Cheers!

It's official. We're headed South at the beginning of May. Well, South-er. To the Lowcountry, the glorious Lowcountry. Andrew accepted an engineering job at WaterMissions International where he will lend his hand and heart in saving thousands of lives annually by providing potable water to many of our great globe's poorest of poor and to those in the midst of disaster. I am so. incredibly. proud. I couldn't be prouder.

This weekend we made like Elmer Fudd and went "hunting wabbit", so to speak, only our wabbit has a door and four walls and a 12 month lease. We were quite successful, if I do say so myself, and ended our huntin' day with a sizable catch: a little brick row house in the Old Village. We are so excited! We can walk to the Pitt Street bridge, ride our bikes to Sullivan's Island, brunch at the Village Bakery...ah. I can't wait!

It's a funny thing, going home. Although I will be moving back to my hometown, my mind understands that it really will never be the home of my childhood, even if my heart is still lagging behind a bit. Because when you get dropped off at college, it doesn't really register that it's the end. The end of childhood, the end of things being as they once were. The end of free and easy as you know it. And it's a good thing. It really is. Children are supposed to grow up and become independent, mature adults. They are supposed to move out, get married, move away, and start families of their own. But sometimes, I wish I could close my eyes and go back. Back to Christmas morning with just the five of us and Muffin, too. Back to the sound of the clanging triangle signaling time to come home. Back to pizza toast and grape Kool-aid and a treat before choir practice. Back to Cove Creek and Red Eye, Manhunt, Dodgeball and Red Rover. Just for a second.

But. [And there is always a but.] I know that I can't. I can only reminisce and thank the Lord for my parents and siblings and what a fantastic childhood I had. I am in love with the man of my mother's prayers and thank goodness and praise the Lord he agreed to marry me. I went to an amazing university (Go Tigers!) and fulfilled my 14 year-old dream of becoming a nurse. I don't want to go back, because if I did, I would be missing all of this. The goodness of what is happening right now at this time, in this moment in my life. And it is good, so good. And who knows what comes next?! Only God knows, ain't that the Truth. So here's to the future--the exciting, scary, delicious, romantic, rocky, hilarious, hectic, wonderful, adventurous, unknown future--here's to it.

Here's to a brick-front townhouse off of Center Street, a new job, another season of life. Breathe in, breathe out, say a thankful prayer and move forward.

For everything.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.:

a time to be born

and a time to die;

a time to plant

and a time to pluck up what was planted;

a time to kill

and a time to heal;

a time to break down

and a time to build up;

a time to weep

and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn

and a time to dance;

a time to cast away stones 

and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace

and a time to refrain from embracing;

a time to seek

and a time to lose;

a time to keep

and a time to cast away;

 a time to tear

and a time to sew;

a time to keep silence

and a time to speak;

a time to love

and a time to hate;

a time for war

and a time for peace.

He has made everything beautiful in its time.

Ecclesiastes 3

{ESV}

O, that Wisdom would place her graceful garland on my head, that I may seek and understand this time.

Better late?

Wait.

...

It's 2011?

What just happened?

Last I checked I was squaring up a rotund, homegrown pumpkin on my front stoop, craning my neck to see if the October issue of Martha was in my postman's hot little hand.

And there it came and there it went. And ThanksgivingChristmasandNewYear's rolled by right along with it.

I wouldn't say that 2010 was a bad year, either. It was fraught with good times and tough times, elation and despair, frustration and epiphany. January through August, which seem like eons ago, were spent grasping for a nursing job, whilst the summer was whiled away making-over the greater Southpoint area at the nations most user-friendly cosmetic store. [Would you like to sign up for two free issues of InStyle magazine?] And then came the job offer that was both impossible and incredible in the same breath. Scrubs, stethoscope, and a full tank of gas, I headed south for the winter. Well, three days a week at least.

One thing I've learned in my sage 24 years of life is that things rarely go as planned. Plans are for the birds. Plans are unmet expectations waiting to happen. Disappointment in the flesh. Do I sound jaded? I don't mean to be. I'm declaring the folly of plans, not the futility of hope, mind you. Hopes are altogether different than plans. Hopes are born of God, plans are ferreted out my me, myself, and I. To hope is to trust. To plan is to control. And to contrive to control is to cater to that niggling little part of me that doesn't hope, trust, or persevere. To give over to the bully who mutters in a huff, "if you want it done right, do it yourself!" is to deny the sovereignty of my Maker. Do I really think I know better? Sheesh.

