My mom breaks the news to me, so I don't have to find out tomorrow after school in the middle of everyone. We sit on the couch staring out the window watching the rain, and she holds me while I cry.

Austin and Ashley's Wedding 2014

I am 31 when my mom calls me to tell me that it's time to move back to Alabama. I know she's right, but it feels like failure. She flies out to Fresno, so we can make the trip home together. We have breakfast with my best friends before we leave, and she watches as they embrace me and wish me well. I know it isn't forever, but my tears don't stop until we are somewhere near New Orleans. Eventually the warmth of my parents' kindness and support will incubate me, and I will launch, again. My mom only shakes her head slightly when I tell her a few years later, that I am moving back to Fresno. The night before I leave, she makes Chex Mix for my road trip. When I finally finish the treat and wash the plastic container a week later, I am instantly homesick.

Bahamas Christmas 2018

I am any age, and we are near the ocean. I know the scene by heart. My mom's smile spreads wide across her face as the water comes into view. She will outlast us all in the sun and the salt. Her steps quicken on the sand, and before long she is gone with the tide.

The Bottom of Sadness

2019-06-05T23:37:00.002-07:00

I never met Rachel Held Evans, though I always assumed that some day I would. So on the morning of May 4th, when I read the news that she died after some time in a medically induced coma, I felt instant regret. Tears blurred my vision before I finished reading the Tweet that announced her death. I followed the hashtag, #BecauseofRHE and found my church, the community she helped to build, there waiting on me…already grieving, already remembering her.

The Tweets that spoke of her impact, her love, her wisdom, and her tenacity still continue to populate the hashtag even over a month after her death, and I have added a few to it myself. Her funeral, last weekend, was shared online so that people like me, who found a kindred spirit in an Evangelical rebel from Tennessee, could worship and mourn together, using the hashtag on Twitter once again to find each other and give virtual support.

I watched from my bed while sobbing and snotting into a towel because Kleenex can only do so much.

Grief hits me hard these days. Since my dad died over a year ago, life hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s been harder than I ever imagined it would be. Every day is waking up to remember that my dad is gone, which brings a wave of nausea over me. I hate mornings. But if I don’t happen to remember that my dad is gone in the first minute of my day, then it’s worse, because it will hit me later in the day when I am at work or trying to teach.

I thought I had met the bottom of my sadness during past life experiences, like when I was fired from a job I loved or when growing apart from once dear friends. But the bottom of my sadness is infinite, and what I have learned this year is that I can dive in as deeply as I want to, but that if I do, it will swallow me up.

A few months ago, I got a glimpse of what this would feel like.

The incident that set me off was so minor; my mom’s Facebook got hacked beyond recovery. Right? Dumb. But the idea that my mother and father would no longer be “married” on this stupid fucking social media site that is the thorn in all of our sides…broke me. It just did. I can’t explain what it was about this moment, but the idea that I couldn’t fix it after OBSESSIVELY trying for over 5 hours, just flattened me.

I was sitting in my loft, my favorite room in my apartment, when the walls started to close in on me. My thoughts fired off rapidly, and while in retrospect most of them weren’t logical, every fourth or fifth thought did make sense, which made the other more illogical thoughts seem valid too. Physically, I felt like I was falling off of a cliff. It wasn’t vertigo, but the inside of my body felt electric, and I could swear that I felt my blood flowing through my veins. My skin was clammy and tingling. I felt scared and uncertain and angry. So angry. I was inconsolable, and it seemed like I was watching a reel of the last year of my life play in my head. I saw my car get broken into, the call from my mom about my dad, the DMV, the rain, the flight to Alabama, the funeral, the numbness of the flight home, the waking up morning after morning sick and sad, the commute, the constant frustration, the friends who moved, the friendships that changed, the first Christmas without dad, the first everything without dad…. and as the reel played, I just kept asking myself, “Is this it? Day in and day out? Is this really all that life is?”

I felt like I was spinning, spiraling even, but since it was kind of late at night, I just wasn’t sure what to do. The presence of the thought, that there was something to be done about the way I was feeling, helped me to realize that I still had one foot still very firmly planted in reality. I didn’t feel like my mind would allow me to sleep, but I also didn’t feel like ANYONE could handle what I had to give them at that moment. That’s the second I knew I HAD to call someone.

I called my mom.

This is funny because I have always had an unspoken rule, as many adult daughters do, to avoid burdening my mother with my emotional crises. Especially of the “I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT’S WRONG EXCEPT FACEBOOK” at midnight variety. This is what friends are for…not mothers! Mothers are worriers and protectors and fixers, and my mom is right on brand with all of that. I called her because I knew her voice would make me feel better.

I did not reveal to her the full details of what I was experiencing, but instead I danced around life being “hard” and my “frustration” over her Facebook being hacked. My most vulnerable point might have been saying that I felt lonely. That is usually my most vulnerable point. I think she reassured me that she didn’t care about the Facebook thing and then told me a story about her what her dogs were doing…I don’t remember exactly.

What she said wasn’t the important part, it was that she answered.

The next day, Rachel would send what would be her last tweet…that she needed prayer, she was sick, and she was upset that she was going to miss Game of Thrones. I have gone back, as I’m sure others have, and inspected the Tweet…hoping to find one last piece of wisdom from her hidden among the words.

But there is nothing hidden there, or anywhere else in the millions of words that Rachel wrote in her short 37 years. She was not about hiding her message. Rachel told the truth as she knew it, out in the open for everyone to hear. You can access dozens of resources that will tell you all about who Rachel was and what she stood for, and I highly recommend that you do. It is worth your time. My blog could never begin to do justice to all that she did during her life, or all that she means to me. I am thankful for the space she carved out for people like me, who don’t fit in, for so many reasons, to keep and grow in faith.

It is faith that saves me every single day.

During the time that Rachel was in a coma, I started being very open with people close to me, about where I was mentally and emotionally. Almost any self-help anything will tell you that support is key to healing. We are built for community. We are not islands. So I asked some friends, friends who know me well and love me anyway, to step up their presence in my life. I had some hard conversations with other friends to get some clarity on what I could and couldn’t expect from them as I moved through this uncharted territory. Brené Brown says “Clarity is kindness” and I am thankful to anyone who offers it, even when it hurts. I began to get and give clarity. I began to back off from people who were hanging out on the fringe of my life, not in anger, but in an attempt to form new boundaries that would allow me to feel the security I needed to feel in my life and relationships.

I did a lot of personal work in a few weeks. I knew I didn’t want to go back to where I was on the night of the Facebook incident. By the time Rachel died, I was in therapy. I was journaling again. I was surrounded by support. I was reaching out. I was okay.

I am okay. And I am going to be okay.

But I’m learning to live with this grief. It has changed me. This lump in my throat that might never go away, the tears in my eyes might always be at the ready. I feel unmoored when I think about the fragility of life and the shortness of it. Most days I feel like I’m already floating away from all of you. But the rope is long, and it’s tied tight, and I am so thankful to those of you who haven’t let me go.

Thinking About My Dad

2018-06-15T04:05:00.003-07:00

I have always loved scary movies because they make you think about things that are unpleasant to think about. They take the mind into places that it doesn’t want to go. Look into that dark closet…can you see a coat hanging? Wait..is it a coat? No, is it a…person....!? I’m not someone who shies away from unpleasant thoughts and feelings. The only way to be prepared for something is to think through it, beginning to end...to lean into the darkness of the worst case scenario and find a way out of it. I am not sure if this is a common thing that people do, or if I’m in the minority of people who welcome these kinds of brainstorms. I’ve honestly never tried to have a conversation about it with anyone. Maybe I’m morbid. My mom always says I'm a little obsessed with death and dark things. I don’t disagree.

During my most ominous journeys into these unpleasant scenarios that I play out in my brain, I find myself in a life sometime in the future, where my parents are no longer living. For as long as I can remember, I have let myself shuffle to the edge of this almost inevitable story, but never allowed myself to play it out. Maybe this is a form of self-preservation to keep me putting one foot in front of the other or to keep me from an existential crisis. Whatever the reason, it’s too painful, too much to take in.

Almost three months ago, my dad died. I am 39 years old and I can say without hesitation that this has been the hardest three months of my life. I miss my dad so much more than I could have ever imagined. I could have dived into that hypothetical abyss a thousand times and walked through every possibility in the scene where my parents are no longer alive, but no matter how much analysis, no matter how much strategizing, no matter how much empathizing, nothing could have prepared me for what I feel now.

Unstable…

Unsettled…

Uncertain…

Unmoored.

I don't think I was aware until after his death, that my dad was my anchor. And not in the way that an anchor keeps a boat in one place, but in the way that it keeps the boat from crashing. Since his death, I am seasick. A constant state of nausea, searching for the horizon to steady myself. I know that the tenderness of this pain will lessen over time, but I am not sure that my steadiness will ever return. When I think about my dad, I think about him always being there. He was a sure thing. He was a constant.

In 2010 when I lost my job working as a Children’s Minister, (also when I started this blog), I ended up back home in Alabama, living in my childhood bedroom with my parents, working at Starbucks. I eventually got a job teaching as an Adjunct which is what led me to teach for a year in China. When I came home, I resumed at the college as a full time English teacher, but also started back at Starbucks. I was working hard. While in China, I had a chance to really get a vision of what I wanted for my life, and I was starting to make it happen. I remember one particularly hard week, I had the overnight shift at Starbucks…10pm-4am, and had to be at work in Georgia (a different time zone) at 7am until 8pm, then back at Starbucks at 10pm to repeat for 5 straight days.

On the fourth morning of this absurd schedule, I passed my dad, who was in the living room. He had just showered and was drinking his coffee in his recliner, as he did every morning. He smelled of cigarettes, coffee, and Old Spice. I said good morning and he watched as I rushed back to my bedroom to get ready for my teaching job. Within a few minutes I tore through the living room again and said bye to him…still sitting in his chair. He cleared his throat and said, “Hey, Amber…” I turned back to him a little frustrated that he was trying to talk to me on my way out. “Yeah? What?” He pushed his lips tight together and squinted his eyes as if thinking hard about what he was going to say. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You don’t have to work so hard. You can take a break. Your mom and I…we will make it work.” I was probably a little dismissive when I said, “Thanks dad. I’m good. I got this” before shutting the door.

I've thought about this encounter a lot over the years, and it's become increasingly important to me in recent months. That morning, my dad did many important things with a few simple words. He gave me permission to rest. He gave me permission to take care of myself. Those permissions reminded me that someone in my life still had my back, that I was not alone, someone was looking out for me. He acknowledged how hard I was working. His acknowledgement let me know he was proud. He gave me encouragement and support without being condescending or patronizing. He validated my ever-growing suspicions, that life is really hard.

My dad was not perfect, no parent is. No person is. He was a horrible gift-giver. He worked too hard. He made financial mistakes. He literally wouldn’t stop smoking to save his life.

But one time he glued his nipple to his leg while assembling a toy for me. And he played in blanket-forts with me when I was a little girl. He taught me to how to fish and change a tire and always handed me the last $20 out of his wallet before I went wherever it was that I was going. And he definitely knew, from the time I was little, that I was going.

I miss him, which is weird because we didn't talk a lot. The last time I spoke to him was a week before he died. I had been trying to get in touch with my mom, but she wasn’t answering, so I tried dad instead. That was all serendipitous, of course. He was home from the hospital, but frustrated because he didn’t feel stable on his feet and felt like his brain wasn’t working right. He couldn’t remember the word “disability”. We talked for about 20 minutes. I told him about my latest concert. He asked about my job, and reminded me to do my taxes. He asked about my friends. We talked a little about the state of the world these days. He was surprisingly open and compassionate concerning topics he’d previously been a little rigid about. He said something about everyone just trying to do their best in life for their families, for themselves. He told me he loved me and that he’d see me in a week. I had been reluctant to take time off from my job to go see him in the hospital and had instead planned to go home over Spring Break.

