Category: Uncategorized

That’s what the last two months have felt like–scraping the pavement. Scraping the pavement for more paint, more depth, more gravel, more anything only to find I am really just scraping pavement. There’s not much there to scrape.

And so, more than ever, I have clung onto the only thing I know to be sustainable… the word of God. When there are no answers, what do I have left? When there seems to be no right or wrong answer, what do I say? When someone is looking at me–awaiting an answer when I only have pavement to scrape–what can I wrap my mind around? The Word.

And so, in a season where I need so many answers and have so few to offer, I’ll continue to scrape the pavement.

Cry out for insight, and ask for understanding. Search for them as you would for silver; seek them like hidden treasures. Then you will understand what it means to fear the Lord, and you will gain knowledge of God. For the Lord grants wisdom. From his mouth come knowledge and understanding. He grants a treasure of common sense to the honest. He is a shield to those with integrity. (Proverbs 2)

Today marks a day in history-a day that my husband successfully talked me into something that only a week ago I was adamant against. “What is it, Anne? Tell us–we want to pretend to care, us anonymous readers out there in cyberland that pretend to read about your life.” Well, that quest is something we call house-hunting.

I won’t fib, I love apartment life. If it weren’t for the fact that we are shoved into 600 square feet, with too many books and a dog that we don’t particularly love walking in 95˚ heat, then I could probably live in an apartment forever. I actually don’t mind living within five feet of our neighbors, and I certainly could do without cutting the grass, lawn maintenance in general, and going to a big office every time we get a package. Honestly. I. love. it. Low responsibility = good times for Anne.

…but here’s where that “marriage” part comes in.

Kyle has wanted a house since the day we got married. Whenever we’d drive to a friend’s house, he would always look. Prices, square feet, wooded lots, etc. Me-not so much. Sure, I know what I’d like in a home, but I wasn’t itching to move into one of my own. But you know, that whole love + compromise = marriage thing finally got the best of me and tonight, I broke down. And what do you know? The first time I say, “Wanna go look?” we run into a house we both really love and have entirely too high of hopes about being night one of the house hunt.

So, there it is, folks. Who knows, maybe we will discover after getting knee-deep that apartment life is for us. Somehow, though, I doubt it. I think Kyle’s already mapping out where his Michigan work room will be… and I’m rolling my eyes. :)

Kyle has this game he plays where he majorly downplays very exciting events.

Tonight, he did just that. Until I wouldn’t let him.

A few weeks ago, Kyle went in for interview 241 at Covenant Christian High School. The interview seemed promising, but we’d heard that song and dance before, so even though we both wanted to get our hopes up, we just waited.

Two weeks ago, he went in for his second interview… again, seemingly promising but secretly scared it wouldn’t work out. This past week in Boston I knew it was on his mind the entire time, “Will they call?” “Will I get the job?” “Will they give it to someone else?” “Why haven’t they called me yet?”

Tonight, Kyle’s phone rang at 9:12. Yes, 9:12 exactly. And I’m typing this at 9:51. Kyle got offered a teaching job for this coming fall. Needless to say, in words that don’t do our emotions justice… we’re excited. Both of us have our dream jobs. Oh, and did I mention? Covenant and Chapel Rock practically share a parking lot. Looks like we’ll be sharing a lot of lunches and rides.

We’re going on month six of being married, and the time has already come for a vacation. :-) My heart can hardly take it. Fortunately for us, my Uncle Steve (shout-out!) gave us a pretty sweet wedding gift… frequent flyer miles. The conversation was pretty short… “Where could we go?” *Pause for dramatic effect* “To see MIKE AND KIM IN BOSTON!” Our friends, Mike and Kim Fightmaster, live/work/go to grad school in Boston, and we’ve been trying to figure out a way to go see them. Now that we’re married, it makes life way less complicated traveling together without having to worry about staying in different places. +100 points for marriage. Here are some pics of us with the Fightmasters back in the golden years…

So… off we go! 2nd vacation as a married couple. Even better spending it with two of our favorite people and exploring a new city together. Goodbye Indiana!

Taking Thursdays as a day of rest/relaxation/reflection.etc, I get to enjoy doing whatever-the-heck-I-want and still have Friday to play catch-up. Therefore, I take the day to literally unwind and get re-inspired. . . whether that is from Eagle Creek Park, my couch, or the Indianapolis Museum of Art.

This past week, I chose the IMA. Kyle and I went through the exhibits together, and the entire time I drooled over what people are capable of with their hands. Seriously, my creative spirit grew green horns of envy. Interestingly enough, today I came across a speech by Elizabeth Gilbert that expresses oh-so-eloquently some of my very thoughts yesterday. All of us, as created people, hold the power of creativity. And because I believe in a God bigger than I could ever possibly understand or limit with words, I also believe that God shows us glimpses of the Divine through creativity. Art, music, writing, sculptures, fashion, nature, colors, whatever. I look around at the world our Creator made and am grateful He gives us a peek sometimes.

Francis Schaeffer wrote, “No work of art is more important than the Christian’s own life, and every Christian is called upon to be an artist in this sense. He may have no gift of writing, no gift of composing or singing, but each man has the gift of creativity in terms of the way he lives his life. In this sense, the Christian’s life is to be an art work. The Christian’s life is to be a thing of truth and also a thing of beauty in the midst of a lost and despairing word.” How beautiful and true. . . and yet also how tragic when we all keep our inner-spirits locked up inside and live dull, quiet, boring lives instead of ones that draw people near to our Creator.

