six years ago and four months from now

My mother died six years ago today.

I remember that week clearly.  I remember the things I saw and the emotions I felt, ones that no eighteen-year-old should ever have to experience.  It was in those four days of caring for her when the hospice care fell through that I realized the brokenness of this world that we live in more tangibly than any other time.

About twenty minutes after she passed, I moved into another room with my sister and my friend and random thoughts were buzzing through my brain at light-speed.  Two of those thoughts stuck out sharply and I never forgot them.  One was that from here on out, I knew that I would always have a difficult time on March 26th.  The other was that my wedding day will be spotted with the heartbreak of wishing she were there.

It's interesting that I even thought of my wedding day in that moment, since I've been convinced most of my life that I would never get married.  But I think the Lord was speaking to me even then, in the same way that He was speaking to me about marriage before I ever even met Danny.

And here I am, six years older, with a loving fiancé whom I will walk down the aisle to in a white dress four months from today.

That's right.  Four month's from today.  This anniversary of the worst day of my life is speckled with hope and excitement of the future.  But that's what we always find in life, don't we?  Mourning alongside of celebration, goodbyes alongside of hellos.  The dark canvas of this broken world somehow looks full of hope when you notice the grace of God, bright and inviting.

Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he married Rebekah.  So she became his wife, and he loved her; and Isaac was comforted after his mother's death -- Genesis 24:67

I am grateful that God chose for these dates to align, grateful that He is lovingly beckoning me into a new life stage that is filled with eager anticipation.  I love that my God knows how to comfort His daughter, and gives her gentle people to ease the pain of the past.  I am grateful that He gave me a soon-to-be husband who taught me how to love again and broke down the walls I put up after my mom died.

But it is hard.  And I miss her.  And I know that on the day when I say, "I do," I'll be wishing it were my father and mother presenting me at the altar.

I wish she were here for the craziness of wedding planning, that is for sure.  But more than that, I wish she were here as I prepare to become someone's wife.  I wish she were here for me to ask her all of my questions about what that role is like.

I wish she were here as Danny and I dream about our family down the road and what it will be like to be parents.  I wish she were here to tell me all about pregnancy and motherhood and the joys and pains that come with it.

I long for my mama to be here as I enter this new chapter of my life.  I long for the one who read me bedtime stories and bandaged up my scraped knees, the one who comforted me when I was bullied in middle school and dealt with all of my teen angst.  I wish I could go to the one who was there for the insight and guidance that I need, the one who raised me and loved me despite my flaws.

I wish my mom had met Danny, and that he had met her.  I wish she were here to laugh with me about how similar Danny and my dad are, and how similar she and I are now that I'm an adult, and how similar our marriages will probably look.

I miss my mama, in a new way than before.  In this new life stage, the heartbreak of missing her hurts different than before.  It's not worse or less painful, just different.

I smile when they tell me I'm like you, Mama.  Do you know that?  I'm proud when I notice that in many ways I'm a little version of you, because I think you were pretty great.  And I hope to be a loving wife like you, and a sweet, caring, dedicated mama like you were.

I will tell my children all about you.  I will tell them how their grandmother loved the beach and that's why I decided to have a beach wedding.  I will tell them how she loved detective things and will teach them to play Clue and read them mystery novels.  I will introduce them to all of the classic Broadway musicals and sing my heart out with them around the house.

You'd like Danny, Mama.  You'd be so happy that God brought me a man who loves me and cares for me and knows how to calm me down when I'm stressed over my busy schedule (that much hasn't changed...).  You'd like how he fits right into the family and how his family deeply cares for me.  You'd like how smart he is and gentle he is and how sweet he is to Kirsten.  You'd like how he and Dad geek out over their computer programming world together.

You'd like how he cares for me like you used to.

Thanks for always being there.  Thanks for being the best mama in the world.  I hope that one day, my kids will look back and say the same things about me that I say about you.

I love you, Mom.

NYE and Noisemakers and Celebrating

I found myself standing in a crowded living room, counting down the final ten seconds of 2014 while holding onto my fiancé(!) tightly and looking around at all of my smiling (and screaming) college friends.