I didn’t make it home to see him. I was about 36 hours short.

One day, I hope I can look back and understand the timing of it all. The stress of having my car broken into, purse stolen, including identification and any and all access to money, the day before my father died. The robotic act of driving to the DMV less than an hour after answering the phone call from my mother that is forever burned into my brain, telling me that he was gone. Standing in the DMV line before it was even open and begging someone to give me what I need to get on a plane, so I can make it to my father’s funeral. Sobbing through the entire ordeal. I look forward to the day when the puzzle pieces snap in place around those few days and I can see the big picture of why it all happened like it did.

If that day doesn’t come, if I never get those answers, at least I know this much…that my dad loved me and was proud of me. And that's enough.

Happy Father's Day! I love you, Dad.

Thankful Thoughts

2017-11-23T14:55:00.003-08:00

I opted out of Thanksgiving today, slept in, and put on music when I woke, so I could dance in and out of the rooms of my apartment, cleaning and enjoying this space I call home. My family is at the beach in Florida celebrating together, and I had a few invites from friends here in Fresno, but I wanted a day to really think about what I am thankful for. It took me so many years to realize that these kinds of reflections usually happen best in isolation. So while I miss my family, and I love my friends, I am spending this day with my thankful thoughts.

I have always tried to live a life of gratitude. I used to write Thank You notes like they were going out of style. I wrote them for the smallest gestures, dinner invites, unexpected favors, even just because. I'm a Southern girl at heart, and that's what my mama taught me. But I've learned over the years that every thank you note is an admission that someone has done something for you. And if you remind people over and over that they are doing things for you, then they sometimes forget what you are doing for them. A stack of thank you notes can become a record of help that you needed, self-efficacy you were lacking, or time that you stole from someone.

The revisionist history of relationships is a fascinating study and one that can paint sinister motives across the most innocent of exchanges. This is what happened to me, and as a result, I don't write as many thank you notes as I once did, fearful that someone will neglect to balance the scales as they weigh whether or not my presence in their life is worth it.

My gratitude these days is a lot more spontaneous and consists of super awkward exchanges where I suddenly look over at whoever has shown me a kindness, grab their leg/wrist/arm/hand/face, look them in the eyes, begin crying, and tell them right then and there that I am thankful. This usually results in that person grabbing my leg/wrist/arm/hand/face, looking me in the eyes, crying right back, and expressing an equal return of thanks. It's messy and vulnerable and a little forceful, but it's heart-warming and sincere. And there is no record, no tally marks of proof showing who did what. I still write thank you notes, but I am more reserved with them than I used to be.

Even so, these days I am overwhelmed by thankfulness. In a year where getting out of bed is hard, so many people are on edge, and the world feels like it is on fire, it's important to focus on the things that make life good. Here are a few of those things for me.

1. Music. I can't remember a day without music in my life. My mom always had music playing in our house. She taught me and my brother Bohemian Rhapsody on the way home from church, and to this day she still hums along out loud to the song in her head. I grew up participating in band, choir, church choir, and any other musical opportunity that came my way. But recently music has become something more substantial, something centering. Instead of turning on the TV first, I turn on music the second I come home. I dance around my apartment every day, in and out of rooms while I clean, it's on while I grade, it's the soundtrack to dinner with friends as we discuss the good and hard of life. I've attended more concerts in the last 3 years than I have in the 35 years before. There is something magical and unifying about enjoying a common experience with thousands of strangers of different races, religions, and political affiliations. It's ancient, yet new, and I'm convinced that music is one of the greatest gifts to humanity. We have these notes and chords inside of us waiting to be paired with moments that will create memories that will be forever connected to, and recalled by, a certain song. The triggered nostalgia is not always positive, but it's undeniable as it reaches into the crevices of our emotional corners and reminds us that we are complex beings, and we have feelings that demand to be felt, paid homage to, and learned from. I am thankful for music and all that it does to enhance this human experience.

Coldplay Concert 2016

2. Resilience. It seems like an odd thing to be thankful for because the very nature of the word implies that tough times took place, and most of us would like to forget those times. What I've learned is that sitting with the tough times allows me to be truly thankful for where I'm at today. Life deals us some shitty hands sometimes, and sometimes we trade in our cards and create our own shitty hands. No matter the origin of these tough times, the recovery, the fact that we CAN recover is something to be celebrated. I can pinpoint these low times in my own life, some as recent as just a few months ago. My own resilience, when I experience setbacks or hard times, is encouraging and comforting, I like knowing that I am capable of persevering and of turning things around. But it is the resilience of those around me that moves me to tears. Watching what people are capable of when faced with adversity is inspiring. In my current position I work with students who, for whatever reason, didn't finish high school. Every day, they show up to the lab (most of the time with delicious food) and spend time working toward something most of us take for granted, their GED. Many of the students have people in their lives telling them this is a waste of time, that it's too late, or that they just aren't smart enough to get it done, but they show up, they work, and test by test, they get it done! Getting to celebrate with them as they make their goals and take steps toward the life they want, is to witness a miracle every single day. I am thankful for my proximity to people who are making it happen, getting it done, and pulling each other along when things get hard.

Avenue of the Giants, nothing can stop these trees.

3. My faith. Let me be very clear here, my faith does not look like yours, so as you read this next part, it might not look as Jesus-y as you want it to. It might not contain the Christianese that has long been the hallmark of whether or not someone is in fact, a believer. I was sold a story by the Southern Baptist Church that I could have a personal relationship with Christ, and I do. But I have left behind most of the religious trappings that usually accompany that relationship. I have learned that most of that stuff is designed to be a score card by which other believers can assess the depth of my relationship with Christ. I have been asked by distant acquaintances where I go to church and if I'm attending Bible Study, but none of those people ever ask me what God is teaching me, no one asks what struggles I am moving through, what sin I am attempting to leave behind, or how I see God move in my life. The things that sustain my faith, my relationship with Christ, are ignored the second I say I am not attending church. I, a former Children's Minister, and long time believer, am a disappointment to so many. And yet, I am more certain of God and his hand in my life and in this world than I have ever been. My faith increases daily, it is an uncompromising fact about who I am, as concrete as my blue eyes and big feet. It is not contained in buildings or 3 minute exchanges with practical strangers. Rather it shows up in transparent and confessional conversations between close friends as we uncork a 2nd bottle of wine and share our lives, come to each other for help, for the "keep going", and when we're lucky, for the celebration of God's movement in our lives. I remember an image from a theology class in Seminary; it was almost like a graph, but it was a simple positive slope, a line that kept moving upward with an arrow at the top point of the line, implying that it continued on forever. The image was a description of the "process of sanctification", and I have never forgotten it. We are works in progress and anyone who tells you they've arrived is a liar. I am thankful for the confidence to own my faith even though it doesn't look like what others think it should. And thankful that God doesn't give up on me the way that so many other have.

4. Friends and Family. I could write, and most likely will write, a book on the people in my life, but today I'll keep it reasonably short. I could not ask for a better community (both near and far) of people to support and encourage me through this life. I say that with respect to those who are no longer in my life. For whatever reasons we parted, I still count them as substantial in making me who I am today. Whether they gave me love or taught me lessons, I acknowledge and give them credit where it's due. However, now, I am at the point where I look around almost in disbelief at the quality and ease of my relationships. I am surrounded by positivity, by people who want the best for me, and by those who celebrate my successes and comfort me through my rough patches. They accept me and my many flaws, and I do the same with them. Petty criticisms of my faults have evolved into understanding of who and how I am, and when necessary, the soft concern of accountability. I suppose I am even thankful for those who make things hard...for it is their presence that highlights the many people who add value my life.

Just a few of my people.

By now, most of you have eaten dinner and are sitting around half-napping, half watching football, maybe on a walk through the neighborhood, maybe going in for seconds on the food before someone else gets the last bite of the dish you loved the most. I am on my last load of laundry, about to enjoy some bacon and eggs, before I vacuum my floors. But it doesn't make me any less thankful than you and yours. If anything, this time reflecting has magnified my gratitude. Who knows...I might even write a few thank you notes before the day ends.

Happy Thanksgiving and Love to you ALL!

Unloading New Year's Eve and Uploading Kindness

2016-12-30T18:21:00.000-08:00

Dear Holiday Diary: Here is my confession...it's been 3 days since I washed my hair, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to try to make it at least one more, if not two, depending on whether it's completely matted to my head when I wake up tomorrow. It already stays put when I remove my hairband. This seems like the most fitting ending to 2016. Staying in.

I've been way too guilty of loading New Year's Eve in the past. In reality, I can count on one hand the NYE's I would consider "special." My first was in high school, when a bunch of us went out to eat and tried to be all fancy...at Chili's. It was a different time...Chili's was fancy to high school kids in Alabama in the 90's. The night was made better by the restaurant comping ALL of our food because the service took too long. We didn't even notice though because there were 8 of us eating chips and salsa and just enjoying each other. We took all of the money we were going to spend and tipped our waiter with it, who ran out to the car to catch us and thank us. I remember feeling on cloud nine that year.

A few years later, Y2K was happening and some friends and I went to see The Prince of Egypt and talked theology about Pharaoh's hardened heart (it still bothers me) while playing with kittens at my parent's house for the rest of the night. The world didn't end like everyone thought it would which was reason enough to celebrate. But the night stands out in my mind as one of the first times I really dug into theological discussion with my friends, and I loved every minute of it. Something I still crave today.

Fast forward to a few honorable mentions: The year my family went to Disney World and rung in the new year to the Wishes Firework show at the castle. A few years later, a lovely but quiet celebration in New Orleans, the last NYE before Katrina hit. Then my first in Fresno was a game night with new friends. Not long after, I had a silly night where my friend and I were set on going to Claim Jumper and arrived only to find it had closed for good. There was also the one where I cried the entire time. My parents were in Israel, it had been a rough year for most people I was close to, and there was just no reason to celebrate. And then finally, China...I was so ready to come home after having lived there a year, and the campus was closed due to snow and holidays. I walked around the frozen, silent campus and experienced maybe one of the most surreal and lonely moments of my life. But I was okay with it all. I knew I was in transition, and that nothing is permanent. This solitude, too, would be temporary.

Snow in Hangzhou 2012

Last year I was with my mom driving to California in a U-Haul and we ate at Cracker Barrel and spent the night in Kingman, Arizona in the worst motel ever. We had to step around someone else's icy vomit on the way down the stairs the next day. I didn't take pictures of that.

As I think back over the years, I have always wanted NYE to be something out of a movie. I dream of this amazing festivity in some amazing city on a top floor of some amazing apartment building with amazing people who are eating and drinking amazing things while we all watch an amazing firework display over the (fill in city landmark here...sometimes it's the Space Needle, The Golden Gate Bridge, or Mt. Hood in the distance), and in my fantasy, I feel amazing, and my life is just...amazing and only going to get more amazing, obviously.

But that just isn't how it's happened for me. I can count my NYE kisses on one hand, and most were cheek kisses from friends. Firework displays have been minimal. I have not been to or known anyone who lives in a penthouse in some great city who is throwing a party. Somewhere along the way, I loaded NYE, and have ended up kind of depressed each time it arrives, and my amazing fantasy is not set in place. So this year, I'm unloading it. My memorable NYE's have really just been another day of the life I was living at the time, and this year, I finally understand that, and am finally at peace with it.

Tomorrow while most people are out to dinner or at a party making awkward small talk with someone's co-worker or friend of a friend, I will be wearing stretchy pants, sporting hair that practically puts itself in a bun, and cooking a Blue Apron meal while watching movies. This is my life right now, and I'm embracing it.

