How was New York?  How was camp?  How is home?  Where is home?  So you’re dancing up there?  What are you doing up there?  Why are you there?  What are you going to do when you go back up there?  What did you major in?  What are you going to do with that?  Don’t you want to do broadcasting or journalism?  Do you think you are going to stay for a while?  When are you going to move back?  What do you want to do with your life?

I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I don’t know.  

As  result, hopping on and off planes and in and out of bygone worlds, I’ve given up on concise explanations.  Now I’m not frustrated that you asked (though generic questions usually prompt generic answers, just saying), but the fact is that there are a lot more questions marks than periods in my life and the process of me going through it all is indeed, quite the process.  I will, however, offer the following song as nails it right on the head.  It speaks of and summarizes all of my feelings of this past season.  It’s actually rather weird how accurate it is and personal it seems.

With that, here is Gungor’s “Please Be My Strength”  [click title for link to song], my elevator sing-songy speech for the year.

You ask me what I am doing?

Do life with me and you will see who I am becoming.

Waking up with the sun.  Having Sunday dinners with my family.  Reading a good book with a cup of coffee.  Going for a long walk with my camera.  Sitting with my nephew in my lap.  Singing the Wicked soundtrack, especially with my Daddy.  Resting in the embrace of those who know me well.  Taking power naps.  Eating tacos after a late night dancing.  Surprising and being surprised by my friends.  Wiggling my toes in the sand.  Strolling through the farmers’ market.  Discovering a new place.  Talking and hearing about my God.  Eating fruit straight from the tree or vegetables from the garden.  Reading old journal entries.  Riding a bike.  Finishing a new blog entry.  Making cards.  De-boarding airplanes.  Building things.  Sitting by the water with friends at night.  Watching my students perform.  Laughing until my abs hate me.  Sitting with families in kitchens.  Playing with little niños in México.  Dancing with my hair down.  Hearing my mom, brothers, and grandmas say, ” I love you.”  Eating breakfast in my pajamas.  Sending and receiving mail.  Getting sweaty, preferably with the music on high and/or with a ball of some sort.  Having spontaneous sleepovers at friends’ apartments.  Cooking for others.  Going to bed knowing that today counted for eternity.

The fuzzy little caterpillar wiggled and wobbled its velvet-like backside up the red oak tree branch.

“Whew,” she let out, breathing heavily.  “I’m not cut out for this.  No more.  Please.  I don’t know what else to do, but I know that I can’t keep this up for long.  Now if only I could fly, getting myself places wouldn’t be so difficult.  Come to think of it, if I could fly…if I could fly!…oh, the places I would go and the things I would see!” she blurted out.  And with that, off went her thoughts like the easterly winds as she further excited herself past the point of weariness and finally into a deep, deep sleep.

In the morning, she awoke suddenly to darkness on all sides.  Panicking and punching ferociously, she busted out of the sheath that had so tightly enveloped her.  Finally free, she climbed her way up the shredded encasement and plopped herself onto the branch, her feet clinging to the familiarity of the tree and her heart fluttering from shock.

“What just happened?” she shrieked as she goggled at a body not her own.  She sat there, stunned.  She couldn’t believe what was going on and wanted nothing more than to hideaway from the world until she awoke from this wretched nightmare.  With that, she wiggled and wobbled her way down the branch as she had always done, but this time, it wasn’t how it had always felt.

“What’s going on?” she mumbled repeatedly.

“I don’t understand!”

The formerly fuzzy little caterpillar staggered upon the sun-warmed earth.  She looked for somewhere, anywhere, to hide, but everywhere she went, she couldn’t escape from the overawing figure that had overtaken her soul.  She tried to conceal herself in the shadows.  She tried to cover herself with twigs, leaves, and anything else she could find, though the enormous protrusions on her back made it impossible to blend in.

Exposed and utterly confused, she lay there in the open.  Tears of frustration gathered at the bottom of her eyes.  She blinked.  And in the stillness of sunup, down poured a torrent of tears, while her mind raced wildly back and forth between “what happened?” and “why me?”

As she began to run out of tears, she steadied her breathing and began to take notice of the building winds.  They felt soothing to her wet cheeks.

“I don’t know if things are ever going to be the same again, but I’m sure everything is going to be okay,” she half assuredly, half doubtfully told to herself.  “Everything is going to be okay.”

And everything was…for the next minute until there went those blasted protrusions  (the ones she didn’t even ask for!), picking up the wind underneath them!

Up, up, and away she went, far, far and away from everything that she had ever known!  Enervated and seemingly not even breathing anymore, the formerly fuzzy little caterpillar had nothing left.  She couldn’t fight it anymore.  She didn’t want to fight it anymore.  It was over.  She was giving up.  She would forever lie where the wind chose to take her.