Life is that moment was good.

The past month was a whirlwind of activity and my life as I knew it was also forever changed. The man of my dreams (and my very best friend) asked me to marry him. My cousin, who was raised almost like a big sister to me, had her first baby and I got to hold precious little Avery in my arms as we welcomed her into the world. We had THREE(!) Christmases due to two families now and tiny Avery being born on Christmas Day. We watched as handfuls of friends also got engaged and we celebrated the anticipation of our new lives right alongside of them. I traveled multiple times between a staff training, half of Christmas week at my soon-to-be in-laws, and a vacation to celebrate the New Year in Delaware.

To ring in 2015, eight of us Mary Washington InterVarsity friends and two of our now fiancés decided to rent a house by the beach. In those four days of cooking and cleaning, laughing and dancing, playing Settlers and other games, watching movies, talking, having group manuscript bible studies, chopping wood and making fires, I was reminded that this group would always feel like family to me.

After a year of not seeing these sweet college friends and after a lifetime of believing the lies that I would never be "good enough" for marriage, there was a part of me that still couldn't believe this was my life--in real time--as I stood in that living room on New Year's Eve. As the ball dropped and I kissed my fiancé and cheers-ed my friends and blew my noisemaker as obnoxiously as possible, I was celebrating more than a new date. I was celebrating the culmination of a really great year.

2014, you were a good. I saw my dad come to know Jesus in a real way and grow exponentially in his walk. I said "yes" to a new position within InterVarsity at TCNJ and have learned and grown tremendously from it so far. I met and became engaged to the man that I've decided to spend the rest of my life with, a man that God crafted as more perfect for me than I could ever even dream up myself.

In that moment, I was celebrating freedom and new life, friendship and love. I was celebrating how God really does the miraculous, how He holds friendships together over time and distance, how He can take the most stubborn and broken woman and make her ready to be someone's wife.

My heart at the end of 2014 was full of sweet bliss. God can do amazing things, more than we'll ever ask for or imagine.

And I am excited for what God has in store for 2015. I'm getting married this year!!! (Those are words that I still can't believe I'm writing.)

So here's to 2014. You were good to us. But, 2015, we welcome you with open arms and an eager expectation for what's to come.

our new year's week crew

(and it's okay.)

I was sitting on the couch, his arms around me, sinking into his frame that's begun to carry a sense of home. I have found safety here, comfort in this place. We weren't saying anything of much importance, just the typical back and forth of two extroverts who are up way past their bedtimes. Sometimes we would cease speaking all together, and I would notice that in the silence and the closeness, I could hear the rhythm of his heart. In that moment, I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I heard someone's heartbeat. I couldn't remember the last time I let someone close enough to even hug me, pushing away any attempt that my friends and family would make at physical touch.

I'm learning that it's okay to let someone be close.

I said some very typical and blunt Alyssa-y comment and he rolled his eyes laughing and pulled me closer. In that moment, the familiar strong-willed leader inside of me clashed with this foreign desire to let someone else lead the way, and I was surprised at how beautiful those contradictions felt. The clashing didn't spark, didn't explode, but those oppositions melded with each other, complementary colors on the wheel.

I'm learning that submission isn't a bad thing at all for this campus minister, but it's the Creator's most perfect way.

No matter where we are or what we're doing, when I look him in the eyes I'm met with a gaze that says "I care about you, and I love you, and I'm not going anywhere." That, for me, is different. But that look is also easy to give and receive when butterflies are fluttering or when I'm laughing so hard that tears roll down my face. What about when we're angry? What about when one (or both) of us are in need of forgiveness?

During our biggest disagreement, I remember storming past him flaunting my typical "I'm passive-aggressive but I want you to know I'm extremely unhappy" response. And when I turned around to see how he'd react to my craziness, his eyes reflected back the same look that I've come to know so well, filled with so much grace and care, and he calmly reminded me that he loved me.

I am learning that no matter how I'm acting, I am loved for who I am, not for what I do or how I behave or even how I'm thinking in the moment.