One tradition I have kept for the last 8 years or so is picking a word of the year. The year I went to China it was Adventure. Other years it's been things like Growth, Adaptation, Change, Focus, and so on. I have learned (much to my dismay) that while the year never really changes itself to match my word, the word gives me a lifeline to come back to, or a lens through which to view the year in front of me. I don't set specific goals for fear of failing at them by February, I know better. But the word usually centers very much around me and my "progress" or lack thereof, on my journey through life.

But this year, I'm going to try something different. Instead of making my word about me, it's going to be about how I treat and respond to others. My word for the year is Kindness. The definition driving it is "the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate." This is a real challenge, because doing the kind thing is not always in my nature. Even today, I got sassy with the Comcast lady because my internet bill went up $30 and the only way to make it cheaper was to add cable. I haven't had cable in over 10 years, nor do I want it. Asinine. But it's not her fault. And I know this. And I caught myself. But I don't want to have to catch myself. I want kindness to be more intuitive, more of a first reaction for me. If this word hovers over my year and begins to shape my perspective, then I think whatever weight I want to lose, whatever job I want to get, and whatever money I want to save will become less relevant.

What are your thoughts on NYE?

What's your word for 2017?

What to do When Your Students Won't Let Your Glass Stay Half-Empty and Other Attempts at Hope

2016-11-10T16:24:00.000-08:00

After class today one of my white male students came up to me and said, "I wanted to say this out loud, but I wanted to get your permission first. I want to tell the class that I am a Trump supporter. But I am not one of THOSE Trump supporters. And I vow to you and the other students to be a helper and a supporter of social justice, to be extra kind to people who are not like me, and to play an active part in stopping any discrimination or hate crimes that I see."

He was shaky and nervous. I don't outright declare my stance on things in class, but my students know I'm a bleeding heart. We both got teary as he gave his obviously rehearsed and incredibly sincere speech. We shook hands. I thanked him for talking to me and for being that kind of person. We need more of him.

I didn't intend on discussing the election results in my classes, but how could we do anything else? I tried a paraphrasing activity but they couldn't focus. In one class, one girl couldn't stop crying. They need a safe space to talk, and I could give them that. So I did. I work hard each semester to build a strong camaraderie with my students so they know each other and respect each other when moments like this arise. The last 48 hours have been the truest test of that goal.

Students on both sides have expressed their hopes and fears. I wanted to share some of what I've heard with my friends and family. When some NYT reporter writes this you might not think it's true, but I want you to understand on a more personal level...because you know me...what people are feeling, and some of what I am feeling too. This in no way a comprehensive address of my thoughts and experiences, but maybe a taste will start to shed some light or validate some of you out there.

1. No one is scared of Trump being President. They are scared of that segment of Trump supporters that were riled up by his almost 18 months of vitriolic campaigning. I've seen it broken down that there are generally 3 types of Trump supporters. Those who vote Republican because that's just what you do (Hi Dad!). Those who are so tired of government as usual, that they want to disrupt it by getting a non-politician in office (This is completely understandable and even relatable). But there is definitely a third category, and the effects of it are being documented all over the country right now. Whether YOU believe it or not, hate crimes are happening. A cafeteria of middle-schoolers chanting "Build That Wall" today is just one story that upset me. Your disbelief of it or failure to experience it does NOT mean it isn't happening. I mean, I personally have never had success on a diet, but that doesn't mean that diets don't work for some people. It's going to take more than a few Trump supporters telling us that he didn't really mean what he said...to make people feel safe again.

2. People are caught up in the results. Give everyone some time to process. In the excitement of their win, some of your Trump supporting friends might be on a liking spree on FB. They may not realize the page they are liking does not speak highly of them, or puts them in the category of bigotry. And for those who are experiencing this as a loss, it's okay to grieve. I read a book once called Ambiguous Grief. It discusses the loss of dreams, the loss of hopes, the loss of what might have been...those are real losses to feel. It does not make someone dramatic or ridiculous to lean into their mourning. I had a therapist once who said, "you have to feel your grief or it will find you later". I truly believe that unresolved sadness results in ridiculous explosions of emotion at the most inopportune times. Be healthy and work it out with some self-care and probably staying away from social media for a while. But for both sides, let some time pass so life can resume as it was before this crazy election, and have some grace for each other in the mean time.

3. Education is complicated right now. It seems more important than ever in some ways because it's so obvious that this divided country is getting/interpreting two VERY different stories about what is happening in our nation. But education also seems kind of ridiculous too. How do I convince my students that education is important when a super educated and qualified person just got beat by a not so educated or qualified person. I realize it's not that simplified, thankfully. At a time when we have the most access to information ever, the quest for knowledge and actual facts is no longer a priority. A lack of seeking out truth and facts makes us vulnerable to a variety of tragic consequences. This is how we get conspiracy theories, holocaust deniers, and revisionist history. If memes and tweets are the most effective way of making your way in this world, how does one continue to fight the good fight in education? I'm still coming to terms with this one. Advice welcomed.

4. A divided country is not a win for anyone. This is perhaps the point I am the most passionate about. A divided country means that me and my friends and family and students and colleagues are divided. This breaks down to something more personal than red and blue on a map. This informs the conversation over Thanksgiving dinner, the level of ease at which I operate with my friends, and the way I talk to my students. Division on this national level does not mean a win, even for Trump. It means that in this moment we are as far from being unified as possible. While it is definitely something to study and understand, if that division makes you happy, then you are part of the problem. There has never been a better time to try to reach across the aisle to UNDERSTAND where people are coming from.

5. Now, to my Christian friends...please do not claim this as a moral victory. It is not. I won't get into it too much on this blog, maybe soon, but I do believe that the history books will show that 2016 was the year that Evangelicals sold their souls to politics, resulting in the beginning of the end of the effectiveness they have in reaching people for the Lord. This is where you say..."But Hillary..." yeah yeah, I know. She's not great in terms of morality either. There are so many questions surrounding her. Her victory would not have been a moral one for the country either. But I have never seen such a desperate attempt, to make someone who says and does horrific things seem like a good choice for Christians, by the leaders in the Evangelical Christian community. I have lost respect every single day for people I once looked up to based on their blatant ignorance and quick witted attempts to undermine and be rude to others about politics. And I hear you..."But the Democrats have...." Yeah, I know...but guess what...THEY AREN'T DESPERATELY CLAIMING CHRISTIAN MORALITY AS A PARTY VALUE. I keep waiting to be blown away by love from the Right. I hear it in my head over and over..."and they'll know we are Christians by our love, by our love...". I grew up hearing that my faith was shared by Republicans, but the older I get I just do not see my values or faith represented in the party. People who resist regulations for themselves and their choices, but want them for other people...that makes no sense to me. People who proclaim fear over possibly losing religious freedom, but want to ban other religions from being on our soil, I don't get it. People who have FULL faith that a leader will solve the problems of our world when the Bible is so clear that no leader can, and especially not one IN GOVERNMENT. I am so confused by my Christian friends on the Right that have bought into these ideas so thoroughly. I will definitely be spending time discussing this with those Christians that I still respect to gain some understanding. But I worry that there is not enough love and kindness out there right now to begin to rebuild the damage we have done to our witness in this election.

And yet, I've seen some glimmers of that love and kindness we need. Like my student today with his shaky vow and teary eyes. My English classes have been more like group therapy this week, and I'm okay with that. Because if my students are willing to open up, listen, cry in front of each other, stand up for each other, and express their fears and hopes in a civil manner, then I think our future looks pretty bright.

Lifelong Learning, Birthing a Book, and Softening Blows with Donuts

2016-10-18T10:11:00.000-07:00

I recently graded a quiz that one of my classes took last week, and several of them failed hard. When I think about this class, I can't pinpoint the exact moment I lost them. It's an unusual situation for me. If there's one thing I'm usually good at, it's reading a classroom of students. I know when to give them a break, when to abandon a tumultuous discussion, and when they're truly understanding the material. I'm at the point where I'm teaching 8 classes a semester, I'd like to think I kind of know what I'm doing.

But this class has been different. Oddly enough, it's my first experience with a class like this one. See, there is group of about 8 students who were friends in high school (less than 6 months ago) and chose to take the class together. This has been evident from the day I asked the class to introduce themselves. Their inside jokes and knowing giggles made it obvious to the rest of us that we were the outsiders. Student camaraderie is something I usually encourage, but in this case it seems more of a bulky hindering weapon than a useful tool for learning and discussion. This became evident when the 8 of them failed the quiz with the exact wrong answers. And when I mean failed, I mean, the 8 of them missed all 5 questions with the exact wrong answers. It probably goes without saying that they sit in close proximity, and it also goes without saying that none of them read the assigned chapters last week.

I spent most of my weekend thinking about this class. Not so much the students themselves, but my approach with them. I sat on the floor in my loft most of the weekend surrounded by textbooks, a spiral notebook for planning, a calendar, and two laptops; one for research, one for my favorite playlist of 70's music...I'm never all business.

In the process of reviewing and revamping the rest of the semester to hopefully maximize the time we have left and make them into the writers they need to be for their desired levels of success in college and in life, I read a lot. I read essays about education, about pedagogy, about approaches, about the way "millennials communicate," and even visited the Facebook pages of several of my teacher friends to see what links they have posted recently that could possibly shed some light on my current dilemma.

As I was reading, I annotated the articles, highlighting the best suggestions, clicking the links, getting lost deep in the internet looking for solutions. I found quite a few, but as I searched, I also found that rush of inspiration that has whispered to me all my life...write...write...write....I pushed it down, I can't write right now, I am too busy. I teach 8 classes. I have 220 students. I am always too busy to write. When I'm not teaching or driving, I'm grading. And when I'm not doing anything school related, I'm resting, enjoying friends, resting my brain from the mental gymnastics I do weekly in order to learn the names of 220 students and tend to their learning needs.

Even when I'm catching up on the latest TV show, or having a drink with a friend, the whispering is there...write about this...write about that...write something....But I don't. I haven't. I mean, there's this blog, and the other one I keep, but I rarely blog anymore. My busy excuses are too good, and I have shushed those whispers my entire life, I know how to ignore them the same way I ignore the ones that say don't eat that, go for a walk, read a book, and call that friend you miss.

I love the learning process, and I cannot imagine a day when I won't go deeper for the information, attempt to make connections between otherwise seemingly insignificant things, and find myself fascinated and humbled by all I do not know. As I heard it once, "Education just expands and exposes my ignorance." This is probably why I ended up in higher education. The thrill of learning never gets old to me. But all that input needs an outlet. Discussion. Writing.

Maybe the best way to describe the way I feel most days is that I am pregnant with a book. Now, it should be noted that I have never been pregnant with anything, nor have I ever had interest in pregnancy. On the rare days when I have imagined myself with children, they were always quiet adopted children who liked to read in their rooms and never smeared peanut butter on my couch, and never threw up either. So...yeah, I guess it's fair to say, I'm not familiar at all with the trappings of pregnancy. I can only relate in that there is this thing that I know is coming...you can't see it yet, but I can feel it. No one knows what it will look like or how it will affect people, but one day it will have a name and a purpose in this world. Some people will like it, others will find it frustrating. It might be polarizing, as its mother is often polarizing, and it will most likely make waves, as I tend to do. Genetics are strong. But it will always mean well.

It's all connected. The class problem, the learning, the planning, the reading, the writing. These students surely have their own inspired whispers saying something different than mine, but nonetheless, pushing them to do something, to be better, to dive deeper. Don't we all have that? I certainly hope so. What would the world be like without it? As a teacher, maybe it's my job to advocate for that voice and help it to be heard. The obeying the voice is up to them. We can only carry each other so far.

So when my class meets again, I will acknowledge my part in their failure up to this point, before expressing to them that I cannot allow them to fail from here on out. I will be introducing them to their new seating chart and assigning them learning groups. I will be requiring more reading and in class work and writing, oh goodness, so much writing. I'm going to push them to rise to the occasion of this education so that they learn what they are capable of and hopefully remember it in their most discouraged moments. They might hate me at first, but I never worry much about that when there is something more important at stake.

