Rain

Today it rained. And I’m not talking hey look it’s drizzling outside. More like my word the sky is pouring buckets and I can’t see anything and oh wow I shouldn’t have worn white.

I’m talking thunder rolling and lightning crashing and water drenching everything in its wake: people included.

Ah. My favorite kind of rain.

I absolutely love thunderstorms. They will forever remind me of my mom, sitting in her rocking chair with chai tea and a good book, looking at me and saying, “Ah. I love this,” as thunder booms throughout the house.

They remind me of lying in my bed at home and waking up to echoes of thunder, smiling as I snuggle up in my blankets and drift back to sleep.

I think of running outside without an umbrella or poncho or rain boots, letting my hair down and spinning in circles, water soaking me from the sky.

I think of being carefree.

My life has taken a whole lot of turns in the past year. Just a few months ago I was planning on packing up my bags and heading to Andrews University next year to pursue a degree in Speech Pathology. I had already applied and gotten accepted, and while preparing myself for switching schools, I was taking classes like A&P that left me staring at a book for hours, trying to understand action potentials.

And then? Well, I switched my major back to Elementary Education. I have my interview for the program next week, and my homework is now full of lesson plans and my school days are full of hopping in a car and swinging by a school to teach some kids a thing or two. I love it.

This year I’m learning how to lose friends. It’s a terrible reality that often leaves me standing still, feeling like I’m watching those I love turn around and walk away. It has been a struggle for me. I’ve had good friends get in serious relationships which leaves me on the sidelines, trying to cheer them on when all I really want to do is cry and beg things back the way they were.

I’m learning to let go and move forward, even though I often don’t want to.

But the biggest thing of all is that I have decided to spend the next ten months of my life in Bolivia. I am going to an orphanage to be a mom, a cook, a teacher, and the list goes on. I am leaving everything, and everyone, I know. I am taking a risk, going out on a limb, heading out for the adventure of a lifetime. And it leaves me speechless, tears running down my cheeks, thinking what in the world am I doing? Is this what I am supposed to do?

It has torn my heart, as part of me is with those kids over there but the bigger part is still here at home with my family, with my mom and my dad and my sister and brother. By leaving, I feel like I am hurting them. And it breaks my heart.

I’ve spent so much time tossing back and forth, thinking oh I must go and oh I must stay. I’ve poured my heart out to God, begging Him just to play out what’s best, what will bring the most good, so I don’t have to make a decision.

But I do. And I have. I printed the fundraising letters today. I wish I could say I feel lighter.

I just feel like I have spent this entire year making life-altering decisions, one after the other. Some I stick to, and others? Throw it out and try again.  My life is constantly changing, I’m constantly adjusting, and sometimes I'm left exhausted, my hands in the air, thinking what’s next?

I’ve been standing still, watching friendships and relationships and miscommunications tumble down around me.

And then I’ve been living glorious days like today: Biking down the promenade with Kim, catching convocation with Russell, chatting for a couple hours with Natalie, and listening to Rachell run into the room to tell me that we, as roommates, have officially reached the marriage stage. I love how I don’t have to worry about our friendship. We can just do our own thing, and I know we are always friends. Rach, me too. You don’t even know.

I’ve been living life with all its ups and downs. The moments that leave me feeling like the only person in the room and the ones that leave me wondering if life could possibly get any better.

It’s like I’m standing in pouring rain, life falling down all around me, booming thunder and crashing lightning and soaking me in its wake.

And it is so easy for me to beg it stop. I don’t want anymore change. I don’t want to leave what I know. Leave me with the comfortable and easy and familiar.

It’s like I’m in a flat-out rainstorm, with a little bucket, trying to catch it all before it hits me. I make myself a victim of circumstances.

But life is change. Life is growing and choosing and losing and gaining. Life is falling down and getting back up. Life is making hard decisions. Life is moving forward.

And I’m learning to give up on the umbrella and rain boots and poncho. I’m learning to let my hair down and spin in circles and look up into the sky and say let the water pour, the thunder roll, the lightning crash.

That’s my favorite kind of rain.

Alive

I grew up in Wisconsin, where winters were long, frigid, and white. Then my family moved to Texas, where we would rush outside to watch the snow fall for the few minutes before we watched it melt. A year later we moved to Missouri, and then to North Carolina, where the winters were beautiful but never as majestic and the snow never as deep as in Wisconsin.

But this year? We got snow. Serious snow. The hey let’s go outside and build a snowman and have a snowball fight and then come back inside and make snow ice cream kind of snow.

It was perfection.

