I couldn’t fight it if I tried. I have tried many times but it keeps coming back. It swells up inside of me despite my reason and it wins every time. It wins when it shouldn’t. It rises up when I think it’s gone. When I’ve done everything in my power to keep it down, it peeks its way through to the surface despite all the obstacles I set before it.

It creeps into my consciousness without invitation and takes up residence in my heart without my permission– this hope, this relentless and oftentimes frustrating hope. It won’t go away no matter how hard I try. This tiny glimmer of a belief that what my heart yearns for might actually be mine.

What a nuisance. What a pest. What a sweet, sweet annoyance you are, Hope. I give up because I know you won’t. You’re bigger than me and denying that reality is more foolish than believing in things I can’t explain. You win and I’m glad to lay down my weapons before you.

So I allow you to take up your residence in my heart. I won’t demand that you leave the next time I’m hurt or disillusioned. I won’t curse you in my pain. I will welcome you back, Hope, even though it might sting. You win and I thank God for that.

I’m visiting friends in Norway and have been enjoying some solo time in Trondheim the past few days before continuing on to Oslo tomorrow. The most impactful day of my trip thus far was Saturday when I visited the Ringve Botanic Garden.

As I meandered through the beauty of the garden, I was reminded of my post entitled “Both Hands” a few months back. In it, I spoke of how I’m better able to take in beauty when I contribute both of my hands to the exploration and wonder of what is set before me.

So instead of standing in awe of the beauty that surrounded me in the garden, I began to touch the plants and the trees and the leaves and the flowers and to study more intently the intricate details of each as I held it in my hands. And a magical thing happened– I felt its beauty run through me. My experience of it was not limited to my eyes but widened and broadened by my touch.

The beauty before me came alive in a way I hadn’t experienced before. It reached into parts of me that hadn’t been touched in a long time, and it somehow healed those parts of me without my request. Simply magical, spellbinding, enchanting, breathtaking. And it only required my gentle, loving touch– better yet, my kind embrace– to feel its effect. Who knew it was there for the taking all this time? Who knew it could heal me so?

And I feel that somehow I, too, healed each thing I encountered by way of my touch. I reminded each leaf of its beauty, each petal of its grandeur. I expressed my personal admiration and gratitude– not from a distance, not by my words, not by my gaze but by my touch. And I imagine each was freed somehow by my affection.

Such beauty ought to be touched! It ought to be felt. But I fear nature is rarely encountered this way and I can feel its loneliness. I find a kindred experience of my own in that. I know what it feels like to be left untouched, and I know how deeply my heart yearns for it– not simply to be touched in passing or admired from afar but to be known and held fondly and truly.

I imagine the trees and plants I touch feel the same way, too. And so it gives me great pleasure to satisfy nature’s yearning in a kind and gentle way, if only for a moment. I imagine it gives great relief– a relief that can be felt after the touch has ended. I imagine this because I know it to be my experience. Nature’s kind touch still lingers in me now, days later. And for that, I am grateful.

One of my favorite things about being a homeowner and caring for my place is pulling weeds. Mind you, it wasn’t love at first sight, but over the years, I’ve really come to enjoy it.

After my morning walk today, I took some time to weed a few spots in my backyard. I’d been avoiding it for a while, always finding better things to do with my time. But once I dug in, that familiar fondness resurfaced and I remembered how much I enjoyed it.

The weeds near my backdoor were overgrown so I anticipated the job taking a while. But I quickly realized their bark was worse than their bite. The weeds had shallow roots and were easy to pull. They also sprawled giving the appearance of being more than they were. Pulling the root of one, removed a large weed-covered section with little effort.

Isn’t that life? Oftentimes the things that trip us up appear much stronger than they actually are. The most powerful aspect of weeds is their fear-inducing appearance not the reality of their existence. In order to get our attention, they have to boast beyond their true presence and convince us of their ungainly influence.

Good prevails though. Those roots run deep and require more effort to uproot. Lord, help me to recognize the weeds for what they are– shallow and manageable. Don’t let me give them more power in my life than they rightfully deserve.

I’m traveling to Norway this summer to visit a few friends. It’s still hard to believe it’s actually happening. It’s been on my list since my semester abroad in Australia back in 2004.

I traveled to Australia in the company of two good friends from the University of Idaho with whom I planned the whole semester. We lived with two Norwegians who didn’t know each other prior to that time. I’ll save the details of that semester for another post because it’s so dear to my heart that a brief tangent wouldn’t do it justice.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’m on summer break. So I have plenty of time to prepare for my trip in a few weeks. Oddly enough, though, I found myself stressing about the things I should do around the house and the preparations I should make for the trip earlier this week.

I started making a list hoping that would ease my nerves but it only exasperated the situation. My thoughts were scattered and the list felt contrived and forced. So I abandoned the list and went about with my aimless day trusting the anxious feelings would soon subside.

