Christmas in the Midst of Chaos

It's true.  I love Christmas.  Pretty much all things Christmas.  I am a strong advocate for decorations, and putting your tree up as soon a possible in order to maximize the number of days you get to plug it in and marvel at its beauty....the twinkling lights, the nostalgia of ornaments, the pine tree smell.  I love that baking becomes 110% acceptable the whole month of December.  It's December 9?  Okay, let's bake some cookies!  I love cozying up with a blanket and cup of coffee with a book or a journal.  I love holiday movies and specials, and making crafts and cards.  I love giving gifts and wrapping presents, and those rare moments when you remember EXACTLY the perfect gift to get someone....something you happened across months before, and just happened to remember at just the right time.  I love that the frequency of mail increases, and that even the most digital, technology-forward people will buy postage stamps and send out Christmas cards.

And yet, there is still this underlying reality of our fallen, broken world that even the tastiest cookies and best Christmas music cannot overcome.  I watch a close friend grieve the death of her mom.  I catch just thirty minutes of news at the gym, and can hardly believe this is the world we live in.  My heart breaks for all the people in the hospital, as their loves ones just live moment by moment, a few stories I know, and so many that I do not.  I reflect on my own struggles, a recent recurrence of anxiety, and wondering where I will find the strength and courage to face this reality once more.

My solace and hope has come from observing Advent, and being loved and known by my people.  Advent is a time of preparation, and has been such a fruitful and grounding experience for me.  A daily exercise is reminding myself that this life is not my own, and that my hope cannot be in this world, as it will fail me every time.  To recognize God's orchestration and His coming to dwell among us, and to marvel at the work of His hand, His timing, and His faithfulness.

This passage from Waiting Here for You: An Advent Journey of Hope, resonated with me:

"All of us are waiting n something, often wondering if God has forgotten us.  In your waiting, let the birth of Christ encourage you.  Just because God hasn't come through (as far as you can see), it doesn't mean He has abandoned you.  To Him a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day.  This very minute He's working for His glory and for your good.  Though circumstances say otherwise, God is going to come through, on schedule, fulfilling His long-appointed plans for you.  Don't give up before the time is right."

I ask myself, where do these two intersect?  Can I have both - the childlike, lightheaded celebration and wonder and awe that is Christmas, with the current state of affairs in my small community, as well as the global one?  I say yes.  I say yes, because Christ came to Earth exactly for the things that break my heart, and it is still worth celebrating, even two thousand years later.  Sure, there are many new traditions that have nothing to do with the birth of Christ, but getting caught up in legalism seems the worst way to celebrate, and the best way to suck joy and life from the spaces you occupy.

The older I get, the more I cherish this time of year versus Christmas day.  It is not about presents anymore.  It's the time of year when you see a post on Facebook about sending Christmas cards to an 8-year-old girl who was the sole survivor of arson.  It's when you make it a point to bring people together - whether to bake cookies or have a party or exchange gifts.  It's a time to reconnect and to reminisce.  It's about going home, or making a home in exactly the place you are in.  It's a time when there just seems to be some extra I love you's floating about, and a little more compassion.

It's not perfect, and it doesn't always bring out the best in us. I know many people dread this time of year.  But take heart, and don't give up before the time is right.  People living before the coming of Christ waited hundreds of years in great anticipation for His coming.  Maybe this year say no to a few more things, so that you can enjoy the things you say yes to.  Give something to someone you ordinarily would not.  Send a few cards.  Bake some cookies.  Light your favorite candle.  Drive by some lights.  Focus on being present.

May God be near to you this Christmas.

With Love,
Alyssa

Embracing the Seasons

I am overdue for a blog post.  There's nothing like a rainy, blustery day to put on some music and curl up on the couch to write.  It is one of the many blessings of this season of life.  I have every Friday off.  How great is that?  It's not even 10 o'clock and I have whipped up some sugar cookie dough for some fall cookie decorating later with friends.  I have already grabbed myself a nonfat latte, and went to the grocery store.  Not bad, not bad.

If you have had a conversation with me in the past few months, I have probably used the word season numerous times.  Talking about this present season, past seasons, the changing of the seasons to come.  I find a lot of comfort in the entire concept that surrounds seasons.  I love that anticipation of the seasons to come.  I love the memories of seasons that have passed.  And probably most of all, I love that seasons are temporary, but they cycle.  They leave you, but they come back.  Not quite in the same way, but they are not gone forever.  (Although if you live in California, it does seem like summer is lasting forever!!)

I had dinner with a friend of a friend last night.  It was a wonderful unexpected surprise - I got an email from her on Sunday, where she explained she had recently gotten together with my friend, Lindsey.  She wrote:

When she shared about you and your story, I though that I had to meet you.

For me, there really is no higher praise.  I was touched and eager to meet this individual.  And so last night, we exchanged stories over gourmet pizza and bananas foster.  We talked and talked and talked.  We laughed.  We shared the deepest parts of our hearts.  And then as we walked out of the restaurant, we both expressed we knew this was only the beginning.  As I sent my signature "post-hang out text," she replied: I am glad our paths finally collided.

Something came alive in me last night.  Revisiting the past of how Imani came to be, how God has really been doing something big within my heart for a long time....suddenly, the place I am in now (recently quitting my nursing job, moving back to Seattle, nannying again, trying to figure out exactly what I am supposed to be doing)....it didn't seem strange at all.  It seemed predictable.  I found myself thinking, Well of course I left my nursing job.  In nursing school, I questioned whether nursing was the right fit for me, but I continued on because that was the plan.  It was the only plan.  I didn't have a plan B.  There was so much freedom in realizing I am being more true to myself in this season than I have ever been in my life.

She reminded me that who I am is not limited to a nurse, or someone who started a nonprofit.  Those are parts of me, yes, but I am so much more, and to give space and time and energy to those hibernating parts of me is life-giving.  What are the things that I love?  What energizes me?  What do I want to learn?  How do I use the things I am passionate about to love and serve others?  This season is all about answering those questions, and living in spite of knowing all the answers.  Of giving myself permission to not know.

7 Things I Love About Fall

1. The leaves changing on the trees.  We have a big, beautiful tree right in front of our house, and every day, I marvel at the vibrant colors.

2. Cozy.  Cozy everything.  Getting cozy with Ruby watching Inside Out.  Cozy clothes and blankets and making cozy spaces.

3. The crisp air in the morning.

4. Hot beverages.  Okay, let's be honest, I can't remember the last time I ordered a cold beverage....I'm just a hot drink kind of girl.  But they seem to be aplenty during the fall.  And just for the record, I think Pumpkin Spice Lattes are gross.