Last night there was a giant snowball fight on center campus. A couple of my friends and I excitedly joined. Quick! Bundle up! Oh goodness I don’t have gloves. Do you have extra gloves?! Oh my word your hands are so tiny how do you wear these I can barely move my fingers. Eh, whatevs. Oh my word RUN!

And pretty soon we were outside, throwing snowballs at strangers but goodness I have so many layers on they probably don’t know who I am. After the fight we walked up to a hill where some kind souls we’d never even met let us use their sled. Turns out sledding really is as fun as I thought when I was five.

I remember walking up to that hill, looking up in the sky and watching snow fall down, spinning in circles thinking life is beautiful.

Recently, a young girl lost her life. Her name was Madison Baird. I never met her, but she went to Walla Walla University and the news spread like wildfire. She was hit while riding her bike into the sunset. She was twenty.

I’m twenty.

I watched a video that her friends compiled for her funeral. They talked of what an incredible person she was: warm, always smiling, vibrant, full of love for strangers, showing God constantly and everywhere.

I read the newspaper her school dedicated to her. They spoke of how she was a rare jewel, a bright light on campus. She was pursuing a career in nutrition and dietetics. I read her blog and she wanted to have a good husband, lots of kids, and a house with a red door. She was beautiful, intelligent, athletic, passionate, and lit up the room.

I have been inspired by Madison and I never even met her.

Tonight my roommates and I were talking about how there are so many questions in life. Why do some people die and others don’t? Why can someone so good and kind who lives life to the fullest have it taken away? Why can life seem so unfair?

The only answer I can think of right now is that there isn’t an ultimate answer. At least not that I can understand. That is far beyond my grasp, beyond my reach. I can make no sense of it.

But what I do know? This is the life I have now. This is who I am and where I am. And I want to shine like Madison did.

Sledding down the hill, surrounded by my friends, white snow falling from the sky, thankful to be breathing and feeling and experiencing and alive.

Bitter Cold

I have an 8 am class on Tuesdays and Thursdays in Brock. If you are a female at Southern and live in the dorm, the building “Brock” is almost always mentioned with a hint of disdain around this time of year. It is located at the very opposite end of campus from the girls’ dorm. In the fall, it makes for a beautiful walk and, simultaneously, plenty of time to run into a bunch of friends when the time to switch classes rolls around. However, in the wintertime, such on days like today when it is a mere seven degrees outside, it proves to be, well… miserable.

And so this morning? I had to walk to Brock. Now, up in one of my cabinets, I have a container stuffed with scarves and gloves. I have a really nice, warm headband in my t-shirt drawer. And my roommate gave me the greatest gift ever last year of this super super nice NorthFace coat. It’s like a personal heater.

But this morning? I got out of bed far after my alarm got off (as per usual). So, while eating a scrumptious breakfast of peanut butter and bread, (That was sarcasm. The only reason I like PB&J is because I love jelly. This was like a PB&J… without the jelly.) I threw on a sweater that looks cute but doesn’t do much other than that, ankle socks which basically just exaggerate how cold my legs are by making my feet feel kind of warm, my worn out brown boots that are pure holes on the bottom, and my old pea coat that I’ve had for….wait for it….going on five years now. (And yes, I also wore pants.) And is my coat warm? No. Not at all. But I’ve worn it for so long (which is pretty obvious as the pockets are now worn down to just holes. One time I walked to class jingling because a bunch of change had gotten stuck somewhere in there.) that I’ve become rather attached to it and can’t bear to see it go. In fact, pretty much every time I’m around someone and the weather comes up I say, “Hey! Guess how long I’ve had this coat! Almost five years! And guess what else?! It’s terrible quality!” No one seems to care as much as I do.

But anyways, when I finally made it to class, I was red as it gets. “My word. Your ears would put Rudolph’s nose to shame!” one of my friends said. I did that whole little laugh thing when all you’re really thinking is hahahaha um that’s not funny.

My friend Kim looked at me with despair. “You wore that coat again?! Now I’m gonna have to listen to you complain all the way down the promenade about how cold you are!” She and I have a tradition of walking to our next class together. It’s amazing what wonderful conversation we fit into that little ten-minute walk. She is just so fabulous. So, to keep the peace, I made a promise to her that I wouldn’t complain today. I didn’t keep it.

The other day I was walking to work when I saw my friend, Peter, running down the promenade. He and I went to highschool together, and I can’t begin to count the hours I spent sitting in the office with him while he helped me with Algebra II. He is quite a character, and as he attended a different school our senior year, I always enjoy seeing him around again. And the other day when I saw him running? It was probably about fifteen degrees outside and he was wearing shorts. And a t-shirt. And flipflops. So Peter.