And so 2011, I relinquish my resolutions, my plans, my deadlines.

But I will keep tight hold of Hope, tucked in my heart and held by a string.

and wonders of His love

I think. Honestly, I do. That the thing I love about Christmas, the thing that makes me cry when we sing old fashioned Christmas hymns in church with lyrics so precise, the thing that makes me read and reread the account of Jesus' birth in Luke to seek and search any small clue is this:

if God. If God can be born to an obscure unmarried teenager and her anxious fiance in a crude, cold, clammy, stinky stable. If God can boldly step in to this furious fray. Step up to humanity's plate. Step out of heaven. If God can intervene. Interject. Interpose His precious blood.

Then He really must so love the world.

I can't help but marvel at His creativity. A baby. Of all things. To come as a baby instead of an apparition or a booming thunderhead or a beaming parting of the clouds. It's shocking, if you really think on it.

There cannot be an Easter Jesus without a Christmas Jesus. And Christmas Jesus came with the intent to be Easter Jesus.

Repeat,
repeat the sounding joy!

O Simplicitas

by Madeleine L'Engle

An angel came to me

and I was unprepared

to be what God was using.

Mother I was to be.

A moment I despaired,

thought briefly of refusing.

The angel knew I heard.

According to God's Word

I bowed to this strange choosing.

A palace should have been

the birthplace of a king

(I had no way of knowing).

We went to Bethlehem;

it was so strange a thing.

The wind was cold, and blowing,

my cloak was old, and thin.

They turned us from the inn;

the town was overflowing.

God's Word, a child so small

who still must learn to speak

lay in humiliation.

Joseph stood, strong and tall.

The beasts were warm and meek

and moved with hesitation.

The Child born in a stall?

I understood it: all.

Kings came in adoration.

Perhaps is was absurd;

a stable set apart,

the sleepy cattle lowing;

and the Incarnate Word

resting against my heart.

My joy was overflowing.

The shepherds came, adored

the folly of the Lord,

wiser than all men's knowing.

Twenty-four

Tomorrow. is first day. of the rest of my life. I'm turning 24. I can hardly believe it. Sometimes I feel like I just got home from school on the last day of my eighth grade year at Moultrie ready to burn my uniform in the backyard and excited about *high school* (and a hush goes over the crowd).

Getting older is weird. Everyone's getting married. Some are already having babies. Buying big stuff we always thought was for boring, old, financially stable people (like cars, houses, computers, etc.), but not for people like moi. What like we're supposed to have babies next??? As Kent said at Steph's wedding last weekend, "kids is a cuss word in our house." Just kidding. But am I? In these last few hours of 23, my youth and zeal waning with every tick tock, I wonder, what's to become of me.

Will I have 2.1 kids and a house with a picket fence? God forbid a mini-van? Will I work for 35 years as a nurse and spend the majority of my life at my job? Will I aspire to so many exciting and admirable things but never get farther than a google search or a daydream? I don't know.

I like kids. And I like picket fences. And I think it's perfectly admirable and exciting to want those things. I definitely want them. But right now? I know that I don't just want to do what I'm supposed to do next just because I don't know what else to do. Supposed to says who? Who's blueprint am I following? My parents? My friends? My colleagues?

Listen, y'all. I'm not trying to be Debbie Downer, I'm just in a funky place right now. News flash, things don't just fall in to place. You have to decide (with Divine guidance, of course) what you want. And what I want is a teensy bit elusive right now. I just got what I spent the last year praying for, (a job, for all you newcomers or those with slight amnesia), and now I'm kind of looking around wondering what just happened. Confession, I'm also trying not to just push through to May when Andrew's done with school and we can be together again (baby lambs and rose petals...roll credits...NOT). Because come May, then what? And I can't really answer that question right now. Neither of us can. And honestly, I think we're precisely where God wants us. Not a little to the left or the right, but right here, exactly. In an odd little cattywampus place, like when you've realized you miscounted the steps in the dark. Because. Last year we learned a slew of very, very hard lessons. And now, it's Friday before midterms and guess what? There's a test. Lesson...test. Duh. Why didn't I think of that? And the first and only question on this test:

1. Trust Me? (Check yes or no).

Hearth & H o m e

Staring down the barrel of the monthiversary of my auspicious employment, I will say it has flown by. As well as, dragged on. Lord, help us get through this year. But not just get through it. To savor it. Because as I have learned the Lesson of who I Am, somewhere between the Holy City and the City on a Hill, I will [am] learn[ing] where, exactly, my Home is. And one thing is for sure, for real: home is not a place, a house, an apartment, a city, or state. It's a feeling. It's an easy breath. A place of belonging. Peace. Comfort. Restfulness. Security. Trust. And I only know One place like that.

