"Let the beloved of the LORD rest secure in him, for he shields him all day long, and the one the LORD loves rests between his shoulders."


Deuteronomy 33:12



Boston is beautiful in the fall. 

I walk a lot now that I live here, which is something I enjoy.  On my walks, I find myself often enjoying the solitude of being alone, even when I'm in the middle of a large city full of humans.  There is so much to observe, to take in, to process on those solitary walks.  When I'm at home, I'm studying or distracted by other things, but it's when I walk that I get to clear my mind. 

Lots of mind clearing has been needed lately.  For one thing, I thought I'd overcome the perfectionist bug years ago when I fought through an eating disorder in high school.  I thought that I'd changed, somehow overnight shifting into someone who could care less about being perfect.  And in fact, I did grow into a much more free spirited individual, but I also didn't realize that I did that by partially removing myself from anything in life that I could interpret as a competition or a big challenge.   I stopped playing sports competitively, stopped caring about getting A's in school, stopped counting calories, stopped obsessively checking my weight.  And where some things got healthy, other things went down hill.  Like my confidence that I can actually do well in school.  That I can actually do well in life.  That I can do well without having to be perfect.  And now that I'm back in an academic world that is extremely challenging for me, I'm having to confront this odd tension of perfectionism and apathy/laziness...and get into a healthy place of confidence, excellence and a solid work ethic.  

There is also the addiction I didn't know I had to a role I've lived most of my life.  dahdahdah....

Pastor's Kid.  Two years ago my parents stopped pastoring, one of the biggest reliefs of my life.  However, in the process of trying to find a new church here in Boston, I noticed that I see church through the eyes of someone who has only ever been the child of parents in full time ministry.  And unless you have a similar experience to that, you won't really understand how it feels.  There is an odd anxiety that I feel when trying to connect with a new community of believers.  There is a suspicion I feel towards both leaders and congregants...and I am just beginning to acknowledge that I may not know how to be a healthy part of a church community until I confront my own addiction to ministry.  

Really neat things are happening too.  Like hanging out with my 8 year old cousins, getting the chance to attend class on a gorgeous campus with such deep, historical roots, living in a city that is full of college students (great inspiration for storytelling) and close to beautiful bodies of water, being able to easily go on scenic drives.  

I am learning to not let my heart get flat lined by the busy--to remember that the Father delights in me every second of the day, even when I'm cursing so loud over not being able to find a parking space in Cambridge because of a random event in the city.  (Yes, that happened.  Not the proudest of moments on my  part).  

I really have no idea what I'm learning right now in life because it is all so busy and still a bit overwhelming, but I look forward to finding more words and expressions for all that I'm experiencing both internally and externally.  

to be thankful.

to give thanks.

---

my uncle's good taste in music and his passion to make sure people are eating good food...and frequently.

my cousins' hugs.

my aunt's incredible wisdom and business sense.

boston in the fall.

parking spots on mass ave after 5 pm.

the old man who walks his dog while riding a bike.

the young man singing while biking through cambridge.

opportunity to learn.

sitting in a class where I can learn about motion...math applied.

food.  a place to live.  family close by.  warmth.  music.  a camera to capture moments.  calculators.  trail mix (it's cheap and kinda nutritious).  green tea.  coffee.  chocolate covered berries.  walking to and from work.  an ipod with good music.  shoes.  a coat.  clean water.  deoderant.  running water.  contacts, glasses.  pens. paper.  clear mind.

my old journals that remind me of my heart's journey, God's faithfulness, the worth of risk and the reward of a heart when it frees itself from things that keep it from going hard after Jesus.

FRIENDSHIP.  Oh my goodness, I have the greatest friends in the world.

Boston in the Fall

Recently I noticed many words in my vocabulary are spoken with an added definition of "hard" tacked onto their denotation.

physics--the branch of science concerned with the nature and properties of matter and energy, with movement. The subject matter of physics, distinguished from that of chemistry and biology, includes mechanics, heat, light and other radiation, sound, electricity, magnetism, and the structure of atoms. HARD.


traffic-- vehicles moving on a road or public highway. HARD.

parallel parking-- the parking of a vehicle parallel to the roadside. HARD.

Boston-- The capital and largest city of Massachusetts, in the eastern part of the state on Boston Bay, an arm of Massachusetts Bay. Founded in the 17th century, it was a leading center of agitation against England in the 18th century and a stronghold of abolitionist thought in the 19th century. Today it is a major commercial, financial, and educational hub. Population: 591,000. HARD.