5. Baking.  Especially things like Harvest Loaf Cake or cookies to put in care packages.

6. Harvest of Hope.  Yes, it is probably the reason my hair is falling out, but I am really excited for it.  I love that Imani events have the feeling of a reunion, a wonderful celebration that brings people together.

7. The decorations.  I am not a big Halloween person, but I do love fall decor.  Pumpkins, leaves, wreaths, candles - yes, please!!

Happy Fall!!

Anxiety.

I thought about various other titles - ones that were not quite as straightforward, ones that seemed to sugarcoat the topic a bit.  But there it is.  Anxiety.  This post is about anxiety, and I do want to give into the guilt about writing that.

It always seemed a bit much to share on the Internet.  The last thing I wanted was more people who meant well, giving me advice via the comment section.  There is something about typing out a thought that makes us think we can say anything, without considering the consequences.  We don't have to see or hear how people on the receiving end react, and as a result, our words can come across in a million ways other than how we intended.

But if we can share our ultrasound pictures, news of a cancer diagnosis, the things that make us laugh, cry, smile, and get angry for all to see, then perhaps this story has a place too.  I am tired of the lie that you must have your life completely together, and that anything less is shameful.  I wish people reacted to mental illness in the same way they react to other illnesses, with prayers, with support, with GoFundMe accounts, with T-shirts.  That would be the true sign that the stigma has been lifted.  We still have a ways to go.

Some of you may be thinking, what is she even talking about??  I want to share a little bit about my own struggles, in the hopes that maybe someone out there needs to hear this.  That maybe someone else can read this and say to themselves, I thought I was the only one.  My friend, you are not alone.  I know that does not fix the problem, and yes, the road is painful and ridden with obstacles.  But there is hope.

When I was in college, I began to have panic attacks.  At first, I did not really know what was going on, and just attributed it to stress.  I attempted to get more sleep, exercise more, and decrease stress levels as best as I could, but my efforts were in vain.  The panic attacks intensified in frequency and quality, to the point where it became difficult to function in the most basic sense.  With the encouragement of a friend, I sought out both medical and psychological help.  Without going into the many details, the three years that followed were incredibly difficult.

I began counseling.  I had a counselor tell me that I was "hurting her heart" and she started crying during the session.  I got a new counselor.  Then it was summer so I had to get another one.  I ended up seeing 5 different individuals, each time having to start at square one, telling my story again, trying to build trust and rapport.  

Therapy alone was not helping the symptoms.  I was having panic attacks almost daily.  Performing basic tasks, like going to class or eating a meal, was becoming difficult, and the people around me were frightened and concerned.  I made the difficult decision to start medication, though I knew it would take weeks to even know if it was effective, and worse, knowing it may get worse before it gets better.  It took about 2 years to find the right drug combination that helped more than it hurt.

As the weeks turned into months, my anxiety gave way to depression.  Constantly feeling like the world was crumbling apart, night after night of panic attacks - the hyperventilating, the chest pain, the nausea, the crippling fears, the thoughts in my head telling me I was not worth it and People would be better off without me.  Eventually, I started cutting - as a physical release of the deep emotional pain.  I was becoming the person I read about in my psychology book.  I was becoming the person I just could never before understand.  I was hitting rock bottom.

In the midst of all this, I was in nursing school.  In a lot of ways, life continued on - just a double life that became almost normal.  It was an awful normal, but somehow, day after day, I trudged along.  I owe a lot of that to my friends.  Patient, loving, grace-filled friends who did not know what to do for me other than love me and be there.  It is hard to express my gratitude to those people who were there, sacrificing their own emotional energy, sleep, study time, to ensure my safety.  To ensure that I had just enough hope to propel me to the next morning.

This is the reality of mental illness.  I never thought it would be me.  Never.  And then it came into my life, and turned my world upside down.  Everything changed.

I really cannot exactly pinpoint how things got better.  It was multi-faceted, what I believe to be a combination of finishing nursing school, starting Imani, getting on medications that helped, and finding a therapist who was really good at what she did.  And the answer to the prayers of many people over a long period of time.  Over time, I no longer needed therapy or medication to function, though I know they are still available should I need them again.  I used to have so much shame about that - being on psych meds, going to therapy.  But it is the reality.  And if I ever hope to see a world without stigma, then I must do my part in being honest and open too.

Things are a lot better three years later, and I am grateful that anxiety is not a part of my daily life.  Yet it is still something I struggle with.  It did not magically disappear, and I still have to face the monster.  Sharing my story has helped.  I still have issues with guilt and shame, but each time I share about it, I take away some of their power.

For whoever needs to hear this, it is okay to not be okay.  It is okay to struggle, even if it has been the same struggle for a long time.  It does not define who you are, but it does shape who you are becoming.  God can redeem it to be a beautiful part of your story.

Waves & Wonderings

I have lost count the number of times I have tried to write this blog.  Normally, I have so much to say, to the point where I mentally write out passages to later transfer to a page.  But I find myself frustrated that I have very little to say.  It is not that things haven’t been happening, or that I am not having a great time here in Kenya.  Yet, this trip is different.  The sights, the sounds, the people – so much is becoming familiar.  In fact, when I share with people that I have been to Kenya five times now, a common response is “now you are a Kenyan.”  Of course, that is pretty far from the truth, but maybe it does shed some light on a transition that is happening.  I think maybe I am transitioning into something new.  I no longer feel like a tourist, and just “seeing” a bunch of things no longer is enough.  I long for deepened relationships.  I long to be part of the solution, and not just another person witnessing the slums.  I want so badly to truly know and understand this community, yet I don’t feel that I am supposed to move here.  It feels a lot like limbo, the in-between.

At the risk of sounding prestigious, it was difficult for me to come to the coast for vacation.  I am not anti-vacation, and going to the coast in California has always been a relaxing and rejuvenating time.  But the sudden change of scenery – from walking through one of the world’s largest slums on Monday, to arriving at a beautiful, oceanfront resort on Tuesday was confusing.  I keep replaying questions in my head – Is this okay?  What would my Kenyans friends think?  Is spending money on massages and snorkeling selfish, when it could be invested in fighting poverty?  If I am enjoying myself, does that mean I don’t care?  I keep thinking – why is it so hard to go back and forth and seemingly effortless when I am at home?  Maybe it is because when I physically come to Kenya, I see my purpose as living out the mission of Imani.  Restore hope through health.  It is difficult to see how sitting here on the beach is fulfilling that mission.

Then I gaze out into the ocean.  Tears welling up in my eyes.  My only response is to say “God I feel you.”  The ocean does that for me.  The crashing waves into the shore.  Over and over again.  Day and night.  Sun and storm.  When I am awake to stare at it in awe, and when I am asleep.  I have struggled with guilt my whole life.  Guilt and shame.  And somehow even in this beautiful, calm, heaven-like place, the emotions that have plagued me over and over strike again. 