Today, the tenth of October. Sunday night. The fuzzy place between weekend and workweek. Laundry is done, scrubs are ready. I still need a fabulous picture of Andrew and me for my locker. I'm thinking towards all of the humdrum and all of the excitement this week holds. Which is how it should be. We're not quite ready to digitally reveal our newest home [little "h"] but here's a sneak peak at the front door:

Potential. Other than the "lead paint" clause in the contract, it's nearly perfect. ;) That is to say, it has character. I'm heading up on Wednesday to push full-steam ahead and try to "finish" it by the time I leave for work next week, so hopefully, we'll have pictures to post sometime in the near future. And by "we" I mean me. It's an illusion of my own design that Andrew has anything to do whatsoever with this blog. Other than, of course, he is many times the subject matter. Bless him. And as far as the Big Reveal goes, this isn't Extreme Makeover--it's our same ol' stuff in a new-to-us place. So while you're holding your breath, I won't hold it against you if you cheat and breathe through your nose a little bit.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

Except this ain't Paris.

I don't believe in the mountaintop--valley undulation of life. I believe that there are always good things and hard things happening in a person's life at the same time. There are always things to be thankful for. And things to pray fervently for. Things to cry about. Things to laugh about. The principal drivers of this concept, however, are perspective and disposition. You can always look at the bright side, denying that any wrong ever overtook you. Or you can be Debbie Downer and latch on to the negative aspects of any situation and deem your scenario doomed from the start. I hope to be neither, but with God's grace and wisdom, praise Him for the blessings and ask for strength and perseverance during trials and tribulations. Yes, Lord and Amen.

Of course. Here I am, two weeks in to my new job and nomadic lifestyle, missing my husband and my old,  "comfortable" life terribly. I understand now, why God was so frustrated with the Israelites for wanting to go back to Egypt. They had forgotten all that He had done and all of the promises He fulfilled. Yes, three days after witnessing the miraculous parting of the Red Sea, having nothing to drink, they looked at each other in dismay and said, "What shall we drink???" I think God may have said something along the lines of, "what the...?"

Two weekends ago, (which seems like an eternity!), Andrew and I packed up our apartment and moved 15 minutes up the road to good ol' Chapel Hill. Sounds simple, right? WRONG. It's amazing how much CRAPOLA one can accumulate in a year. All occasion cards and seasonal decorations. Bills and coupons. Office supplies and camping gear. Not to mention furniture. Oy vey! It was just the two of us and because of my schedule we had basically 36 workable hours to get everything packed, moved, and unpacked to a livable state. Friday night, Saturday day and evening, Sunday morning and early afternoon. It was hellacious. There's no other word. We were both tired to begin with and we just didn't realize how much stuff we had. Plus, since we hadn't seen each other in a week we really just wanted to relax and hang out. And I had a bad attitude. Whoops? Sorry, Andrew. Anyway, we did get everything done, just in the nick of time. We even got our monstrous couch in the narrow front door by removing the screen door, the front door, the couch legs, and pushing and pulling like freakin' lumberjacks with one of those big ol' toothy saws! YEAH! A big ol' toothy saw! Ahem. We got the couch in without [really] damaging anything. Much.

The chaos. PS, Thanks, Ulta, for all the boxes. And a great summer.

So, we moved from here to there, from hither to thither. When I get off of work on Thursday, I will be going home to hopefully put our little bungalow to rights, so that we have a comfy, cozy, albeit teensy-weensy, apartment to call casita. Pray for us.

In other news, Brad and Cory got hitched this weekend in a beautiful, God-filled ceremony in Hendersonville, NC.

The newly minted Coopers!

Yay for weddings and yay for marriage! Cowabunga, dudes. I gotta go to sleep.

Five Second Rule

It seems like that's the governing principal in my life right now. That I'm only in one place for five seconds at a time. In the last two weeks I have been from Charleston to Chapel Hill to Hendersonville and back again what seems like a bazillion times. Which is, truly, a very large number.

And I'm the one who signed up for it. And it's okay. So far, I love my job. It's not okay that I get to see my husband only on the weekends and that we feel like we have to be "doing something" in order to be using our time wisely, (you know, instead of grocery shopping, cleaning, watching movies...living "normal" life", if you will). But alas, there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven. Not sure which season and time this is, but undoubtedly, we will look back and be able to pinpoint God's faithfulness and sustenance in our lives. Cuz He's just like that, you know? Yup.