And with that doleful resignation, she unclenched every tense, taut, and tight part of her body, mind, and soul and gave it up to the wind—ready to meet her end…

…and as a result,

…for the very first time,

…she began to truly fly.

—–

What I learned over my summer vacation:  The act of flying must first begin with the possibility of falling.

This is the story of a man–a master who went on a long trip.

Fill in the blanks with one of the following nouns as it pertains to Malia’s summer.

The man called together his servants and entrusted his _____  to them while he was gone.  He gave five measures of _____ to one, two measures of _____ to another, and one measure of _____ to the last–dividing it in proportion to their abilities.  He then left on his trip.

The servant who received the five measures of _____ began to invest the _____ and earned five more.  The servant with two measures of _____ also went to work and earned two more.  But the servant who received the one measure of _____ dug a hole in the ground and hid the master’s _____.

After a long time their master returned from his trip and called them to give an account of how they had used his _____.  The servant to whom he had entrusted the five measures of _____ came forward with five more and said, ‘Master, you gave me five measures to invest, and I have earned five more.’

The master was full of praise.  ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant.  You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities.  Let’s celebrate together!’

The servant who had received the two measures of _____ came forward and said, ‘Master, you gave me two measures of _____ to invest, and I have earned two more.’

The master said, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant.  You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities.  Let’s celebrate together!’

Then the servant with with the one measure of _____ came and said, ‘Master, I was afraid I would lose your money, so I hid it in the earth.  Look here is your money back.’

But the master replied, ‘You wicked and lazy servant!  Why didn’t you deposit my money in the bank?  At least I could have gotten some interest on it.’

Then he ordered, ‘Take the money from this servant, and give it to the one with ten measures of _____.  To those who use well what they are given, even more will be given, and they will have an abundance.  But from those who do nothing, even what little they have will be taken.

Matthew 25: 16-29

Note:  All 3 of the listed nouns actually work.

—–

What I learned over my summer vacation:  Investing entails spending, wisely and purposefully, that is.

“The Crowned One” she was christened, the very name she ran from.  Ignorant of her position & with it the privileges, she settled for crumbs.  Crumbs that didn’t taste too good, and weren’t at all filling, but were good enough and familiar and cost less than a shilling.

“I want to please give you more,” her father, the King, would plead, “I want to give you better than you could ever imagine.  I’m giving you me.  Don’t settle for anything less, my precious child.  I know what is best and will grant you it from my stockpiles.”

“Hmmm, thank you but no thank you.  I’m good with where I’m at now, but I’ll take your tutors and gifts you’ve already given me and get by somehow–somehow that doesn’t involve getting too close to you, for I know when that happens, there are certain things I must do.  All this privilege and power, I didn’t ask for this lot.  I want to be average, anonymous, discreet in the back in the darkest spot.  Don’t make me stand out and step up into the light to lead.  Don’t expect so much of me for I shall fail indeed.”

“My sweet and darling princess, you’ve been made for so much more.  Henceforth, I will continue to break down your walls with my love. It’s you I adore.  You can never change that nor can you ever fail me, though I will not accept less than who I’ve been christened you to be:

A daughter, my daughter, the “Crowned One” whom I take great delight in–You were made to be close to me, learn from me, and represent me well.”

—–

What I learned over my summer vacation: Changing your name does not change the blood that runs inside of you.

A smile.  A short exchange of workplace woes or weekend adventures.  A simple kind of satisfaction that came from “the usual, please.”

A week out of the cafe and into my travels, I think about the faces that brightened mine every day.  

The one who was too cool to take off his shades inside.  Small coffee with soy.  His friend.  The one who was always so generous in tipping.  Small coffee with soy as well.  The one who was fascinated by condors.  Tuna sandwich with jalapenos.  The one who was moving a couple blocks down.  Double espresso in a to-go cup.  The one who was too wonderfully polite to be from the city.  Small latte.  Large latte for her husband.  The one who was more charming than a Disney prince.  Single macchiato.  The one who was quite possibly in the mafia, though I didn’t press the subject too much.  Single espresso.  The one who was more persistent than a struggling actress in the big city.  Large cappucino and blueberry muffin.  The one who was shockingly still alive despite all of the caffeine he consumed on a daily basis.  Grilled cheese sandwich with proscuitto and a coke if eating, double espresso if not, large coffee if he already had two doubles.  The one who was deep and contemplative and always a pleasure to talk with.  Soy cappucino in a ceramic mug.  The one who was always staying up way too late every single night.  Bacon egg and cheese if eating, large latte and a blueberry muffin if not.  The one who was trying to be financially prudent but came every day during my last week anyways.  Roasted chicken sandwich and chips.  The one who was always matching every piece of clothing on her.  Tuna sandwich and iced coffee with a little bit of milk.  The one who was from the sixth floor.  Carrot cake and espresso.  The one who was always so encouraging of all of my life decisions.  Carrot cake and black tea.  The one who was more habitual about his 330 coffee than I am about my daily vitamins.  Large latte.