The ocean is frightening and inspiring.  Powerful, yet calm.  Intimidating, yet inviting.  Similar to my Heavenly Father, the one who gives and takes away, the author and creator, the beginning and the end.  I think when I am here, in Kenya, I expect to feel a certain way.  To respond to encounters in a certain way.  There is this expectation that the experience is going to be life-changing, the way it has been in the past and some.  That’s a lot of pressure for a trip.  I keep asking, God, what is it that I am supposed to take away from this?  Well, that is the mature version – the questioning normally sounds more like why is this sad thing not making me cry?  Why don’t I have a collection of dramatic and amazing tales to share?  And then I hear myself.  And I question why am I insisting on making this all about me?

I am reading this book about the life of Jesus, and the author is quick to point out the historical and Biblical evidence of his humanity.  He says it much better than this, but in essence – Jesus walked, talked, slept, ate, learned, cried, laughed, got sick, etc.  I guess I have not spent a lot of time thinking about Jesus doing very ordinary things.  I tend to think of Jesus’ life as being one of performing miracles – healing the sick, giving sight to the blind, turning water into wine, multiplying the fish and the bread.  And yet, more than likely, the majority of Jesus’ life was nothing special (at least by our standards).  It was rather ordinary, mundane even.  But it mattered.  There were seasons to his existence, in the same way there are seasons in my own life.

So as the sun sets, and the waves roar on, I thank God for these quiet moments, these ordinary but precious days, and the chance to be still.  To sleep.  To eat.  To laugh.  To gaze.  To stand in wonder and awe.  To watch the tide go out and come back again.  All before my life drastically changes.  These are the days the Lord has made, full of moments – some miraculous, some mundane, but all full of meaning.

Lord, help me to be still and know you are God.

Pushing the Mountains

It's challenging to adequately sum up my experiences thus far in Kenya.  Sure, I can post photos, and tell short anecdotes, but there is just something about being here.  Being with the people.  Laughing together.  Learning from each other.  Sharing a meal.  Hearing stories.  And dreaming big.

Today, Laura and I walked all around Kibera.  You may have heard of Kibera.  It is one of the largest slums - definitely in Africa, and potentially in the entire world.  It is hard to get an exact number of the population, but those living and working there say it is close to 1.5 million people living in around 2.5 square kilometers.  When I was seeking out potential new partner clinics for Imani last year, I did not necessarily have any preference in terms of what slum they operated in.  I was more focused on finding a partner that was passionate about the community they served, provided health services, and was Kenyan born and raised.  I found that in Andrew, and in our partner, Makina Clinic.

Walking around with Andrew is kind of like walking alongside a celebrity.  He knows everyone.  He phone is always ringing.  He speaks to people in their mother tongue, as he knows 7 languages.  I told Laura it was like walking around the slum with Jesus - Andrew's heart for people is so big, and even though he had many opportunities to get out of Kibera, where he was born, he continues to stay and invest.  He is a dreamer, and hearing his passion and vision is contagious.

Today, he said "We (Kenyans) are stubborn.  We push the mountains."

He followed that up with "Alyssa....she is stubborn too."

Pushing the mountains.  What a great picture of what it feels like sometimes - trying to address such monumental issues, sometimes feeling that your efforts carry little to no weight.  There are times I do get discouraged - like when I heard about a cholera outbreak that occurred just a few weeks before I was to come to Kenya.  I felt helpless and defeated.  Sure, you can treat cholera.  With extensive fluid resuscitation, cholera does not have to be a death sentence.  Yet the epidemiology of cholera - where it came from - those issues are much more complicated to address.  Lack of clean water.  High population density.  Little to no sanitation system.  Families of 10 living in a small room.  How can one even begin to address these facts?  How can a small non-profit run by volunteers make a difference?

But I thank God for days like today.  Days were I am refueled, re-energized, and ready to fight.  To dream.  To push the mountain.  I refuse to believe that the situation is hopeless.  Just because I cannot help everyone does not mean I should walk away from the opportunity to help someone.  People matter.  One child rescued from being abandoned in the sewer matters.  One young woman who grew up in the slums, witnessed the horrors of Garissa, and is pursuing nursing matters.  One young man who used to rob people at gunpoint who now helps children with their homework matters.  One widow who now takes ARVs and encourages others to do the same matters.  And supporting those who are here, on the ground, doing this work, is a privilege and an honor.

So I will press on, as I continue to day-by-day discern the calling that God has placed on my life.  I won't give up.  I will push mountains.

Paradox

I find Kenya to be something of a paradox.  It is a place of immense beauty – the greenery, the flowers, the friendly & hospitable people, the spirit of perseverance, the widespread hope.  And yet, it can be a place of despair – the extensive poverty, the wide gap between the have’s and the have not’s, the devastation of disease, the lack of infrastructure, the widows and the orphans.  Just as in America, it is not either or.  It is both.  Good and bad.  Joy and sorrow.  Beautiful and ugly. 

It is my fifth time here.  I still am a foreigner and a tourist by most accounts, and I will always be a mzungu (white person/Westerner).  Yet there are moments when I am acutely aware of how my coming back matters.  My Kiswahili is very minimal, yet even speaking a few words instantly breaks down barriers.  I am better able to recognize and articulate cultural norms, and tend to see more similarities with the Kenyans I meet than differences.  Sometimes I stare at the world on a map and think of how there are so many places in the world that I want to visit.  And then I think how will that ever happen when I am always saving my time and resources for another trip to Kenya.  This is a selfish view, of course – one that is focused more on a bucket list than on God’s calling or building relationships.  Luckily, every time I return to Kenya, God changes my heart, and gives me renewed eyes.  I regain the ability to see His hand at work, and my small role in it. 

 

I realize taking on the mantra “small things, great love” or “dream big” runs the risk of becoming cliché.  Yet I find both of those phrases to be more than just a nice saying or something to put on a T-shirt.  In the grand scheme of things, the work Imani is doing in Kenya is small.  We are not eradicating diseases, alleviating poverty, or providing clean water.  Yet in our few days here, we have witnessed how small things can change the course of one’s life.  One of the boys who was given the task of killing Andrew, the founder/director of Makina clinic, was offered the chance to have a life outside of drugs and violence.  He ended up being our “bouncer,” showed us around Nairobi city centre, and works at the clinic as security.  We met a lady who is one of the home-care clients at Makina.  She is a widow, cares for 8 children, and is HIV+, but has been doing well on ARVs (anti-retrovirals, treatment for HIV) and makes a small income selling groundnuts.  One of the children we met at the Children’s Home was found in a sewer, but is now clothed, fed, and taken care of.  The trajectory of these individuals’ lives, and many others like them, are not small things.  By supporting places like Makina, Imani plays a role in these stories.