Anyhow, TODAY is Brad and Cory's wedding and Andrew and I couldn't be more thrilled to be surrounded by family and friends again! The string of common weddings has gone from a steady stream to a dwindling trickle, though. We've got to come up with other reasons to see our Clemson family! Reasons that don't involve high heels. Just sayin'.

Anyhow, as Ol' George G. used to say, "Life is just a bowl of cherries, so live and laugh at it all".

Welp, I've got to go get ready to be a program giver-outer lady. High heels, and all. Ciao!

PS--I'll [hopefully] be able to post more on the move and my job later. I just, you know, had five seconds to write a quick blurb. Stay tuned.

A Word

This is what the Lord says; "You will be in Babylon for seventy years. But then I will come and do for you all the good things I have promised, and I will bring you home again. For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord. "They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray, I will listen. If you look for me wholeheartedly, you will find me. I will be found by you," says the Lord. "I will end your captivity and restore your fortunes. I will gather you out of the nations where I sent you and will bring you home again to your own land." Jeremiah 29:10-14

A swiftly tilting planet

Wait, what? Huh? What just happened?

I'm pretty sure that the planet I'm on tilts just a little differently so that everything major happens all at the same time. Read: quitting a job, moving, starting a job {which requires a 4.5 hour "commute"}, Andrew starting Year Two at school, etc. Oh my transition. It's not that I don't like change--I do--at least I think I do. I'm ready to leave this apartment tucked safely in my memory as our First and create Home in a tiny, cheap, new, challenging space. I'm ready to leave the world of cosmetics and hair and beauty and don navy blue scrubs and a Clemson purple stethoscope again. As much as I sometimes want to dig in my heels and yelp, "but this is easier the way it is!", I can't help but note that the transitions, literary climaxes, or the ever-cheesy Michael Jackson-esque key change in books, music, movies are usually the most exciting parts of the piece: where the audience is riveted, moved, watching with rapt attention. I think when change comes our way, God is not just watchful, He's giving a standing ovation, savoring His grace and hard work in our lives. Yes, Lord, and Amen.

As for the logistical bits, Andrew and I are moving our little family into a teensy, tiny apartment close to campus so that Andrew can walk to class and we can save some moola. Sometime in the next month we will be making that arduous 15 minute trek with all of our worldly goods, so if the airwaves go silent, don't worry about us. We'll probably be cramming all of our stuff into the single, cubby hole, non-walk in closet that the space affords. Awesome. Speaking of which, I recently did a massive closet purge, (only on my side, I'm still prodding Andrew to do his), in order to A) get a tax write off (yippieee!) and B) simplify and downsize. Just in time to squish everything into a closet that will barely fit my stuff, let alone Andrew's. Awesome, for the eh-second time-ah. Anyway, you will definitely be seeing organizational/decor updates and whatnot, (don't you love how the world whatnot pretty much covers everything? and whatnot? YES). However, if this planet does spin out of orbit to crash into the moon or something, you may have to hold on to your hats while we get things up and running enough to share. 

My brand, spankin' new, big-girl job starts September 13th and will require a 4.5 hour drive from here to there, weekly-ish. My plan for tackling such a commute is pretty loose as of right now, simply because I'm not sure what my schedule will be like and I will know more once the job actually starts. Duh. BUT. I have decided to use my time in the car wisely and listen to audiobooks instead of compulsively pressing the scan button, as many of you know, I likey to do. :) Andrew found this amazingly timely free audiobook app for our iPod--we'd been looking on Amazon and even on UNC's student library, but either they cost an arm and a leg, (i.e. ~$20 range. Yikes.), or there's a "wait list" and you only get them for seven days. Womp, wommmmp. I had to drive down last weekend for pre-employment paperwork and whatnot, (see, you have no idea what that means! They could've made me stand on my head or do the chicken dance in the cafeteria and you'd never know), and on the way there and back I listened to 19 chapters of Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott. Fo' free! I was a little leery of the aforementioned Brit-Lit chunker, but thought I would give it a shot. The worst that could happen is that I hated it, turned it off and went back to my beloved scan button. Ivanhoe is a classic and I've been feeling the need to read something meaty lately. It's awesome. SO GOOD. I-want-to-listen-to-it-right-now good. At first, I was like, "HUHWHAAAT??? Speak American!", but once you listen carefully for a little while you get into Sir Walter's writing language and style and it all starts to come together. I highly recommend it for long, solo car trips. 