To that one, those ones, and so many more, thank you for resisting the common misconception that a couple of bucks permits you to be a contemptibly obnoxious jerk.  I have appreciated you all, more than you know.  And when people ask me if it is true about rough and tough New Yorkers, I think of you–and your drink orders, reflexively–and can’t help but smile when I proceed to tell them of this little place called DUMBO and its denizens of whom have been sooo crucial to my year and snuck ever closer to my heart.

Before taking the books off of the shelves, I sit down on my slender mattress.  The evening sky, at least what I can see from my window, is a solemn-looking shade of gray.  In contrast to the vibrant green treetops, it brings a spirit of profundity and of peace over my second-floor apartment.  A fierce gust of wind sprints into, through, and out of my room.  I close my eyes, and for that brief moment, I am Pocahantas in “Colors of the Wind.”  I open my eyes and stare at the wall.  It stares back.  I reminisce on the events of the year.  If only walls could talk, this one would probably never stop.  There’s been so much that has happened this year, so much I will never be able to fully recount to another: in shedding the tears of my shattered heart, in feeling the side pains of my laughing fits, in moving forward through both the euphoric delight and wretched disquiet of my readjustment here and every other feeling in-between.

Nevertheless looking back and over this past season, I see all that I’ve lost, and it is nothing in comparison to what I have gained—the surmounting belief and understanding that He is God alone.

..and that He is mine, and I am His.

Wherefore in shock, disbelief, despair, frustration, hardship, heartbreak, healing, happiness, hope, rest, growth, thankfulness, and every other situation I may be catapulted into, I have learned these three things: to write it down, dance it out, and let it go—forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead.  For I run a different race.  I vie for an other-worldly prize.  Therefore, until I reach the finish line, I will continue to press on.

Our Heavenly Father: Let us see Thy glory, if it must be from the shelter of the cleft rock and from beneath the protection of Thy covering hand.  Whatever the cost to us in loss of friends or goods or length of days let us know Thee as Thou art, that we may adore Thee as we should.  Through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.  [-A.W. Tozer, The Knowledge of the Holy, 68]

-Horatio Spafford, “It Is Well With My Soul”

Remember that one time, Daddy, just two years ago when I told you I was going to move to San Francisco, volunteer in New Orleans, live off-campus my senior year, visit Uncle Petz in Columbus, build houses in Mexico, graduate, and then move to New York?  Well,  I did.  

I’ve missed you so terribly much during all of this, but I’m okay.  I will be okay.  For at the risk of sounding arrogant, I’d say you and Mom have raised me well.  

“I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss.  Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends!”  –Lamentations 3: 21

The graduation ceremony never attended, the next-step decision never discussed, the cross-country adventure never shared, and the many other expectations never fulfilled–it’s okay.  You can cry.

Cry hard and fully and every time you feel like it.  Grief knows no timetable nor formula.  Just let it out, for tears are the heart’s attestation that he meant a lot to you, that he means a lot to you and that you love him.

Granted, I don’t know your situation fully, but I have been acquainted with grief in my own way, and I wanted to encourage you that the hurt won’t always suffocate so forcefully.  Things won’t always be like this.  They’ll be even better.  

You’ll be even better because to experience this kind of pain is to come face to face with the God who comforts with supernatural hugs, to nestle into His bosom and hear Him whisper, “It’s going to be okay.  I got you.”  And though going through this is never easy, easy was never part of the equation, for it too often gives way to a forgetfulness and forsaking of the One in whom we live and move and have our being.  That being the case, easy versus hard is not the issue at hand but rather if He is still worthy or not to be the subject of your song and the center of your being.

And He is.

He is so worthy, always has been and will be.

Now I don’t mean to make light of your grief.  I don’t mean to speak down to you but rather to come along side of you when you feel like you’re alone and go behind you when it seems you can’t go on anymore.

So to you, my friend and sister in Christ, keep walking–always forward, with your chin up and your spirit worshipping.  I promise you, it’s going to be worth it.  HE promises.  He’s got you, and He will be more than you need for this life and the next.

Be encouraged, love, and know that you and your family are being bathed in prayer.