Homes

It was a really good Thanksgiving.

I always dread breaks. There's this sinking feeling inside me as I get closer to Chicago and further from Columbia, because I expect the worst. But this time was the best. There was a peace in my house that I have not felt for a long time. And that is something to praise God for.

My praises? Meatloaf. Brooke. American Girl Place. Laura. Oak Brook Mall. The new H&M. Peace. My dad, mom and sister. Happy Feet. Cheesecake. Turkey and everything that goes with it. Christmas shopping. Believing in Santa. Believing in Jesus.

Leaving one home and going back to another has never been this peaceful. I'm looking forward to Christmas, believe it or not.

Heavenly peace

I've been back in Chicago for three days now. It's peaceful. Pleasantly so.

I spent Saturday morning on an airplane, Saturday afternoon around the house and at the grocery store and Saturday night eating dinner that my mom made. Wonderful. Sunday was church, decorating Christmas trees with my sister's Girl Scout troop, then an afternoon with the newspaper and a nap. I ate another dinner my mom made, then watched Desperate Housewives, channel surfed and went to sleep early. Wonderful, yet again. Today, I spent the morning in Chicago when Brooke came to visit, reliving our childhoods at American Girl Place, ogling at every chocolate imaginable at the Ghiradelli and Hershey's stores, book browsing at Borders, and making wish lists at the three-story Gap. Then I went to the hand doctor and got no answers. I'm getting some tests and x-rays done later this week, then starting physical therapy in December. I want some answers, but I guess I'll have to be patient -- uncharacteristically so.

God's bringing me the peace I've wanted for so long . . . it's beautiful.

Craving

I go through the same crisis four times a year . . . mid-November, mid-December, late March, and mid-May. It's when I don't know what is where, and when home is a feeling and not a place, and I can rarely grab that feeling and hold onto it like I desperately want to.

There's an RUF minister at Furman University, and he was in a biking accident last week Wednesday. He suffered major head injuries and had a blood clot removed from his brain the day of the accident. His brain keeps swelling and he's in a medically-induced coma, but the swelling isn't going down. His wife calls his voice mail just to hear his voice. He has three children, and dozens upon dozens upon dozens of children who aren't related to him, but whose lives he has touched through RUF. And that's who we are -- children. He's received an outpouring of support, but he isn't conscious to receive it.

It's a beautiful expression of the love of God's community . . . such a beautiful reaction to a tragedy . . .

But I go into this secluded daze because I can't figure out if my home is Chicago or Columbia. And it isn't even Chicago, it's actually Westmont. And when God's community pours out its love to me, I dismiss it.

I have a friend who has become distant of late because his stepmom has cancer and a former classmate died in Iraq. This friend could go to Iraq too. I have a friend who has never felt the confidence we should all deserve to feel, even though she's beautiful, and who wonders if God will ever bring her a date. I have a friend who is withering away, and I don't think it's an eating disorder, but there's something just not normal. I have a friend whose life is intangibly perfect, but it's often in perfection when the most flaws arise, when we settle for perfect mediocrity. I have a friend who won't share what's on her heart, and I wonder sometimes if she wants to, but there's just so much that she doesn't know where to begin. I have a friend whose boyfriend's mom is dying. It feels like her own mom is dying too. I have a friend who left school last semester because she was sick, and she can barely do some of what she wants because she always needs to rest. I have a friend who switched from Journalism to Hotel and Restaurant Management because she took a cake decorating class. If she can make what she eats look perfect, then maybe that will hide a life that isn't.

These are just some of the amazing friends God has blessed me with. I desperately want them all to know how much I appreciate them . . . they do what they can, and more, to make me happy. I don't gratify them with returning the favor. I'm stuck and I'm here and I want to be happy. I get happiness from God, and I'm craving it like no other . . .

Crash landing

I took the leap of faith.

I landed face first, crashed into a ditch and got a mouth full of dirt.

My anger is gone, and my enthusiasm is back. But if one more person tells me that all this free time is a blessing, I'm going to throw up in that poor person's shoes. I need a group to lead, some people to include, something to make me feel content again. God didn't give me talents for nothing, and I intend to be the best steward I can of what He gave me.

Diving in

I'm taking a huge leap of faith, and I'm asking God to carry me through it. After praying, deliberating, thinking, faltering, changing my mind, and changing it back, I'm realizing what God's been pointing to all along. I'm running for Vice President of my sorority, and tomorrow at this time, I will know if God wants me to do it or not.

I may not be wearing a life vest, but there's still Someone there to catch me.

"YOU know the way to the place where I am going . . ." - John 14:4