I ran into him today and laughed, “I saw you the other day running because you were so cold! Maybe you should wear actual shoes!” “I wasn’t running because I was cold. It was because I was late!!!” he proclaimed, “I got out of a test late and my class was all the way over in Brock!” Good old Brock. I told him he should still wear shoes. He shook his head and we parted ways.

Tonight I was talking to some friends about how cold it's getting. I told them how I checked the weather on my phone this morning and saw that it was negative fourteen degrees outside. Oh my goodness is this for real? I am never getting up. I am not leaving this room. That's pretty much all I was thinking, until I realized my phone was set to Celsius, not Fahrenheit. Go figure.

It's so funny this time of year. Watching everyone bolt across the promenade, heads down, earmuffs on, wanting nothing more than to get to the heat. Nothing beats walking into that classroom and finally feeling warm.

But even with this crazy weather, I love going to school here. I love that there are so many different people with such diverse personalities. I love that I can learn about things that interest me, and vent to my friends about the things that don’t. I love that when it’s cold outside I can walk to the VM and eat chili with Fritos and cheese and sour cream, a little taste of home.

I love that I have warm clothes stuffed into every drawer and cabinet in my room, even though sometimes I’m not smart enough to wear them.

I love that I can run into old friends from high school and joke around the same way we did when we were fifteen.

I love that I can walk to Brock at 7:53 in the morning, constantly checking my phone because I might be late and oh no what if I miss the first few questions on the quiz and promising myself that next time? I’ll wear the NorthFace.

I love that I live in a place where so many different people of so many different backgrounds share the same sidewalks, dream some of the same dreams, and bundle up in scarves and sweaters to fight the same bitter cold.

Here's me today in my beloved jacket, with Dani, my far more beloved friend.

Do You

I have always been a bit of a peacemaker. I’m not really too fond of conflict and my goodness don’t even get my started on confrontation. Resultantly, communication has never been my strong suit. It’s pretty bad actually. But on the upside, it’s proven really handy in interviews. What are your strengths? Blah blah blah. What are your weaknesses? Oh I know! I know! I don’t communicate!!! Never have to think too hard on that one.

But you know. I can totally get by without communicating. It’s not like no one has the ability to read my thoughts or anything. (That was a joke.)

So here’s the deal. To make a really long story short, my senior year of high school my lack of communication, and a few other factors, got myself into a bit of a pickle. One of my friends became upset with me, and as the year went on it only got worse. It went from oh wow this is kind of awkward conversations to oh no she’s in the room I should leave. Basically, I spent the entire year tiptoeing around halls, crying myself to sleep, and avoiding people I longed to talk to for the sake of “keeping the peace.” But peace? That’s the last thing I felt.

And here’s the kicker: I had done nothing wrong. I had nothing to be ashamed of. But instead of embracing that and doing my thing with confidence, I hunkered in the corner and pretended to be someone else for the sake of people’s opinions of me. I gave up who I was in an effort to be who I thought they wanted me to be, they being the very people who left me feeling betrayed and used. It was just a mess.

But goodness. No need to get into all that. Senior year is long gone, the fight is long over, and I’m thankful to say that we are friends again with no hard feelings. But I told this story to say that, although it was hard and painful and I hope to never experience something like that again, I am glad it happened. Because I learned my lesson.

I learned that I am capable of making my own decisions, and good ones, too.

I learned that I don’t need to be embarrassed of who my friends are.

I learned that I don’t need to be ashamed of who I am.

I learned that it doesn’t matter what other people think of me. What matters is that I am living my life with integrity. And if I am? Well, then I am good to go.

Now, obviously these thoughts aren’t constantly living it up in my head. Wouldn’t that be the day?! It’s very true that negative thoughts are in there, too.  I can never get on top of everything. I always have something left to do. I am a procrastinator. I don’t put enough effort into my classes. I’m too this. I’m too that. I’m not enough this or enough that. Good grief. Just writing those down is depressing.

But here’s the thing. When I think those things? I realize it is unhealthy. So then? Well, I just give myself  a new, healthy message. I am on top of everything. I will get everything done. I am efficient. Blah blah blah. HELLO. Saying nice things to yourself will be the best thing you do all day. (If you do something better, please invite me along.)

What I am trying to say is that I am becoming aware of how much say I really do have. I am becoming aware of the extreme benefits of communicating, even though it can be scary. I am becoming aware of how wonderful my life is and how much my perspective affects what kind of day I have.