I'm still praising the Lord for his provision and sovereignty, but you can pray for me for the Mommy-wow-I'm-a-real-nurse-now transition. I'm a leeetle nervous, but confident that His power is made perfect in my weakness ( II Corinthians 12:9) and my transformation will only make Him more famous if I'm the most unlikely candidate for success.

A promise to hold fast:

5 Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy. 6 They weep as they go to plant their seed but they sing as they return with the harvest. Psalm 126 

Post script: a very happy birthday to Mrs. Jamie Orr. I love you through and through! 

Save the Date

First day of work: 27 days away.


(Ann Taintor)

First day of Fall: 36 days away.


(Woodnotes)

My birthday: 91 days away.



(le Credit)

Christmas: 129 days away.


(Martha)

So much to look forward to. Life is good.

When life hands you lemons

It's okay not to make lemonade. Or lemon squares. Or lemon meringue pie. Or any other mouth puckering, sweet dessert that you would serve with a lipsticked smile and an apron. Sometimes it's okay just to look questioningly at the sky and yell, "what's with the lemons??!?!", and then to crumple on the floor in a sour, sticky heap.

But it's not okay to stay there. At some point, you have to muster the strength, the "cojones", as my favorite Alaskan ex-governor would say, to pull yourself up and try to get some perspective. And the perspective from the floor is pretty bleak, I must say. Even when I did get off the floor, I left my lemons in the fruit bowl until they were shriveled and fuzzy with age and decay.

Yesterday, I was offered a job. As a nurse. Many, many prayers answered in one short phone call with a virtual stranger. I was unemployed for fifteen months after graduation and still have a month to go until my start date. A "tough year" is putting it lightly. The difficulties of being newly married with one partner in grad school and the other unemployed are myriad, but they go beyond the bank account to the heart of the matter. My heart.

You see, being unemployed isn't just "having no money", it has a lot of feelings involved, too--ones that I think our society unfairly places on us and says, if you're not gainfully employed, if you don't have a title that tells me who you are, then what, exactly is your point here on this earth?? Well, I was reminded of my "point" here, every day for the last year or so, and sometimes it was with a whisper and sometimes it was with a shout, and sometimes it was with a baseball bat to the occiput. Jesus has reminded me who I am and who I am meant to be--set apart from my career and my finances, my plans, my future. Not that he doesn't care about those things, but he cares about my character much more than he cares about my comfort.

6 So be truly glad.[b] There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you have to endure many trials for a little while. 7 These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world. 1 Peter 1:6-7

The "joy ahead", though, is not necessarily getting what you want, it's looking back and realizing that you are forever changed. That the Lord's loving discipline has surgically removed the cirrhosed, calcified, gangrenous parts of my heart and he has started the growth of new, healthy, pink, viable tissue. To quote a preacher that was recently in the headlines for making it to the other side of a terrible scandal, "going through something like this makes you become the person you thought you were; the person you always hoped to be."

In no way am I saying that God is done with me. I'm quite sure he's just gotten started, actually. And I didn't do everything right. When setbacks and disappointments came, I cried--bitterly. I pitched fits. I reacted childishly, selfishly, short-sightedly. But eventually I also learned to concede to the Holy Spirit. To yield to heavenly discipline and press into the Father instead of pulling away in anger. That is what has made all the difference in the world. When I was stripped of what I thought was my identity He declared to me who I truly am. When I was anxious and sleepless He whispered His faithfulness to me. When I was frustrated and weary He imparted His patience and perseverance. And so much, much more.

3 Not only so, but we[c] also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4 perseverance, character; and character, hope. 5 And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. Romans 5:3-4

Hope does not disappoint. Hope involves trust and confidence and expectation. Trust that He knows what He's doing. Confidence that He's done it before and expectation that He'll do it again.

So, when life hands you lemons and confection is not an option you'd like to pursue, remember that 1) Jesus loves you. He really, really, really, really, really, really, loves you! And 2) He probably has things in mind for you that don't involve baking, but things that will leave you much more satisfied, whole, confident, joyful, and hopeful. "Trite" and true, but tried and true.

And in closing, I leave you this:



Amen.