Here I am, five days later and my prediction proved true. I came across my partly written list just yesterday and realized that nearly all the items had been completed and the ones that hadn’t were no longer important. They happened in their own good time and not on my self-induced, regimented schedule. I allowed it to flow,  and all was well.

It took me back to the winter break before my semester in Australia. My two friends from college were working multiple jobs while I had little with which to occupy my time. My existence at that time felt so purposeless, especially when compared to my friends’ experiences. What I didn’t realize was that I was being prepared for the life that lie before me in Australia.

The laid back, “no worries” attitude was especially prevalent on the college campus and my two friends didn’t know what to do with themselves. To go from a 40+ work week to little to no structure left them floundering the first few weeks. Meanwhile, I was able to fall right into step with it.

I can feel that same internal prep happening now in advance of my trip to Norway. I’ll be flying solo, especially in Trondheim, where my friend is married with three kids. I’m staying in a hostel there, and I anticipate doing much of my exploring there on my own. Oslo will likely be better because I’ll be staying with my friend there. But she’ll be working, so many of the days will be on my own.

Instead of forcing a routine on myself this month, I’m going with the flow and allowing life to unfold as it will. As strange as it may sound, this is probably the most important vacation preparation task I can undertake.

A bold title to what could be considered unworthy subject matter, but it is the source of my inspiration so I’ll continue.

I have an incredible job. It utilizes all the best parts of me and puts me in a position to positively influence young people as they come into their own during their college years. Such a humbling and invigorating position and one that allows me to share the wisdom (dare I say) and perspective I’ve gained over the past three and a half decades of my life.

Another reason I love my job besides its strong sense of purpose is the fact that I’m on a 10-month contract and get to enjoy June and July off from work. A wonderful benefit but also a challenging shift in reality.

My last day of work before summer break was nearly two weeks ago. However, my transition has been delayed with the visit of a close friend this past weekend. I had several home projects that I undertook in anticipation of her visit– updating and painting the basement bedroom, painting the baseboard in the newly renovated bathroom, and recaulking the shower.

As is the case with most home projects, the timeline soon ballooned beyond original expectations. So the week I had off prior to her arrival would best be described as a condensed frenzy of activity that left me with little sleep and major surges of deadline-induced motivation coupled with bouts of anxiety and resignation.

Now that my friend and her daughter have left, I feel like I’m ushering myself into the true work of transition. Coming off 40 hours of work a week to 40+ hours of home project-ing this past week and now to no clear direction is challenging. It has its way of leaving a person a bit unsettled.

Last summer it took me weeks to make my way into a good and satisfying summer rhythm.  The second time around is always easier I assured myself. But today, on my first full weekday of freedom and aimlessness, I wonder if this adage will hold true.

The familiar fears creep up– loneliness, lack of identity and purpose, ambiguity. I know it sounds absurd to complain about it but to deny the struggle would be dishonest. But surprisingly, as I considered these things this evening, a surge of courage welled up inside of me.

Yes, this is challenging. Yes, I lose myself for a time in this space. Yes, I don’t know how long the transition will last nor do I know how to best navigate it. But even in considering all these things, the word “Unafraid” came to my mind. And in that moment, it occurred to me that the greater reality was not my fears and concerns but my courage and confidence.

Unwelcome insecurities always come to the surface during this time of transition but that’s part of the journey– a part of the journey that stretches and molds me. As with all transitions, growth is happening under the surface and I know I’ll come out different than when I started. And for that, I can be excited. For that reason, I can step into this uncertain time certain of the gift that awaits me on the other side.

This is the gift of the struggle if we allow it the space it needs to accomplish its good work of changing us.

My neighbor across the alley, a military vet, apparently still has a thing for adrenaline-pumping experiences and has decided to share that with his grandkids in the form of alley racing. He loads one of three grandkids on his four-wheeler and races up and down the alleys at 30-35 miles an hour, honking the horn the entire way as if that warning sign makes the activity safe.

The grandkids of course love it. And the granddad seems quite pleased with the exhilaration of the speed and encouragement of the kids, with his cap turned backwards, his slick sunglasses on and his white knuckles gripping the handles.

All these awful scenarios run through my mind of what could happen– the four-wheeler running over a cat or dog because they can’t stop soon enough, a car backing out of a garage and the four-wheeler slamming into it, an elderly person who’s hard of hearing stepping into the four-wheeler’s path and getting hit.

The concerns loomed large the day I witnessed it and really upset me. It’s so interesting how those thoughts can occupy such a large part of your mind. You don’t even realize how big it’s become until you speak it out loud.

Such was the case when I shared it with a guy I went on a second date with that same afternoon. It’s incredible what a burden it lifted when I spoke it out loud. His response didn’t even matter. I just needed it to be heard and somehow the magnitude of the concern was returned to its proper size.

Yes, it’s not safe and hopefully I’ll have an opportunity to express my concerns to my neighbor but it doesn’t have to be all-consuming and ruin my day. Silent concerns are a killer because they so quickly become unbalanced. It’s so easy to forget that the greatest remedy is the simplest one– speaking them out loud in the company of another.