I am blessed to be here.  There are challenges, yes, but ones that I will gladly take on to be able to express to our partners and friends that we value the work they do and desire to have a relationship.  Sure, it is not easy to travel all the way over here, to arrange housing and transportation, to become accustomed to the time change, the food, the culture – but it really is the only way to live out the “partnership” part of our mission.  We often say we desire to “come alongside” the Kenyans, and it means something to physically be here.  To stand next to them.  To walk the roads they walk.  To eat the foods they eat.  To laugh together.  To share.  To pray.  To love.

To all of you following this, and to all of those supporting Imani, I say Asanta sana, Kiswahili for “thank you very much.”

Goodbye Craycroft

Well, it is over.  Somehow the past three years completely flew by, and I just cannot really believe it.  My co-workers completely spoiled me - a delicious, Mexican-themed potluck, a gorgeous and tasty chocolate cake Maria made, a thoughtful card and gift, and lots of laughs, hugs, and fake crying/whining :)  I love these people.  We have seen each other at our best and our worst.  We have met and cared for some amazing kids.  We have worked together in life-threatening emergencies. We have learned and grown into better healthcare providers.  We have attended funerals.  We have laughed, and we have cried.  Thank you for loving and caring for me until the end.  You are a hard bunch to leave.

Working on Craycroft (the name of the my unit, which houses a mix of oncology, hematology, nephrology, and endocrinology patients) was a gift.  It was a paradox most of the time.  Challenging and enjoyable.  Exhausting and rewarding.  Heart-breaking and life-changing.  There were nights when I left and cried the whole way home.  There were shifts where I left with my heart filled to the brim, unable to imagine doing anything else as a job.  But mostly it was somewhere in between.  One thing that never fluctuated was the support, encouragement, and teamwork of my co-workers.  I could not have asked for a better group of people to work with.  I know there will be nursing jobs out there for me, jobs that I may even love, but I will never be able to replace the people I have worked with.  The following is a collection of lessons learned, memories made, and a little humor (okay sarcasm) in between.  Disclaimer: If you do not work on Craycroft, you may not fully appreciate this.  

Things I Will Not Miss

• A new fever in the middle of the night with a double lumen Broviac
• Floating!!!
• Working on nights when Starbucks isn't open and resorting to cafeteria coffee
• When patients (or their parents) use the call light like a game show buzzer
• Bedside monitors when they are completely unnecessary
• Resident orders.
• Calling certain doctors at night....I won't name any names.....
• Getting a call from lab that you screwed something up
• PEWS
• The smell of Cefepime pee or C diff poop
• When Meditech goes down
• Upstream occlusion with bubbly fluids.  

Things I Learned

• Sometimes there are no words you can say to the parents, but you willingness to stand there in that silence means a lot
• Kids are incredibly resilient and do beat odds.
• There is no good reason why kids die from cancer.
• Patience.  Lots and lots of patience.
• Teamwork and not keeping score.  You never know when you are going to need someone to help you out.
• I am capable of far more than I ever thought I was.
• Stressful situations magnify everything.   I have seen them bring some people together, and tear others apart.  
• When in doubt, ask for a second opinion.  Or third.  There are no stupid questions (okay there are a FEW stupid questions :)
• Having co-workers you trust and respect makes a huge difference.
• Emergency situations suck, but they remind you that you really do play a role in saving lives.
• Life is precious - don't take it for granted.

You Know You Work in Craycroft When....

• you go to other units and cannot stand the beeping monitors and that everyone is on isolation.
• the charge nurses are the best - willing to help out, available, and have your back.
• it is normal for all the kids to be bald.
• giving blood, platelets, and chemotherapy are daily occurrences.
• only a handful of people are comfortable starting a peripheral IV because everyone has central lines.
• you just have to laugh about families requesting "a room with a better view" 
• the plan of care is dictated by the patient's hemoglobin, platelets, and ANC
• you have attended patients' funerals.
• everyone works together - answering call lights, admitting patients, responding to emergent situations, etc.
• you have the best co-workers ever.

It's been a good go.  Goodbye Craycroft.

Why I Make Jam

I have made jam probably a total of 6 times.  Although no one formally taught me, growing up, I remember receiving homemade jam from my grandma and my Aunt Sandra.  When I went berry-picking one summer I lived in Seattle, I had more raspberries than I knew what to do with.  The idea of making jam surfaced, but after some initial research, I realized I was not prepared to actually can jam, and settled for freezer jam instead.  But I vowed that it was a skill I would one day acquire.  Not long after, I saw a Groupon deal for a home canning class, and before I knew it, I was sitting in a class with mostly women 2-3 times my age, learning the basics of canning.  I loved it.  I took notes, careful to remember all the tips the instructor offered, as she effortlessly prepared jam in the front of the room.  After class, I immediately went to the store and bought the basics – a large pot, some mason jars, a funnel that perfectly fits on top of the jar, and a “jar grabber” to pull the jars out of the boiling water. 

So one night during my senior year of college, I was desperate to do anything that wasn’t studying or writing care plans.  Most would probably go out for the evening, making plans with friends.  I decided I was going to make jam.  And in our tiny apartment kitchen, I did.  It was not a seamless, effortless process.  I was unorganized and inefficient.  But I made jam.  By myself.  And the moment I heard that first jar properly seal with a little “pop” – the time consuming, tedious process in the hot, tiny kitchen was all worth it.

Fast forward to this past month.  I knew I would be moving.  I knew I would be leaving work.  And I knew I had quite a bit of frozen fruit, just ready to be made into a delicious batch of jam, waiting in my freezer.  I decided I would make jam as a gift to my night shift co-workers, a way to say goodbye and I love you and here’s something to remember me by.  I knew it would be another one of my projects, and require time and energy I really did not have a lot of, but that did not deter me.  I would make jam.

Outside of work, I am known as being the nurse.  At work, we are all nurses, so we have to distinguish each other by other characteristics.  In addition to being the girl who goes to Africa, I am known for baking things, not using my AC, drinking a lot of coffee, and making jam.  Writing that makes me smile.  Growing up, I always felt I did not have any noteworthy talents or abilities – at least nothing that could be showcased in a talent show.  I did not sing, dance, or act – and my athletic abilities were mediocre at best.  I wish I could tell 12-year-old Alyssa not to worry, that our passions and gifts and things that fill us with joy are not limited to performances or sporting events.  The world needs dancers and actors and athletes and leaders and intellectuals – but they also need care-givers, travelers, risk-takers, and jam-makers.

Making jam takes commitment.  It requires a fair amount of planning and preparation.  Each time I make it, I become a little more efficient, and slightly more confident.  The process is a sensitive one – each step building on the success of the previous one.  There is a lot of waiting – for things to boil, for things to cool off, for the timer to go off, but it is absolutely worth the wait.  Being a part of the entire process, from start to finish is incredibly rewarding.  Looking at the finished product sitting on the counter is the best high.  I made that.  I created something that will be enjoyed both now, but also for months to come. 