An unending thank you to my family and friends for your prayers and encouragement. Don't stop now. ;)

Battlefield of the Mind

Standing in the battlefield of my heart and mind, clad in ill-fitting armor of my own smithing, I have toed the line with ferocious, unforgiving Giants. I have faced my enemies awkwardly outfitted with my shield of Pride, and my breastplate of Self-righteousness, holding in my hand a dinky, dull sword--not unlike a child's play thing--my sword of Shame. I clamored and clattered forward to fight my foe, missing the mark with each swipe of my weapon. As I lay bleeding, with a heart smashed to smithereens, a horn sounds, and the Lord of Heaven's Armies is at my side. His armor is impenetrable, his sword could halve the earth like a machete to a melon. His attack is always sound, always successful. At once, my armor is forged from heavenly metal, gleaming and shining and perfectly tailored. The Helmet on my head says I am His, the Shoes on my feet leave the imprint of freedom, my heart behind the breastplate beats like new, the Sword in my grip whispers and shouts Truth with every thrust and parry, every blow. We fight together, each Giant falling, failing, one by one. Fear is dead. Jealousy is dead. Regret is dead. Anger is dead. Impatience is dead. And as I stand over them, my mouth opens to declare victory: it is His voice booming from my chest, "Invictus maneo. I remain unvanquished".

Rain "Orr" shine, they tied the knot!

Looorrrdy do. I've got to sit down. The last six days have been a crazy whirlwind. Andrew and I have been to Hendersonville, Clemson, and Charleston--all in the name of fidelity, family, and friendship. The first leg of our trip was to Hendersonville, to crash for the night and to see Zach's new digs, (and what shiny and spacious digs they are), and catch up with old pals that we haven't seen since I-don't-know-when. Andrew and I went our separate ways on Saturday morning--him to Lake Wateree for another friend's nuptials, me to Pendleton for a sweet, sophisticated bridal luncheon with Jamie and Friends. I left with moments to spare and only took one wrong turn, (even though I had the GPS--hey, sometimes you can't really tell where the purple line is. Geez). Still, I had to shimmy out of my shorts and into my skirt on the road, tempting the Fates and testing my flexibility and concentration. I made it in time for mimosas and excited chatter and the powers that be were none the wiser of my tardiness.

Saturday afternoon, sans husband, the Girls 'n' I made our way to the amphitheater at the Botanical Gardens at Clemson, just in time for the first raindrops to splat on the stones and drive us inside to the Madren Center to rehearse for the Big Day. We dined in style at The Galley with friends and family surrounding Jamie and Kent with kind words, encouragement, laughter, and advice. I'm pretty sure anyone with a propensity for tears was boo-hooing, Yours Truly included. I just can't take it when grandfathers, dads, or brothers get choked up, man! And then, of course, Steph with her life altering friendship with Jamie--I was a goner. For sure. It was one for the books. And for a few, one worth a "To-Go" box.

Sunday fun-day was Wedding Day and all the girls convened in the Bridal suite at the Martin Inn, dresses, shoes, and earrings in hand. Oh, and bobby-pins, hairspray, and waterproof mascara, too. It was a morning of finger foods and up-do's, cameras clicking and champagne glasses clinking, peals of laughter and a few crocodile tears, too. A quick change of ceremony venues because of the deluge outside--not without careful consideration--and we were set to see Jamie and Kent get hitched in a few short hours. The ceremony was beautiful--heartfelt and bursting with Truth, reminding us of our purpose, marriage's purpose, and Christ's heart of love for his people. Jamie was absolutely. STUNNING. I'm so serious. I've seen some beautiful brides in my time, but Jamie was just magazine picture perfect! We partied the afternoon away, and saw the freshly minted Orrs off with Clemson orange pompons (yes, I mean "pompons". Look it up.) and glow-sticks lighting their way.

Then. Andrew, Chris, and Jennigray and I began the arduous journey back to Charleston. Jennigray rode with me until Orangeburg and we giggled and chatted until she had to make the switch. The rest of the way home, I had to blast the radio and slap my leg in time to keep myself awake and alert to make it home. I was "le tired", as the French say. Andrew and I made it home safely, a little after one AM, and were greeted by my parents and my Big Brother, Noah, who is a hot-shot bartender in New York City. No, really. He is. We all hung out for the first part of the week until I had to get back yesterday. Noah taught us how to make some yummy cocktails, but more on that later.

Last night as I was driving back to the Triangle, a hurricane whipped up right above Stella and me and dogged us for about 50 miles. It was terrifying, to say the least. To say the most, I could not see but a few feet in front of my car, (there's a reason they call it "blinding rain"), water covered the road, and Lightening reached her bony, spindly fingers into our atmosphere every few minutes, with booming Thunder as her hair-raising side kick. I wanted to pull over and ugly-face cry. But I didn't. I gripped the steering wheel and squinted into the distance, cursing every 18-wheeler that sped by me, totally disregarding Stella's and my fragile state. We made it, though. A bowl of Multi-Grain Cheerios later and I was in bed, a-snoozin' away.