And man, I’m not giving all the credit for this to my senior year. It’s also strongly due to incredible books, deep conversations with those I'm closest to, growing closer and closer to God (and discovering who God is to me personally), and a whole lot of Mom sermons. But feeling controlled that year and feeling stripped of who I was? Well, that was a turning point.

And now? I can see the changes in myself, and I am so thankful for them. I have a ways to go, but I am confident in who I am becoming. I’m glad to know that I live in a world full of limitless possibilities, mine for the taking. And I’m hoping every day to be more and more genuine, more and more considerate, more and more reflective of God’s love. I want to be true to who I am and walk my path with confidence and integrity.

I want to live out the words of Etta Turner, “In a world where you can be anything, be yourself.” Because really? That's the greatest thing you could ever do, the best thing you could ever be.

Here's me with my sister, Savana, one of the most genuine people I know.

Glad to Have You Here

I have always been so intrigued by love stories. I just find it so beautiful, the way every single couple on this planet (of which there are millions) has their own unique story. They have a place where they first met, the story of their first date, how they told each other they liked each other, and the list goes on and on and on. In fact, I often find myself looking at random couples crossing the street, riding together in the car, or juggling babies and think, “How did those two end up together?”

All to say, yesterday I was scooping ice cream for customers at Wilson’s, where I work. I can say I love working there, but I can’t say I am the greatest fan of standing behind a counter with two, or sometimes four, other sweaty bodies in a cramped space and asking customers who are often exhausting and complicated what kind of flavor they want. I know I should be patient and tell everyone to take their time and that I am so happy to have them there, but sometimes I find myself more on the side of annoyed. “Can I get two flavors in a single scoop?” “No, I’m sorry. Only one.” “Can I get a single scoop in a waffle cone?” “No, I’m sorry. We can only fill it to the top.” “Can I get a kid size?” “OH MY WORD. NO. KID SIZES ARE FOR TWELVE AND UNDER AND YOU ARE OBVIOUSLY WELL OVER SIXTY.”

Ya. It’s exhausting. I’m on this new “positive energy” kick and yesterday I was constantly finding myself complaining in my head to which I would tell myself, “Darian. Shut up. You are alive and breathing and working with sweet, nice people in an adorable restaurant right across from the beautiful lake. Stop complaining that you’re hot and exhausted and your arm hurts. You are blessed and you are FINE.”  So no, when the older ladies asked for a kid scoop I did not yell. I put a smile on my face and said, “No, I’m sorry. We can make it smaller for you, but we will have to charge you the same price.” Killin it.

Anyways, all to say, yesterday while I was standing behind the freezer an adorable lady came in with her husband. I told her I could help her whenever she was ready. “Oh, my husband needs to go to the bathroom. We can wait.” Well, being that I was free at the moment and there was no one behind her in line, I told her I could get her ice cream for her and then scoop her husband’s as soon as he was ready. “Oh, okay!” she agreed. She thoughtfully chose from our large selection of flavors and I started to scoop it for her.

Sometimes I see people and instantly really, really like them. I don’t know what it is, but some people just strike me as so awesome. And it’s usually a thing that happens with strangers. It’s like I meet people and know I will most likely never see them again and so I just want to experience all of their awesomeness that I can before they leave. Anyways, that’s what happened with this lady. She was just so cool. Her hair was short and trendy and she was dressed cute and so chipper and happy and calm and I just liked her.

So, as I was bending over the ice cream freezer, I asked her if she was from Door County. “Oh no,” she said, “My husband and I are from Illinois. But we actually saw each other for the very first time in this very restaurant.”

I looked at her, so enthralled by her story. “Right here? At Wilson’s? No way.” She proceeded to tell me that they were both “a couple of kids” and he was working on some news report thing and saw her in the restaurant and asked her some questions and they ended up meeting at a local bar and soon enough they were madly in love and now, twenty-nine years later, they still are.

Her husband came out and slowly thought about which flavor he wanted. “Hurry up!” she said, with as much gentleness as frustration. I had been waiting on him for quite some time now and the line was getting longer. But I stood there, waiting, because I really didn’t mind. When he finally decided, I scooped his cone and gave them their change and watched them walk out the door, sad to see them go.

There are billions of people in this world and a billion ways to fall in love and a billion ways to dress and a billion jokes to laugh at and friends to make and pictures to take and forests to explore and the list goes on and on and on. But I suppose what makes life so intriguing, so interesting, so awesome is when it gets personal.  When it’s happening to you or a friend or a stranger you just met but really like, leaving you standing behind an ice cream counter saying “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m glad to have you here.”