Or...maybe I will bring them donuts to soften the blow. Like I said, I'm never all business.

A Bucket List for Christians!

2016-06-08T17:26:00.001-07:00

I saw this while completing an item on my actual bucket list.
A drive along Hwy 1.

I wrote the following with the hope that it would be published on the Christian satire site, The Babylon Bee. (Think of it as The Onion for Christians.) However, when I looked up their guidelines, they ask for submissions to be 200 words or less. Mine is over 1500 words, and I wasn't willing to cut it down. So, I'm posting it here on my blog, recognizing that I don't have nearly the readership, and that it's not what I usually post here. And let me give the big disclaimer. I only know of the following because I am guilty of so many of them. The best advice of writing is to write what you know, and that's exactly what I did.

A New Christian Bucket List: 20 Things Every Christian Must Do Before They Die.

When in the course of human events it becomes necessary to measure one’s Christianity in order to offer thorough comparisons to those who may be suspected to be lesser Christians, one cannot rely on scripture alone. The Fruit of the Spirit are too general and cannot be counted on as concrete and measurable in casual conversation. Telling someone, “I was patient with my kids today” or “I exhibited self-control this morning in traffic” are not quantifiable statements, therefore rendering them obsolete in the pissing match of Christianity. What we really need is a score card. Nothing says “I’m holier than thou” more than a list of “Things All Christians Should Do Before They Die.” In light of previously made lists I've seen floating around online, I now present to you, in no particular order, a culturally relevant list for the modern day Christian.

1. Walk out of an R rated movie.

The reason you walk out is irrelevant. It can be due to language or sex (it’s not necessary to condemn violence). As long as you’re with a group of friends who are enjoying the movie and your exit makes them question their own devotion to God while revering yours, then you can successfully check this one off your list.

2. Remind an adult to check their language in your home.

People can be so careless with their verbiage these days. It’s important to remind them that words like crap, freaking, and shut-up, are a slippery slope to blatant obscenity. If you can correct your loose-lipped friend in front of another adult, you get bonus points. If the correction is in front of children, you have added a jewel in your heavenly crown.

3. Correct someone’s lucky to blessed.

There’s just no room in such a godless society for words that leave any space for that careless new age spiritual mumbo jumbo. Blessed reminds us all of THE ONE who is providing the good fortune in your life.

4. Win someone to Christ, then tell everyone about it.

The winning is the easy part. If all else fails, give them the old, “isn’t it better to be safe than sorry” approach to conversion. The hard part is finding an audience ripe for the story of how you won over the new convert. This is best delivered in a Sunday School class or at a Bible Study. It must be shared with a seasoned group of Christians or it will fall on deaf ears.

5. Boycott a business.

The announcement that you are choosing to boycott a business is best delivered via social media while you are safe at Starbucks sipping on your White Mocha. The decision to boycott cannot be taken lightly. After all, there is convenience and reputation to consider. One must choose just the right moral agenda. Boycotting Target for bathroom policies is acceptable, but to boycott Wal-Mart for the greed or mistreatment of workers isn’t a great enough cause to lose friends over. You will know you’ve chosen the right company to abstain from because the issue will most likely relate to someone else’s sexuality or others’ decisions concerning their own bodies. In other words, it will have nothing to do with you at all.

6. Be rude to a waiter/service person.

Ultimately, it's their fault that they chose such a horrid profession, but if they expect you to tip that generous doubled-tax tip, then the least they can do is tend to your every whim and demand. The tenets of Christianity need not apply during service interactions. Bonus points if you can incorporate this into your Sunday lunch routine while still dressed in your church clothes.

7. Get into a fight on social media.

The platform is irrelevant, though Facebook is the obvious choice because it allows for the most words and visibility. The topic should be something related to politics, someone else’s morality, or racism. It’s also important to find the right person’s Facebook to fight on. This can’t be a close friend of family member. It should be a complete stranger or a friend who is not a Christian. This is your chance to show them the truth without ever having to interact with them face to face. Bonus points if you can get into a comment war with one of their friends on the post.

8. Give an unspoken prayer request.

Obviously, I can’t go into details on this.

9. Unfriend a divorcee.

You were once best friends…that is as couples. But now that he/she is divorced, do you really have room in your life for an extra person? I mean, how will you arrange a dinner party now that they've gone and ruined the symmetry of what was once a beautiful table setting? It’s best to leave them out. But you can’t do that until you’ve stopped communicating. Plus, they’re always sad, and that’s such a bummer. You don’t need that negativity rubbing off on you and your beloved spouse. You’ll still pray for them of course, but breaking bread in odd numbers is asking too much of you at this point.

10. Fail at a fast, and lie about it.

First, declare it all over social media, and even in your small group, that God is telling you to fast for a few days. But know that it’s going to be harder than you thought. And you’ll find yourself not sure what to do with your hands while watching TV. No one will know if you sneak some ice cream after your family goes to bed. If a fasting Christian eats in the kitchen after midnight and no one is there to see it, did it really happen? The key to this is to maintain that you succeeded and that God blessed you with an answer to your prayer once it’s over. Bonus points for suggesting that others follow suit.

11. Work in a soup kitchen/feed the orphans/visit a widow…ONCE.

Listen, no one has time for all the service that the Bible suggests we should be doing. As long as you have an experience to talk about to other people so you can prove you were there, no one needs to know how frequently you actually do it. Make sure you know the name of the organizer so you can drop it in conversations later. Bonus points if you serve on a holiday and post pics.

12. Give backhanded sympathy.

It always comes after a tragedy. Someone’s toddler fell into the swimming pool and drowned. It’s the most horrific of circumstances, and the parents are kicking themselves. But someone has to say it, and it might as well be you. You can phrase it as an innocent enough question “How in the world did that happen?” or a more poignant one, “Who was supposed to be watching him?” Either way, it’s important to remind people during their loss that it could have been prevented if only someone as responsible as you had been around.

13. Tell someone under 25 that the Bible warns against tattoos.

It shouldn’t matter that this verse comes right after one about not trimming beards, or that the verse itself implies that ears should not be pierced, someone has got to let the young people know that tattoos are frowned upon and will prevent them from ever getting a job. Bonus points for judging someone with a Christian themed tattoo.

14. Disguise gossip as concern.

When you find out that the neighbor’s kid is experimenting with drugs, it’s important to drop everything and call your friends to tell them for prayer. If you do this right, you should repeat the conversation with your 5 closest friends to make sure that the matter is well-covered in prayer before the neighbors know what hit them!

15. Take inventory of your friend’s church attendance.

The best way to do this is a detailed excel sheet with dates at the top and names on the lefthand column. In a few months you will have enough research to confront them on only showing up to church a fourth of the time. Bonus points for judging their reasons for not being there.

16. Homeschool your kids.

Every Christian should take this for a spin at least once. Just to try it out. Reasons can range from not wanting your precious angels to be exposed to the horrors of the secular culture all the way to not wanting big government to control your kids for 40 hours a week. Bonus points if you attend a church where public school is frowned upon.

17. Attribute depression to sin.

Even though science has done due diligence in proving that this condition exists, we Christians really know what’s up. These people who struggle with depression are sinners who refuse to repent. Bonus points if you say it to their faces.

18. Adorn your home in Christian decor.

There must be a large display of Thomas Kinkade style art in your house. If you are unable to acquire these highly regarded paintings, then the least you can do is find some crosses at your local Hobby Lobby to hang on the wall so that people will immediately grasp your faithfulness the minute they enter your home.

19. Visit Disneyland.

Sure, it’s not exactly the Holy Land, and yeah, their politics don’t line up with yours, but where else can wealthy believers go to spoil their families on a three day weekend? Bonus points if you can do this before Disney introduces their first gay character.

20. Focus on the splinter in your brother’s eye rather than the plank in yours.

If you can write an article to specifically point out all the things your fellow believers do that you would never do, then you’re well on your way to successful bucket list completion!

Saying Goodbye To My Job At Starbucks

2016-02-07T23:45:00.002-08:00

Starbucks Barista in Hangzhou, China

For almost 6 months I've been deliberating quitting my job at Starbucks. I have made dozens of pros/cons lists, discussed it endlessly with friends, family, co-workers, students, customers, and even strangers! However, after about 5 years with the company, I finally submitted my notice. My last shift as a Starbucks Barista will be February 13th.

Introducing Benny and Wendy to their first Starbucks Lattes in Hangzhou

As you may have gathered, I don't take this decision lightly. In fact, I have cried on multiple occasions over the last week as I finalized my decision. Anyone who knows me knows that I cannot say enough good things about the company. I have raved about the OUTSTANDING BENEFITS that they offer their employees, and I have taken advantage of every single one of these that I could during my time there. But Starbucks didn't just offer me a standard package of benefits for working there. It offered me so much more. I want to take this opportunity to write a little tribute and share with you what Starbucks has meant to me over the years.

These Beauties! Mari, Daisy, Emma, Stephanie, and Kourtney.

1. Starbucks was a "minister" to me during a time where I had been cast out.
When I lost my job as a Children's Minister in 2010, I lost my community. Being hired at Starbucks was my first step back into some kind of organization. And the Baristas there took me in without missing a beat. I was amazed at how much my heart healed during my first year working at the company. Conversations with my partners while sweeping the store in the wee hours of the morning, customers who brought in a bag of oranges, a pizza for those of us during the night shift, or even a few who threw an extra big tip our way, allowed me to see a side of humanity that I had all but forgotten about. I had forgotten that people could be kind just because they were capable of it. I had somehow come to associate kindness with something that only Christians were capable of being, and frankly, I had not experienced it much from that demographic in the years before Starbucks. But Starbucks, the workers and customers, reminded me that I was worth a smile, a nice word, and consideration, even in the midst of a small interaction or a busy shift. Starbucks became a safety net, an identity, and a retreat. I have never felt the sense of belonging that I felt as a partner, and I wonder if I ever will again.

Resourceful as always, JM.

2. I got to be a "minister" again.
I set out at age 18 determined to be a Children's Minister. It was a calling for me. When all that changed, I thought I lost my place to serve. Starbucks eventually became a place where I got to do that again. Not with kids of course, and not in any kind of traditional sense of the word "ministry." But I got to use whatever talents I had to meet people where they were in their day and try to let them know that someone was listening, someone cares, if only for a moment. I got to hand out a free drink from time to time to those who were obviously having a rough day, struggling to find the change to pay, or just being incredibly patient with waiting in a long line. I have talked to customers on their way to or from a wedding, a funeral, prom, the movies, Christmas dinner, the hospital, Black Friday shopping, church, work, and pretty much any possible time you can imagine. I have heard some incredible stories along the way, and gotten the opportunity to respond with concern and encouragement. I have also been able to serve my co-workers by picking up their shifts, editing their college essays, and being a reliable and even strong worker. I have encouraged many of the partners to pursue their passions, get their degrees, or take the next step in whatever was there for them to reach out and grab. It wasn't always easy watching them move on while I stayed there, but I felt great knowing that I got to speak a little bit of truth into their lives. I got to serve, in a different way, that made me really see the vast options that exist in ministry, rather than the one I had previously settled on.

I love Richard!