And I will leave you with this...moments before becoming Mrs. Jamie Blackwell Orr!

A dweam wiffin a dweam.

If there's something Andrew and I have learned in the last 344 days of being married, it's how to cope under uncertain circumstances and handle change like champs. We've had our fair share of setbacks, letdowns, and disappointments, but we've also had a good measure--poured out and shaken down--of blessing. We've been faced with crisis and have hashed things out and still been able to look each other in the eye (just one) ;). So much of what we have dealt with has been a result of unmet expectations--about jobs, family, time commitments, household stuff, etcetera--everyone has a picture of "what it will be like when we're married", and inevitably, that picture may become a little blurred once the wedding bells ring. We've learned more about ourselves and each other and, the third entity in our relationship--our marriage itself--than we ever thought possible in a few weeks shy of a year. We've peeled back one tiny layer of what it means to actually serve our marriage, and laid a few bricks of the foundation of our union: forgiveness. You see, many unsuspecting newlyweds think that communication is the bedrock of a good marriage. You know, talking things out. While I'm definitely not discounting good conversation, I really believe in my heart of hearts that without forgiveness--real forgiveness--a marriage is doomed: not necessarily to divorce, but to bitterness, coldness, to ending up being more like business partners, or "ships passing in the night", instead of friends and lovers. So many arguments and altercations are the result of each person's individual unmet expectations, (as we've noticed), about an event or issue, not actually what was said or done in the situation--hence, forgiveness as the most necessary and stabilizing force in any marriage, days old or ripened with age.

I also think that "premarital counseling" as preparation for marriage is a ruse--a few meetings with a pastor aren't going to prepare you to absorb a whole 'nother person: "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife; and they will become one flesh." (Genesis 2:24) Last time I checked, 1+1≠1. But, that's why God's in the business of miracles. One of my goals for our marriage is that we attend some form of marriage counseling periodically through the years--even if we don't think we "need" it. That way, we at least have some perspective of what it's like to be married, instead of what it's like to dream about being married and in the meantime make a bazillion phone calls about wedding plans. :) And, just for good measure, I'm not saying that premarital counseling should be done away with entirely--everyone should be looked squarely in the face by a man of the cloth and told exactly what their getting into--however, I wish there was a "follow up" bit of sorts, like on your first three anniversaries or something. Anyway, a girl can dream.

That's my two cents, a few weeks premature of our first anniversary. It's ok, though. I'm not shy. So, take it or leave it. But if you take it, leave some for everyone else.

Post script: for some challenging, truthful, old school literature on marriage check out As For Me and My House by Walter Wangerin. CLUTCH.

h o p e

The road called Hope is cobbled and crooked. It is the scenic route to the City of Joy, twisting and turning, challenging it's sojourner with every hook and dip, every rise of a hill, every rickety bridge, and every gap in the pavement. It asks much of it's traverser, but promises much in return. It whispers encouragement, just when a foot slips, a knee bruises. A glance over the shoulder reveals an honest path. A forward gaze is cloaked by a fine mist; shapes emerge in the distance, and Trust is a necessary companion.

The journeymen hiking Hope's scantily mapped trail are couch potatoes called athletes. Walk-around-the-block-ers called Iron Men. Renamed and repurposed by Hope's landmarks and landmines. Growing into their new [true] identity with every beleaguered step. Hope Road asks too much; Hope's roadies gather and glean at every slope and crest, begging for deliverance.

Hope delivers.

We all "Needtobreathe"

After last night's show, I'm convinced. Heaven will be a rock concert. A cabaret of every genre: there will be show tunes, gospel, rock 'n' roll, classical, bluegrass, hymns, Latino, blues, reggae--and Jesus will be lead guitar and vocals. And you and me? We'll be back up dancers. We'll sing harmony. We'll play bass, piano, and maybe even the sousaphone, I'm sure. Tambourines and tympani--it will be a holy, eternal moment in what used to be time.