I just got back from a second date with someone. It was my attempt to see if there was more than what met the eye on the first go around.

As we ate ice cream, he asked about things I like to do. And with each thing I shared, he tried to make a connection. Agreeing with my thoughts on dating, relationships and solitude. Expressing a similar taste in music and love of the outdoors and people.

Now don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with looking for common ground. It’s a part of the dating experience. But as I sat there with him, something felt amiss.

It occurred to me that my responses were being listened to more for the purpose of assessing the match and less for the purpose of knowing me as a person. In his eagerness to confirm the match, he was missing the person in front of him.

Don’t we all fall prey to this tendency at some point in our dating experiences? I know I certainly have so I can’t blame him. But it’s an approach that’ll never get us where we want to go.

Approaching dating in this way is the ultimate flawed experiment. It’s doing the test with a desired outcome in mind that dictates the way you approach the experiment and the way you interpret the results. What results is no experiment at all.

Lord, help me to approach dating as a true scientist does– with great curiosity, an unbiased, open mind, and a healthy detachment from the results. Amen.

So I’ve decided to shed light on my dating experience. If there’s anything I ought to be writing about, it should be this. Finding my life partner is perhaps the most important quest I will undertake in this life and that exploration deserves blog space to be sure.

After mourning the loss of a relationship that held no staying power last year, I ventured out into the dating scene with a surprising and unexpected hope. I was certain that there were good men out there and that I ought to meet them. And as God would have it, my reality proved my hope true.

I have met five guys in the last five months and been in touch with several others whom I have not yet met. None of those I have met have been keepers but I’m encouraged by their company and thankful to know them.

I’ve learned much in the process. I’ve discovered some personal tendencies, trigger points and insecurities that weren’t apparent to me before.  Not surprisingly so. How would I know them if I don’t put myself in spaces that would draw them out?

I’ve discovered things that are more important to me than I realized. I’ve grown in courage and confidence. And I believe this experience has played a part in helping me to find a life outside of work that is all mine. And for that, I am incredibly grateful.

I think it’s really easy to dismiss the power and impact of the journey because we become consumed with the end goal. Believe me, I’m not far removed from this tendency. I lose hope at times still because I haven’t yet reached the end goal.

But I find that reflecting on and writing about the journey somehow validates and gives it worth. There’s movement in the middle. There’s growth there and I don’t want to miss that. Lord, give me eyes to see it. Amen.

I just finished mowing my backyard, or more appropriately my back jungle. I even pulled out the weed-eater and edged it all. The entire project took me nearly three hours. Not surprisingly, my patience and positivity wore thin as time wore on.

Sammy had been attentively watching me the whole time from his perch inside at the kitchen window. When I finally finished, I debated on whether I should let him come out and play for a bit or if I should just go in and crash. I decided on the former, and it made all the difference.

Sammy came bounding out with the fresh curiosity and energy of being in a new space. He climbed the tree, ran with impressive speed from there to the patio, and stealthily edged the fence sniffing and observing every detail. He meowed to his heart’s desire and turned and cocked his head in every possible way taking it all in.

I was able, for that brief time, to see the yard through Sammy’s cat eyes as he pranced through the space and explored his newfound domain. I soon found myself lost in his wonder. The rest of the world and all my worries slipped away and all I could see was him and the beauty of the outdoors through his eyes.

Oh the wonder and innocence of pets and children who can see the beauty through the weeds and beyond the trials that often blind our older selves to the glory that exists there!

Commencement tomorrow marks the close of my first full year of working at the university. The last several months have been the busiest I’ve experienced since starting there. And as a natural consequence, I feel like my personal life has been put on hold.

One welcome release I have found during this time has been reading for pleasure (not for purpose, as is normally the case). A dear student and friend of mine introduced me to a few books that she enjoyed and I just finished the second one.

Who knew reading could be so healthy? I just had myself a good cry and my eyes are sufficiently puffy and swollen for attending the graduation ceremony tomorrow. Not fantastic timing but I wouldn’t take it back. Lord, there’s something so cathartic about a good cry.

I don’t care to rehash the storyline here. Suffice it to say the book and the emotions that followed reawakened a deep heartfelt desire of mine– that of becoming a wife and a mother.

What’s interesting is that it’s a desire that I speak of often and openly. It’s not a dream that I have repressed but one that I own without hesitation. So it’s curious that it touched me so deeply tonight.

But that’s the beauty of art– whether it’s a written piece, visual art, or spoken word. It has the ability to tap into areas that are often inaccessible in everyday life. And I regard the tears that sometimes follow these encounters as a great gift.

It’s experiences like the one tonight that remind me I’m alive and that the desire and the dream I hold in my heart is deep and real and full. And somehow the reminder of its depth acts as an assurance of its future existence. The desire itself becomes the promise.