I partook in an activity that people have been doing for years and years.  Canning used to be a necessity, a way to ensure food during the winters, to bottle up the best of the harvest to be enjoyed throughout the year.  Sure, we can now just run to the grocery store and choose from dozens of products on the shelf.  For just a few dollars, you can save yourself a ton of time and energy and often even money.  But in my opinion, you miss out on a beautiful, creative experience.  The chance to make something, the end product nothing less than a work of art in my mind. 

And so, I made 35 jars of jam this past week – strawberry, strawberry nectarine, and strawberry apricot.  I kept one jar for myself; the rest will be distributed to my fellow night-shifters.  A small token of my appreciation for their support, guidance, reassurance, and companionship the past few years.  I cannot think of a more jam-worthy bunch. 

So why do I make jam?  To create.  To invest time and resources into a process that ends with a delicious treat to enjoy and to share with the people I love.  Homemade jam does not say I picked up this generic gift last minute out of obligation.  It screams I put my heart and soul and sweat and the better half of my morning into this precious jar – guard it!  Savor it!  Enjoy it!  I made this for you because I specifically thought about you and how you would enjoy this.  You matter!  You are worth it!  

Letter to Imani

April 27, 2015

Dear Imani Family,

I want to share some upcoming changes that will be taking place in my life, and how those will affect Imani Care International.  After months of deliberation, considering pro’s & con’s, prayer, and seeking the wisdom of others, I have made the decision to relocate to Seattle, WA.  (I previously lived in Seattle from 2008-2012 while I attended university.)  There are a number of reasons behind this decision, but ultimately, it came down to choosing the place I felt would allow me to best pursue my passions, re-prioritize, and live amongst a community in a similar life stage.  I have given notice at work, and my last day at Valley Children’s will be June 1.  I will then travel to Nairobi, Kenya, and as I will not be employed at the time, I am taking advantage of the opportunity to spend 6 weeks there.  As we partner with three clinics, having a few extra weeks than originally planned in-country will allow me to spend ample time with each clinic.  I will return to Fresno at the end of July, and physically move to Seattle sometime at the beginning of August.

What does this mean for Imani?  There are still many unknowns, but I can assure you that Imani is not going anywhere.  It will continue to operate as a tax-exempt, charitable organization in the state of California.  Eventually, I would like to pursue adding Washington as a state of operation, but Imani’s home base will remain California.  The board of directors will continue to physically meet through the end of 2015.  In 2016, board meetings will likely be a combination of conference calls, Skype, and meeting in person.  We will still have our annual event, Harvest of Hope, as planned this fall.  It will be on Saturday, November 14 at the Clovis Veteran’s Memorial Building.  Our mailing address will continue to be our P.O. Box in Clovis.

It is my hope that this move will eventually allow me to spend more of my time and energy on Imani.  It has become increasingly difficult for me to work full-time night shifts at the hospital while running a non-profit.  I will continue to work for profit outside of Imani, but hopefully, I will have the opportunity to work fewer hours in a less demanding position.  I would love to see Imani continue to flourish and grow, and expand our community in the Seattle area.  I look forward to being in a city that is a hub for global health, and provides many networking opportunities.

I so appreciate your encouragement and prayers during this season of change.  As with most major decisions, it is bittersweet.  It will be difficult to leave my job, and to leave the security of the life I currently live in California.  I am more than willing to answer any questions or curiosities you may have.

Thank you for your continued support of Imani.  What started as a crazy dream has grown to be a thriving organization that is impacting the lives of those living in the slums of Nairobi.  I look forward to sharing with you after I return from Kenya this summer.

Blessings & Gratitude,

Alyssa Singh

Executive Director, Imani Care International

Bittersweet

Bittersweet.  I think it is fitting that this is not only the title of my favorite book, but also the only word that seems to even begin to capture the expanse of emotions I am wading through.  There is joy and excitement and anticipation….for new adventures, for reunions with friends, for the prospect of something new.  The chance to take my hand of cards, return them to the deck, shuffle, and see what the new hand will be.  Of course, this is scary, too.  The unknown, the questions I have no answers to, the risk factor.  Yet I must take this step of faith.  Because of this:

It’s not hard to decide what you want your life to be about.  What’s hard, she said, is figuring out what you’re willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about.

–from Bittersweet, by Shauna Niequist

So what am I even talking about, you may be asking yourself.  Well, here’s the short version:

I am moving back to Seattle.  I am going to leave my current nursing job on June 1, move out of my apartment, spend 6 weeks in Kenya, and then physically move to Seattle. 

What the short version leaves out is the long process of coming to that decision.  The weighing of the pro’s and con’s.  The roller coaster of emotions.  Searching for the courage to face my fears and take a chance, without knowing all the details.  Trusting that God has a plan, even if I cannot see it.  The pre-mature mourning of leaving my work family and the security of having a good job with a comfortable income.  The prospect of once again being able to share daily life with friends who are in a similar life stage.  The hope of being able to give Imani more time and energy.  The sadness of leaving my family, when being near to them has been such a blessing the past few years. 

When I made a pro/con list back in January, I listed everything I could possibly think of.  In the end, it was dead even.  A tie.  Completely neutral.  I kept praying for God to give me a sign, to show me the way, to slam one door in my face and fling another wide open.  Instead, I got to the crossroads, with two paths to choose from, and the sense that I got to choose.  That this was not a right versus wrong type of decision.  I had to decide which path I wanted to take, and trust that God would continue to work in my life either way.  It was tempting to just surrender, and decide to stay put.  To not chance it.  Why give something up when there was no guarantee that things will be better somewhere else? 

It came back to this – what’s hard is figuring out what you’re willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about. 

The things that I really care about: authentic, deep relationships; Imani and Kenya and the slums; being a part of a community; caring for other people; loving people as Christ loved us; having people over and feeding them; writing; children; travelling.

What am I willing to give up to build my life upon that foundation?  Are the things I really care about where I am currently investing the majority of my time, my skills, and my resources?  I think the most honest answer was “kind of.”  Sure, I occasionally have people over for dinner.  I spend a lot of time on Imani on my days off.  My job allows for a lot of care-giving and opportunities to show love.  Yet I also spend a lot time recovering.  A lot of time “vegging” because of the constant stress, flip-flopping of schedules, lack of sleep, and juggling two jobs.  A lot of working stretches with few days off in between in anticipation of a trip or event.  Not a lot of balance.  More of a go-go-go, crash, go-go-go, crash.  I want the ebb and flow of my life to be less tumultuous. 