                                                                          ***

My dad gets on the phone with me as I, close to crying, explain how I can't figure out where to park, will definitely be late for class, maybe I should turn around, I may not have enough quarters for the meter, I don't even know where the class is in the first place and it's dark out and I have no friends and the city is big.  Hard.  And he says take a deep breath.  He reminds me that life is bigger than that present moment, that present fear, that present shake in confidence.  

That was the first day going into Cambridge.  It took me an hour or more to park.  There were two men doing roadwork next to me, and they were the face of kindness in my panic, helping me figure out if I would get a ticket if I parked on Mass Ave for more than two hours.  They asked me if I was an Orioles fan.  I said yes tentatively (Red Sox territory), but they smiled, I smiled, they said, "Good.  They're a good team.  Good luck in class!" and I rushed off with them behind me, cheering for me to be victorious.  

Once I settled that, I struggled to find the class.  I was 45 minutes late for physics 1.  But I found it.  I pressed through.  I didn't think I had it in me to press through, but I did.  For most people, that may have been a typical day in their world, no problem, no struggle.  Just drive, park, walk to class.  For me, it was a confronting of multiple fears, and inside of that movement there was a coming of age evolution.  

The semester is now entering the third week.  The class is still hard.  It stretches my brain, calling on me to remember trigonometry, geometry, algebraic manipulations-- things I haven't used in years, and definitely didn't use while immersing myself in the world of journalism and filmmaking.  But here I am, not sure if the end will be "success" in terms of a brilliant grade, but confident that there is a different kind of success I'm walking into, and that the end is good.  

I know enough about the brain from books and articles to know that the brain has the ability to build new pathways.  And as I look at that spiritually, I know that as I embrace negative thoughts of defeat, it is like I am building a highway in my brain where my thoughts get stuck telling a certain kind of story.  Yet the renewing mind part of scripture keeps prodding at me, offering hope, but requiring discipline.  To take every thought captive.  To be serious about looking at what I'm thinking and ask, "Is this the story I want my life to tell?" and from there, adjusting to a thinking position that is full of faith, full of Kingdom. 

So those are highlights of my adventure so far.  I am looking forward to the weather that's already starting to change to fall.  I also found an awesome spot to kayak.  Now that's good for the heart.  

Off to another day of learning, growing.  Not sure where all this leads, but I'm learning to keep my thoughts victorious even in the middle of question marks and uncertainty.  

My mom and I took a  roadtrip this past weekend to seal off our last year of adventure, an adventure that led us on a roadtrip out to California, passing through beautiful South Dakota, Montana, Idaho, Washington, Oregon, and settling in Shasta County, CA, where the mountains and the culture brought such peace, healing, joy, friendship. 

And now that season ends with a forceful re-entering into school.  For me, last minute decisions seem to help me turn my mind off and "just do it", jumping into the water and knowing I will learn how to swim, even if the water is absolutely freezing.  Tonight I go to my first class in a year, Physics 1, where I have no idea if I will be able to handle the material and where I fear I will be surrounded by students with far more impressive academic backgrounds than myself.  I may be the only one who says, "Oh, I spent two years of my undergrad career on movie sets and in practice tv studios...and now I want to go into, um, medicine...."

So...

Boston, Boston, take me in...and Cambridge, please be gentle with me. ;)  

Here I am, ready for a new chapter, a coming of age, a fresh season.  Excited, overwhelmed, in shock, expectant...and completely in awe of the provision of God and the kindness of others as I've transitioned into this new thing.

Ten years from now, I will be thankful I took this step, regardless of how it turns out.  

"History says, Don't hope on this side of the grave.  

But then, once in a lifetime the longed for tidal wave 

of justice can rise up, 

And hope and history rhyme."

 -Seamus Heaney

The best experiences never let you go.

I've been back from the wilderness, more specifically Algonquin Provincial Park, for two weeks now.

Never have I done something as physically strenuous as this trip.  Fourteen women arrived at the park together, threw 40-50 lb packs onto our backs, put canoes in the water and set out to find a story, an adventure, a change of name.

To live simply has always been a lifestyle that's called to me, but often my attempts at living it out get cluttered and distracted (just take a look at my Mac desktop and you will be fully convinced of my disorganized tendencies).  Writers like Nouwen, Thoreau, Wendell Berry, Michael Pollan-- they all touch something in my heart that craves the minimal.  Maybe it's because deep down I am convinced that to really be effective in doing anything worthwhile on this planet and to impact humanity in some small way, with the short lease of life I've been given, it is essential to get rid of lifestyle excess.  There is a unique experience of grace and joy that comes when the unnecessary leaves.