It's okay to make myself known, to let someone in on all of the broken pieces of myself as well as all of the parts that I like. I am learning that when God is center, there lies true grace and joy and forgiveness and love. When Christ is the foundation, that look in his eyes is unchanging, and "I love you" is based off of a commitment, not a feeling. Jesus is freeing me from the fear of letting people in, of making myself known, of giving another imperfect person permission to unintentionally hurt me (and vice versa) as we both seek to grow in holiness and grace. And, oh, after years of fearing to let people in, there is rest in allowing someone else to see the whole of me.

I am learning that it's okay to just let go.

God is teaching me about the greatest part of His character: His love. Though I still don't grasp it fully, I understand His love more now than I ever have before, and I want to know it more. For if a grace and comfort can be found in the love of a person, how much more can they be found in the love of the One who is Love?

To be close enough to hear His heartbeat, to call His arms home, that is what I long for. God, as I'm learning to know and be known, would You use it to always point me back to You, the only One who loves perfectly.

confessions of a campus minister

My most honest confession? I often take my eyes off of Jesus.

Wind and waves surrounding me,

I notice my feet going under.

When the tasks are many before me,

And I yearn for man's approval more than I do for God's,

And the pressure pushes in from all sides,

     I lose sight of the vision,

        of the calling,

        of Spirit with and in me.

I forget that it was Jesus who said, "Come," before my feet even left the boat. [Matt 14:29]

And in my panic of "DO SOMETHING!" He gently asks me once again why I let my faith in His word, His power, His calling become so small.

My eyes aren't always on Jesus.

And when they're not, I grow afraid of the very waters that I asked Him to allow me to walk upon.

Truly, I am grateful for His hand repeatedly lifting me out of my panic,

     Lavishing me with a grace that I most assuredly don't deserve.

     Restoring these averted eyes to their proper gaze.

I am reminded that He has this too under control.

And that He cares about my walk on these deep waters.

     This walk that we journey together,

     Father, Son, Spirit, and me.

the grace that's all around

I'm sitting on my back deck, in perfect ~80 degree weather, watching the sun get progressively lower in the sky. During the morning hours I read and went on a run, in the afternoon I painted while listening to worship music, and tonight some friends are coming over to manuscript a bible passage.  Today was a day that I sensed the Spirit inviting me to stop and breathe and be.

My to-do list is still very long.

My anxiety over New Student Outreach approaching is still very high.

There are still emails to send and students to meet with and books to read and talks to write.

But I'm learning that in this career of full time ministry, it's easy to always be busy because the work never actually ends.  I'm learning that in order for me to be effective for the Kingdom, I need space to be filled up.

So today, I said "yes" to God giving me that space.

Space in solitude.  Space with Jesus.  Space to breathe now that the swim season has ended and before NSO begins.  Space to sleep and recover from the sickness that dragged my body down over the past few days.

And in this moment, I'm very much aware of the grace that's all around.  There is grace in the cool summer breeze, grace in the sound of cicadas, grace in the view that I have in this backyard, grace in the fact that for the very first time this summer I actually don't feel tired.

It's easy to see grace in the slower rhythms.

I think that in the whirlwind of this summer, on most fast-paced days I missed the grace that was all around.  I would squint and have trouble seeing it, but it was there, abounding.  Because there was grace in every "ready, go!" I shouted to my swimmers on the wall, grace in those afternoons we got caught in the rain on the pool deck, grace in the traffic jams I sat in on Staten Island when I just wanted to be home and asleep, grace in the office work that left me yearning for human interaction.

I learned (the hard way, I think) of my need to notice His grace in any rhythm, not just the slow ones.

This year is going to be full, of ministry and responsibility and intentionality.  But I think that there is an invitation there for it to also be full of love and joy and peace, despite a busy schedule or circumstances that are out of my control.

I think there's an invitation to be aware of Him, always, because He's the only one who wholly fills and loves.  Oh, to practice the presence of God.  This summer taught me that I'm not as good at it as I once thought.

But there is forgiveness and mercy and grace and the opportunity to start again, right now.  The choice to notice, to celebrate, to love, to play.  And I think that these four things are always available, even in the hard or the long days, because they are all a grace given by Him.

Spirit, be so present around me. (& in me.)