Moving to Seattle is not going to change the pace of my life.  It will not magically have less stressors, or change my desire to want to push the limits.  But the act of moving, the act of relocating is kind of like a reset button.  A chance to start over a little bit – to bring forward some pots that have been on the back burner long enough.  To rearrange.  To re-prioritize.  I think it is the perfect time for this….my roots are not so deeply embedded that I cannot be transplanted. 

As the fear and anxiety creep in, I must remember the words I have heard many times in the past months: this does not have to be forever, and “you can always come back.”

I am so grateful for the almost 3 years of being back in California post-college.  I have gotten to live with and spend so much quality time with my parents and my sister.  I have worked at an amazing place with an incredible group of co-workers.  I got to start Imani, and watch it flourish and grow in ways I never expected.  And if those things were not enough, I got to travel and go on many adventures.  I do not take any of that for granted.    

So I will smile, and I will cry.  I will laugh, and I will get scared.  There will be celebration, and there will be mourning.  There will be joy, and there will be sadness.  I will embrace the bittersweet nature of this time.

Bittersweet is the idea that in all things there is both something broken and something beautiful, that there is a sliver of lightness on even the darkest of nights, a shadow of hope in every heartbreak, and that rejoicing is no less rich when it contains a splinter of sadness.

                                                                       –from Bittersweet, by Shauna Niequist

Bulletproof Vest

Have you ever considered purchasing a bulletproof vest???

Not the question you expect to be asked while opening your mail at the post office. 

It all started because I was wearing my Imani shirt.  I find this funny, because I often joke that wearing an Imani t-shirt is my “uniform” for the days when I am not working at the hospital.  I worked last night, napped today, got up, showered, and put on my Imani shirt, the black one that says “DREAM BIG” on the front, and has our logo on the back.  I went to the post office to check Imani’s PO box, and was standing at the counter, opening the mail.

A middle-aged man walked behind me, and stopped to ask me about my shirt.  I gave a brief explanation of what Imani is and what we do, my elevator speech so to speak.  He proceeded to share about his connections to Kenya, and began to ask more questions.  Each question I answered seemed to lend itself to a follow-up question.

Why Kenya?  When did you first go there?  So you fell in love with Africa?  Where did you go to nursing school?  Do you know my cousin’s wife Carol Redfield (which I actually do – she was one of my nursing professors)?  Are you aware of the current issues going on in the country?  Is Kenya safe? 

And then…

Have you ever considered purchasing a bulletproof vest?

I smiled, maybe even smirked a little bit, and said no.  And here’s where things got a bit interesting.

His follow-up question:

Do you look both ways before you cross the street? 

             

Yes, I do.

So why would you not take the proper precautions when you are in a country where you are a direct target and the vest could save your life?

I won’t try and recall word for word the rest of our 30 minute conversation.  I also want to say that this man was well-educated, articulate, and respectful.  However, things definitely got a bit heated.  Here’s a bit of a window into some of the things we discussed, and why I walked away from the interaction with peace and blessed assurance.

Is Kenya safe?

I think this is a topic I have touched on a little bit.  My first response is generally, “well, it depends on who you ask.”  It also depends on what your definition of safety is.  I have never felt afraid to travel to Kenya.  I cannot fully explain why that is, and despite what this man bluntly called “my naivety,” I can only attribute this absence of fear to God.  I know there are terrorist attacks.  I know that being an American Christian female does increase my risks.   But there are always risks.  Some you actively choose – like driving a car, and others just happen – like getting diagnosed with cancer.  It was such a powerful reminder to me that safety is not a guarantee in this life when I arrived in Nairobi last June, and the very first thing I read on my phone was a text message about the shooting at SPU, my alma mater.  What a sobering moment of realizing that on that day, the place I had lived, attended classes, and considered a home, a private school in a nice neighborhood, was more dangerous than being half way across the world in East Africa. 

Have you ever considered purchasing a bulletproof vest, knowing the risks you are encountering?

I shared that if I felt I needed a bulletproof vest to travel to Kenya, I would never go in the first place.  I also said that my faith in God was my bulletproof vest, which I was subsequently told was “blind faith.”  This man proceeded to share several stories, which he felt exhibited the problems with having total faith in God, and not using reason or wisdom.  One example was people who do not take any medications and refuse all treatment when they are sick.  (I think he knew as a nurse I wouldn't be able to argue that one!!)  He compared me to a child who does not know the dangers of the world, who would run in the street into traffic, unaware of the realities of danger and death.  He also told me that there are groups of people out there just waiting to capture or attack people like me. 

In some ways, he is right.  God says that we should emulate the faith of a child.  "Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it."  Luke 18:17 ESV

And yes, there are most definitely people out there who want to hurt others.  Yet I am fully aware of the realities of death.  Part of my job includes taking care of children who are dying.  And I do believe that God works in all sorts of ways – through medicine, through common sense, through the wisdom of others, but He also clearly asks us to exhibit faith and to not store our treasures here on Earth.

It’s like the boy scouts – Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best.  Maybe our paths crossed today so that you could think about whether you are taking the proper precautions and making adequate preparations.

Anyone who knows me (and granted, this gentleman does not know me beyond this encounter) would say I am someone who prepares.  I like plans.  I like to know things ahead of time.  I am also very aware of how my personality can prevent me from fully engaging in a trusting relationship with Christ.  It is an ongoing struggle for me to surrender my plans, my ways, and to fully rely on God.  I am the person in the group project that would so much rather just do it all myself, than to have to rely on someone else. 

I realize now that I never told him that Imani means faith.  Faith to me is believing in something without having the 100% satisfaction, money-back  guarantee.  Faith is not contingent on our circumstances or whether things turn out the way we want them to.  I believe that God is always present and at work in the world.  I trust that as I walk closely with Him, He will guide my steps, yet ultimately I will still be the one walking.  Sometimes when you are at a crossroads, you know for certain which road to take, and other times, I think God leaves decisions in our hands, continuing to be a part of our journeys no matter which path we take.

So my post-post office conversation thoughts….

1. Traveling to Kenya is a risk I am fully willing to take because God continues to put that call on my heart.  I have always experienced complete peace that whatever happens during my travels, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.  If I were going to die for something, it would be spending time in Kenya with people I love and care about.

2. I don’t want anything bad to happen.  I don’t think anyone really does.  I tend to be a scaredy cat.  It takes a lot for me to even want to jump off a diving board!  But I do not want my life to be dictated by fear.  I know this life has no guarantees, and the only safety I can count on is that life on Earth is only a small part of our story.

3. Safety and security is not the same as peace.  I do not believe God always promises safety, but He does promise peace and His continued presence.

And lastly….where would one even buy this bulletproof vest :)

ABC's

Homemade banana bread and a moment to blog.  I would say I am rather content.