3. I learned to work hard.
I worked in Christian Ministry for over 10 years, the last 6 of them were at a church. While it had it's busy moments, and could be emotionally trying at times, overall, it was a very easy job. My days were about returning emails, talking on the phone, and going to lunch or coffee with people in the church. It was fun and easy. I came in when I wanted to, left when I wanted to. And during my years there, I definitely complained that it was "sooooo haaaaaard." But in truth, it really wasn't hard at all. It was easy work that came very naturally to me and didn't require any uncomfortable level of effort. Now, don't get me wrong, I did my job and did it quite well, it's just that the job itself wasn't difficult, especially in light of the salary I received. Once I started working at Starbucks, I was immediately introduced to hard work again for the first time in over a decade. I had forgotten what it felt like to have sore feet, dry hands, to be burned by hot milk, to wear a uniform, to be yelled at by someone. I had forgotten what it was like to do what the majority of people in the world do every single day. And while the job didn't make a lot of money, I felt great about myself doing it. I still feel good about myself EVERY SINGLE TIME I do it. My parents are hard workers and instilled the idea that good things require hard work, but what I didn't count on is how hard work produced good things in me. Working hard at Starbucks made me proud of myself.

Mari and me.

4. The people...oh, the people...MY BELOVED PARTNERS!
I have met and worked with some of the most incredible people during this job. Jeanine, Meredith, Three different Jessicas, Noelle, Colyn, Allison, Ashley, Grace, Kristin, Emma, Brenda, Holly, Kelsey, Brenton, Marc, Carlos, Deanna, JM, Jaimie, Richard, and the list could seriously go on and on and on. They have been there for me through some of my best and worst times. Through celebrations and heartaches, through tired bitchy shifts, and through fun dance party shifts. They have been the first people I've spoken to in the morning and the last ones I've spoken to at night. They have listened to me talk for hours and also shared their passionate opinions on everything from politics, religion, and global topics, to music, movies, and of course, coffee. We have gained and lost weight together, we have cried and laughed together, they have helped me make decisions to go to China, to move to California, and finally to quit the job because it's the right time. Through these people and their constant support and pushing, I have learned why Starbucks calls their workers, partners. People at Starbucks are going places. They are in college, changing careers, and looking for a way to do what they love. Often, the sharpening that happens at Starbucks is what gives them the courage to take the next leap or risk, the next step. I have kept in touch with those I have worked with, and it's really wonderful to see where they are now. I love, appreciate, and will always cherish each and every one of them.

Me and Marc at Oktober Fest in Walnut Creek, CA.

5. Equality and Diversity.
Starbucks gets a bad rap from both sides of the political spectrum. Conservatives don't like it because the company has always been supportive of LGBT and other liberal issues, and Liberals don't like it because it's expensive, a corporation, and "doesn't even have good coffee." (Gotta love those Hipsters!) But no matter who you are, you are welcomed to work at Starbucks. I've worked with a 16 year old and a 73 year old. I've worked with every race, every religion, every sexuality, every age, every education level, every stage of life, Veterans, and every socio-economic status that exists. Some people are there for life, this is their career. Some are moving through. But Starbucks accepts everyone and treats them fairly. And the best part of this is that all of that takes a backseat to what happens while we are working. My degrees don't matter if I can't make a latte! I have absolutely loved being introduced to diverse groups of people and sharing conversations from those varying perspectives, while all being considered equal on the job.

Richard's Birthday Party with Stephanie, Daisy, and Jaimie.

6. Life Lessons.
In my 5 years, I have seen Starbucks push through various mission statements for the partners and company to keep in focus. Here are a few I think will stick with me for life:

-Assume Positive Intent: Even when someone appears to be lying, give them the benefit of the doubt.

-Connect: You only have a few minutes with each customer, make the most of that time. Be present.

-Deliver the Best: In every cup of coffee, in all you do, offer the best you have.

Kindred Spirit and Starbucks Bestie, Meredith.

-Act with Courage: Challenge the status quo, don't stop growing.

Edgar. He's gonna be a Star...just wait and see!

Tim, JM, and Richard during my shift today.

I could go on...And I have many more pictures of the past 5 years, but I have to stop somewhere. Finishing this blog feels like finishing the end of an era for me. But I know it's not the end. I have always loved Starbucks, and quitting the job won't change that. I just know that it's time for me to move on and to apply some of those great lessons to my other job, teaching college English. It's time to work on myself. To spend Sunday mornings with the New York Times, to get some rest on the weekends, to read, knit, go to the gym, and most of all, to pursue my first love and passion. It's time for me to really start writing again. As the title of this blog implies, the untold stories are the ones that will kill you. I think it's time to start telling them.

Thank you, Starbucks, for everything!

Hello...from the other side...

2015-11-25T19:06:00.001-08:00

Adele is nothing if not timely. I've been chasing pavements with her since 2008, and the release of her new album, 25, happens to show up during the most perfect of circumstances for me...to borrow her lyrics for this blog at the very least.

I'm in California dreaming about what it would take for me to look like Adele.

I am writing you from the other side of a five and a half year journey of "getting back on my feet." The writer in me wants to relive every moment detail by detail here and now in this very entry, but I've used this blog many times before to share what has happened in my life during these years, so for those who have read along, thanks for hanging in there with me. If you're new, feel free to start back at the beginning and catch up.

A few years ago I started repeating to myself that "You do what you have to do so you can do what you want to do." I have let this very much inform my decisions, reminding myself on my tired days that this is temporary, for a season, and to push through. It's a mantra that has served me well.

I have no idea if Oprah actually said this, but it sounds like her, so why not.

When I went to China in 2012, I took with me a combined credit card debt that totaled $17,000. I got my first credit card when I sold my soul to CitiBank at age 19 for a Bob Marley t-shirt. By the time I went to China, it had accumulated into a monster that felt disastrous. I was fired from my job around a year before, leaving me without substantial income, and Starbucks, while an amazing place to work, didn't pay the bills. The debt was bad, but the loss of the job really just cut me off at the knees. I found myself at age 31 needing to start completely over.

After China, I moved back to Fresno in 2013. I was so fortunate to find work easily, and a lot of it. And by a lot of it, I mean I have been working my ass off. I am currently teaching at 3 community colleges in 3 different cities, teaching a total of 8 classes (around 275 students) and working at Starbucks on top of it all. Teaching English is especially trying because so much of what I do happens outside of the classroom. The hours where I am actually teaching are just the showing up part of the job. The other part happens in the wee hours of each morning, while I grade paper after paper and lesson plan. Teaching 8 classes takes 26 in person hours a week. But I easily spend double that grading and planning classes. This doesn't include responding to emails, drive time, and helping students after and before class with any questions they have. It's hard work. Harder than I've ever known before. But super rewarding, and most of the time, inspiring. Still, work is work, and I've done a lot of it these last two years.

This is me climbing my stack of papers to grade.

I have been really happy to find inexpensive places to live. This has helped me to keep my bills in check. My friend Amanda let me live with her for a year to keep my rent low. My friend Holly found us an amazing adorable house to live in, and I was able to keep that low rent for a second year.A lot of my friends have let me stay in their homes to "house sit" while they are out of town, which helped me lessen my bills. I have kept my shopping in check, I've purposefully paid way over what I owe on monthly payments, and I have left myself hardly anything at the end of each paycheck. I have also eaten cheap and crappy consistently. (My body hates me.) Don't get me wrong, I have had some fun too, but I have been primarily motivated by getting my life where I want it to be again. And it's not easy, it goes against my nature. I want what's fun and easy. This has been hard.

BUT...today, I am proud to report that all of that is gone. I DID IT. I worked hard and smart and it paid it off. I'm about six months from paying off my car. I will only owe on my student loans soon, and I'll be paying on those forever anyway, so they hardly even count.

And as of next Tuesday, I will be moving into my own apartment again. I am thrilled about this! I haven't lived in my own space (not counting China) since 2010. I found a beautiful 2 bedroom apartment that has a great loft (perfect for an office) in Fresno, and I am FINALLY going to get to bring all of my stuff out of storage. I don't even know exactly what I have in there, but it will be like Christmas figuring it out! I just bought new couches, new mattresses, and cannot wait to get settled on my own again.

Thanksgiving seems like the perfect time to acknowledge the gratefulness that I feel in regards to all who have helped me. From my parents, to friends, to co-workers...I have gotten meals, advice, places to stay, and encouragement. I am surrounded by wonderful people who support me, and I am so proud of what I have accomplished.

Life can be so hard, and it's easy to look at what has gone wrong. I haven't found a full time job teaching, I'm alone, I've had a lot of loss, and I have had to work at a level that I cannot imagine sustaining for too long. But all of that somehow washes away in comparison to the good things that have happened to and for me.

Thank you to everyone who hung in there, listened to me complain, absorbed my negative moments and reverberated them back at me with some kind of "Care-bear stare," offering me love and pushing me back into the ring to finish what I started.

I am slowly approaching that part of life where I can "do what I want to do..." and it's looking pretty incredible. More on that soon...

Happy Thanksgiving, and may each of you find yourselves in the very center of a place where you are overcome with gratitude.

A Word-Loving Fool

2015-09-02T15:20:00.002-07:00

I am a lover of words.

At any given moment, my Notes app in my phone is full of phrases and words that interest me through meaning, sound, the way my mouth feels when I say them, or words that go together or maybe should never go together, but fascinate me nonetheless.

Currently a few of my favorites are:

vocal fry

nonversation

epoch

limerence

carcolepsy

ethereal

disruptive innovation

textpectation

real

deceived

and holding strong as my favorite word of them all since age 15...

ineffable

Also known as my worst nightmare.

Being a lover of words means that sometimes in the middle of reading something or listening to anything, the world will grow very blurry and quiet, and the letters of what you have just read or heard will present themselves in a soft cocoon of warmth and clarity, complete with colors and even emotions. They will stand out and root themselves in your brain and heart as something you want more of. You will be at once envious that you failed to know them before this moment or that you failed to come up with that particular combination of those particular words...while also being at the same time, extremely grateful and in awe that someone somewhere did in fact assemble or introduce them into your world. It's a complex experience.

I have known I loved words from childhood. I have always kept diaries and journals dedicated to specific categories of words: quotes, prayers, gratitude, people, periods of time. I have always been a reader. Bookstores are my retreat centers. I am a hoarder of books. But I probably didn't realize one of the more foundational reasons that words have such a deep impact on me until I learned about the theory of the Love Languages.

The idea is that each of us hears and speaks love in different ways. The languages are:

Acts of Service

Physical Touch

Quality Time

Gifts

Words of Affirmation

While rooted in Christian theology and originally intended to teach couples how to love each other better or maybe more efficiently, I do believe the concepts presented here stretch way beyond the religious parameters that originally explored them, and definitely beyond romantic love. I have found them to be legitimate in the way I interact with parents, friends, co-workers, and even students.

You should be able to predict by now that my love language is Words of Affirmation. For as long as I can remember, I have craved words, whether written word or spoken it does not matter. But I want to hear words about me and my talents and capabilities and how much people enjoy me. Cards are better than diamonds or chocolate. I can remember very specific compliments I've been paid throughout my life. If you combine words with my secondary love language, physical touch, then you get like the most incredible formula for how to love an Amber. Hug me and tell me I'm awesome and, well, I will give you anything you want!

Except...I've been thinking a lot lately about how those of us who are words of affirmation people are also kind of fools. At least in current society where words flow so easily out of people's mouths. Where people have nonversations constantly, where social media makes all voices equal, where flattery is a commodity to move forward in the workplace, where interviews for teaching positions are everything and what happens in the classroom is almost irrelevant. Those of us who listen carefully for words or love words or even rely on words as a confirmation of love and acceptance...we are fools.

That is, we can be so easily fooled. Look at the other gifts that I mentioned above. Each of those listed, aside from words, requires a level of investment past the tongue. Money, movement, serving, time. They require action. Whereas words are simply spoken. There is no way to search the motivation or to know the heart of the person saying the words. There is no way to be sure that those beautiful words someone is giving you have any substance behind them.

And yet, the foolish thing is that we continue to listen and take them in, crave them and thrive on them. Actions aside, we listen for the bone that might get thrown our way. We might even witness a very clear path of INACTION, but it becomes irrelevant to us as long as someone is still feeding us what we crave.

My preferences are changing on this.