In one week I'll be leaving for a large city, taking classes at a new school, working at a new cafe, navigating a new system of public transportation.  The trip I took into the woods was planned far ahead of any knowing of a pending move, yet it came at the perfect time, almost serving as a cleansing from all the craziness of the last two years. I went in need of courage, in need of fresh vision, in need of childlike wonder.  

As we set out on the water, I noticed how the fresh air filled my lungs, making breathing an act to pay attention to, remembering the miracle of each breath in, each breath out.  As I write this, I am remembering my Nanny and how she would have celebrated her 93rd birthday just a few days ago.  I am remembering how a year and a half ago, I sat in a hospital room on what would have been her ninety-one and a half celebration of life, and how in those early morning hours I had the honor of watching a beautiful soul take that final breath of transition that leads you into what the living will always see as a great unknown.  An unknown that raises questions that sometimes produce anxiety until you just learn how to trust-- until you learn how to value each breath as sacred, surrendering the why questions, surrendering the temptation to shape theology around brokenness and disappointments.

The first two days of the trip were difficult emotionally.  I found myself escaping into daydreams, which has been my tendency since childhood, searching for a safe place in my mind for warmth, security, the comforts of life, internet access, text messages.  I started thinking of all the things left undone back home, regretting my decision to go on such an intense trip when I had so many other things to get done. It produced anxiety as I struggled to be present in the moment, to fully immerse my heart, my mind, my body in the experience.

Yet something happened the third day, a crazy baptism of sorts.  I was able to fully transition into being where I was without a desire for escape.  What came from that transition was a clearing out of all the clutter in my mind, all the anxious thoughts, all the fears of failure and questions as to whether I have what it takes for the changes coming in my life.  I found myself, for one of the first times in two years, able to think confidently about my future, believing that even in the midst of such loss over the last two years, Love does chase us down with goodness and mercy every single moment of every single day.

So here's to a new beginning, a fresh start, new eyes, a new way of being.

Here's to now, to today, to this minute, this second...to learning how to breathe in deep.

Something I journaled on October 19, 2011, in the midst of a really painful season for my family.



Maybe we are in search of answers to the wrong questions.  Maybe the wrong questions arise from a misunderstanding of life's tensions, and an improper perspective.  Maybe the right questions lead to answers that just produce more questions, demanding new levels of trust in the midst of mystery that lacks answers to the "why"s.

It's in the trenches, the valleys-- just you and Jesus-- where things get sorted out.  I'm learning that I am responsible for carrying and watching over the fire God's given me.  No one else can do that for me.  People can encourage me, but they can't dream for me.  They can't walk out the dreams God has placed in my heart.  Dreaming is an intimate thing, and believing what God has spoken is true must come from my own heart, placing all my faith in Him and not another.

Life can't be planned out.  Ever.  But my spirit should always be prepared.  Nothing that happens in life can subtract from the history I've built with God.  Nothing that happens can convince me that God is not faithful.  He is good, all the time.

"Simplify, Simplify."

It just turned 11:11 here in Chicago.  Make a wish. Done. 

                     

Tomorrow I leave the comforts of a bed, a pillow, a bathroom, internet, cell service, warm water -- in exchange for an oversized backpack, a canoe, a change of clothes, a few toiletries, some food, a mug that also serves as a bowl, a spoon-fork (ever used one of those?!), a tent, a sleeping bag.  Oh.  And a journal, for my obsessive thought recording habit.  It’s a problem.  

Gain often comes disguised as loss, or so I hope.  As I head up into the beautiful Canadian wild, my heart has the idealistic expectations of one who's read Thoreau a bit too much. There is a deep wish that the leaving behind of comfort will produce a gain in perspective and focus.  

I flew to Chicago with so many questions, anxious over pending decisions that need to be made and worried that I will forever feel disconnected from my heart when it comes to knowing what to do.  I watched from above as a lightning storm broke out to the left of the plane.  It was incredible, and I felt present. I forgot for a moment the possible scenarios of my next life transition, and instead just watched in awe at the flashing, nature-made lights.  

Overstimulation and easy access to information and possibilities take their toll when not counteracted with an active pursuit of heart steadiness and peace.   Hearts are left with empty places that were once full.  But the happy thing is that they just need a reminder-- a lesson in wonder -- to start filling up again.  On my way here my dad called me to wish me a safe trip, in which he wrapped up the conversation with a request, “Caitlin, be surprised by joy.” 

So here I am, about to sleep my last night in a comfortable bed before the trip begins, happy that I noticed 11:11 on the clock, happy that I was present to the child-like fun of making a wish, happy to be going directly into lung nourishing air and wonder-restoring beauty.  

And expectant that what seems like loss has a way of turning into strength.  

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.” 
― Thoreau, Walden