I decided to walk to the post office today.  It's about a mile away, and the sky was clearing up after some morning rain.  A few things motivated this walk.  1. The post office is notorious for having a long line and putting people in a bad mood, and something about walking there gives me an unnatural amount of patience, as I am clearly not in a hurry.  2. The signs of spring are everywhere, and I am just loving the chance to soak it all in.  3. Good exercise....and more exciting than being on a treadmill.

The thought of making it a prayer walk ran through my head as I was grabbing the things I needed.  Historically, I associate prayer walks with organized church activities, and not the spontaneous, but intentional conversation with God that I experienced today.  I got this idea to pray through the alphabet....that I would just say a prayer for each letter as God brought someone or something to mind.  Here's a little recap.

A is for Anika, a friend who lives in Colorado.

B is for Birds, and a reminder of God's promise that if He cares about the details of the lives of the sparrows, how much more does He care about me?

C is for Coffee with Jenna this afternoon.

D is for Dad.

E is for Emily, my cousin in Kansas.

F is for Freedom, specifically the freedom to live a life for Christ without fear of persecution, and subsequently, I prayed for the many Christians around the world who do not have that luxury.

G is for Gifts, and how giving gifts is one of the ways we show love to others, and that gifts do not need to be flashy or expensive.  Gift giving is an art, a discipline, and a love language.

H is for Hadijah, one of my nurse friends in Kenya.

I is for Intentionality (which apparently is not even a real word??)  God reminded me that it is not better or worse to be intentional versus spontaneous - that either one can become an idol in our lives and prevent God from doing His work in us.  Being intentional can make us controlling, have unrealistic expectations of ourselves and others, and hold us in bondage.  At the same time, being spontaneous can make us apathetic, miss out on opportunities, and convey to others that we do not care.  Of course, on the flip side, being intentional allows us to be a good steward of our time and resources, and being spontaneous allows us to be sensitive to God's spirit.

J is for Joy, my aunt in Florida.

K is for Karlee, my friend in Seattle.

L is for Lighthouse, the name of a Rend Collective song that has been one of my anthems lately.  Listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JPtIv2lnkTY

M is for Mom.

N is for New, and all of the new things that God is doing in my life.

O is for Olivia, a friend in San Jose, who is coming to visit next week.  (I am just a LITTLE excited about it :)

P is for Pavement....the sidewalks, the paved roads, and more generally, the ease of transportation that so many people around the world do not experience.  So easy to take that for granted....

Q is for Quiet, and for learning to embrace the stillness and the silence.

R is for Restlessness, and for how it pushes me to step out in faith and ask hard questions and make changes.

S is for Spring, particularly all of the blossoms on the trees.

T is for Tenderloin, a part of San Francisco that is known for being in need of Jesus.  My sister is going to be doing an internship there this summer.  I know it will stretch her and make her uncomfortable at times, but I also know God is going to use her.

U is for Universal, and how God is the same all over the world.

V is for Vegetables, and how I am coming to appreciate them more in my home cooking adventures.

W is for Water....how I have clean water to drink from my tap (or I can afford to buy water), and running (& hot) water to shower in.  Every day.  Without going anywhere.

X is for eXtra.  I have always had more than I have needed.  I use to feel a lot of guilt about that, but I now just try to be a good steward of the things that I have been given.

Y is for Yesterday.  Thank you Lord for the my past and how that has brought me to the present.

Z is for Zoya.  She just went to San Francisco for her transplant.  Praying for her and her family as they embark on this next part of her treatment.

Amen.

Twenty Five

In the last hours of my 25th birthday, I wanted to share some thoughts and reflections.  I like lists, and it just seemed fitting to write 25 things.  So here it is, 25 things - a collection of lessons learned, experiences to remember, & words that have stuck to my heart.

1. There is something or someone worth celebrating every day.  You don't have to wait for a holiday or a party to embrace joy and celebration.


2. Travel awakens parts of your being that you didn't even know existed.  I travel, in part, for the ways in which it changes me.

3. Take time to burn the candles.

4. When you think I should really call/text/email {insert name here}, you really should.

5.  Sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is to just be there....and fight the urge to fill the silence with a lot of words.


6. Always practice gratitude.  Say "thank you" every chance you get.

7. For me, being in the kitchen, trying new recipes, and making food for people is both empowering and fulfilling.  It takes time, but it is time well-spent.

8. Star gaze.  It's a big world out there, and gazing up into the sky tends to put things in perspective.

9.  Don't be afraid to pack up your car and hit the road.  The two long solo road trips I have taken in the past couple years have been some of the best experiences of my life.  The silence is rejuvenating.

10. Play, laugh, hold, tickle, kiss the kids in your life.

11. Fill your home with things that have meaning and bring you joy.  Don't buy stuff just to have more stuff.  Create spaces that make people want to stay.

12. Invite God into every part of your life.  Even if you don't feel ready.

13. Coffee.  Smell it, savor it, and share with friends.

14. Don't dismiss things that scare you.  Take time to discern whether it may be God inviting you on a new adventure.

15. Read a good book every now and then.  Underline, highlight, write in the margins.  Share with friends.

16. It's always a good time to pray.  In the car.  In the shower.  In the middle of the night.  God's up, and ready to listen.

17. Practice being still and being quiet.  Ask God to speak, and be ready to listen.

18. Write cards, and send mail.  Real mail.  With stamps.  Sure fire way to put a smile on someone's face.

19. Take time to listen to the wisdom of those in your life.  God often speaks through your community.

20. Don't be afraid to let something go for the fear of never getting it back.


21. Share your story.  The good, the bad, the ugly.  You never know who needs to hear it, or how God will use it to touch someone else.

22. Cherish your friends.  Make an effort to invest in their lives, and to both rejoice and mourn alongside of them.

23. Siblings are one of God's greatest gifts.

24. Security is not the same as peace.  Seek to discern between the two.

25. Don't underestimate the power of doing small things with great love.  

Ode To Friendship

When I count my blessings, I count my friends twice.  A midst the hustle and bustle of life, the joys and sorrows, the triumphs and defeats, the fastballs, the curveballs, and quite frankly, the screwballs, it is my friendships that keep me afloat.  Friends have always played a leading role in my life.  I would say my very first friend was my neighbor Aaron.  He would come over and we would play house....he was the daddy and I was the mommy and we would push around my favorite baby doll, Baby Carrie, in the stroller.  Then I would go to his house, and we would eat saltwater taffy, watch Batman, and play with his dog, Ashes.  When he moved away (I was maybe 4 or 5?), it was my first heartbreak.  