I hope to live a life that could one day be expressed as a work of Art, don’t you?

Funny the things you start to recognize when you “grow up,” eh? Why do we become more and more aware of pain as we get older? Is it because there is more hurt, or because we are more aware of it? I know it’s the latter. The closer I grow to the heart of God, the more my heart truly bleeds for people. Yeah, I know, this is starting out pretty heavy. But my heart is pretty heavy now. . . so I guess that’s just what you’re going to get tonight.

Over the pats couple of years, I have known a handful of women that have gone through quite similar battles. The battle is called by different names, but to its core–the roots are identical. The indescribable pain of longing so deeply for child, but having to face the reality that stands before them instead. And in that battle–I have watched, groaned, and mourned (sometimes publicly, sometimes silently) right along with them. I have asked the questions, fought back the tears, and listened as I impatiently jumped to false conclusion about myself. What if I’m not able to have children? What if this happens to me? How will I handle it? Will I handle it?

A dear friend of mine has gone through two miscarriages in the past two years, and while I sat and cried with her as she told me her story–I could not help but hang on her words, “What’s wrong with me? Why do I see other women around me that can carry their children just fine, and I can’t make it past stage 1, 2, or 3?” What–seriously–what do you say to that? Nothing.

This past summer, Kyle and I got the news that we were going to be an aunt and uncle. Kyle’s brother and sister-in-law, Sean and Sheyenne, had tried to have a child for a long time, and had begun the process of adoption when they found out they were pregnant. So much joy filled our family–specifically Sean and Sheyenne, as they had been through the struggle for over a year.

Just before our wedding, Sean and Sheyenne found out that the child they were carrying was in fact a little girl. But along with joy came tremendous pain–the possibility that although she might survive the birth, she would not survive much longer. I won’t go into many more details than that, but needless to say, throughout the waiting, praying, and crying–Whitney Jill died two weeks ago.

Usually with birth, comes life. In Whitney’s case, with birth, came death. And to be painfully, scary honest–my heart hurts. I have made attempts over the past couple of weeks to suck it up, not ask questions, not to be in pain–because I know that none of those things will make any of this go away. Whitney will not survive the womb because of my questions. But the other night, after reading through Whitney’s birth story that Sheyenne wrote, I lost control.

For the past few weeks, my heart has been sort of numb. Numb in the good kind of way–not the kind where I’m isolated, alone. . . but the kind that is a survival-type of numb. Last night, though, the numbness sort of wore off. Finally. I’m not used to feeling numb. In fact, I can probably count on my hand the several times I have not worn my heart on my sleeve in the midst of trying circumstances. But these past few weeks just called for it, I suppose.

Losing composure is never fun. Because in truth, I’m not mad at God. Not for one minute have I been angry. I have been deeply saddened, burdened, but at the same time overcome with joy that Christ reigns SO MUCH IN THEIR HEARTS that in the midst of the most painful experience I could imagine or dream, Christ remained at the forefront. Even when I don’t mean it, even when I can hardly save it, I know that after all falls apart, He will repair.

Well hello little blogger world.
Since I’ve last updated, I mentioned to you that we were getting a pup.
Oh, did we ever get that pup? Yes, we did.
And in a lot of ways, I have become that person,
the one that develops a humanlike relationship with their animal,
and honestly, although I wish I could be sad about it… I’m not. I. love. her.

No, we’re not pregnant. :)

After much deliberation, research, conversation, etc., Kyle and I have made the joint decision to get the dog of our dreams. Blogger world, get acquainted with our soon-to-be puppy, Abigail. A bulldog, you ask? Yes, a bulldog. Because really, what other dog would possibly fit? No other.

This Thursday, we’ll be bringing her home with us. Say hello.

I have noticed this really scary trend lately amongst twenty, thirty, forty, and well… any-age-somethings. We have confused living a life of “purposeful risk” ” for “sexy.”

When I first moved to North Carolina, back in June of 2008, I did a “sexy” thing for “sexy’s” sake. I moved to another state, pursued something “dangerous,” (I laugh at this now), and thought that by moving somewhere far away–I would find what I was looking for. Something different, scary, unknown, risky, etc.

What I realized during that time was that you don’t have to move 500 miles away to do something risky, different, scary, or uncomfortable. Thankfully, in the midst of the “sexy,” I experienced “purposeful risk” (which does not always happen). This reminds me of that stuuuuupid John Mayer song, Waiting On the World to Change. Honestly? Waiting? Since when did we wait on the world to change and not change our own world? And really, I would ask–why wouldn’t we? If we’re so obsessed with purposeful risk, why do we shut our eyes to the world within five miles of us?

I understand that people move to different places in life, and that’s great. There are some people that truly seek and desire to move around, be nomads, and travel the world for a purpose beyond themselves. I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. However-in pursuit of the sexy, I also believe we can actually live without any purpose at all. Is it possible to ever experience the true beauty behind being known and knowing others when you uproot yourself every twelve months?

When you reach that year-mark, something risky happens. People begin to know you for who you really are, and as a result, you have the opportunity to know them right back. And you love them. And they love you. And it’s scary, risky, and crazy good for us. Why do we feel the need to change our zip code? Why do we feel the need to physically plant ourselves in different geographical locations–as if that will cure our unsatisfied desire within our souls? I don’t believe it will. In fact, unless we are currently doing everything we can, with everything we have, in the exact place we are–I somehow doubt that changing our zip code will somehow change our approach to life.