I have been a victim of this for too long. I have ignored intuition and allowed empty words to feed hopes that would never be filled. I am not sure what the success rate is of someone wanting to change their love language, nor am I ready to forfeit my love of language. However, I'm resolved. I am going to try to pay more attention to what people do rather than what they say.

It's not a new concept, but one that I have allowed flowery and frivolous sentiments to bury. I just hope I am not too late. I'm afraid that a consistent diet of words without action has changed my ability to take in and internalize what people tell me. Last week someone sent me a very sweet text message. I know it was meant to be sweet because I could see the way the words were assembled. The text included some of what I recognized as my favorite words. And yet somehow the colors didn't glow, the emotions weren't there, there was a coolness in my veins and the world around me was still so busy and loud. The words didn't matter anymore. I could not feel them, I did not believe them.

This is some hard truth right here.

I'm not ready to live in a world where words don't mean, but I am absolutely committed to looking for action before I submit my hopes and smiles to those who send them.

Wanted: Friends who Shine / Unwanted: Donald Trump Emails

2015-08-26T00:25:00.000-07:00

I wish I could claim that I'm doing something super professional and respectable at the moment of my writing this, but in truth, I have soy sauce stains on my t-shirt, am watching Sons of Anarchy, and I'm drinking a well-deserved beer (or 3). It's like I never even left Alabama!

Sooo...today I accepted and began my fourth job. I am now at 3 colleges in 3 different cities teaching 7 classes and working at Starbucks. I have no idea what I'm thinking, except some revived level of commitment to the same mantra that always eventually drives me, "You do what you have to do so you can do what you want to do." I might be 40 before the "what I want to do" part kicks in, but why not work hard for that now, while I can?

Now if I could just record him saying it and make it my alarm sound!

Important (to me) blogging points for the week:

1. I got my first email from Donald Trump today. For the record, I did not sign up for this. I did not ask for this. I did not want this. And to make matters more laughable, the email is asking me for a donation. Um...Hi, Mr. Trump...maybe you didn't get the memo that I'm working 4 jobs and also hell has not yet frozen over.

I can never hear the words "straight talk" together without hearing Dolly Parton in my head.

2. Ashley Bartlett Bacon is in Sons of Anarchy. If you get that reference we can be friends.

3. I am not a quitter when it comes to TV. I hate-watched SMASH until the very end. But I may not make it though SOA. I feel wrong about it, especially as a woman. And it didn't help when the Call Your Girlfriend podcast I heard today addressed whether or not it's okay to be a woman and a fan of the NFL. The answer was that yes, you can be woman and like anything, but you have to live with yourself. Some of what happens with SOA is hard for me to live with. I was telling my roommate this, and she reminded me that I'm really watching the show from a more observant, anthropological aspect. Taking a reporting view on the culture of the biker mentality. Thank you, Holly, for that beautiful justification. It will suffice as an adequate excuse to continue for now.

4. This week is the 10 year anniversary of Katrina. I wasn't there at the time, but I know many people whose lives would never be the same after the storm. I guess if nothing else, remembering is important. I'm thinking about all of them today and hoping that they are happy.

5. Lastly, I want to talk about Shine Theory. First let me say I am so super sad I didn't hear about this a few years ago. I might have saved myself tons of heartache. But I heard about it TODAY for the first time. Thanks to the CYG podcast of course. Ann Friedman, one of the CYG women slash journalist, coined the concept a few years ago in an article she wrote. The basic tagline of Shine Theory is that "I don't shine if you don't shine." The theory applies largely to professional women, but I think it has great implication for friendship as well. The idea is that you surround yourself with women who are better/more awesome than you are, and instead of being jealous of them, realize that your proximity to them is how you become better in turn. In other words, as a woman, it it worth your time to make sure that the women around you are amazing women, and that you embrace them rather than being intimidated by them. This concept was enlightening and refreshing to me. But also very challenging.

I crave intellectual conversations with emotionally aware people who are trying to better themselves and their lives. I want to be around people who are kind and generous, engaged with the world. And those who do not resort to the lowest common denominator of any given conversation, which let's just be honest, as women usually revolves around how someone looks. WHO GIVES A SHIT HOW ANYONE LOOKS. I have spent way too much of my life around people who are botoxing and dieting and just generally so focused on appearance that they have exactly ZERO interesting things to add to conversations. No more I say, NO MORE!

(I should probably put all of that into a Craig's List ad.)

And let me just shout out to all of the amazing women that are already in my life. I love knowing that those in my circle are smart and brilliant, supportive and strong, kind and generous. I shine because they shine.

Not always easy, but worth it.

Let's see...where was I...

2015-08-19T00:55:00.000-07:00

Forgive me oh vast and omniscient blogosphere, for it has been 10 months since my last blog. In all fairness I've thought about blogging, and have even written a few out, but nothing felt right. They were too political or socially engaging, which mostly just got me all riled up with no where to be adequately validated. But on the way home from class tonight, I thought, hey, I'll share a few things that I've discovered (and rediscovered) recently.

Last week I took a great road trip to Oregon to meet Joni and her family at their beach cabin in Pacific City. I took the long way driving up. I went through the East Bay, and then to the redwoods where I detoured on The Avenue of the Giants. It was surreal. From there I drove up the coast until I landed at my destination. The location was perfect. It was the best of both worlds really. Mountains, beach, enough people around to have a conversation, but lots of opportunity for reading and relaxing in peace and quiet. Great views, delicious food. I even got to hear an incredible thunderstorm. It really was an ideal way to spend a week before coming back to the reality of teaching 5 classes and Starbucks shifts again. However, this semester, the scheduling gods have smiled upon me, and I am thrilled with what my semester looks like.

Oh how I miss this view...

On the drive up, I played with Apple Music. I set it up a few weeks ago, and have let it "do it's thing" which basically means formulate playlists for me based on my preferences. And let me just say, it's really spot on. It's like it KNOWS me. I especially enjoyed a Stevie Nicks inspired playlist. But what's also so cool about it, is that ANY music that's on iTunes becomes something you have access to. So I could just find an album and listen without owning it. Or just one song even. Very cool. For my ride up the gorgeous but slightly misty coast on Sunday morning, I landed on Natalie Merchant. Which brings me to the first thing I want to share...

1. Natalie Merchant-I find that Merchant's music is highly underrated and even overshadowed by some of the more angsty or songbird female musicians of the 90's. (I'm looking at you Morissette and McLachlan...) But as I re-introduced myself to Tigerlily, I just fell in love all over again with her sound. It's clear and mellow. And her lyrics are pretty clever and rather gracious. Jealousy is one of my favorites, delivering an adorable little wink at the listener with the last line. And of course, I think Kind and Generous (Thank You) is perhaps a song that details the way we should all be striving to live. Just sheer goodness in her music. Take a listen if you never have or it's been a while.

"People see me as a challenge to your balance..." -Natalie Merchant "Wonder"

After I finished my drive through the redwoods, I was tired. I took quite a bit of time to get out and walk around and take pictures there. I was out of coffee and dragging. So I decided to see what I could find in the way of podcasts and I discovered...

2. Call Your Girlfriend. This is a podcast that records a weekly conversation between long distance best friends, Ann Friedman and Aminatou Sow. AND I ADORE THEM BOTH! The podcast addresses everything from Obamacare to women who shave their faces to Ariana Grande trying to be a sexy baby. Their voices are intoxicating, as their "studios" are set up in their respective apartment closets. They are witty without putting on a show which is admirable. Aminatou Sow was named one of Forbes 30 under 30, and Ann Friedman is a journalist who is really making a name for herself. They are the kind of people I want to know and talk to regularly, and I love being a little bit of a voyeur into their conversations. I highly recommend that you start this podcast from the beginning, but if you choose not to, it's fine, just pick a title that sounds appealing, you cannot go wrong. Warning for my conservative friends...they are Feminists, sometimes say the F word, and liberal and loving it. And it's all fantastic.

So good to see "old" friends!

While I was in Oregon, I did a lot of great things. Joni and I went to Portland which is always going to be a highlight. We ate at an amazing restaurant (Tasty and Alder) with her childhood friend, then met up with a friend of mine from Fresno State and enjoyed the food trucks in the park. We also did a little shopping in Lincoln City. And got to see a good bit of the surrounding areas. But one of my favorite days was when Joni and her family went into town to do some shopping. I started my morning on the beach with a book, and then moved to the patio of the cabin and was able to read straight through the entire book in just a few hours. Something I haven't done in YEARS. The book was...

3. The Girl on the Train. So, this is a mystery that starts off pretty strong and then kind of spirals into predictability which then triggers apathy because honestly, who cares what happens to these horrible people? I think it attempts two trends that seem to be going around in popular fiction lately. The first is the unreliable narrator. The girl on the train happens to be an alcoholic who has blackouts, making her completely uncertain of this block of time that is crucial to the story. We are told through much detail and explanation that these blackouts are impossible to recover....and yet, somehow these IMPOSSIBLE TO RECOVER minutes are remembered in the end. Because someone has to solve the mystery. It's a nice attempt, but a shallow one. The second trend being, characters that are unlikeable. The thing that draws us to characters is not that they are perfect, but that we want good for them. We want to root for them to overcome. But in the case of this book, if the train derailed and smashed into the neighborhood where it all happens, I think I'd be just fine. I appreciate flawed characters, it's necessary, and allows us to relate to them, which is a nice touch. But these people were over the top and hard to love or even care about. That being said, it's a super fun quick read. It's got great descriptions of England in it and captures some truth about alcoholism too. If you happen to have a day to read for fun like I did, this certainly isn't the worst way you could spend it.

Especially if you have this view.

So there are a few things to check into if you're interested. And maybe I won't let another 10 months pass by again before I blog again.

A Double Shot of Judgment with a Pride Chaser

2014-10-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I met a friend for dinner. It was before a Friday night football game, and it was really crowded, so the only seats open were the bar. I was there first, so I accepted the seat and ordered. She came about 10 minutes later and joined me. I asked her if it was okay with her that we were sitting at the bar. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Um, are they serving food? Then yeah...?"

When I was in college I was, "on fire for the Lord." Back then, everything I did or said was done so that others would perceive me as a Godly woman. I attended church growing up so consistently that I knew exactly what scripted words and actions made me appear to be the Christian that I wanted to be. I was a sober virgin who had never gambled, smoked anything, and rarely cursed. My free time was spent at the Baptist Campus Ministries (I was the president my senior year) or if I was feeling a little wild I would walk down to the Wesley Foundation (the Methodist organization) and hang out there. I know, I know. Risky. My breaks and weekends and summers were filled with mission work and Bible camps and just lots and lots of stuff with really good intentions that was supposed to mean that I was doing the Christian in the best possible way. Hitting all the marks that would lead me to sanctification.

sinners being everyone. like, EVERYONE.

But when I look back on that time, on those years, I really hate who I was. What I see now is how I refused to talk to anyone who wasn't a believer. I can see their faces in the band, in my literature classes, in the dorm where I was the R.A. but I don't know their names. I had divided life into right and wrong, black and white, and there was no grace or tolerance for anyone living less of a Christian life than I was. Even my friends who brought up theological questions about doctrine and the Bible would often end up frustrating me more than challenging me, because I just could not handle the idea that Jesus died for me and for that thief on the cross who barely knew him. My closest friends and I ranted in our rooms about how we were the "good sons" who never strayed, and that it wasn't fair that these prodigals got the same favor that we were to get. I had opinions about everyone and every thing and honestly, most of them were not nice.

For example, I judged the people who sat at the bar in a restaurant. I would walk into a place and glance over to see if there was anyone I knew there. Then, I would make absolute full blown assumptions about the kind of people who sat at bars. Drunks. Trash. People who can't possibly know God. Now, let me make this clear, my parents DID NOT instill this righteousness in me. No, no. It took years of church culture and empty religious mandates of "this equals good this equals bad" kind of thinking to refine this kind of pride in me.

me in college.