Let me be so aware of You that You seem tangible in any moment.

Let my life be lived into and out of Your grace, in every season and every rhythm.

daring to dream

When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion,

     we were like those who dreamed.

Our mouths were filled with laughter,

     our tongues with songs of joy.

Then it was said among the nations,

     "The LORD has done great things for them."

The LORD has done great things for us,

     and we are filled with joy.

[Psalm 126:1-3]

I was afraid to dream over this past year.

More accurately, I was afraid to dream with God over this past year.
In tears, I'd pray, knowing that it was He who had awakened these desires within me.
And I'd ask for any solution to the emptiness that I faced each day.

I was afraid to dream because I was afraid to speak the words of what I really wanted.
So I sat in those secret places of my heart, quietly dreaming with myself,
     Not letting the images get too bright, too noisy,
     For fear of them being so loud that God could hear.

Because the truth is,
I was afraid to invite Him into those dreams,
     afraid His response would be a "no."

But that,
That was foolish thinking.
Because every moment that I thought I was dreaming alone,
I was actually dreaming right alongside of Him anyway.
And those dreams (I believe)
     were put there by Him to begin with.
every. last. detail.

And the thing is with God,
     He is good.
     And He delights in this daughter of His.
     And He is the Giver of good gifts.

In just one short week, everything changed.
And a whisper from the Holy Spirit told me that everything was going to be different.

I know this now,
     because I'm living that dream.
          every. last. detail.
And the really crazy part?
     (we both are.)

The degree to which God answered my year-long prayers over the past two months is so crazy,
So unreal,
That I have to keep reminding myself that this actually is reality.
That I'm not going to just wake up from it because I'm living it.

"Goodnight. And this isn't a dream, so I'll talk to you tomorrow," he reminded me.

This isn't a dream.
This isn't a dream.
This is real. Every word, every look, every feeling.
This is real.

Our God is good.
He answers prayer.
And He is crafting my story into something beautiful.
     (Something for His glory.)
Mending the brokenness that once felt so unfixable.

We don't know the ending yet,
     (and that's okay).
Because in this moment, there is peace.
     There is healing.
     There is joy.
And there is the unwavering knowledge that the Spirit is right here in the thick of it,
     directing and loving and leading, just like He always does,
His presence reminding us that we are His.
And that He is surely writing this chapter with all the care and affection of a good Daddy,
     who still smiles and reminds that He is always redeeming,
     always protecting, always gently guiding, always restoring.

It's okay, My child, He tells me, Jump in. Let go. For I am here. And I am making all things new.

the thick empty

Most of the time recently, I've been so aware of the silence, of the thick empty.  I can hear my heartbeat echoing throughout the stillness, reminding me of the longings that aren't met (today).

And I'm angry, and I'm sad.

(Unsettled, fidgeting in my seat.)

Most of the time recently, I've found myself drenched in tears, questioning His love and faithfulness and goodness.

But I know that regardless of my feelings, regardless of the sadness and the loneliness and the pain that pierces through this thick empty, He is so abundantly good.

And that THIS (right here, right now), this very moment in time, THIS is His best for me in the now.

But that part,

(If I'm being honest)

That's the part that is sometimes so very hard for this little heart of mine to fully grasp.

My prayers over the last few months have been to live into and out of this now, this best that He offers me today.  To stop looking back and stop yearning for more--for something in the future--but to live in the here and now.

To be present in the moment,

With an increased awareness of my God.

The tears still come as these unfulfilled longings piece my heart.  The pain is still real and the desires are still present and I still pray that there would be some other ending to this story, some other outcome.

But for now, I will choose to live in the fullness of this very moment.  I will choose to press into Jesus, to allow Him to fill every crevice that looks and feels (and is) so very empty.

The invitation today (and every day) is to know Him deeper, as Lover and Friend and Comforter and so much more.

And though I would choose a different story for this season, I know that He is a better Author than I.  I know that His plans transcend mine because He is good and sovereign and loving.

And I can trust Him to fill the thick empty with Himself,

To illuminate His presence in the loneliness.

To comfort and grow this little heart of mine.