We went to see Needtobreathe at the Cat's Cradle last night in Chapel Hill. I will tell you, I'm usually not the first one to say, "Oh, hey! Let's go see the __________ at the ________ tomorrow night!" But if I go when someone else has invited me, I always have a great time. And last night was a testimony to that, for sure. Andrew bought tickets online and informed me on Tuesday that we were going. No argument here, but no giddy excitement either. Much to my surprise, however, the Cat's Cradle was SOLD OUT and Needtobreathe put on a stellar show--I kind of want to do it again tonight! They played some oldies and some new songs from their album The Outsiders and the crowd went nuts! The only thing that would have made it better would have been if we were in Clemson with our Tiger family instead of a sea of Tar Heel strangers. I kind of wanted to yell, "1-2-3-4 and cadence count!", in sheer defiance. Andrew sweetly and probably wisely discouraged my almost-outburst. Harrumph.

It was during Something Beautiful that I put my eye up to the keyhole of heaven and saw a glimpse of eternity: the crowd was worshipping--it wasn't just a fun song to sing, it was a heart's cry to be in the presence of Beauty itself--Himself. And it was awesome. Truly.

Hey now, this is my desire
Consume me with your fire, 'cause I just want something beautiful
To touch me, I know that I'm in reach
'Cause I am down on my knees
I'm waiting for something beautiful
Oh, something beautiful



And just so you know, I would see Needtobreathe 10 times again before I would see John Mayer again. Belie'e dat!

Look it up in your Funk & Wagnalls

Apparently, before the days of wikipedia, Funk & Wagnalls used to be a publisher of dictionaries and encyclopedias, with it's last issue going out of print around 1997. But more on that in a minute.

This weekend, Andrew and I headed way down south, where the wisteria drips off the trees like jewels on a royal's necklace. The weather was spectacular--not too hot and not too cold--sunny skies and a slight ocean breeze. Just magical. On Saturday night, my mother whipped up an amazing passover spread, complete with lamb and mint jelly and topped off with blackberry cobbler and creamy vanilla ice cream. Yummm. During our dinner conversation, with our lovely guests Dane and Meghan, my father began a discussion about something that, apparently, was quite incredulous, because we started saying things like, "huh?", "are you sure?", "really??", and he responded with, "yeah! Look it up in your Funk & Wagnalls!" *cricket, cricket*. Except it didn't sound like "Funk and Wagnalls", it sounded like "funkin' wagnalls" which sounded like something else. You can imagine the guffaws and side-splitting laughter that ensued. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to try to use the phrase, "look it up in your Funk & Wagnalls" at least once every day.

Easter morning, we dragged ourselves out of bed to beat the traffic to Boone Hall for St. Andrew's annual Easter celebration. Every one of the 4,000 chairs had a bum in it and there were people standing in the back. The children's tent was packed out. It was an awesome, awesome time of celebration and thanksgiving! I didn't take pictures until after the service, however, because we were busy chit-chatting with people, but I think I still got some good ones!

The celebration tent, nestled between the river and the "cotton field".

The annual, obligatory family phooootoooo! Minus two siblings and a sibling-in-law. We're looking quite natty in our Easter duds, if I do say so m'self. ;)

The flowered cross this year was a leeetle chaotic, (usually you bend the stems or cut them off prior to sticking them in the mesh), but our good friend Todd was in charge of it and his lovely wife, Elizabeth, was home with two sick cutie-patootie kiddos. So, we'll cut him some slack--this year. ;)

Every year, there's myriad carefully selected songs for pre-service music and for the service itself--this year, one of the opening songs was a Hillsong selection called Mighty to Save with the first lines of the chorus declaring Saviour/He can move the mountains/My God is mighty to save/Mighty to save, words borrowed from Matthew 17. As I was belting out this song with the other 4,000+ people in attendance, I got the feeling that Jesus wasn't necessarily talking about geographical feng shui. I think He was talking about people. Who in your life do you perceive as an immovable mountain? Who's heart is so hard that you have an inkling of doubt that even the One who cheated and pummeled death couldn't handle them? Well, he can. He is so mighty that His love and grace can move even the most stalwart of your friends or family to turn to Him and know the He is love. He is truth. And He is yours and mine--and theirs.

Happy Easter, everyone. And may we celebrate every day what Christ has done for us all.

All things bright and beautiful

It's amazing to me how nature continues to mirror God's character: how He is completely simple and pure, yet so infinitely detailed and genius.

I spent breakfast, lunch and dinner yesterday, and breakfast and lunch today on my porch with these sweet, smiling, blooming trees waving at me in the breeze. All kinds of birds and honey bees were twittering and buzzing back and forth to each other, all heralding the arrival of this present season. What a glorious thing, Spring!

Each little flower that opens

Each little bird that sings

He made their glowing colors

He made their tiny wings

All things bright and beautiful

All creatures great and small

All things wise and wonderful

The Lord God made them all!