Until dinner a few weeks ago, I had forgotten the way I used to feel about sitting at bars. When I asked my friend if it was okay if we sat there, I was attempting to be considerate toward her. People in the community know her, she has kids, she's a member of a local church. And what I was formulating in my head went something like this: "Someone could walk in here, someone like the person that I was 15 years ago and judge her for sitting here." I didn't want that for her. I didn't want her seat choice to be scrutinized or call into question her validity as a Christian. And yet, my inquiry to her was a pathetic and shameful acknowledgement that yes, for many people in the church, it absolutely would mean that her relationship with God was lacking, if even existent.

I didn't worry about this for myself as much. I have felt more solid in my faith in the last few years than ever before, and so much of that has come from giving up trying to impress people with it. For a while I shared very openly my struggles or vulnerabilities in my life, and while I believe that was always the intention that God had in mind for us, ultimately, I have seen it become a point of attack for people. We all love to say, "well, at least I don't have that going on." It's why those Real Housewives, Honey Boo Boo, and other reality shows are even a thing. Lately, my faith has become something very personal, and while I don't mind sharing about it, I find that it's much less about what I claim I am doing for God or how I am attempting to "present" as a Christian and so much more about what he is doing for me.

because it's easier than working on my own problems!

Still, I am all too aware that there are people like my 20 year old self lurking around corners waiting to judge us for sitting at the bar. In fact, it wasn't until I moved to Fresno that I heard people doubt the faith of others out loud. I only thought that Alabama had a lock on knowing who was saved and who wasn't, but man, North Fresno really seems to have it figured out. Those Christian check marks are in full play and if one doesn't meet them, then well, were they ever really a believer to begin with? I first heard this insult a few months after I moved here when one church member was talking about another to me. She had been offended by some things the other had done, and her recourse was not to assume struggle or even just plain old sin, it was to jump all the way to the point that the other person must not be a Christian. It didn't sit well with me then, nor does it still when I hear it in reference to myself or others, whether I know them or not. There's a great line in a song that says, "If grace is an ocean we're all sinking." It's so true. That's because as Christians we steal each other's life jackets, kick each other out of the boat, and watch while people drown. It's a good thing we are not dependent on the grace of others for our salvation. I certainly know lots of "bar sitters" who would be hell bound if it had been up to me a few years ago.

i couldn't resist this.

Of course, thankfully, things have changed. I sit at bars quite frequently these days. And most of the people that I enjoy spending time with do as well. We order appetizers and maybe a few drinks and talk about our lives. We sympathize and encourage each other through the things that go wrong and celebrate the things that are going right. We share pretty openly, sometimes about our spirituality, sometimes it never comes up. Either way, the hours I spend sitting at a bar usually end up being some of the happiest I've experienced.

What Self-Control Smells Like

2014-09-04T14:58:00.003-07:00

While I have a rather limited readership on this blog, I do nonetheless have a few readers who have subscribed or at least clicked from time to time when they've exhausted all their other social media feeds. At least that's what the numbers on my Google Analytics report suggest. So taking a 5 month hiatus almost demands some kind of explanation. Especially in a year where I chose to share my journey of self-control.

I wish I could tell you that I gave up the internet or something really noble like that to explain my absence. But it's nothing like that. It all started when I neared the end of Spring semester and found myself drowning in papers to grade and increasing hours at Starbucks. Along with my lacking blogs, I stopped paying attention to what I ate, and eventually slacked off at the gym as well. By the time Summer classes started, I was pretty overwhelmed by life in general and kind of pushed pause on the self-control journey.

Smell that? That's the scent of my self-control. You're welcome.

But I haven't forgotten about it. About this blog, about my word for the year. I've been thinking about it quite a bit over these last few months, and truthfully, I realize that I haven't pushed pause at all. In fact, in some ways not utilizing this outlet in light of all that has gone on in the world and in my own life in the last few months is actually pretty indicative of the exact definition of self-control. Let me explain...

I restricted myself from writing polarizing comments on the most obnoxious and ignorant Facebook posts about the most controversial topics that are out there to be discussed at the moment. Instead scrolling past them, maybe hiding the ignorant culprit so I don't have to see them again, and moving on with my day.

I refrained from calling people out on their lies, mistreatment, and abandonment of once meaningful relationships when I hear of their rather public gloating about being in the "right," raising their Christian flags high, all the while refusing to repent, forgive, be honest, show grace, make peace, or even attempt a level of basic niceness.

I stayed still rather than avenging myself when I experienced the situation I mentioned above.

I didn't immediately fail students who struggled to make it to class and lied to my face about why or turned in plagiarized papers.

I avoided cussing at customers who treated me like I'm an idiot or threw a fingernail at me. YES a fingernail. I smiled and handed out Frappuccinos without ever commenting back in spite of their rude behaviors.

I checked myself before spending money that I don't have. In my attempt to pay off my credit card, I have stayed the course instead of opting for a fun vacation somewhere with friends or a trip back home.

I restricted my wandering mind and did not waste my time, procrastinate, or avoid my responsibilities.

I curbed what was meant to be a negative and damaging article in the NYT about Starbucks by offering a truthful yet positive quote about the company instead of jumping on the bandwagon and agreeing with the suggested message.

I even managed to not break any laws.

Yeah...so my thoughts on self-control have changed a little. While I have a long way to go, and have failed in so so so many ways over the last few months, I have also definitely utilized it for situations that I didn't even realize, and maybe in ways that are ultimately more important than watching what I eat or making it to the gym.

The Soundtrack to My Life: A-Side

2014-04-26T04:20:00.002-07:00

In the last few weeks I've posted an extensive amount of pictures of my travels, my wine, and the rain on various social media outlets. Each time I post them, all I want to write is lyrics to describe what I'm feeling in the moment. Sometimes I think all the perfect words have already been written. And even though I pride myself on being well-read, most of my favorite words are from songs.

Here's a little tribute to just a few of my most enjoyable moments along my journey, accompanied by just a few of my favorite song lyrics.

I found this in a store called "Resurrect" in my hometown of Opelika, Alabama when I went there a month ago for my brother's wedding. I know the term has a complicated history, but I can relate to the essence of it. If you Google it, you'll actually see a definition that suggests that a gypsy is a part time college teacher who travels from place to place looking for work. NAILED IT. Anyway, Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" and Fleetwood Mac's "Gypsy" are two of my very favorite songs. I tend to associate the word with the concept of "no fear, only love" as mentioned in the latter of the two above mentioned songs. I even named my car Gyspy. 2014

This is the first time I put my feet in the sand of a California beach. I was in Carmel driving along the coast with no intention to stop on the beach, but couldn't resist. My mom's hippie influence always makes me think of Joni Mitchell's "California" and The Mama's and the Papa's "California Dreamin" when I'm on the coast. Particularly I love Mitchell's longing for California even as she's traveling the world in her song. She sings, "Will you take me as I am?" and it gets me every time. 2006

When I came to California for the first time for an interview, I had one free day to do whatever I wanted to do. Even though my interview was in Fresno, I took the day to drive to San Francisco. I wasn't sure if I would get the job and it was crucial that I got to see this city. This is the picture I took with the camera on my flip phone the first time I ever saw and drove across the Golden Gate Bridge. I definitely cried. Vanessa Carlton's song, "Back in San Francisco" has the perfect scene in it, "Talking in the Mission, over coffee, this is my utopia." That's exactly what I did that day, and it remains one of my proudest and most uniquely independent days. 2005

The first time I ever traveled outside the US was for a trip to Belgium. I spent a few days in Amsterdam and was so amazed at the bikes and boats and buildings. I was there when Vanessa Carlton's "1000 Miles" was a huge hit, so I've always associate the song with the trip. But when I reflect on it, Coldplay is the band that stands out for some reason. Their song, "Amsterdam" came out that year too. I was in my second year at seminary, and really felt some attachment to all things "star" related at the time. Their song starts out, "Come on, oh, my star is fading, and I swerve out of control." I had no idea how prophetic it all was at the time. 2002

I attempted not to use photos with people in them, but as I looked through, I couldn't resist this one because it marked the beginning of my road trip with my mother, moving me out of California and back to Alabama. These were my three closest friends at the time, and they met me and my mom for an early breakfast before we took off. It was a sweetly emotional morning, and one I will never forget. Linkin Park's "Waiting for the End" was the theme song to that entire trip. The song is upbeat and inspiring, but also resigned to the idea of change. "This is not the end this is not the beginning./This is not what I had planned, it's out of my control./All I want to do is trade this life for something new, holding on to what I haven't got." The song seemed to be my anthem for having to leave Fresno, when I so desperately wanted to stay. 2011

On the day before Thanksgiving my friend Amanda and I went to Reno to see Sara Bareilles in concert. It was a fantastic concert and we listened to her songs the whole way there. My spend the trip trying to guess how she'd open the concert. We were both wrong, and she opened with "Vegas" in an attempt to connect the whole "Nevada" thing. I love most of her music so trying to choose one of hers is always difficult. But on this trip, "Basketcase" won out. The words, "Send your armies in of robbers and thieves to steal the state I'm in, I don't want it anymore" were some of my favorites. It's a really sad song about a break up. During the concert she confessed that maybe she'd been slightly dramatic when writing it. 2010

How does one choose a picture to capture a year in China? This is He Feng Tower in Hangzhou, on the West Lake. My trips to this part of the city were some of my favorite while I was there, and The Cure's song, "Pictures of You" played in my ears every single time. I have written an entire blog on the song, but my favorite lines are at the end of the song and have nothing to do with travel or China or really anything about that year. But I love the declaration, "There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more than to feel you deep in my heart." It just gets me! Maybe if nothing else, the height of emotions combined with the surreal surroundings of China just resonates somewhere in me. 2012

One of my favorite "vacations" to take is driving along the Blue Ridge Mountains around Asheville, NC. This picture was taken somewhere between Asheville and Boone. A friend of mine from Starbucks needed to pick up her son in Washington DC, but had no one to drive her. I have friends along the way, so I volunteered and we set off on our trip. We got seriously lost, which is really not even a real thing in my opinion, but we definitely got off our planned course, and ended up on this gravel road just after a bad rain storm. Everything was so green, and we played The Civil Wars with our hands outside of the windows rolling with the cool damn air. "The Violet Hour" was the song we played and called it our "Coming of Age" trip, even though we were both well over 30. There are no lyrics to "The Violet Hour," so you'll just have to listen to it in order to understand. 2011

I spent an amazing 10 week Summer in Montana before my Senior year of college. This is Avalanche Lake in Glacier National Park, which remains one of the most stunning places I've ever been. My friends and I spent the entire summer listening to country songs, but the Dixie Chicks, "Wide Open Spaces" was the only song that captured the experience. "A young girl's dream no longer hollow. It takes the shape of a place out West, but what it holds for her, she hasn't yet guessed." And also the entire rest of the song. 2000

Sometimes after I've been somewhere, it almost seems like it never happened. Being in Scotland is an example of this. I spent almost 2 weeks there one September, and while I could post pictures of castles and churches and cobble stoned streets, this garden that seems straight out of Wonderland was one of the places I really enjoyed. Maybe it was the UK influence, but I just listened to Coldplay the entire time. "Fix You" is probably one of the greatest songs of theirs. When I went to Scotland, I was not in a great place in life. Between jobs, not real happy with anything at all. The words at the end, "Tears stream down your face when you lose something you cannot replace. Tears stream down your face, I promise you I will learn from all of my mistakes," rang so true with me then, and still do today. 2011

Being on the Great Wall is definitely in my top 5 favorite life moments. The song that serves this moment is one that also serves many other moments in my life, but there are just some pivotal points that you realize change you. You can't continue on as if they didn't happen, as if that change did not occur. The song by Swtichfoot, "Dare You to Move" is one of my favorite faith related songs. "Maybe redemption has stories to tell, maybe forgiveness is right where you fell./I dare you to move, like today never happened." I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to put those stories into words. 2012

This is the view from the lake house that my friend Jill's family owns in Dadeville, Alabama. I've seen this view almost annually for the last 21 years. I jumped off that boat house as a 14 year old. I sailed to that other shore in college. I've been drunk on that dock as an adult. And most recently, I've put sunscreen on her kids and carried an abundance of floaties to the water so we could finally get to the business of swimming! Jill and I have so many soundtracks to our friendship of 21 years. We can both recite EVERY SINGLE WORD to the ENTIRE Phantom of the Opera. Garth Brooks holds a special place for both of us. But this picture is best associated with the duet "Bad Goodbye" by Clint Black and Wynnona Judd. We'd sing the song in perfect harmony on our road trips to the lake, just before we stopped for boiled peanuts on the side of the road. The lyrics aren't really important, the harmony is. This particular picture was taken in 2010.