Over the years, you come to know and befriend a lot of people.  There are all different types of friends.  You have your classroom friends, the ones you end up spending a ton of time with in school, your go-to's for all projects, and the recipients of the notes you pass during boring lessons.  You have your childhood friends, the children of your parents' good friends, the ones who live in your neighborhood, or the ones you just happened to meet at a really early age.  You have your activity friends, the ones on your softball team or in your youth group or who happened to join all the same clubs as you.  You have your sibling and cousin friends, who for better or worse (in my case, better) tend to be a part of your life forever.  You have your soul friends, those people who in the first five minutes of knowing them, you feel as though you have known them for many years.

Once you get a bit older, you add some other friend groups (co-workers, friends of friends, maybe mom friends or couple friends or the group you hang out with to watch a certain show).  The other thing that happens is you let some friends go...maybe because you moved or they moved, maybe life just happened and you naturally drifted apart.  Sometimes circumstances change, or you change and realize that there are some people who do not bring out the best in you.  At times, no one says anything, and the flame of the friendship slowly burns out, and other times, you have to put on your big girl panties and have that hard, awkward, and painful conversation.  Or maybe someone has that conversation with you, expressing how something you did or said hurt them deeply, and that they need space...maybe temporarily, or maybe for life.  You may, at that moment, feel that your heart has been broken, and that life as you know it will never be the same.  You are right - it will never be the same, but you will learn, you will grow, and you will make more friends along the way.  This I know to be true.

This is my ode to friendship, to the people in my life who I have shared laughter and tears, the times of celebration, the times of sorrow and grief.  This is to the people who know me in and out, and love me anyway.  These are the people I have studied with, traveled with, and lived with.  These are the people I would do anything for, who believe in my strengths and encourage me to pursue my passions, and who speak the truth and acknowledge my weaknesses.  These are the people who you don't talk to for weeks or months, and then when you do, it's as though no time has passed at all.  These are the people who not only remember your birthday, but spend it with you.  The people who buying gifts  for is not a chore because at any given moment, you can think of a dozen things they would love.  These are the people who sacrificed their time, their energy, their money for your sake during a season when you needed it most.  

Here's to little friends, who may be small, but have taught me so much about embracing all that life has to offer, not forgetting to make time to do the things you love, that God is big and good and strong and gentle all at the same time, and that you are never too old or too young to love others, to create new things, and to dream.  Here's to reading children's books, having snacks, splashing in the puddles, making snow angels, baking cookies, finger painting, collecting rocks and sticks and shells, and never really growing up.

Here's to work friends, the people who become your family during those long shifts at the hospital.  The people who don't just ask if you need help, but insist on answering your other call lights, running your lines, helping with a difficult task, or buying you coffee.  Here's to the people who not only support you during your time together at work, but really get to know who you are and what is important to you.  They support you...showing up for weddings and showers and fundraisers, serving as a tangible reminder that they see you as more than just a nurse, but as a holistic person.  The people you can share ANY story with no matter what, who understands your frustrations and why you might be in the med room crying.  


Here's to the friends that are also family.  The ones who initially are friends by default, but evolve into so much more.  The friends who make family gatherings enjoyable, and who become your partner in crime, your companion for the road, and the ones who you don't worry about whether or not they will still be around in a year or two.  

Here's to the friends who you may not see every day, but when you do see them, you can't imagine ever saying goodbye to them again!  The friends who make it a priority in their lives to visit you, and you them, even if it is inconvenient or expensive.  You do it because you know the pay-off is beyond worth it.  The friends who you laugh with so hard, people start to look and stare.  Of course, you don't care one bit.  The friends who everything you do with is an adventure, whether it is simply going to the grocery store or going to Disneyland.  The ones you spend several days with and suddenly wonder how you only took 2 photos, until you realize you were enjoying yourself WAY too much to even worry about capturing the moments for social media.  

Here's to the friends you call on the way home from work, or after a fight or breakup or when the world just seems too hard to handle.  These friends have seen you cry - makeup running down your face or no makeup at all.  They have seen you at your worst, when you can barely function, and cannot imagine how you will ever be okay again.  They patiently and lovingly take your hand and hold you close, maybe saying something reassuring or maybe nothing at all.  They are perfectly okay with you not being okay.  They are not intimidated by doubt or pain or life's hard moments.  They are all in, for better or worse.  They don't keep score or expect you to snap out of it.  They simply say "I'm here" and they mean it.

Here's to the friends who are your best teachers.  The friends that gently teach you so many life lessons just by spending time with them.  The ones who are not afraid to tell the truth or ask the hard questions.  The ones who push you to be better, and encourage you to take chances.  The ones who remind you that sometimes you have to face your fears, and do the thing the scares you most.  The ones who watch your transformation and at the end, they are there, celebrating the person you have become, and the journey it took to get there.

Here's to the friends who come from unlikely places, and who show up when you least expect it.  These friends remind you that God knows the things that we need, and that His timing, though so different from our own, is always better in the end.  These are friends who are not part of your day to day life, and who you may not see or talk to for extended periods of time, but the reunions and the reconnecting are always so life-giving.  These are the friends with no expectations, just gratitude for those beautiful moments when your paths do cross.

Here's to the siblings friends.  These are your siblings who have, over the years become your best friends.  The ones who can push all of your buttons and make you so mad at times.  The ones you actually cannot bear to stay mad with because you miss talking to them and laughing with them and sharing life with them.  The ones who have your back no matter what, but are not afraid to share with you how they REALLY feel.  The ones who serve as a witness to your entire childhood, and if you are lucky, continue to do so once you transition into adulthood.  The ones who you swear know you better than yourself at times.  The ones who you cannot bear to live without.

Here's to the roommate friends, the ones who know all of your little pet peeves and habits.  The ones who you come home to at the end of the day, the ones who know your schedule, the ones you have too many inside jokes to count.  The ones who you were a little worried that living together would change the dynamic of your friendship, but at the end, you are sad to move out.  Here's to 8 minute abs, watching guilty pleasure TV shows, to sticky notes on the walls, woodpeckers pecking into the bathroom, snow days, late nights, and lots and lots of coffee. 


Here's to the childhood friends, the ones you could sit and reminisce for hours about the things you did years ago.  The friends who came to all of your birthday parties.  The friends with whom you have traditions or things that you always do.  The friends who didn't change, even through the tumultuous times of junior high and high school, where friends seemed to change by the hour.   These friends you don't have to talk to every day to know that they will be there when you ask.  Any time you do get to see or talk to them is always a bonus, and sleepovers are a double bonus.  There is a sense of security in the length and depths of these friendships, and you rest assured that if you have been friends for this long, it will take a lot to get rid of them :)

Embrace friendship and all that it has to offer.  My life is richer, deeper, and so much more enjoyable thanks to my friends.


Disclaimer: These photos and descriptions of friends do not reflect and include all of the friendships in my life.  To do so would require a much, much longer blog post.