Last Summer I took a road trip from Alabama to California to move back here. My friend, Sandi, and I stopped at the Grand Canyon in hopes to see the Sunset. It was a really great day. In fact, the entire trip was great. It was long enough that we listened to probably every song we had access to. But our theme song for the trip was the Dixie Chicks, "The Long Way Around." It certainly feels like that's what I've done, and coming back to California, where I wanted to be, took a while. "It's been two long years now since the top of the world came crashing down, and I'm getting it back on the road now./Well I never seem to do it like anybody else, maybe someday I'm gonna settle down, if you ever want to find me I can still be found taking the long way around." 2013

These are the moss covered trees in downtown Tallahassee, Florida. I have family there, and spent quite a few Summers during high school and college at the FSU band camp and working in the city. On one particular trip, I sat with my uncles and mother drinking mojitos and listening to live music. The song they played was "Just Breathe" by Pearl Jam. It had recently been made sentimental to me, so hearing it across the country seemed pretty random. I love it when it seems like someone is looking out for you. Planting little synchronicities around for you to find. I know Eddie Vedder is a polarizing musical figure, but I love him when he says,"Stay with me, let's just breathe." The word "stay" has so many important connotations in relationships of all kinds. It's maybe one of the most vulnerable things a person can say and one of the sweetest things a person can hear. The breathing part...I just love the idea in the song. Nothing complicated, just stick around and let's be. 2013

My last picture is from Antofagasta, Chile. The story of how I got there is one of my favorite to tell. I was notified of the opportunity with less than 14 hours before departure. I took notes about the trip on a napkin in Sandi's kitchen. My friend Heather helped me pack. My friend Brenda loaded me $100. I got fired from my job for going, had to repay my employers a gift they'd given me to get to Belgium 6 months earlier, but I went anyway. And I loved this place. This is La Portada off the coast of the city we stayed in, meaning, "The Gateway." This is the first time I came face to face with poverty. The people I met lived in a trash dump. We took them oranges one day, and I reacted so shamefully. I stayed in the car because I was afraid I would throw up at the smell. If most of these pictures represent some of my most beautiful moments, this one is a reminder of a huge regret. All of my privilege, all of my complacency, all of my pride sat with me in that car. In years since the trip, with clarity, I have prayed that I left it all there. I try to respond with mercy, empathy, and just basic humanity when I see anything close to what I saw that day. Sarah McLachlan's "Fallen" is the song for this trip. "Though I've tried, I've fallen, I have sunk so low, I've messed up, better I should know." 2003

Prayer: Better To Have A Heart Without Words Than Words Without A Heart

2014-04-26T01:35:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I took a "spiritual gifts assessment." The idea was to rank various spiritual gifts the Bible mentions according to my personality and specific giftedness. Even as I type this, I'm realizing what a horrible idea something like this is. It pigeonholes people into being able to claim, or worse, brag about their gifts, while excusing them from being responsible for those that receive the lower scores. Ridiculous.

Anyway, my "gifts" ranked in order, according to this particular test, were as follows:

Exhortation/Encouragement

Prophecy

Leadership

Discernment

Mercy

Teaching

Faith

Administration

Evangelism

Giving

Prayer

Basically what this said about me was that I can talk anyone in to anything, but they shouldn't trust me at all, cause I haven't prayed about it.

Kidding.

(Sort of.)

When I got the results, I remember feeling very spiritually inferior to those around me. How does anyone who is in any kind of church leadership position end up with prayer at the bottom of their list of gifts!?

I've been thinking a lot about prayer this year, probably because it relates so directly to my ability to exercise my theme of the year....self-control. Mike started off the year with a sermon series about it. And it's something that I keep feeling prodded toward. But the thing is, I'm not really good at it. I've mentioned before in this blog, that I kind of just plead and cry and ask for help in my prayers. I think the "fix it" and "help me not to care" kind of prayers are the ones that most often escape my lips. And those are rarely spoken in moments of sanity, but rather pour out of me once I'm at the end of my ability to say anything else. And only when there's no one left to listen.

Somewhere in my past, even before the spiritual gift assessment, prayer got tainted for me. It was used more as proof of how faithful someone was and what religious vocabulary they knew than an actual method of communication with God. It was too "high" for me to understand. OR it was too "low." It was simply a way of repeating local gossip and sharing the tragedies that others were going through. OR it was too formulaic. The "ACTS" method, making sure you hit all your cues in your discussion with your heavenly father. My whole life I've been told that my relationship with God was the most important relationship in my life, yet finding a way to talk to him has been pretty complicated.

But my attempt at self-control this year has required my attempt at prayer again. I have tried to make it less about just asking God for selfish things and more about asking him to change me. I've tried to really work on gratitude and positivity. It's so easy for me to pray for what I want him to fix, but trying to find things in my life that are just fine the way they are and appreciate them, that's a challenge. I've also tried to really pray that people around me will be given what is best for them rather than what I think the best for them is. Sadly, the two do not always sync up. It's hard to relinquish control...cause you know, I have so much. ;)

I've also found that this is a constant conversation. It's ongoing in my alone time, and I have a lot of alone time. There is no formula. In fact, in some ways it reminds me of my time in China when I would spend hours on FaceTime with friends just to have some company. Every once in a while one of us might actually say something important, but it was really more about having a constant presence there. I feel the constant presence of God and know that when I'm ready to say something, he's gonna hear it.

Maybe the thing that makes me the most hesitant about prayer is that it's creating an expectation. Sure, it's an expression of faith, and an important act of faith. But it's just like when you tell anyone anything about yourself, you are creating a small link to hope that they will remember that thing, hold that important, and respond accordingly. Conversation with someone you care about and who claims to care about you requires showing up to some degree. And by asking God to help, fix, change, make sense of, heal, provide, or any other kind of request I might make of him means that I am embracing a hope that he will show up in that way. And when he doesn't....or doesn't in the way I hope he might...how can I manage my faith in light of that disappointment?

I don't know what my gifts would be today if I were to take that stupid spiritual gifts assessment again. I doubt prayer would rank any higher than it did back then. But only because those questions are tailored to a religious regiment that requires formulas, set times, and specific words. And I'm not trying to develop my prayer life, I'm seeking more to have a life of prayer.

Paralyzed With Happiness

2014-04-02T17:05:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite lines in literature is the first line Daisy Buchanan speaks in The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald has her lounging lazily on the couch on a hot summer's day, when she vocalizes her ultimate truth...that she is "p-paralyzed with happiness."

Maya Angelou says, "The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them." I would suggest that you don't even have to wait for them to show you, most people tell you. In our attempts to enter relationships with a certain level of transparency, we just flat out tell on ourselves. We all have our tag lines. I like to think of them as those little introductions on the "Real Housewives" shows. The sentences that define us, or at least who we hopefully intend to project to others. My friends and I joke about these little statements, playing around with what ours might be if we had them.

Daisy's intro is brilliant, because ultimately she is telling us that (SPOILER ALERT) she has no intention of going anywhere. Not far from that couch in the moment and definitely not with Gatsby later in the book. Her prison of contentment is going to keep her still. Fitzgerald's writing in this is not only a brilliant literary decision, but a psychological one as well.

We are who we are.

I have always had a hard time accepting this fact. Because of my faith in God and his ability to create us new daily, for him to sharpen us, answer our prayers, change our hearts, and mold us, I have always believed that the idea that we are destined to be a certain way is just...well, an excuse to continue to live the way we want to.

But in all this focus on self-control lately, I've realized that in spite of my longing to believe that I can fully adapt and adjust...that I can change...there is another truth to consider.

God made me the way that I am.

That's not permission for me to go on a binge or hurt people or even avoid attempts to better myself. It's just some hard truth. There are certain qualities that I possess that are just in me. I have a tag line.

This is on my mind lately because I really do have things about myself that I would like to change. I could give you a long list, but for today, I will stick with this one trait. I would like to change how desperately important people are to me. I wish I could let them wash around me like waves, but instead they go through me like air. They get into my brains and lungs and my heart. I know this is a quality that is just part of who I am, because it is a quality that I have had for a very long time.

A few years ago, I went back and read old journals to try to prove this to someone, that my passion for people wasn't anything new. From the time I was old enough to keep a diary, I have written entries that are people focused. While many people might write about events they were attending, the happenings in their lives, I write about people. In fact, many of my journal entries from elementary school all the way to college would simply say, "Went to fill in the blank tonight..." followed by a list of the attendees. Sometimes beside those names I might have detailed who talked to me the most, who I enjoyed, who I wanted to know better, who annoyed me, and other types of interactions the event held.

There is no denying that I am all about people, and I always have been. I've been accused of "diving in too deep" and "falling in love too quickly and with too many people." And maybe the most accurate insight anyone has ever had about me was a statement a friend made a few years ago, that "people are how I breathe."

Maybe that is my tag line. And yet, I resent it so much right now. I wish I could be indifferent, I wish I could be less vulnerable, I wish I could back off and not care. I have prayed it many times, and it's a prayer that God doesn't answer. In fact, usually after I spend time dwelling on this, begging him for release, wishing for change, that's when he brings someone else new and exciting into my life, and I am caught up, enamored by the uniqueness of their presence. The way they teach me, challenge me, and highlight my previously muted characteristics. I am amazed at the paths we both took that brought us to the point of meeting at a certain time in a certain place. There is nothing romantic about these encounters, and yet they hold so much awe for me. People are so beautiful. The perfect representation of brokenness and hope. Living proof of God's presence. Walking pictures of his grace.

When I read the Bible, I spend a lot of time looking at the passages where people are in isolation. I pay close attention to those parts where people are still and alone with God. I love those parts. They are full of rest and comfort and peace. I have had some times like that in my life. And being single with no kids, away from family and long time friends, I actually have more times like that than anyone would imagine. But those times are usually pretty temporary, because the growth that God wants and even expects from us usually happens in community.

My reason for wanting to rid myself of this burden is because it just ends up hurting. Read back and you will notice that I said that people are broken. And we hurt each other in our brokenness. We disappoint and frustrate and abandon each other. I hate the pain that comes in these moments. I hate knowing that I have caused this kind of pain in the lives of others. I want to be so self-controlled that I never make someone else feel it, and I never have to feel it again.

But I am learning that this kind of restraint only leads to isolation. And while I love that cocoon of warmth and peace where no one else exists, I also know that I cannot grow there. In fact, if I stay by myself, away from anything that could hurt later, it's more likely that I follow in the footsteps of Elijah and end up in a pity party.

Thankfully, I hear God's voice...his powerful question booming, "What are you doing here, Amber?" I have no good answer. I am not growing. I am not serving. I am not loving.

Knowing it will hurt again in time, he sends me back out and reminds me that he can heal and renew each pain I encounter, but I cannot ignore that he has created me, specifically and especially me, to be in community.

People are how I breathe.